For the first few weeks, Cas was practically mute. The only person he spoke to was Dean, and that had taken five days on its own. He’d speak in hushed tones, only answering direct questions and asking ones that had to do with the necessities of humanity as he learned them. In the wake of realizing Sam didn’t need him to be his babysitter anymore, Dean took his role as Cas’ caretaker seriously and found it incredibly rewarding. The first time their fingers slotted together, Dean knew he was totally sunk.

But the tipping point was the day Cas tugged him close and put his lips to Dean’s ear. “Thank you, Dean. For allowing me to be here.” Those were the first words, real words of his own, Cas had said to anyone post-fall. His chest filled with warmth as he tucked his mouth against Cas’ neck and tightened his own grip. “There’s no permission, Cas. This is where you belong.” They stood like that for more moments than Dean would admit before he slid his hand into Cas’ and pulled him toward the kitchen.

The sounds Lisa made were some of the sweetest he’d ever heard. He curved his two fingers up, around, as artfully as he could while he worked her clit furiously with tongue and lips. Her fingers slid through his hair and her nails scraped at his scalp and mmm if that wasn’t satisfying as her mouth hung open, silently beckoning for the shouts he was desperately trying to nudge into her wet, open body with his own. Dean sucked on the little knoll, laved and twirled against it, and was rewarded with tight yanks that shot pleasure down his spine and flexible hips rotating mindlessly against his assault. Lisa bucked once, hard, when Dean moaned loudly into her; damn if it wasn’t difficult to keep quiet at the mere presence of Cas’ hands on his hips. That was all it took for him, for Dean to be reduced to a whining heap of needy and elastic flesh. Just a touch.

That touch morphed into lips wandering idly across his back as Cas’ fingers trailed nonsense into his sides. Dean’s breathing increased as he let his mind spin out what the next touches would be, where they’d fall, how they’d fall. He snuffled gracelessly into Lisa as the shouts that’d been dangling at the tip of her tongue began to fall. Hands appeared on either side of him – Cas was pressed chest to back with him now – and he watched jealously as they traced Lisa’s gorgeous ribs and hips. Whether they were quieting her or urging her on he couldn’t tell, but Dean didn’t have much time to appreciate it as the hands slid out of sight on down to finish the long, unbroken strokes along Lisa’s edges. He needn’t have coveted, however, for a moment later Dean felt a hand on the small of his back, a slight pressure there, and then a tickling across his abs. When lips began peppering kisses lower and lower Dean realized Cas had swung under him and oh.

Yeah, that was definitely one of Dean’s favorite places for Cas’ lips. They nibbled and mouthed along his cock and Dean’s cries as Cas took him deeper were muffled into Lisa, making her moan more and they fell into a positive feedback loop of wantonness. Lisa’s legs tucked themselves around his back and Cas’ arms nestled under them, hands pulling at his ass-cheeks. Both of their nails scratched lustful marks into him; he could barely breathe between the pussy against his tongue and the filthy, glorious sounds Cas was making around his dick. Dean gently parted the flesh under his nose with the middle and index fingers of his free hand and redoubled his efforts as he felt Cas’ throat close around the tip of his cock. He couldn’t help thrusting downward blindly, trusting Cas to stop him if it was too much, but the bastard was a greedy little cocksucker and only whined for more.

Lisa clenched around his fingers once, ah, ah, twice, and then in rapidfire succession as her fingers twisted into his hair and she cried his name. She gave a shuddery, satisfied sigh and her hips settled into the mattress, but she continued carding through his hair and he laid his cheek against her thigh. He buried his face there, panting into her skin, when Cas did that thing that Dean was still trying to learn and had him shouting hoarsely into Lisa’s lap as he shot down Cas’ throat. He stilled and relaxed into their hands as both of them petted him down from his climax.

When he managed to gain control over his hands he wrapped an arm under and around the thigh under his head and unerringly found a dark mop with the other. He guided the head under his hand toward him, eyes closed, and when their lips made contact he sighed into the kiss.

“It’s your turn, angel.”

He’d put on a good show for the audience, making all the right faces when Misha had manhandled him. But as soon as he was offstage, Jensen searched for a quiet corner, hoping to take a few deep breaths and calm his racing nerves. His pants were so incredibly tight and thinking about the brushes that had caused his predicament only make his cock swell with renewed lust. There was a lot of joking on set and admittedly some groin-touching, but this, the way their bodies had come into contact chest to thighs and the way Misha had just slid against him left him feeling hot under the collar. The memory of his warm weight nudging into his lap so solidly almost made him wish they could do it again, but this time in private where he’d be able to wrap his arms around the other man the way he’d sort of wanted to earlier. And the gentle brush of the back of Misha’s hand across his package…

What the hell? Seriously, what was this? It was just Misha horsing around, the way the three of them did all the time. But somehow without Jared here, in this idyllic European setting… it was different. They’d been spending a lot of time just the two of them, sight-seeing and walking around the city, and they’d fallen into an easier version of themselves. A more private, intimate, toned-down version of themselves and Jensen had been enjoying himself more these past few days than he had the last five convention tours combined. Jensen closed his eyes against the memory of Misha’s arms wrapped around his torso, skimming over places he wished they’d grappled and he bit his lip, trying to get ahold of himself. He was almost calm enough to face people again when he heard the voice of the last person he needed to see right now calling his name behind him. He whipped around, hard all over again.

“Jensen? Where are— oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you. You wanna go grab somethi…” Jensen could tell the exact moment Misha saw his erection and couldn’t bring himself to look at the other man. The seconds stretched out and eventually Jensen felt compelled to look up, only to find Misha’s gaze resting heavily (hungrily) on the still-present tent in his trousers. Fuck.

“Uh,” was all Jensen managed, rather intelligently.

Misha cleared his throat. “Did, um… did I do that?” he asked with a gesture toward his crotch, stilted yet very curious. And it might have just been Jensen’s imagination, but it didn’t sound curious in a bad way.

Jensen had no idea what to say. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Misha coughed and swallowed, finally shifting his gaze up to Jensen’s face. “Do you want to maybe order room service from my suite?”

It was Jensen’s turn to swallow hard. All he could do was force out a quiet “yes, I think so” as a hot, prickly heat washed over his cheeks, chest, and shoulders and he followed Misha out of the hall.

Light touches all over his body bring Dean further and further up from the depths of sleep. Hands trail along his sides, down his stomach, up his arms as he shivers into wakefulness with a smile stretching his lips. Hands nestle in the curves at either side of the base of his neck and warm, pliant lips move against his before he can even croak out a “good morning”. The lips gently work his own open, licking inside, chasing nips from deliciously sharp teeth, until Dean’s breathing is heavy and he can feel a rumbling purr working itself up from deep within his chest. The hands slide down his shoulders, his arms, until they reach his wrists. Fingers wrap firmly around them and he finds his arms tugged upward and outward, spread like wings. They are pushed to continue their arcs, coming to rest above Dean’s head and he uses the opportunity to stretch out his limbs but keeps his eyes closed against the contentment he feels washing over his still-waking, nude body.

The kiss breaks off and he feels a leg slung over his waist and Cas’ naked weight settles on his thighs (just below where he really wants Cas to be sitting). His wrists are released, but he knows better and keeps them where they are above his head. Cas’ fingers trail back down his arms and there’s something else – something light and barely there. The weight on his lap shifts up and he feels moist lips mouth his jaw, working up to his sleepy smile. Cas’ lips hover and heat the air above his own for long moments, so long he knows Cas wants his attention and he forces his eyes open a sliver. Irises the dark blue of an early winter evening greet him above a warm smirk and Dean has just enough time to furrow his brow before something silky and red dominates his field of vision and descends, effectively blinding him.

Oh.

It was going to be this kind of morning.

Awesome.

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A series of literal drabbles about an AU in which Cas is a lighthouse keeper and Dean is a writer who’s paying to stay at the lighthouse while he tries to work on his next novel. Only in a rough order, they’re just little snippets of their life together at the lighthouse.

AO3 link to the entire story

Lightning hung heavy in the low-bellied clouds and left a tangible charge of anticipation in the air. Castiel bit his lip, trying to scrape the buzzing there away. Dean sat to his right, arm draped over a bent knee as he gazed at the storm wall rolling inexorably toward them. Waves churned around the rocky coastline and it felt like they were caught in a killing jar, waiting. In that moment he felt over-stimulated, his skin prickly with static and the nearness of Dean and he wanted to scratch it off, shed it and become smooth like a sea-washed boulder.

A series of literal drabbles about an AU in which Cas is a lighthouse keeper and Dean is a writer who’s paying to stay at the lighthouse while he tries to work on his next novel. Only in a rough order, they’re just little snippets of their life together at the lighthouse.

AO3 link to the entire story

Cas had been accommodating when he asked if he could see what the view from the top of the lighthouse was like. Dean was surprised when instead of the rickety wooden staircase, Cas led him outside.

That’s how Dean found himself clinging to the far-too-narrow ladder bolted to the lighthouse’s clapboard as if his life depended on it. From between his feet he could see Cas smirking up at him from below (just in case you fall, he’d said). Dean was never so glad to haul himself up onto solid footing. The air had the bite of an oncoming storm.

A series of literal drabbles about an AU in which Cas is a lighthouse keeper and Dean is a writer who’s paying to stay at the lighthouse while he tries to work on his next novel. Only in a rough order, they’re just little snippets of their life together at the lighthouse.

AO3 link to the entire story

Castiel bought one of Dean’s books when he learned he’d be living with an author. “Dean Winchester” had sounded slightly familiar, but he didn’t write books Castiel would normally read. He opted for Winchester’s first book, written before he’d settled on a genre. At first it was surreal matching the melancholy words he’d read in black and white with the golden man before him, morning sunlight burnishing his short-cropped hair, gilding his clear green eyes and smiling, full lips. Increasingly, though, Castiel caught glimpses of that first protagonist of his – an antihero, really – damaged and skittish under a brave façade.

A series of literal drabbles about an AU in which Cas is a lighthouse keeper and Dean is a writer who’s paying to stay at the lighthouse while he tries to work on his next novel. Only in a rough order, they’re just little snippets of their life together at the lighthouse.

AO3 link to the entire story

The lighthouse and its living quarters were built in the mid-1800s. If there was one thing about places like that, it was that they had a lot of character; Clarke’s Island got some of that character, Dean found, from hideous furniture. There was one truly revolting Empire style table, all gilt and gaudy griffins or hippogriffs or whatever the hell they were. Its one redeeming quality was the way the light fell in the early morning. That and the tails of the… things made decent footholds. He’d never admit it, but it was one of his favorite places to work.

A series of literal drabbles about an AU in which Cas is a lighthouse keeper and Dean is a writer who’s paying to stay at the lighthouse while he tries to work on his next novel. Only in a rough order, they’re just little snippets of their life together at the lighthouse.

AO3 link to the entire story

Dean’s number one rule: avoid complications. It worked for writing, it worked for friendships, it worked for one night stands. The one exception was Sam, and, as it was, neither was big on gestures. So when one day Cas turned to him and asked if he was allergic to anything, explained that he should know in case something happened, Dean found himself panicked. The thing was, though, that he was more freaked out that he wasn’tfreaked out. He should be running for the hills, but instead he found the thought of Cas knowing such an intimate detail reassuring. Huh.

A series of literal drabbles about an AU in which Cas is a lighthouse keeper and Dean is a writer who’s paying to stay at the lighthouse while he tries to work on his next novel. Only in a rough order, they’re just little snippets of their life together at the lighthouse.

AO3 link to the entire story

Cas was not the first resident of Clarke’s Island Dean had met. The first was a huge, gray Maine Coon with tattered ears and crooked whiskers who’d slunk up to the dock while Dean unloaded his belongings from the water taxi. The word ‘persnickety’ came to mind when Dean thought of The Cat. But now it purred like a V8 as Cas tickled his fingers under its chin, closing its eyes in ecstasy. Cas beamed down at the animal, face unmasked and open like a sun-hungry poppy. They basked in each others’ company and Dean’s chest felt a little tight.