It just kinda happened. It didn’t mean anything.
now that was pretty damn romantic
He can afford a hotel room. Instead, he fucks Cas in the backseat of his car.
Dean wants it to be close, claustrophobic, hot. The thought of laying Cas down on the dingy dead-white sheets of a hotel room seems unbearable; they don’t deserve the touch of Cas’s body. The peeling dirty wallpaper doesn’t deserve the sound of Cas’s voice as he moans, quiet and desperate. Dean wants it like this, always: the sweat-slick skin of Cas’s back sliding against the leather of the Impala’s backseat, the windows fogging up with the heat of their breaths. The car traps every noise that Cas makes and doesn’t let anything escape. When he pushes into Cas’s body, the air is so still that Dean can feel the tiny cry that Cas lets out against Dean’s neck.
He slides his hand up Cas’s thigh, urging Cas to wrap his leg around Dean’s hip.
Using his body to apologize—Dean’s always been like this, and he’s lived so long this way that he doesn’t know how to be anything else. He’s jumped in front of bullets for family and gone to hell for his brother, and this is how he apologizes to Cas now, gentle feather-soft touches and slow thrusts that leave Cas trembling underneath his fingertips. I’m sorry I made you leave, he says when he traces his hands up the shaking planes of Cas’s arms; I wish you could have stayed, he says when he presses a kiss against the delicate skin behind Cas’s ear. Cas is gasping, his head thrown back, his hands wrapped around Dean’s biceps, digging hard into the muscle like he can anchor himself, like he’s going to fly into a thousand pieces if he doesn’t hold on hard enough. When Dean leans down and presses a kiss against Cas’s lips, Cas gasps like he’s drowning and surges up against him, desperate for the taste of Dean’s mouth.
“Baby,” Dean whispers against Cas’s mouth, sliding his hand into Cas’s hair and gripping tight. Cas lets out a hard breath that ends in the tiniest whimper and comes, hot between their bodies, and Dean bears down against Cas, rubbing it into their skin. When Dean comes deep inside Cas it’s almost an afterthought, a coda, but for some reason he’s shaking, anyway. Cas draws him down and tucks Dean’s head under his chin. His breaths are racing and he can’t calm them.
Cas’s blue vest is crumped in the space between the two front seats.
“You’re human,” Dean says into the damp stillness of the air, “but you’re still saving me.”
Cas strokes his hand through Dean’s hair, and doesn’t say anything for a long time. When he finally speaks again, he says, “You can take me back to the store in the morning.”
Dean thinks maybe he’s supposed to say thank you, or I’m sorry. He kisses the bare skin of Cas’s shoulder instead, and doesn’t say anything at all.
When the sun comes up, they crawl out of the backseat. Cas puts his blue vest back on. It’s wrinkled. He guesses he’s supposed to give Cas up again, now.
"I’ll drop you off," Dean says, and starts the car.