Summary: Post-Apocalypse. Sam needs to get laid. Dean really needs to get laid. Cas is confused. This promises to end badly…for Sam. And Bobby.

Rating: Strong M.

Pairing: Dean/Castiel.

Warnings: Boy-on-boy action. LEMON. Some sadness because Dean is good at being angsty and Sam is an emo. Numerous kinks including first time, tie, wing, handprint, hipbone, hair pulling, bloodplay, dominant!Dean submissive!Cas and vice versa, window shattering, and maybe more. Excessive use of italics. Basically, this is porn. Long, drawn-out porn. I suppose PWP.

Disclaimer: If I was Eric Kripke, Dean and Castiel would be sooo getting it on already. They aren't, ergo I'm not Kripke.

Disclaimer 2: Title taken from Beatles' song.

It all starts with Sam.

The man comes home, sleeps like the dead for three days, sprawled like an oversized St. Bernard puppy on the armchair near the crackling fire. It is calm and quiet for three days while Dean tries to process that they had actually won. They'd beat Lucifer—killed the son of a bitch—and won.

Fucking won.

And then, Sam wakes up. It is girly Sam at first, all happy and joyful and chick flick-y that they'd won and he hadn't had to say yes to Lucifer.

Then he gets weepy and all look-dean-I'm-sorry-I-started-the-apocalypse blah blah blah and Dean about punches him because Sammy, we won! Shut the fuck up!

But he wouldn't stop talking or moving or fidgeting. It puts Dean on edge, makes him grind his teeth 'til he's had enough.

"Sammy." Sam looks up and reflexively catches the item Dean has tossed. Car keys. To the Impala. He shoots Dean a questioning look.

"Get out, go get laid. You're driving me crazy."

"But Dean—"

"Dude, even a chick like you needs to get laid sometime. And you need it now." Sam rolls his eyes.

"Bitch."

"Jerk," Dean calls out as Sam leaves, slamming the door in the process. Typical Sam.

Bobby pokes his head into the room. "Will you two idjits try not the break my house, especially while I'm gone?"

Dean smirks, "I'll be sure to let Sam know." Bobby rolls his eyes and mutters something about overgrown lazy bastards and walks outside, starting his truck and driving off.

Dean turns around and runs a hand through his hair, his green eyes surveying the empty house. He sighs, feeling restless. He could use a beer and a girl right about now. Why the hell did he let Sam take the Impala, again?

Eventually, he falls asleep in the exact same position as Sam's comatose body had been for the past three days.

Hey, saving the world takes a lot out of a guy.

He dreams of solemn blue eyes and tousled black hair and wakes up hard. Fuck. If this is what he had come to dreaming about in order to get some release, then he really needs to get laid.

"Dean."

Speak of the devil. (Ha ha ha…)

"Cas, this really isn't a good time." Castiel tilts his head, his black hair fanning his face. Dean bites his lip and grabs a pillow frantically.

"I came to apologize, Dean."

Dean barks a short, emotionless laugh. "For what, Cas? You got your damn victory, your angel mojo, your Grace back, your brothers back. What's to apologize for? It's not like you did anything wrong except leave us when we were at our worst."

When I needed you most.

Cas blinks, eyes wide and guileless and so impossibly blue. He opens his mouth, but Dean is far from done. Pillow forgotten, he glares at Castiel, standing up. "It wasn't exactly easy, you know. I had the whole freaking world on my back, Sam was dangerously close to picking up his blood-drinking habit and, goddamnit Cas, you dragged me up from Hell, the least you could do is be there for me." He glared, hands clenched, body tight.

The angel in question bristles, steps into Dean's personal space, and says in a cold voice, "As you said, Dean, I raised you from Hell. What else do you want me to do?"

Dean's eyes narrow, "Don't pull that angelic emotionless bullshit on me, Cas. Not you too. Just 'cause you got accepted back into that Angel country club doesn't mean you can turn a dick on me. " He pushes Cas angrily against the wall. "Got it, Castiel?"

Obsequious and repentant, Cas lowers his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean," he says softly. Dean licks his lips, unsure of what to do, and becomes aware of their position and what it is doing to him. Cas' eyes widen. Shit.

"In my defense, however, I did pull you up and raise you from perdition," he says in that same solemn voice. Dean growls and lunges at the angel, his fist swinging wildly. Before it can connect to his face, Cas catches it with one hand, eyes cool and emotionless, face inches from Dean's.

Dean snarls, panting, his hand still caught in Cas'. He tries to move, the tension in the room like a wild animal, threatening to burst its cage.

They are trapped in one of those intenser-than-thou gazes, making him want to squirm, trying to find any emotion at all in those fathomless blue eyes.

Suddenly, Dean's emerald eyes flash, and he presses forward, his lips connecting to the angel's.

He doesn't know why he did it. Maybe it was to finally elicit some reaction from the angel or maybe because he had just wanted to do that all along. He really doesn't know. All he knows now is that Cas' lips are soft and he jerks and stiffens, the grip on Dean's clenched hand loosening. Dean fists his newly freed hand into Cas' shirt and presses forward, flattening the angel more firmly against the wall. Then he stops, finally realizing that Cas isn't moving.

His face burns at he makes to pull back but suddenly he feels pressure on his neck and lips moving and he just about loses it because Cas is kissing him back.

Castiel, the fucking Angel of the Lord, is kissing him back.

They kiss like teenagers on a first date, awkward and tentative, all lips and saliva, and then suddenly turns from PG to fucking R in about two seconds and there's the erotic fiery battle of the tongues, and Dean's dizzy from Cas' heady aroma, as inexplicable and indefinable as the angel himself. His hands card their way through Cas' tousled black hair, already windswept and he suddenly can't wait to see Cas after this, all wrecked and bed-headed. And there must be something wrong with him because it must be blasphemy to want to do this to an angel, to want to make him fidget and moan and scream and lose control.

He pulls back slightly to catch his breath, their mouths still close enough to share air and he looks at Cas with his wild hair, swollen lips, and dilated eyes and almost dies right there. The crackling electricity pulsates around them, and Cas pants and opens his mouth and Dean kisses him, taking full advantage of the open mouth. A low sound vibrates through Cas' throat and he moans softly when Dean bites Cas' full lower lip, and dear Jesus, he can't stop the horrible embarrassing groan from ripping from his throat 'cause, yeah, he's had his fair share of everyone—his looks too pretty to simply settle on one gender—but this is incredible and unlike anything he has ever felt before in his entire miserable fucking life.

Dean finally moves his mouth to other much-needed-to-be-kissed skin, leaving Castiel shaking and gasping, his trembling fingers gripping Dean's hair.

"D-dean, I…" He stammers wildly as Dean pushes the ugly trench coat off and unbuttons part of his shirt, kissing the skin on his neck.

"Shh," Dean whispers as he licks the jumping skin, softly biting the pulse point beating wildly at the contact. Castiel hisses, tilting his head back, his hands balled into fists as he tries to control himself.

"But, Dean—"

"Shut up, Cas." And Dean bites his collarbone hard and Castiel loses all coherent thought, just the here and now of this moment washing over him like a heat wave.

And now Dean is fumbling with the tie but he can't get it loosened, and in all reality, Cas realizes he could just get rid of it himself but he's having too much fun watching Dean struggle, his jade eyes gleaming, his tongue slightly sticking out. The spot of pink drives Castiel crazy and he pushes forward to press against Dean's kiss-swollen lips, and for a moment there's no pressure on Cas' tie, just the sensation of Dean, and all Dean, wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

But then the pressure is back and Dean makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat, huffing and just staring straight at Castiel, grabbing the tie and pulling him toward the bed, leading him like a gorgeous puppy dog on a leash.

Dean turns around looking Cas dead in the eyes and yanks the tie, flipping Cas over onto the bed, and holy fucking God they're actually doing this. He fumbles more with the tie before Castiel gently pries his fingers off and disentangles the tie from himself, winding it around his hand and holding it out to Dean. Dean looks at the tie wounded around Cas' fingers and briefly imagines the angel tied to the bedposts, crying out in ecstasy before taking the tie from him and smirking softly.

"Maybe another time," he murmurs quietly, tossing the tie away and attacking the shirt. His mouth is again on the angel's collarbone, slowly working its way down, while Dean's deft fingers unbutton the now-wrinkled dress shirt. His fingers are splayed on Cas' rapidly moving chest and Cas groans at the contact, breathing harshly through his teeth, his eyes black ringed thinly a drowning blue that Dean is falling into fast. The shirt is open and Dean sits up, straddling Castiel's waist, running his fingers languidly down Castiel's chest, the muscles contracting at each touch. Castiel is breathing rapidly and squirming underneath Dean, eyes closed and kiss-swollen lips open, and Dean is hard as a fucking rock at the fact that calm, stoic Cas is coming apart at seams because of what Dean is doing to him.

Dean bends forward and begins to thoroughly ravish his angel, licking and biting his way down. He reaches a nipple and bites it and Cas keens, arching up into Dean, his eyes wide open, pupils shot. Dean smiles in Cas' skin and palms the other nipple until the angel is a complete and shuddering wreck under him. By then Castiel's shirt is all the way off and he decides that Dean's wearing far too much clothing for his liking and manages with shaking fingers to pull his shirt off, his bumbling fingers accidently brushing the handprint on his shoulder.

Dean's reaction is fascinating.

Curious, Cas brushes feather-light fingers over the mark again, and again, and again, until Dean is as wrecked as he is, shaking and holding himself up by splayed hands on the angel's chest. Castiel huffs, wriggling as he yearns to gain more friction, and this may be sinning but this is the closest to heaven he's gotten in a long time, and he'd be damned not to enjoy it. And Castiel's not sure if some of Dean's masochistic tendencies have rubbed off on him because what Dean is doing with his teeth hurts and pleasures simultaneously and he's about to explode.

Dean is smirking against Cas' skin, his tongue and teeth getting lower and lower, tracing the contours of this heavenly body, and really who knew corrupting an angel of the Lord could be this much fun. When Dean gets to Castiel's ribs, he scrapes his teeth gently across the sides and feels more squirming than usual and a huff of breath on his neck. He does it again and the same thing happens and with a start he realizes Castiel is laughing and he wants to grin so hard his face breaks because his angel is ticklish and how adorable is that?

"Dean!" Castiel squeaks, still trying to squirm away from Dean's teeth, and this time Dean laughs because he hasn't been this happy in forever and the fact that it's Castiel making him this giddy like a love-struck teenager is ridiculous and absurd and altogether the best thing that's ever happened to him. He feels high because he's so happy and isn't that sad that it's such a foreign feeling to him?

"Dean," Cas hisses because now Dean has drifted lower, his tongue dipping into the waistband of his pants and Cas is bucking his hips up and groaning, his hands fisting in the sheets helplessly. Dean's eyes gleam and he unbuttons the dress pants and slides them down as Castiel kicks them off. He turns to survey Castiel through hooded eyes, now just clad in his low-riding boxers. Castiel looks at him, eyes wide and blue and innocent and just fucking gorgeous he can't stand it, his black hair sticking up in all directions and his chest heaving. His toned stomach (not as toned as Dean's but his comes from a lifetime of hunting, which he's pretty sure Jimmy never had,) clenches as Dean's fingers trail down. He slides his body down lower and licks his way down, dipping his tongue into Cas' belly button which earns an incredibly interesting sound from the angel.

Suddenly, he breaks off because good God those hipbones. He nearly gets a nosebleed and he has to stop, breathing hard. I mean Jesus Christ they're just hipbones but God are they hipbones. They jut out and curve sharply on his narrow waist and he wants to lick and bite and do obscenely dirty things to them. He smirks realizing he can and bends down to work a hickey on the sharp edge and Cas gives another high keening sound, bucking sharply, his fingers jerking at Dean's short hair.

"Dean, please," he gasps out, his fingers tugging Dean's head lower, and Dean's fingers are guiding those boxers down. In a flash, Castiel's clothes are gone and he's left open, vulnerable, trembling, eyes dark and needy, teeth bared in a snarl completely not angelic. And suddenly Dean is there, licking his way up Cas' legs, biting a hickey on the inside of his thigh; Cas is moaning and whimpering and Dean is so hard his jeans might rip.

"Dean," and his name sounds like a curse, voice rough and hoarse, spit out in his face and Dean chuckles slightly before taking in Castiel, tongue swirling lightly over the head, and Cas practically floats his arch is so high and groan so loud. Dean stops, his eat-shit grin grating on Castiel's nerves and Cas stands and grabs Dean by the hair, his eyes so dark he looks like a demon and that scares Dean a little but also excites him a lot at the same time as he jerks his hair from Cas' grasp and pushes him against the wall, taking him in again, this time all the way, painting a pretty pattern with his tongue in a deadly combination and Cas is shaking and trembling and groaning and fuck Dean's about to cream his pants. He grinds and jerks into Dean and Dean grins around Cas' length, looking up at him from under his lashes.

What he sees literally takes his breath away.

Castiel is tensed and tight and he's caught him with his pink mouth open, blue eyes half-lidded and dark, a suicidal kind of love burning in them, black hair fanning wildly around his face.

He looks absolutely breathtaking.

Suddenly, Dean scrapes his teeth against Castiel's length, dragging them down and up and he looks up to see Cas' eyes wide open and very bright blue and mouth wide open and so, so red. The angel tenses and comes with a hoarse cry and Dean's name on those swollen lips, and Dean takes it all in, licking and swallowing, drinking everything that is Castiel up in him.

Before he can even process what has happened, Castiel brings him up and kisses him, open-mouthed and needy, and then tosses him on the bed, looking every inch the avenging blissed-out angel he can be.

"You, are wearing too much clothes," Castiel rasps, his dark eyes raking Dean's body, settling on the bulge in Dean's jeans. Dean squirms, jade eyes widening at the authoritative tone. Dean blinks, and suddenly the clothes are gone. He pouts.

"Not fair, Cas." Castiel smiles enigmatically.

"We are playing by my rules now." And Dean definitely did not shiver at that tone, and it definitely didn't make his cock stand up higher. Not at all.

Before he can blink, Castiel is straddling Dean, licking and biting and tracing his way down his body, and Dean is a shivering, gasping wreck. Castiel full-out smirks, pressing his hand fully on Dean's handprinted scar, and Dean shoots off the bed, arching so high it looks as if he'll snap, and his eyes darken so there's the thinnest line of the purest green surrounding them. Dean gasps at the white-hot electricity coursing through his body at the touch of Cas' hand, and he almost comes then, but just barely manages to hold on.

Suddenly, the weight is shifted and he looks up and Cas is gone and then back in the blink of an eye and he's holding up a knife, gleaming in the light. Dean's eyes narrow as the angel stares dead into Dean's eyes and swipes the knife down his forearm. Dean lets out a strangled gasp, halfway between fear and curiousity and heat as he watches the bright drip of blood run down Cas' creamy white arm. Castiel takes his fingers and smears them with the red liquid and starts marking Dean, the cold liquid shocking his heated skin.

Dean's not usually into bloodplay--Sam's got that covered--but this, this complicated pattern-drawing on his oversensitive skin almost sends him over the edge, and he wants to take Castiel's arm and lick, lick the blood off, and then lick his way down Cas' body again. Finally, after a few more intense moments where he isn't sure if he can hold out or not, he gives into temptation and grabs Cas' hand and lick, licks the blood off his fingers, soaking the digits in his saliva. Cas breathes heavily, and allows Dean to lick him clean and grab his forearm and lick, lick that too. Once he's satisfied, he flops down the bed and stares invitingly into Cas' dilated pupils.

Castiel bends down, licking the blood patterns he's made and Dean squirms because fuck, he's licking in the same exact fucking pattern as he marked him. He's pretty sure he's gonna explode, and another horribly embarrassing whimper breaks through his lips, and he feels Cas' lips turn up on his inner thigh, the hickey he's marked him with blooming a vibrant purple.

Suddenly, he feels himself being lifted and thrown into the wall, Castiel's angelic strength taking the breath from his body. His angel lowers himself onto his knees and goddamnit, he looks like he's praying with those blue eyes looking up so beseechingly, and the fact that he can bring an Angel of the Lord to his knees is enough to knock the wind out of him again.

And without warning, Castiel takes all of him in, and Dean's eyes roll back into his head and he grabs his angel's already mussed hair, holding on for dear life. He doesn't know where Castiel learned to do this because Christ isn't he a virgin? but Dean's not complaining, as Cas can probably tell with the shuddering moans that he no longer feels shame about ripping out of him.

"Fuck, Cas," and he tugs at the angel's dark hair, long satiny tendrils snaking their way out of his hands. There's a muffled sound and Cas' eyes fly wide open and there's a sudden explosion and suddenly there's two fucking gigantic wings protruding from his back.

And, basically, that's enough to make Dean come, his eyes rolling back, his mouth screaming and forming something along the lines of Cas, and a white explosion of ecstasy rips through his mind. He feels like he's floating, or flying or something because this is what heaven must look like, all white and blissful and happy.

He slides down on the ground and opens his eyes, and there's poor Castiel, his ebony black wings still out and his dick still hard (again). He looks proud but in pain, like seeing himself reduce Dean to this blubbering mass of pleasure is the best thing in the world, but right now he's also got a bit of a problem. Dean smiles, wide and Cheshire-cat-like, steps, or crawls, his legs too shaky to hold himself up, to the angel and he starts threading his fingers through those huge, massive, beautiful wings.

And Castiel is shaking and moaning again and what the fuck he's hard again and damn angel couldn't he get a break? But the wings are so soft and Cas' sounds are so shaky and lusty that all he cares about is hearing them over and over again. He licks the wings and bites the fragile bone, the ebony black fading to startling silver near the edges, and Cas purrs like a cat, back arching, wings flapping slightly.

He keeps his hands on Cas' wings, threading his fingers through the feathers, as he turns his angel around and kisses him open-mouthed and filthy on the lips. Cas groans into his mouth and then Dean bites Cas bottom lip again, hard, and Cas arches his back, eyes closed, presses his hand against Dean's handprint, and Dean's sent again into a blinding white ecstasy, and closes his eyes, seeing white and stares and heat. He hears Cas' scream, and the painful pleasure of the whiteness takes over him again, leaving him floating and peaceful 'til he knows nothing more.

~*~

Sam slams the door of the Impala, humming and spinning the keys. It's early morning and he's happy and content, his sex drive filled, thoughts of Lucifer banished. He stops at the front door of the house about to open the door when he hears crunching underneath his feet. He looks down, curious.

Broken glass. Immediately, he glances up and sees the shattered windows throughout the house, and he goes into panic-mode, and rushes through the door crushing glass with his big feet, taking two stairs at a time to Dean's room.

Suddenly, he stops and opens the slightly ajar door slowly and quietly.

There are Cas and Dean, entwined together on the bed, sheets twisted around them, and the room looking pretty much destroyed.

Holy shit.

What the fuck.

Oh, my God.

He hears Bobby's truck come in and park, the engine quieting quickly.

He hears the curse of his as he opens the door and trips over broken glass.

"Hey, didn't I tell you two idjits to not break my house while I was gone?!"

Swallowing, he turns to look at the bed, and starts when he sees one pair of blue eyes and one pair of green eyes staring straight back at him, with two of the most shit-eating grins he has ever seen.

A/N: So, I realize the bloodplay might be a turn off for many people...but this is the fanfiction that made me realize how completely ridiculously hot it was: fanfiction(dot)net/s/5117945/1/Blood

And, you know, watching "Lucifer Rising" twenty or so times helped too.

Reviews are like getting Misha, Jensen, and Jared as my birthday gifts :)