Spoilers: Up to the 6x22.

Warnings: Explicit M/M sex.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine and I do this just for fun.

A/N: I had a good plot for this, but then I thought it'd be interesting to add some porn to the mix... somewhere along the way all what was left was the porn.

English is not my native language and this is un-betaed, so read at your own risk.

Tide of memories

Dean knows he's dreaming. He knows the warm sunlight bathing his face isn't real, that his brother next to him is as faked as the cirrus clouds dancing along with the wind high in the golden, twilight sky, or as the anticipation and terror creeping up from his gut. He knows the little bird twisting next to his boot on the ground isn't more than a crazy machination of his mind, and even though, he bends down to pick the damaged creature. He examines it as it flaps its broken appendages frenetically in a pathetic attempt to fly away from his palm. Its wings are of a beautiful deep blue with a dash of black around the edges, and for some reason that meaningless fact pains him, angers him, conflicts him. He wants to close his fist around it and put a quick end to its misery, to protect himself from it, because he can't fix it anymore, because it is broken. He wants to keep it close and look after it. He glances at Sam with questioning eyes, but Sam is lost in thought, smiling sadly, knowingly. Then they are on fire and everything mingles in a blur of blood, sharp metal and sulfur.

Dean wakes with an uneven breathing and his brow damp with sweat. In that first second of awareness he takes in the light soreness of his back, the soft and steady snores coming from Sam's bed and the rhythmic tapping of the raindrops on the roof. He cards his fingers through his hair and breathes in and out as slowly as he can. When that isn't enough he takes off his blanket, swings his legs off the bed and plants his bare feet on the carpet. Dean puts his elbows on his knees and half-buries his face in his hands for a moment before he stands up. He pads his way to the kitchenette, rummages through the fridge for a beer and finally retrieves his arm with the last brown bottle in his hand. He uncaps it, and when it is an inch away from his lips he notices the ugly stain on the ceiling is leaking. Drop after drop falling to the floor, right next to their duffels. Dean sighs and crosses the room to carefully kick their things away. Then he walks to the front window and moves aside the sickly pink curtain to make sure water hasn't seeped in and melted the salt line in there. He peeps out to the motel parking lot and sees the huge puddles decorating the place. It's been raining for a while.

Dean shakes the beer in his hand as he leans his head against the wall and allows himself a minute to get lost in the lullaby playing in the background, in the myriad of falling needles that shine against the circles of light around the street lamps. He liked to watch the rain.

He immediately makes a conscious effort to stop that train of thought. He tries frenetically to stop his name from forming in his mind, because it brings him back. It brings everything back, and he's too tired for that right now. But it's too late and he's already summoning his memory. He's already thinking about Cas.

He always thinks about him as Cas. He doesn't know why. He doesn't realize it was by removing those four letters of his name how he first snatched him away from God and heaven, how he first took away his holiness, downgraded him to his level and brought him closer.

He gulps down the first swing of his beer as all the thoughts he feared come rushing to his mind, and like the waves of the raindrops on the puddles outside, they grow larger and larger until they occupy all of it and he can't think about anything else.

He thinks of holy fire and unsaid words, of Superman going to the dark side, of Ben's expression while he saw his mom bled out, and of Sam crumbling to the ground after a touch of fingers. He thinks of tired blue eyes, of a grave voice begging for his trust, and of their mirrored sadness when they both knew it was too late. He thinks of the many jokes Cas never understood and of another rainy night; one before the world didn't end.

When Dean came out of the bathroom with a dried pair of jeans on Cas was still standing next to the window, looking outside, with his wet hair plastered against his face. He was drenched to the marrow and his clothes were dripping water all over the place, but he seemed to ignore that on purpose. Maybe because if things were as they were supposed to be it shouldn't have mattered. He looked as lost as Dean felt. He bit back the snarky comment forming on the tip of his tongue and fetched another towel, but instead of handing it to Cas he walked towards him, driven by a strange impulse, and dried his head himself despite his protests. When he was done Cas's hair spiked in all directions, messier than ever, and Dean's reflection on the window glass smiled wide back at them until Cas succumbed to it and the corners of his lips twitched slightly upwards.

When those lips caressed his pulse in an uncertain kiss it was Dean's turn to submit. He exposed his neck and accepted the invitation to have that something he hadn't let himself want.

He dried the rest of Cas's body with his own.

The soft press of the bottle head against his bottom lip triggers the memory of a different kind hardness resting there, but where he now feels freezing cold he back then felt only inviting warm. He's aware of his salivary glands working fast to get his mouth wet and ready, like if they didn't understand of time and lost. Dean tries to dismiss the thought, to regain control, and for a split second he does, until he breaths in again and it's the ghost of Cas's scent what invades his nostrils, overwhelming, intoxicating. His eyelids move down on his own volition and his tongue flickers against the slit of round glass, which his mind turns into one of sensitive tissue, to collect the glossy beads gathered in there.

He can almost hear the little, keening sounds of surprise from above him, and feel the trembling of the invisible thighs embracing his head as gives one kittenish lick after another. He uses the tip of his tongue to trace the crown of the other man's glans before he puts the whole head inside his mouth and begins to suck it in earnest. At the first broken call of his name he swallows him as far as he can, until he feels him pressing against the back of his throat and his nose tingles with the coarse hair covering his groin. At the feeling of blunt nails digging in his right shoulder he speeds-up the bobbing of his head. A deft swirl of tongue, a light tug to his balls, a gentle touch of teeth to his frenulum and the room echoes with a litany of Dean, Dean, Dean…

He feels the bitterness of barley and hops rasping his throat, where he should have tasted salty and alkaline.

A car passes by and Dean blinks as its lights drag him back to his reality. He snorts sourly and takes another drink.

He wants to force himself to be angry, and he does his best, but tonight it doesn't seem to be working. His mind fills with the image of his hand on Cas's shoulder while he told him to never change, it fills with his presence next to him while he cried silent tears on a hospital bed, with a quiet talk in a park and with the last glance they exchanged as Chuck's house shook with Raphael's rage.

Why did they never share a drink just for the sake of it?

He tightens his grip on the beer bottle when each nerve ending of his hands informs him they're mapping the plains of a stomach, massaging hard hipbones, and rubbing leg hair as they caress pale thighs. He can feel the sweat on the back of Cas's knees moisturizing the skin of his palms as he pushes them upwards to devour shamelessly the most hidden part of him.

Dean's Adam's apple moves up and down as he takes gulp after gulp of the amber liqueur and strides towards the kitchenette. At the same time he feels the pads of his fingers exploring Cas's insides, making him shudder each time he touches him there and his spent penis comes back to life. Dean's cock twitches and strains against the confines of his boxer briefs, and those long, stylish fingers are in his mouth again, and he licks them properly before he guides them down so they tease and breach the stubborn rim of muscle along with his own digits. He feels the first viscous drop of precome oozing from the tip of his cock.

Dean puts downs the empty bottle on the small countertop, louder than he intended, and Sam grunts from his bed. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and curses himself because in his head it is Cas's mouth against his, and now he's swallowing his little sounds of discomfort as the warmth of his body slides down into him with a slow, maddening pace, squeezing him tight, and his spit slick hand works between them to help the other man's erection to go through the initial sting of pain.

The first tiny, sinuous movement of his hips and Dean leads to the bathroom. By the time he reaches the doorknob he's barely resisting the onslaught of Cas's body as his strong, fibrous legs brings him up and down on him mercilessly.

He closes the door behind him and turns on the light. He looks at the mirror and grips the edges of the sink hard as he mentally chastises himself.

His mind begins to clear and puts in place the line between the present and the past, but then his memories howl in rage and attack again with ferocity. Even if now he's managed to reduce them to what they really are, to simple memories, it doesn't take long before their tide overcomes his precarious dam and he begins to drown when he can't help remembering.

He remembers the squeaking of the mattress when he tumbled Cas on his back and he knelt on the bed. He remembers manhandling his friend until his calves rested on his shoulders and the engorged head of his cock was poking at his entrance. He remembers his predatory grin, the way they locked eyes before he rammed back in and a loud groan escaped the other man's lips, and the way Cas arched his back and his hands twisted in the sheets. He remembers using a hand to guide one of Cas's feet to his mouth as he rocked his hips back and forth in a shallow, slow motion. He remembers kissing his heel, biting it softly, scraping his teeth along the skin there, licking the bridge of his foot and tracing random patterns as his tongue travelled upwards and he increased the speed of his thrusts. He remembers the sweat shedding from his forehead and the pretty shade of red coloring Cas's chest and neck. He remembers how he looked at him while Dean's tongue coated his little toe with saliva and moved to worship the next one as he pistoned his hips as hard and fast as he could. He remembers how the debauched moans he elicited whenever he brushed Cas's prostate accompanied the obscene symphony of their flesh slapping.

Dean remembers when Cas's wet toes curled tight, against his cheek, and the pumping of the hand Cas had moved to stroke himself became erratic, when the delicious chant of his name reached his ears again, just before the warmth surrounding him gripped him tighter and one blast of semen after another garnished Cas's torso with random whitish splashes and strips, and his body went boneless and pliant as he continued to fuck into it.

He remembers bending forward to kiss Cas's panting mouth and being ambushed by a hungry tongue and restless teeth, by blunt nails burying in his buttocks and by a curious finger that breached the resistance of his body and settled knuckle deep inside him. He remembers his orgasm hitting him then, his sounds being muffled by soft lips, the shaking of his legs and the firm arms folding around him.

Dean scowls at his mirrored-self and turns on the sink tap, splashes cold water on his face and tries to put his heartbeat under control. He breathes out heavily and waits for a minute or two before he slides his left hand inside his sweatpants with detachment. He hisses softly when the cold skin of his palm makes contact with the warmer one of his groin. He lets it rest there for a moment and ignores the sticky feeling of the precome staining his underwear before he rearranges his member so that it doesn't tent the fabric so revealingly. Then he turns off the bathroom light and walks back to his bed.

Dean laces his fingers behind his head on the pillow and sighs. He closes his eyes and forces himself to focus on his breathing. He feels how his erection recedes slowly until it's finally gone, and he smiles an empty smile at his small victory. He reassures himself once more that it's okay, that it'll be okay. He's always been a good liar and he'll lie his way out of this too, he'll keep telling himself the same lies until they are not lies anymore. He can bury it all, forget it all.

He can, but in the lonely privacy of his mind a part of him confesses to the darkness that he doesn't want to.

His skin, his lips, his scent, they'll be replaced by new skins, and lips and scents. With time the mirage of that moment will fade into nothingness, he knows, but deep down that's not what matters.

He can let go the memory of his touch, but he wants to cling to the one of the guy who saved them dozens of times. He'll forget his pupils blown with lust but not the gentile eyes that made him feel he mattered. He'll forget the warmth of his body but not the angel who saw him at his worst and chose him over heaven. He doesn't want to forget the tilt of his head or the image of his face full of concern. He won't forget the many times he did what Dean asked nor the only time he didn't. He won't forget his lies and his betrayal as he won't forget his fierceness, his determination and his kindness. He won't forget his friend because he doesn't want to.

When he drifts back to sleep he dreams of large white clouds against a blue sky, he dreams of Sam walking along with him, and of something little and fragile tucked in his shirt pocket, pressed against his chest.

That's it. Sorry about any mistakes you may have found (ok, about all the mistakes I'm sure you've found). Please feel free to tell me if there is something too horrific in there and I'll fix it.

Thanks for reading and remember that comments are free and they make me happy.