A/N: Castiel loses his treasured ring, and Dean decides it's time to try something new.

Last part, guys. Thank you so very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this journey:)

XXX. The Seasons, Part 4: Fall

It's a few weeks before the beginning of the semester, and Dean's taking Cas out to dinner tonight—and as many more times as he can—because they won't have much free time once Cas gets busy with school.

"Hey, Cas! Hurry your ass up, we're gonna be late!" Dean calls, shrugging into his suit jacket.

He usually doesn't like dressing up to eat out, but once every now and then isn't so bad, and besides, Cas has managed to get Dean interested in the food at these fine restaurants, so tonight they're going to some stuck-up French place that Cas claims has really, really good food.

Cas emerges from the bedroom, and Dean turns around to usher him downstairs, except that he's not wearing his jacket, and he's holding his tie in his hand, and he looks genuinely upset in a way that he hardly ever does.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

"Have you seen my ring?"

Oh. Dean frowns. "What?"

"My ring, Dean. I can't find it. Have you seen it?"

"Uh, no—you lost it?"

Cas sighs. "I don't know how that's possible," he says. "I never take it off—I never need to. There's no way I could have left it anywhere, and it's never fallen off."

"Hey, it's okay. We'll turn the room over when we get back. I'm sure we'll find it," Dean says. He knows exactly where the ring is, but Cas isn't supposed to know yet. Cas doesn't look consoled by Dean's words, so Dean offers, "If it's really bothering you, you could take mine. They're identical, right?"

Cas shakes his head. "No, that one's yours—I couldn't possibly take it. I just… that ring meant a lot to me, and I don't understand how it could be missing."

"Cas, don't worry. We'll look for it when we get back. Now, we've gotta get going. We can't be more than fifteen minutes late for our reservation, and we're already running late," Dean says.

"Yes, of course," Cas says resignedly, slinging his tie around his neck and tying it haphazardly before heading for the stairs.

"Hey, hey," Dean says, backing up quickly and stopping Cas with two hands on his chest. He sighs and lifts his hands to the base of Cas's neck to fix the tie. "How the hell are you a professor?" he comments as he adjusts Cas's collar. "You don't even know how to dress yourself."

"That's what I have you for, isn't it?" Cas says, and Dean thinks he'll never get used to that warm, swooping sensation that happens whenever Cas says stupid shit like that.

He clears his throat and turns away to grab Cas's jacket from the back of the chair that it's draped over and then heads for the stairs. "C'mon, let's go," he says, but before he can reach the stairs, Cas's hand wraps around his, pulling him back around for a kiss.

"Hmm," Cas hums as they part. Then he smiles and says, "Now, we can go."

The restaurant is all dim lighting and candles on tables and really attentive waiters with stuck-up accents, and it figures that Cas would suggest this sort of place, knowing it would make Dean squirm. But the food is really friggin' amazing, more than enough to make up for the discomfort, and by the time they're halfway through the meal, Cas has already managed to talk Dean into planning another dinner here.

"I'd still rather have a beer, though," Dean says, putting down his wine glass.

"Beer is available if you would like it, sir," the waiter says, and closer to the beginning of the meal, Dean probably would have jumped, but he's gotten a little more used to the guy popping in and out randomly.

"Uh, that's fine. Maybe next time," Dean says, and his smile is just a bit uncomfortable.

The waiter—Pierre—bows and walks away swiftly, and Dean lets out a sigh. Cas opens his mouth as if to comment, but he's interrupted by a man clapping him on the shoulder.

"Cas, hey!" the guy says.

"Mark," Cas says, smiling warmly, and Dean judges from Cas's reaction that this is a friend of his. "This is Dean—I've told you about him. Dean, Mark."

"Nice to finally meet you," Mark says, stepping forward to extend a hand.

"Uh, can't say the same," Dean answers, shaking Mark's hand. "Cas hasn't mentioned you before."

"Oh, I'm hurt," Mark says, mock-pouting. But he flashes a grin in Cas's direction and says, "It's been such a long time. Y'know, I think I could use a good pounding. Dean, you're a lucky guy."

Dean's just started to lift the wine glass to his mouth, and he's really fucking grateful he hadn't taken a sip yet, because he thinks he probably would've choked on it in surprise. He catches himself with a light cough instead and manages, "That's me, all luck."

Mark smiles at Dean and then back at Cas. "Well, I'd better get back to my friend now, so… I'll see you at work in a few weeks, yeah?"

"Of course," Cas responds.

"Bye, Dean. It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, pleasure was all mine," Dean answers reflexively. He watches Mark walk away and then raises his eyebrows at Cas.

"In most of my sexual encounters, I topped," Cas explains nonchalantly, like this is any other piece of information about him, and Dean doesn't know how to react.

How is it possible that he's never even considered this before? Cas hasn't ever mentioned a preference before, and Dean's always just assumed that Cas likes taking it up the ass—well, of course he likes taking it up the ass, that much isn't under dispute—but Dean doesn't know whether Cas would rather be topping. Dean hasn't had anything up his ass before, other than that one time when Cas used his tongue, which—fuck, that had been as amazing as it was terrifying, and Dean had made it clear that he wasn't game for it.

"Oh," is all Dean says—he doesn't ask Cas whether he prefers topping, but it's a close thing. "So does Mark always talk to you about stuff like that?"

Cas chuckles. "No, not for years. We slept together a few times when we were… fourth year undergrads. But then we graduated, and he went off to Berkeley for their math graduate program. He was hired back here at the start of last semester."

"Hmm," Dean says, and it occurs to him that he doesn't know anything about the people Cas has slept with over the few years that he was sexually active, and it burns him to know that other people have shared a bed with Cas, that they got to him before Dean did.

And it's completely irrational—Dean's slept with his fair share of people, and hell, he actually dated two of Cas's close friends, so between Dean and Cas, if one of them has a right to be unhappy about the other's past, it's obviously Cas. Yet Dean can't shake that lingering dissatisfaction, the niggling thought that most of those guys experienced something with Cas that Dean has yet to do.

Except—he doesn't think he can do it. He's seen Cas's hole stretched around his, knows that it is physically possible, but Dean doesn't even want to imagine his own ass opening up around so much as a finger, let alone a dick.

"Dean?"

Dean blinks a few times and focuses on Cas. "Yeah?"

"What were you thinking about?" Cas asks, eyes squinting a little as he studies Dean.

"Uh, nothing."

"Doubtful," Cas answers, but he shakes his head and moves on, "Anyway, I was saying—I'm almost positive I told you about Mark. Perhaps not that I'd slept with him, but because he came back last semester."

Dean shakes his head, frowning. "I don't remember hearing about him."

"Well, he was the one who filed a claim against Heyerdahl halfway through last semester and got him put under review," Cas informs Dean. "Students have started coming forth with stories about the things he asked of them in exchange for grades."

"Uh huh. And I care about this guy, why?" Dean says.

Now it's Cas's turn to raise an eyebrow at Dean. "Right, well, he's just a bad man who's been working in the math department for a long time."

Dean is perfectly aware that Cas is letting him get away with pretending he doesn't remember Heyerdahl, because Dean remembers him, remembers the whole encounter, all too clearly. It was probably one of the only times when he ever felt unsafe, like he wouldn't be able to defend himself. It was a frighteningly vulnerable moment, and he doesn't think he'll ever forget it.

"I'm confident that he'll be fired, or at least forced to retire," Cas finishes with a satisfied look on his face. "Ordinarily I wouldn't wish that on another professor, but he deserves it. And more, probably, but I'll settle for having him lose his job."

"I trust your judgment," Dean says.

Then Pierre materializes beside the table and passes them dessert menus. He vanishes just as quickly, and Dean swears these waiters are magic-ing themselves around somehow.

"Before you ask, no, they don't serve pie here," Cas says, and Dean sighs.

"Aw, damn it."

One week passes by, and Dean still can't stop thinking about all the crap that Mark's comment brought up that night at dinner. He hasn't had the nerve to ask Cas because god, that'd be an awkward thing to bring up if Dean weren't ready to offer.

He lets another three days pass by, and then he tells himself he can't stall any longer.

So that night, when Cas strips them both down and pulls Dean into bed, Dean indulges himself in a few kisses before stopping and lifting away.

"Dean, what—"

"I uh, I want to try it the other way around tonight," Dean says.

Cas blinks up at him. "You don't mean…"

"Yeah," Dean says, trying to sound decisive.

Cas is frowning now, and he looks concerned, which… what? "Dean, it's okay," he says, lifting his head to press a kiss to Dean's lips. "You don't have to do this."

"I know, but I want to."

"It's been bothering you, hasn't it?" Cas continues as though Dean hadn't spoken. "What Mark said, I mean. Dean, I'm perfectly happy with the physical component of our relationship, so you don't need to force yourself to change on my behalf."

"That's not it, okay?" Dean says. Cas just looks at him skeptically, and Dean sighs. "Okay, so maybe it's part of it," he admits. "But I do want it, Cas. I wanna… wanna experience everything that I can with you, and this is something we haven't done before."

"Because you're uncomfortable with it," Cas says.

"Well—" and Dean can't exactly deny this because he does feel a bit uncomfortable thinking about it, but he's had over a week to get used to the idea, and he thinks he could try it now "—I mean, yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't try it."

"Dean, you don't have to prove anything to me. I already—"

"Shut up for a sec, okay?" Dean says. Cas opens his mouth, but Dean hurries to say, "I've been thinking about this for a while, and I finally feel ready for it, but if you keep trying to let me off the hook, I might cave."

"Then cave. You shouldn't have to—"

"Cas," Dean groans, exasperated.

"Look, you can't even say what it is that you claim to want. Isn't that proof enough that you don't really want it?" Cas argues.

"I want you to fuck me—I want you inside me," Dean blurts out impulsively. Cas's eyes widen, and Dean says, "This isn't me trying to prove anything, okay? I want it."

Cas licks his lips once, and Dean can see his pupils dilating, and if Dean had had any doubts before, just knowing how much Cas wanted this would have been enough to quiet them. Yet still Cas says, hesitant, "Are you sure, Dean?"

"For fuck's sake, yes, I'm sure," Dean answers, reaching over to grab the lube that he'd left out on the nightstand. He presses it into Cas's hand and repeats, "Yes."

Cas exhales slowly. "Okay, then," he says. "It's your first time, so maybe—I think it'll be easier if I open you up on your hands and knees."

Dean nods and shifts to the side, and he's very aware of Cas watching him closely, like he's expecting Dean to take back his offer at any moment. Cas slides out from under him, and Dean props himself up on hands and knees, feeling ridiculously vulnerable.

Cas crawls over him—Dean drops to his elbows to better support their combined weight—and presses a kiss to the knob of Dean's spine, at the base of his neck. His hands pet Dean's flanks, giving Dean this ridiculous mental image of Cas trying to soothe a horse or something, and he would laugh, except that it is helping to calm him down, somehow. Cas kisses his way down Dean's spine, nice and deliberate, and Dean wonders if he's taking his time on purpose, giving Dean another chance to back out.

But Dean's already gotten this far, so he's gonna see this through.

By the time Cas's lips reach Dean's tailbone, Dean is hard, and when Cas reaches a hand around to give his cock a few firm strokes, a desperate groan breaks from his throat.

"Cas—don't—" he gasps out.

"Okay," Cas murmurs into Dean's skin.

He plants a long, open-mouthed kiss on Dean right below his tailbone, but it's not enough to distract Dean from hearing the snap as Cas pops open the bottle of lube. Dean tenses up despite himself, and Cas pulls away.

"Are you—"

"I'm sure, Cas," Dean interrupts, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.

"Very well. If at any point you want me to stop or slow down, just say so," Cas says, putting a steadying hand on Dean's lower back.

Dean only nods because he doesn't think he can trust himself to talk right now. He takes a deep breath and focuses on Cas's presence behind him, forces himself to relax a little. Cas's hand slides down to pull Dean's left cheek to the side, and Dean doesn't think he's ever felt this exposed before.

Then a slippery finger is tracing his rim, and Dean clenches instinctively. Cas doesn't really react except to keep his finger where it is, letting Dean get used to the feeling. Dean exhales, and it sounds extremely loud in the otherwise quiet room. Cas is applying just a little pressure now, and the anticipation is killing Dean.

"C'mon, Cas, just—just do it," he says. Dean's nerves have all but killed any arousal in his system, but he figures it's just hard to get started.

Cas hesitates for a moment longer before pushing forward with intent. Suddenly, it's as though all the nerves in his body have congregated at that point, and Dean can't stop himself from clenching up against the intrusion. He's dimly aware of Cas releasing his butt cheek to rub his lower back, and god, why did he ever think this was a good idea?

"Take deep breaths, and bear down," Cas instructs him firmly. As he finishes speaking, Cas wiggles his finger just a little, and Dean, not expecting the motion, yelps.

"Just—give me a minute," Dean says.

Cas holds perfectly still, and Dean takes a moment to just breathe. Then he braces himself and bears down, as Cas said. At the same time, Cas presses farther in, and Dean just feels uncomfortable. Cas pulls his finger away and then pushes it back in, wriggling it a little as he does, and Dean grits his teeth, trying to ignore the strangeness of it all—how the hell can anyone like this?

Cas pulls his finger out completely, and when his touch returns, Dean hisses at the sudden coolness—he must have added some more lube.

"Sorry," Cas mumbles hoarsely.

Dean looks over his shoulder, and the sight that meets his eyes has his dick twitching—Cas typically has pretty intense focus, and right now it's completely zoned in on Dean's ass. Then those eyes flick up to meet his, and Dean feels his awkwardness and nerves slip away under the heat of Cas's gaze.

It occurs to him that Cas is sliding that first finger in and out a lot more readily now, that it isn't quite so bad as it was earlier. As though Cas is reading his mind, he pulls his finger out and presses a second fingertip to Dean's opening, pausing to meet Dean's eyes again.

"Yeah, c'mon," Dean says, turning his head to face forward again because he doesn't want to end up with a crick in his neck.

Then two fingers are pressing into him, and it's the same unnatural stretch as before. But Dean knows to just breathe through it, and it's easier this time around, somehow.

"Okay?" Cas asks.

Dean licks his lips. "Yeah, 'm fine. You can stop checking."

Cas chuckles lowly and scissors his fingers a little, drawing a surprised gasp from Dean. He doesn't tense up this time though, and it doesn't burn too badly. But there's only been discomfort so far, and Dean knows that some people don't feel prostate stimulation that strongly—maybe he's just one of those people.

Then Cas's fingers shift, and oh holy fuck, that felt good.

"Dean?" Cas asks, and he somehow manages to sound concerned and really fucking turned on at the same time.

Dean clears his throat and says, "That uh, do that again."

"As you wish," Cas says, as though he's indifferent to it all.

"Oh, you smug—" Dean starts.

But Cas chooses that moment to rub the tips of his fingers against Dean's prostate, and Dean's voice breaks into an involuntary moan. His back arches a little, and he feels his cheeks color as he realizes that the motion has him practically shoving his ass back onto Cas's fingers, but it feels so good that he can't even bring himself to care. Cas lets out a sound that might have been a muffled groan, and fuck, Dean should have suggested this earlier.

A few more purposeful brushes of Cas's fingers against his prostate, and Dean's fully hard again, aching and needy in a way that he doesn't think he's ever been before.

"Cas, I—please—"

Cas adds a third finger, twisting his wrist as he thrusts them inward, and the motion punches a sound out of Dean that he wasn't even aware he was capable of making.

"God, Dean," Cas breathes, and he sounds awed. He spreads his fingers a little, stretching Dean further, but this time it feels good, and Dean thinks—no, knows—he wants more.

"Cas, 'm ready," he says.

"Just a little more," Cas says, continuing to push his fingers in and out of Dean's ass, and god, it's not fucking enough. Dean clenches around Cas's fingers, relishing in the surprised sound that he gets outta Cas. "Okay, okay," Cas murmurs, pulling his fingers out.

Dean hears a bottle cap snap open and closed, and he starts to turn over onto his back.

"Wait—Dean—" Cas says, one hand gripping Dean's hip and stopping him.

"I wanna—I gotta see you," Dean says.

Cas swallows audibly, and his hand falls away. Dean flips over and settles into a comfortable position, lifts his head just in time to watch as Cas kneels between Dean's legs and slicks himself up.

"Oh, fuck." The words tumble out of his mouth without his permission.

Cas's eyes flick up to meet his, and Dean swears Cas almost looks nervous. "Dean, if you—there's still time for you to back out, if—"

"Cas, just shut up," Dean cuts in, shifting to spread his legs a little wider in invitation, and he'd feel ridiculous and embarrassed and exposed if it weren't for the wild look in Cas's eyes, like he can't believe what he's seeing, what he's been offered.

Dean reaches out and pulls at Cas's hand to bring it down to his hole, because if Cas isn't gonna put his dick in there yet, Dean can make do with fingers for the time being. But Cas leans forward, pushing their joined hands against the mattress, and presses his lips to Dean's. It feels strange to be lying here, Cas above him but not straddling him, and Dean tries to focus on the kiss so that he doesn't lose his nerve.

Cas shifts above him, one hand moving down to help position himself, and then the blunt head of Cas's cock brushes against Dean's hole. A silent, breathless moment stretches out between them. Dean watches Cas's eyes flutter open, wide and adoring and a little bit apprehensive, and Dean would try to reassure him that this is exactly what he wants, except that he's already pretty nervous himself, can't bring himself to put on a show of false bravado, not when Cas has stripped him so bare.

Then Cas is pushing in, and Dean's barely aware of his mouth dropping open, his entire being focused on the not entirely unpleasant feeling as he opens up for Cas's cock. Cas goes slow, thrusting in small increments to give Dean time to adjust.

Finally, Cas bottoms out, and it feels like it took an eternity to get here, but Dean wouldn't give up this feeling for the world, this connection, this intimacy. He's so fucking full in a way that he's never been able to successfully imagine, and fuck, Cas is inside him. Dean doesn't think he's ever quite realized just what it is to be inside someone, not until this moment, when he's the one being pushed open.

"Dean," Cas whispers, lips brushing Dean's as he speaks.

Dean realizes that his eyes had closed of their own accord, so he opens them now and stares into wide, definitely awestruck, blue eyes. It occurs to Dean that Cas hardly hurt him at all, managed this with only minor discomfort, and god, Dean is so fucking lucky.

"Dean," Cas utters with more urgency this time, and Dean lifts his legs to wrap them around Cas's waist. The motion allows Cas to slide deeper inside Dean, and as Dean gasps in surprise, Cas lets out a low, gravelly moan that goes straight to Dean's dick.

"Move, Cas, c'mon," Dean grits out, hips shifting a little in encouragement.

Cas flashes a small smile at him, weird because it manages to be timid and cocky at the same time, and Dean wants to comment, but before he can, Cas is sliding out and then plunging back in. The abruptness of the motion forces a whine out of Dean's mouth, and as Cas starts building up a rhythm, Dean slides his hands up and around Cas's torso to clutch at the backs of his shoulders.

It takes a few thrusts before Cas hits the jackpot, Dean clenching involuntarily at the unexpected pressure against his prostate. Cas catches on instantly and maintains that angle.

"F—Fuck, Cas—more—harder—" Dean gets out between thrusts, because this nice, slow pace is great for reaffirming bonds and all, but Dean doesn't need Cas to prove his love. What he needs is a really good pounding, so Cas had better get with the program.

As always, Cas doesn't disappoint, moving his hips in a fluid motion that gets him perfectly, achingly deep with each thrust. But even as he begins to move faster, the force behind each thrust just isn't enough, and Dean wants to complain, but it's hard for him to use words right now.

But he eventually does speak up, when he's beginning to feel desperate, starving, for more. "C'mon, Cas, that—" he's cut off by a moan as Cas plunges into him "—that all you got?"

"Dean," Cas says, thrusting in one more time and then staying there, "you should know that goading will not work on me."

Dean voices his displeasure at Cas's lack of movement with a long groan, a wordless complaint. When Cas only leans down to kiss him, Dean squirms under him, grinds his hips upward in an attempt to hopefully entice Cas into moving again, because Dean's dying here.

"Cas, you little fucker, move," Dean demands.

But Cas stays still and grabs a pillow to slide under Dean's hips, and sure, that's real considerate of him, but Dean can't really appreciate it in his current state. Cas takes his sweet time drawing out and pushing back in, and Dean needs it harder, faster, needs it so bad he thinks he could cry.

"Cas, please," he gasps on the next thrust, and then Cas's mouth presses against his again.

"Dean, I don't want to hurt you," Cas says, voice tight with restraint.

"You won't, you won't—Cas, I need—c'mon, please," Dean babbles until Cas kisses him quiet, hushes him with soothing murmurs. Dean doesn't even know what Cas is saying, just listens to the lilting of his voice and lets it calm him down some.

Cas lifts himself up, bracing his weight on his elbows above Dean, and looks down at him. There seems to be a question in his blue eyes—you really sure you're okay with this?—and Dean lifts his head and plants a quick kiss on Cas's lips in lieu of a verbal answer, knowing that Cas will understand and deliver.

And goddamn, does Cas deliver.

After their lips part, Cas takes a moment—giving Dean a millionth chance to back out—and then he's rearing up to sit on his heels, grasping Dean's hips and pulling until Dean's ass is in his lap. Dean hardly even has time to be surprised before Cas is using his hold on Dean's hips to lift him up and slam him back down, and oh-fuck-yes, this is exactly what Dean wants.

Dean's always known that Cas was strong, but he certainly hasn't felt it as keenly as he does now. He props his torso up on his elbows, and it's unbelievably fucking hot to watch Cas's slender fingers flexing on his hips, lifting Dean's lower body like he weighs nothing.

Dean doesn't think he's ever been quite so grateful for Cas's laser-focus, his attention to detail, because fuck, Cas hits the sweet spot with every single thrust, and Dean would be embarrassed by the high-pitched sounds coming out of his throat if it didn't feel so fucking good.

"Come on, Dean," Cas urges from above him, "let go. Come for me."

He takes one hand away from Dean's hips and wraps it around Dean's shaft, and Dean can't decide if he's more disappointed at the lessened force of Cas's thrusts or ecstatic at the friction around his cock.

But Cas knows Dean too well, knows to twist his hand only slightly on the upstroke, to swipe his thumb over the head every few strokes, knows the perfect amount of pressure to apply, and before Dean can protest, he's coming, exploding milky-white over both their stomachs.

Dean's almost positive he blacks out for a while, because when he comes down, Cas has already mostly licked his hand clean, and Dean groans at the sight of Cas's index finger disappearing into his mouth.

"God, Cas…" he murmurs, voice hoarse and fucked-out.

He becomes aware of the fact that Cas is still inside him, still hard, and he grabs for Cas's hand, directs it back to his hip in an unspoken invitation. But instead of going back to what he was doing before, Cas pulls Dean off him—Dean will never, ever admit to the whine of protest he lets out at that—and places Dean's hips back on the pillow again, crawling over him to kiss him.

Dean keeps his legs spread and tilts his hips up, and Cas takes the hint and slides back into Dean. This time the fit is perfect, like Cas belongs inside Dean, fills him up completely. Cas starts moving again, pumping in and out of Dean in long, slow strokes, deep and unhurried and utterly, painfully perfect.

Cas hits Dean's prostate a few times too many, and Dean knows he's never gotten it up again so fast, but he's definitely getting hard, desperation welling up inside him again. Cas's thrusts get shorter, erratic, and Dean's learning how to move, how to push back. It only takes a few more strokes before Dean's on the brink again, and fuck, prostate stimulation seems more like a miracle than anything natural, and Dean can't believe it took him so long to try this.

Dean reaches down between them and fists his cock, and god, it's almost too much, almost unbearable, but it's also just right, somehow, and Dean wants it to stop, wants to reach the end just as much as he wants it to last forever.

Then Cas withdraws his hips, as though he's going to pull out of Dean entirely, and that is not in the realm of things that are okay, so Dean tightens his legs around Cas's waist, keeping him inside.

"D—Dean, I'm gonna—"

"Come, then, Cas," Dean gasps out, still working his own dick. "C'mon, wanna feel you filling me up."

Cas chokes on a moan, thrusts in one last time, and comes to a halt. Dean feels Cas's cock pulsing, spurting warm and wet inside him, and after a few more rough tugs, Dean comes for the second time that night.

It takes longer to come down this time, and the first thing he notices is the crushing weight still on top of him. "Cas," he groans, wriggling a little to get his attention. "You're really goddamn heavy—get off me."

Cas hums wearily and waits a moment longer before propping himself up on his elbows. He pulls his hips back, and Dean hisses as Cas's dick slides out of him, along with a dribble of wetness that Dean realizes is Cas's come. Dean makes a face at the sensation as more come leaks out of him, and above him, Cas laughs lightly.

"Dude, it's gross," Dean mutters.

"We can try it with a condom next time, then," Cas says, and then he hastens to add, "That is, if you still want—"

"I do, Cas," Dean interrupts. "This wasn't a one-time deal."

Cas cracks a small, pleased smile, and Dean can't help but smile back.

But then Dean shifts a little, feels some more come trickle out of his ass, and he definitely won't be able to just fall asleep like this, no matter how heavy his limbs feel. "C'mon, shower time," he says, shoving at Cas's shoulders. "I gotta clean out my ass."

Cas laughs and pushes back onto his knees before sliding off the bed. "I think I'll be able to help you out with that," he says, extending a hand toward Dean to pull him up, and Dean is momentarily struck dumb by the memory of Cas's tongue in his ass, seemingly forever ago.

"Yeah, I can get behind that," he manages, taking Cas's hand.

Autumn is Castiel's favorite time of year, because he associates it with the day he met Dean.

Sure, they didn't exactly meet in the fall, but it had been the beginning of fall semester, and the association stuck. Castiel counts the days left before he has to start teaching and realizes that today's August 20th—exactly ten years have passed. Ten years ago today, Dean moved in. Ten years ago today, they met for the first time, and Castiel cannot believe how far they've come since.

He still remembers his first impression of Dean, remembers opening the door and being so captivated by Dean's appearance that he'd forgotten his own name for a moment. He'd been so sure that he wouldn't have a chance with Dean, absolutely certain that Dean was straight and would stay that way.

It's insane, how much has changed. Castiel can hardly believe that last night was real—he'd woken a few minutes ago, half-convinced that last night had all been a dream. But he'd slipped a hand down along Dean's back, felt where Dean's hole was slightly loose, and god, it all really happened.

Castiel isn't stupid—he knew that Dean had been thinking about bottoming, that Mark's words must have gotten to him. But he hadn't expected Dean to actually offer, much less want to look Castiel in the eye as he was penetrated. The fact that Dean was able to open himself up so fully makes Castiel feel like he's come closer to Dean than he has in all the years that they've known each other, even after they started really dating. It may be a mere physical act, but the significance of the act, of Dean being the one to offer, goes so far beyond physical.

Castiel finishes brushing his teeth and splashes some water on his face. As he rinses his hands, he realizes that his ring is back on his finger again. He turns off the faucet and quickly dries his hands before looking at the ring.

No, this isn't his ring—it's Dean's. But when did Dean give it to him? Castiel doesn't remember seeing Dean without his ring, and he's fairly certain that that is something he would've noticed.

He wipes his face dry and goes back out into the bedroom, only to find the room vacated.

Intending to get some answers from Dean, Castiel pulls on a pair of sweats and a faded, grey t-shirt before padding downstairs. He follows his nose to the kitchen and is surprised to find Dean sitting at the small table.

"Good morning, Cas!" Adam says from his spot in front of the stove, where Castiel had expected to find Dean—he typically likes making breakfast as long as Adam or Castiel takes care of the dishes.

"Good morning," Castiel responds, and as soon as Adam turns back to the stove, Castiel raises an eyebrow at Dean.

"Adam's making us breakfast 'cause he's awesome," Dean explains, grinning lazily.

Castiel pulls off his ring and holds it out to Dean, who stares down at it for a moment, uncomprehending.

"What?"

"This is yours," Castiel says, placing it on the table in front of Dean.

"What—who said?" Dean splutters.

"I did. I've been wearing my ring for almost two decades, Dean. I know what it feels like. Did you take my ring?" Castiel asks.

"I uh—"

Before Dean can answer, Castiel snatches his right hand, and as suspected, his own ring is fitted snugly around Dean's fourth finger. Castiel levels a no-nonsense glare in Dean's direction and says, "Explain."

"It's stupid."

Castiel doesn't look away and doesn't change his expression, because he knows that this is something he can force Dean to give up as long as he's persistent enough.

Dean sighs. "I had this whole spiel planned, but of course you'd notice ahead of time," he grouses. "I just uh, I had our initials engraved on the insides." Castiel looks at Dean, disbelieving, and Dean makes an annoyed huffing sound. "I switched the rings so that you'd have my initials and I'd have yours, okay?"

The idea is so sentimental that Castiel almost doesn't believe Dean capable of coming up with it. He lifts up the ring that he'd placed on the table—Dean's ring—and sure enough "DW" is carved on the inside in fine script.

Adam chooses this moment to cough loudly, and Castiel watches, amused, as Dean flushes red. "Um," he says, "does this—I mean, I've been here the whole time, so do I count as a witness?"

Dean clears his throat and answers, "Yes. Yeah, you're our witness."

"I haven't even said yes," Castiel says.

Dean looks at Castiel sharply, a hint of doubt in his eyes, and says, "Okay, then. How about it?"

Castiel normally prides himself on what Dean calls his "poker face," but he can't help breaking into a smile now. "Yes, Dean," he says. "To you, the answer is always yes."

Dean gets to his feet and takes the ring from Castiel. He slips the ring back onto Castiel's finger and pulls him into a brief kiss. "Happy tenth," Dean murmurs against Castiel's lips.

Startled, Castiel pushes him away and says incredulously, "You remember the day that we met?"

"What—of course I do!" Dean says indignantly. Castiel arches one eyebrow, and Dean smiles ruefully. "One of these days, I'm gonna figure out how you can tell when I'm lying, and I'm gonna make it so you can't. So I might have looked up my move-in date when I realized we were coming on ten years."

Castiel can't seem to stop smiling because this is actually better than Dean remembering on his own—it's truer to who he is.

"What?" Dean says, and Castiel probably should stop smiling, but he finds that he just can't.

So he hauls Dean in close for another kiss, deeper this time.

"Oh! Oh, come on, not at the kitchen table!" Adam gripes.

Castiel pulls away, enjoying the way Dean's head moves to follow his for a second before he remembers himself. Dean smiles and says, "So, Castiel Winchester. I like the sound o' that."

"The state of Kansas doesn't allow same-sex marriage, you know," Castiel has to point out.

"Yeah well, you're unofficially a Winchester, then. Until the state does allow it."

Warmth and affection swell in Castiel's chest until he thinks he could burst. "I don't need to share your name, Dean. Your proposal was more than enough."

Dean grins. "Yeah?" he says, leaning in for another kiss.

Castiel lifts a hand and covers Dean's mouth. "I love you, but I can only put up with so much of your morning breath. Go brush your teeth."

Dean laughs outright at that, pushes Castiel's hand out of the way, and drags him in for a kiss anyway. He doesn't prolong the kiss though, and a moment later, Dean pulls away and leaves the kitchen. Castiel takes a seat at the small table, a hint of a smile still tugging at his lips.

Dean's ring doesn't fit perfectly on his finger, not like his old ring had, and Castiel knows that if he asked, Dean would be willing to take both rings back to the jeweler to get them resized, but even as he considers that option, he rejects it. The band of metal is not unlike the road that he and Dean took to get here—it may have been long, may have had its fair share of imperfections, but given the choice to start over, Castiel thinks he wouldn't change a thing.

He looks over at Adam, still puttering around the stove, and thinks about how unexpected his appearance had been. He and Dean have no way of knowing what will come for them in the future, but Castiel is solid in the knowledge that no matter what comes, he and Dean will stand beside each other.