Chapter Text
Castiel
Castiel definitely should not be on this beach right now. There is no doubt in his mind that it’s a deeply stupid idea. Every rational person on this island is securely barricaded somewhere safe and dry to ride out the worst of the storm but here stands Cas, wind whipping the already haphazard locks on his head into an absolute catastrophe of hair, fully cognizant but apparently uncaring about the danger he’s currently in.
He should be inside. The reception, such as it is, still holds the rest of his family in its thrall, and his presence is technically expected. The whole thing would have gone just as well without him, though. Perhaps better. If Castiel wasn’t here, his mother would be able to focus entirely on Anna and her now-husband, Inais. As it stands she keeps finding opportunities to nag about Castiel’s supposed failings. When are you going to find a nice girl of your own and settle down? I just want you to be happy. She’d asked a million times. Somehow she still hasn’t grasped that a girl will never make Castiel happy. Cas will never understand how someone with his mother’s intelligence and education can still believe that being gay is a choice he made, one he can just un-make on a whim. If he’s being honest, Castiel is really out here to escape the next round of questions, but he tells himself repeatedly that it’s all about the hurricane.
He’s never seen a hurricane up close before. There’s video on news reports on an increasingly regular basis, evidence that Mother Nature is not a force to be trifled with, and he’s familiar enough with the stories of people who have seen them that none of the details are any kind of surprise. The wind that buffets him is about as strong as expected, kicking up a flurry of sand and sea spray that give the beach an air of activity on what would otherwise be a quiet evening.
It should be desolate. Castiel shouldn’t be out here but if he is, he should be the only one on hand to witness nature’s anger come to fruition.
He’s not.
Just a little ways down the beach stands a broad-shouldered, bow-legged man in denim and flannel, shoes kicked off to dig his toes into the wet sand. Castiel doesn’t think it’s the best apparel for storm watching, but his own attire is just the remnants of a suit, tie long gone and jacket slung over his shoulder, so it’s not really his place to judge. This man doesn’t seem to realize there’s anyone else on the beach or if he does, he doesn’t care. His attention is intently focused on the choppy surf, and Castiel wonders what he’s out here escaping. Clearly not one of the other weddings the resort is hosting this evening; Cas has never been to any destination weddings other than his half-sister’s this evening, but he’s fairly certain that plaid isn’t the standard dress code. Fashion faux-pas notwithstanding, the stranger is paying a truly unhealthy amount of attention to the sea and none at all to the rest of the storm, and that’s risky business.
Castiel, at least, is paying a bit more attention to his surroundings, so he sees the danger that this stranger does not. Just behind the man, toward the row of palm trees that creak ominously in the wind, a cluster of iron furniture, beach chairs and low tables and umbrellas, is losing its battle with the elements. A few chairs topple and fall to the sand, legs sticking up haphazardly. Some of them bounce and tumble a few dozen feet before coming to rest. The umbrellas, though—Castiel can see the wind tearing at them, and his mouth is open to call out a warning when it occurs to him at the last possible second that he can’t even really hear the rattling the furniture must be making. All sound is lost in the roar of the wind and crashing surf. There’s no way his words will carry to the man’s ears.
He’s springing into action before he really has a chance to contemplate the decision, legs carrying him down the beach with no economy of effort. Running in sand is every bit as hard as he’s been led to believe, but somehow he makes it in time. His diving leap brings him in contact with the stranger just seconds before the thick iron pole of the umbrella sails through the spot the man just occupied. The force of their collision bears them both to the sand with a solid thud that knocks the wind out of them.
“What the fuck?!” The man cries, hands scrambling to push Castiel off of him so he can roll over. Castiel is slow to move, shifting enough to let the man turn and face him.
“The umbrella,” Cas answers vaguely, pointing in the direction of the ruined thing, stuck upside down into the sand now, the ribs bent and snapped, the skin torn in places. “You could have died,” he adds emphatically. It’s not his most eloquent explanation but he can’t bring himself to restate it with greater clarity because he’s lost in a pair of deep green eyes. The man he’s just saved, the one he’s currently pressed embarrassingly close to on the wet sand of this tempest tossed beach, is possibly one of the most attractive men he’s ever laid eyes on.
He’s rendered abruptly insensible in the face of this gorgeous stranger, mouth hanging open and no words offered to explain himself, and he knows he should be doing something but all he can do is stare. The stubble on his jaw gives him a rugged sort of handsomeness that is not what Castiel would ordinarily consider his type, but it remains appealing in a way that he can’t quite explain. There are tiny lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth that say clear as day that he loves to smile, to laugh. Castiel wonders if he could make this man smile, add a few more smile lines to his face. He wonders what it would be like to kiss this man.
“Do you think you could let me up?” the man says, and Castiel stammers out an apology, scrambling backwards on hands and knees until he’s no longer invading the stranger’s personal space. He’s slower to get back on his feet than Castiel expected, surreptitiously adjusting himself in his jeans as he stands.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Cas tells him.
“Neither should you.” The response is immediate and impossible to dispute.
“We shouldn’t be out here,” Cas concedes. “It is not a safe place to be.” He grabs the man’s hand, suddenly bold, and drags him towards a small shack near the tree line. The man resists only a little, standing firm for half a second before letting himself be hauled along, and they reach the shack quickly. The prayers Castiel didn’t think to offer are nonetheless answered when he finds the door unlocked. He throws it open carelessly and pulls his unwitting companion inside before closing it firmly, latching the deadbolt behind them.
The shack, as it turns out, is a towel storage room. There’s a roll-up half-wall on the beach side, the counter with a tall chair intended to house the attendant who hands the towels to beachgoers on far more temperate days than this. Cas supposes he might have availed himself of the services of this very shack had the weather not turned unseasonably torrid, but that’s not likely to be the case now. A large rack of fluffy white towels takes up the entire back wall, a small radio on a table on the side opposite the door, but other than that the room is basically empty. Empty, that is, except for Castiel and the frazzled man in sopping flannel and denim. Castiel turns to face his companion, finally ready to offer a better explanation for his behaviour, but it doesn’t seem to be necessary.
Castiel must be mistaken. He has to be. The man doesn’t have the look of someone who’s affronted or disgusted. He doesn’t even look mildly annoyed. If Castiel had to guess, and he really does have to guess (because the only other option is to use words to confirm his suspicions outright, and he’s not quite that awkward), he’d say that his companion’s exact attitude toward the situation is a combination of amusement, curiosity, and above all, arousal. There’s definitely a tent in his pants. That part isn’t up for debate. But there’s also a slow smile on his lips and his eyes are dark. It looks every bit like an invitation, and Cas has never wanted to RSVP more in his life.
Castiel crosses the small room purposefully. He’s prepared to stop the second he gets any sign that his attention is unwanted, but the hands that lift from this beautiful stranger’s sides don’t attempt to ward him off. Rather, they draw him in, pressing firmly onto Castiel’s hips the second he’s close enough, and their lips crash together with all the force of the storm that rages outside. He tastes like just a hint of whiskey and he kisses like he wants to devour Castiel.
Cas kinda wants to let him.
There is nothing tentative about it. From the moment their mouths meet, it’s clear they’ve both decided this is going to get messy. The other man moves with certainty, his hands exploring Castiel’s body with desire he makes no attempts to contain. Cas isn’t any more reserved, a low growl escaping his throat as he makes short work of the soaked flannel clinging to his companion’s back, pushing it to the floor carelessly. The muscles that move beneath his shirt are firm and well-toned. It’s a strong body, one used to hard work and effort, but he also yields so beautifully to Castiel’s touches. They move together with such ease for two people who haven’t even exchanged names, Castiel almost can’t believe it even as the situation unfolds before him.
Emboldened by this beautiful stranger’s enthusiasm, Castiel moves to work open the fastenings on his jeans. No warning hands attempt to stop him, so as soon as the button and zipper are free, he slips his hand inside and works his palm over the hard length of his partner’s cock, thoroughly enjoying the heady moan that fills the air at this new point of contact. He rolls his hips up to meet Castiel’s touch, silently urging him not to stop, not to slow down. Castiel obliges, focusing all his attention on wrapping his fingers around that smooth, hard shaft, coaxing sweet sounds out into the night.
“Fuck,” the green eyed stranger groans, dropping his head to Cas’s shoulder. His hands work under the hem of Cas’s shirt to press the pads of his thumbs to Cas’s nipples, rolling and teasing. His breath is already ragged. “Wanna fuck you,” he murmurs, pressing hot kisses to Castiel’s throat like he’s imploring him to accept the request. There’s no chance of Castiel declining. Quite honestly, he’s much more inclined to top, but he’s not opposed to switching roles and he certainly finds pleasure in bottoming. Frankly, as long as this evening ends with the two of them naked and sweaty and sated at each other’s hands, Cas doesn’t especially care who fucks who. They could trade messy blowjobs before collapsing onto a heap of these towels and he’d still be happy as long as he gets to see this man naked in the throes of passion.
“Got protection?” Castiel finds the presence of mind to ask. This entire evening has been uncharacteristically impulsive (at least from Castiel’s side of things) but he’s not going to forget himself badly enough to make rash and dangerous choices.
“In my wallet,” the stranger offers.
“That’s a terrible place to keep condoms,” Castiel rebukes without any heat in his voice.
“Yeah, well,” the guy says dismissively, leaning in to kiss Castiel again. He has lost patience with the progression towards nudity, apparently, and starts to work on the buttons of Cas’s shirt. “I don’t normally carry ‘em there. But you should be glad I decided to while I’m here, or this thing wouldn’t be happening. You do want this thing to happen, right?”
“Fuck, yes,” Castiel breathes, never having been more certain of anything in his whole life.
“Okay, good,” the stranger replies with no small measure of relief. “Because, I mean, I totally want this. Want you. But we don’t have to. It’s not, I mean, we could just ride out the storm in here. Nothing has to—“
Castiel silences the rest of his rambling by kissing the breath right out of him, surging forward with his hand still wrapped around the man’s dick to claim his lips and render them useless for speech. When he breaks away for air, the man is visibly reeling, eyes wide and lips parted in a pleasant sort of shock. He makes no attempt to pick up where he left off; Castiel’s honestly not sure he even remembers he was speaking. It’s not until Cas starts to push his jeans towards the floor with his free hand that he shakes himself out of the apparent trance and catches up, hands going to the waistband of Cas’s pants.
Castiel is loathe to let go of his hold on his companion’s cock, but it’s worth it in order to get this beautiful man naked. He gives it a few more firm strokes, allowing himself a coy smile at the delicious noise he gets in reply, then slides his hand free to push his own pants to the ground. Cas steps out of slacks and boxer shorts alike, letting his cock spring free, and kicks his pants to the side with a bare foot. He spares only a brief thought for the fact that he has no idea where he left his shoes when he came out to watch the storm, and then tosses his shirt into the pile.
His companion, meanwhile, just stands there staring at his newly revealed nudity like he’s just been handed a precious gift and has no idea how to express proper gratitude. Castiel gives him a wry smile, then turns towards the rack of towels and grabs a stack, unfolding them and laying them on the concrete floor in a makeshift bed. It won’t be comfortable, not really, but it will be infinitely preferable to fucking on the unpadded stone. His companion watches in silence, either admiring Cas’s body or too confused to act.
“Are you coming?” Castiel teases, arms crossed over his chest. The green-eyed stranger snaps out of his trance, shucking the last of his clothing onto the pile of Cas’s own garments, then digging through the clothes until he comes up with his wallet. He fishes out a single condom in a foil package. It doesn’t look like it’s been in there long, no mangled edges to the packaging, and Cas supposes that’ll be sufficient.
“They’re lubricated,” the man offers almost apologetically. “But I don’t have any lube outside of that.” He guides Castiel to the floor, hands stroking over his thighs as he speaks.
“Fuck,” Cas groans. “I don’t even care. It’ll do.” The beautiful stranger spits on his own fingers, offering a grimace of apology for the somewhat uncivilized approach. Castiel grins back. It’ll burn, and it’s been a while since Cas bottomed so he’ll feel it even more, but if this perfect specimen wants to put his dick in Cas’s ass, this is not going to be the thing that stands in the way of that happening. He sighs as he feels the first press of a finger against his hole, gentle teasing touches that are nothing but pleasure, coaxing him to relax and grant entrance.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises, and Cas nods. The tip of his finger pushes in, just enough pressure to work past the tight ring of muscle, and true to his word, he moves slowly. The tiniest of motions, the slowest progression. It feels like forever before he decides Cas is relaxed enough for more, sinking the length of his finger in, and still he moves at a crawl. Cas should be grateful for it, he knows. No good can come of rushing this. But all he can think about is how delicious it’s going to feel having this gorgeous man sink his cock into Cas’s tight ass and how much he wants to ride out the storm being ridden into the ground.
An actual eternity later, when Cas is writhing on the bed of towels and giving up breathy, desperate little whimpers with each touch, the man finally decides it’s sufficient and pulls back, retrieving the condom from the floor beside Cas’s hips and rolling the slick thing onto his cock. He gives himself a few strokes for good measure, then catches Cas’s eye in silent question. Cas nods, eyes lusty and dark, and breathes out an emphatic yeah in case the non-verbal signal wasn’t quite enough encouragement. His partner takes his meaning, moving forward to nudge the slick head of his cock against Cas’s hole, and slowly pushes in.
The first touch feels almost cool, the lube not having had enough time to warm up to body temperature yet, but its slickness eases the friction enough that although Castiel is well aware of the burn, his main focus is on the overwhelming pleasure. He feels so full, stretched open around this thick cock, that he’ll never be able to bring himself to begrudge the insufficient lube. It’s more discomfort than pain, anyway, and as soon as the man above him starts to move, all thoughts of that fall away.
Even now he moves slowly, careful not to go too hard or too fast. He props his arms on either side of them as he leans over Cas, lips parted in silent pleasure until Cas leans up to pull him into a kiss. It barely qualifies, the way their jaws hang open in awe. Before long they’re really just moaning into each other’s mouths, hot breath between them nearly matching the humidity of the storm that still dominates the world outside the shack. Castiel rolls his hips up to take him deeper and slides a hand between them to take his own cock in hand.
“Fuck, you feel good,” Castiel’s nameless partner murmurs. He should ask the man’s name, really, but they’ve gone this far without proper introduction and it feels somewhat unnecessary to interrupt the flow of the moment for conversation. And really, asking his partner’s name so he knows what to scream when he comes is possible the most cliché thing a person could do. He’d never be able to bring himself to do it with a straight face, so instead he keeps it anonymous, just a random encounter in the heart of a storm.
“Yeah,” Cas breathes, “just like that!” It won’t be long before he’s coming at this rate. The thick cock filling him up provides such beautiful friction that there’s no way he’ll hang on for a lengthy session, especially since the beautiful man that’s doing the fucking is like something out of a wet dream, so insanely gorgeous that Cas isn’t sure he didn’t just dream him up. It’s basically a real life fantasy, this thing they’re doing. He’ll never be able to pretend it’s not the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. Of course he’s going to come hard and fast.
His companion seems to feel the same way. His breath comes in harsh gasps, face a mix of desire and determination as he fucks into Castiel. He talks the whole way through, his deep and raspy voice uttering praise and filthy compliments. “You feel so damn good,” he says, and Castiel knows he means it because he whispers it almost reverently into the skin of his throat. “I wanna see what you look like when you come,” he demands, his tone stating clearly to Castiel’s ears that there is nothing on heaven or earth that would make him happier. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he groans, and Castiel knows it to be true because you can’t fake that kind of desire.
Castiel isn’t surprised that he comes first. One minute they’re rolling together like the waves on the shore outside, the next he’s gone rigid, crying out wordlessly as he spills over his fist and onto his belly. His companion slows his thrusts, the tenderness in his movements unexpected in an encounter like this.
“Don’t,” Castiel tells him. “Keep going. I want it.” He’s surprised at how breathy he sounds, but the words have the desired effect, and the previous pace is picked back up. Gentle rolling thrusts give way to hard, sharp motions, nearly overwhelming now that Castiel is fucked out and sensitive but still so, so good because he can tell how much pleasure his partner takes in it. Cas clings to him, rocking his hips up to meet each thrust. It’s clear on the other man’s face that he’s nearing the edge and Castiel wants to see him get there. He wraps his legs around the hips that drive into him so he can pull them closer together, deepening the intensity as much as he’s able.
Castiel gets his wish. Not too long after, his companion groans long and low, his hips stuttering and his eyes slipping closed. A few more thrusts and his stamina gives out. He pulls out carefully, discarding the condom in the garbage can in the corner before settling onto the towels beside Castiel. His fingertips smear through the mess on Cas’s belly as he settles. They’re pressed so close together that the heat radiates between them.
“Good thing we have a lot of towels,” the guy says offhandedly. “You’re a mess.”
“I’m not complaining,” Castiel replies sleepily. “Doubt you are either.” Still, he grabs one of the many towels strewn about the floor, wiping off his hands and his belly before discarding it in the general vicinity of a hamper in the corner. “It sounds like the storm is getting worse.”
His companion stills, looking skyward as he contemplates the sounds filtering in from outside. “We could be here a while,” he offers.
“Indeed,” Castiel agrees. “Could be stuck here all night.”
“That’s a lot of time to pass,” the stranger offers innocently. “Wanna make out?”