WHY IS THIS SITE MADE OF SUCH FAIL.

I'm having issues, as you might guess.

Side note: For those who might not know, a TA is a teaching assistant. It tends to be an older student who's taken the class before. They do all the boring teaching work like grading tests and whatnot. They're vital in college, where classes reach the hundreds, and it isn't uncommon for students to know the TA better than the professor. One of my college professors once told me she would have gone into medical school and become a doctor if God hadn't invented TAs.

"Yeah," Dean says, because he can't think of any graceful way to respond to this… offer. "Yeah, I'll think about it. I'm just gonna…" He gestures towards the door to his apartment. So close.

The woman in front of him- and she is a looker, with legs that don't want to end and amazing green eyes- smiles at him as she turns away. And God damn, but once upon a time Dean would have followed her without hesitation.

This time, he flees to safety.

Castiel is there, naturally, and sticks his nose in the bags Dean's carrying before he even has them set on the counter. He fishes around for a moment, then produces the three-pack of highlighters- these days Dean doesn't even need to ask if they're needed, and most times can't even remember picking them up when he sees the cashier ringing them up at checkout- and turns to wander away. Dean's too used to it to be bothered by the dismissal, and instead tails after him.

"Hey, have you ever met the neighbor?" he asks, twice when it seems Castiel didn't hear the first try.

"Which one?" comes the distracted reply.

"Brunette, long legs-"

"Alicia," Castiel says, far too easily for Dean's liking. It took him three months to remember Ellen's name, but slutty neighbor Alicia he recognizes after half a description.

"Yeah. Kinda hot, huh?"

Castiel gives Dean a brief look. "I suppose so."

"She invited us to a threesome," Dean says, point-blank, because by now all he wants is some sort of a reaction.

"I suppose that would be the next logical step," Castiel muses, taking a letter opener to the plastic container holding the highlighters. Meanwhile, Dean's brain seizes up, and it takes him about two minutes to fight out a response.

"The next logical step after what?" he demands, voice tight and strangled, and gets an unconcerned glance from Castiel.

"She has expressed interest in me before," he says.

"She came on to you," Dean translates flatly.

"Yes. I have always turned her down. Last time, I reminded her about you."

"Thus leading to the next logical step." Dean rubs a hand over his face, turns away briefly. "Inviting me to the party. And people say romance is dead."

"I doubt romance has much to do with it," Castiel says, and Dean looks at him, really looks. He's sitting on the floor, barefoot and cross-legged, in a sea of papers. There's highlighter ink staining his fingertips and a long yellow line along one wrist from what Dean can only assume was a rebellious marker moment. He's wearing ratty old jeans with the hems reduced to frayed threads and the inner thighs worn away to almost nothing and a simple grey t-shirt that had most likely been Dean's before ninja clothes thief Castiel had stolen it. His hair looks like it hasn't met a brush in a week, and he's even more scruffy than normal. Dean really does love the guy, but yeah- romance probably took one look at him and excused itself so it could go laugh hysterically in the hallway.

Then Dean pictures Alicia's long legs wrapped around Castiel's waist, her nails scoring his back, and instantly the humor dies. He remembers the first time he'd seen those blue eyes, heard that rough voice wrapping around his name, that gut-punch of instant need that hasn't lost a single spark of intensity for all it's been nine years since he first felt it.

There have been others, in those years that Dean wasted. He doesn't know much about them, doesn't want to, but he does know that Castiel did not spend every night alone, waiting for Dean to roll back into town. But Dean doesn't know them, and as far as he's concerned, Castiel has only ever been his.

In three strides Dean is beside him, reaches down and hauls Castiel to his feet and against him, his back to Dean's chest. Castiel makes a surprised noise but Dean holds him there, one arm wrapped tight around his waist to keep him trapped.

"How long has she been expressing interest in you?" Dean asks casually. He can feel Castiel shiver every time his breath brushes over Castiel's ear.

"Since I moved in," Castiel answers, leaning back into Dean.

"She's been hitting on you for over a year and you never bothered to tell me?" It's a bit surreal, really. Dean has seen a few of Castiel's students flirt with him, or rather, try to. This woman must be subtle as a sledgehammer. Somehow, the question gets misinterpreted, and Castiel goes rigid.

"I am perfectly capable of telling her no without your assistance," he says stiffly, and oh yeah, he's mad. Fortunately, this isn't one of those times where Dean has to play Guess What You Did Wrong This Time.

"I know," he says, and presses a kiss against Castiel's neck. "I know. I trust you." Apparently, it's the right thing to say. After a moment to judge Dean's words, Castiel abruptly relaxes back against him, even tilts his head a little to allow better access. "I just don't trust her. I mean, she hasn't taken the hint after this long, she isn't going to. And her next logical step may be slipping you a roofie."

He highly doubts it- he got the 'interested and open-minded' vibe from her, not 'obsessed and psychotic'. But Castiel is bad at reading people, and it scares him a little sometimes.

"Then I won't invite her over for coffee anytime soon," Castiel says, and Dean grins like he always does when Castiel gets sarcastic. "No, Dean," he adds as Dean tries to tug him towards the door. "I need to get this done."

Dean rests his chin on Castiel's shoulder and looks down at the mess at their feet. "Don't you have TAs for this?" he asks.

Two years ago, the only TA Dean had known had an 'and' in the middle. These days, the TA is one of the greatest ideas he's ever heard of. Last semester Dean had treated his favorite TA- that being the one who had solemnly promised Dean she would do her best to get Castiel home and focused on something other than work by a decent time every day- and her boyfriend to dinner at one of the swankiest restaurants in town.

"They don't do all the work. No, Dean," he repeats as Dean tugs more insistently, and Dean tucks his face against Castiel's shoulder to pout. He smells like coffee and printer ink and, very faintly, like Dean, because of the shirt.

Dean nips gently at the skin just above the collar, then again a little harder when he hears Castiel's breath catch. He slides a hand under Castiel's shirt- his shirt- and spreads his fingers over Castiel's stomach and catches Castiel's chin with the other hand, tilting his head to just the perfect angle, still focused on his neck. He can feel Castiel's breath hitching, can feel the noises he's holding back in his throat.

"Take a break," Dean advises. "You've got time." And he knows this, knows for a fact Castiel takes Dean's interruptions into account when scheduling his time.

"Fine," Castiel says, gracelessly, humoring him. Then Dean finds a sensitive spot and Castiel gasps. He finds it again and Castiel shudders, leans back into him.

"Ask nice," Dean orders, and catches a flash of blue as Castiel rolls his eyes.

"Dean, I-" he starts, then interrupts himself with a broken-sounding moan when Dean bites that spot, rolling his head to the side and collapsing against Dean so suddenly he staggers. He chuckles a bit.

"Close enough."

With Cassie, it had been make-up sex. With Lisa, it was lazy Sunday afternoons, where Ben was at a friend's house and they could take all the time they wanted with each other. With Castiel, it's whatever they want.

Right now Dean wants to get that image of Alicia and Castiel out of his head.

"Why are you wearing my shirt?" Dean asks, once they reach the bedroom- and that takes some skill, getting that far without allowing an inch of space between them- and collapse across the bed. He rolls the hem of the shirt between his fingers.

"I like it," Castiel says breathlessly, squirming a little as Dean uses his other hand to work Castiel's jeans down. "It's soft."

That it is. Dean skates his hands up Castiel's ribs, helps him get the shirt off, and gently places it aside rather than simply tossing it on the ground. Then he shifts back up to Castiel's neck, nipping and licking at that one spot, and the hands working on his clothes stutter to a halt. He's going to leave a mark, he knows, and somehow can't bring himself to care.

"What would you have done if I'd said yes to Alicia?" he asks, tracing his fingertips over the abused skin, and Castiel actually laughs.

"It bothers you that much," he says.

"No," Dean denies instantly. He kisses the growing bruise in apology, because he knows it has to hurt by now. "Maybe."

And Castiel laughs again. Dean cuts him off by kissing him, fiercer than normal, and Castiel yields to him. He goes back to fighting with their clothes, breaking the kiss only long enough to take his shirt off.

"Glad you find it amusing," he says against Castiel's lips. Then he wraps his hands around Castiel's wrists, pinning them above his head. "Stay," he orders, and those big blue eyes blink at him. Still, when he lets go and moves away, Castiel does as ordered. Dean turns and gets the lube out of the bedside drawer. When he turns back, Castiel is watching him with anticipation in his eyes.

Castiel has always been up for just about anything- sex in his campus office is the big no-no, although Dean's still working on him about it- but there's nothing he likes better than simple, dirty sex, with Dean inside him, and Dean certainly has no complaints about that. He settles himself between Castiel's legs, then reaches up for a pillow and slides it under his hips.

"Remember," he says, holding Castiel's left hand down briefly as he kisses the bruise on Castiel's neck.

He slides into Castiel with little preparation. Castiel tenses briefly, face tight, but he nods when Dean starts to ask if he's all right and shifts his hips a bit, finding a more comfortable position. After a moment he breathes out again, which Dean takes as tacit permission to start moving. He rocks his hips, shallow little thrusts, trying to find the best angle, and knows he's found it when Castiel gives a sudden jerk and a sharp gasp.

Dean smiles a bit and rocks his hips again, another shallow thrust, and Castiel moans. His hands fist in the bedspread above his head, but they don't move, and Dean rewards him with longer, deeper strokes. After a moment Castiel hooks his legs around Dean's waist and that is just perfect, and Dean drives into him hard enough that Castiel cries out.

He settles into a rhythm, for a moment. Castiel squirms and pants and moans- he's one of the most vocal people Dean's ever slept with, even though he never says much. Then his right hand moves, an aborted motion, and Dean stops. He takes Castiel's hand and puts it back, holding both wrists with one hand. Castiel whines and twists, tightening his legs around Dean's waist in an attempt to get him moving again, but Dean waits.

"Don't move," he says to Castiel, who closes his eyes and nods. Dean keeps a hold of his wrists when he starts moving again and Castiel moans and arches up into him. Their mouths find each other, a long leisurely kiss, and Dean picks up the tempo a bit, Castiel trapped beneath him and encouraging him with noises swallowed by the kiss.

Then Castiel breaks away and puts his face against Dean's neck, panting. "Dean," he says, hoarse and broken and Dean loves that sound more than any other in the world. "Dean, please."

They're both so close Dean can taste it. He presses a kiss against Castiel's hair and reaches between them with his free hand. Castiel makes a noise like a half-strangled scream when Dean wraps his fingers around his cock, and bucks up off the mattress, and if anything the new angle is even better. Dean moans now and releases Castiel's hands to hold his hip, supporting the new position, and thrusts into him hard and fast.

They come at the same time, or close enough to it that Dean can't tell the difference.

After a while, when the after-sex glow is wearing off and Dean is contemplating getting up, he glances over and sees Castiel tentatively touching the bruise on his neck.

"Sorry about that," Dean offers. Castiel gives him an unconvinced look.

"Are you?" he asks, and Dean smirks.

"Nah, not really." He smiles at the ceiling. "It was that or write my name on you with a highlighter."

"Please don't," Castiel says, sounding pained by the idea. After a long moment he rolls over and regards Dean. "Why do Alicia's advances bother you so much?"

"Jealousy, Castiel," Dean answers. "One of those irrational human emotions you don't ever seem to have to deal with."

"You have nothing to be jealous of, Dean," he says, and Dean feels a disgustingly maudlin warmth spread through his chest. He pulls Castiel close, tucks an arm under his shoulder and tangles their legs together. It's comfortable and familiar and Dean can't imagine trading it for anything. Certainly not for a cold empty motel bed and another thousand miles on the Impala's odometer.

"She scares you, huh?" he asks, amused despite himself, and Castiel tenses.

"She does not scare me," he snaps, all righteous indignation, and Dean chuckles. Strong, self-confident women, Castiel has no issue with. Strong, self-confident women who are interested in him evoke a quiet, wide-eyed panic. The memory of the one time Dean had seen it still has the power to make him laugh.

"You seem oddly confident in me," he says. "Most people would think, I'm me, she's a hot chick…"

"You said you were staying forever," Castiel replies steadily. "It was the first promise you ever made me."

Dean instantly starts racking his memory, trying to find if he's right. As he does so, Castiel rolls away and gets up, picking up his clothes- well, his jeans and Dean's shirt. He pads out of the room, off to go back to whatever he'd been doing. Dean gets up a few minutes later and pulls on a pair of pants, heads into the kitchen to get himself some coffee. Then he heads back into the home office to watch Castiel try to understand his students, always an entertaining pastime.

Three months later, Dean gathers up a few important things, tosses them into his car, and starts driving. The 'where' doesn't matter, although he's thinking one of the Plains states, because he really wants to roll down his windows and start singing and those flat open roads are made for that. He'll be back before August, that's all that matters.

Castiel, stuck in the passenger seat, complains about what basically amounts to a kidnapping, and twitches at Dean's choice of music, and stares at his truck stop burger like he's afraid it's going to eat him instead of the other way around. They find out the hard way he can't read a map to save his own life. They get kicked out of a hotel after nearly give some little old lady a heart attack when she tries to get on the wrong elevator.

They're back before August, like Dean promised. It's two months before Dean can coax Castiel anywhere near his car, for fear of Dean just taking off with him again.

The following summer, they do it again.

finis