![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
spn fic: first watch (dean smith/2014!cas; nc17)
True story: the first thousand words I wrote for my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_summergen fic was porn. The prompt was fucking "Dean Smith with 2014!Cas", okay, so I MEAN. WHATCHA GONNA DO? I just had to get this out of my system before I could write the gen. Thank you to Cally for looking it over.
First Watch
Supernatural. Dean Smith/2014!Cas. NC17.
Porny outtake from Slipping Off the Map. ~1000 words
Sun's gone down but the sky's still stained with the last of the light. Cas's hand settles on Dean's shoulder, and this time Dean lets himself turn to the touch. There is something deliberate in the way he looks Cas in the eye, and whether it's acquiescence or a question is perhaps entirely beside the point.
It's all the cue Cas needs.
He surges against Dean, a hungry animal, and kisses him as if he has been waiting all this time. It's the end of the world and everyone is depraved, deprived, so Dean responds in kind, and come to think of it, why should he be surprised at the fervor of this kiss, these touches, how he and Cas has been living in each other's pockets for the past however many – days? Weeks? The acceptance that there is nothing left to lose, except this.
Cas pushes Dean against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Wiry guy with the strength and the reflexes of someone twice as dangerous. This is the part where he kisses like a drowning man. As with everything else in this world, this is a violent thing. Dean pushes back, his hands on Cas's face, palms on his cheeks, Cas makes a broken sound that Dean can't tell is a sob or a laugh or some generic exclamation of lust. Just this unexpected sound falling into Dean's mouth, twisting something in his chest. Cas presses a kiss to Dean's neck, a rallying move, and Dean sucks in a breath at the feel of teeth.
It's all a rush, one big rush, Cas's hand in Dean's pants around his cock, firm grip, fingernails digging into the back of Dean's neck and Dean just holding on as Cas jerks him off, the pleasure building, pressure building, and—
"Dean," Cas says, voice thick with the moment, and the syllable of it grates roughly in his ear, shaking something loose in his psyche. Their foreheads press together, and Dean is murmuring "Cas" and "fuck" and Cas doesn't let up, doesn't let up, doesn't let up. He murmurs a curse Dean can't understand. He understands only this: the skittering heat, the broken syllable of his name, the way Cas seems to already know all his weaknesses, how to touch him, how to take him apart. Dean gives himself up to it, because when was the last time he experienced a sensation stronger than the inevitability of his own death?
"Cas," he gasps, a plea, and Cas murmurs, "Yeah," and then a twist on the pull and Dean grits his teeth and swallows his moan as he comes, messy and sharp and hot over Cas's hand. Dean gasps with every spasm, for a few seconds helpless, and for a few seconds allowed to be.
"Dean," Cas breathes, "I—"
But whatever it is, he can say it later, because fucking carpe diem and Dean must grab the momentum before it flies past and leaves them both unfinished, half-formed. Are they outrunning something? Are they trying to catch up? Dean snaps himself through the post-orgasm torpor and grabs Cas, flipping them around and slamming him back against the wall. Cas grunts in surprise. Dean drops to his knees.
It's been a while since Dean has done this. Years at this point. That conversation from a couple of days ago flashes through his mind – "When was the last time you got laid, man?" and Cas's sharp laugh, "I can't remember" – and when Dean takes Cas's cock in his mouth, he's as rough and frantic, full of purpose and territorial intent, or maybe it's just the rush of being caught up in this, this, whatever this is. Dean lets it rush past unexamined as Cas thrusts into his mouth and grabs his hair. Again, this is a violent thing. Dean pushes back and tries to pin Cas steady against the wall, tries not to choke.
He swirls his tongue around the head, trying to remember how to do this, but he must be doing something right because Cas has his head thrown back against the wall as he grinds into Dean's mouth, and it hurts. His jaw aches. They are used to pain, so okay, just keep on taking it in deep, make it slippery with spit, and then the automatic up and down. Dean licks the underside of his shaft from top to bottom, deliberate and wet, and Cas cries out his name like a curse. Suck and lick and squeeze, and don't be gentle. Gentleness, another foreign thing.
It doesn't take much.
Cas comes with a stuttered moan, and Dean swallows at first, but the taste of it is disorienting and unexpected. One gulp makes him choke. He lets Cas come in his mouth, but when he is spent, Dean turns to the side and spits. Some corner of his mind says, You could've used the protein.
Only then does Dean let himself roll back on his heels to sit on the floor, catching his breath, his heartbeat racing, adrenalin high. Cas fixes his pants. Dean looks up.
That familiar look of people deliberating the next step. There is a terrible light in Cas's eyes.
"Dean—"
"I'll, uh," Dean says, and pushes himself to his feet. "I'll take first watch."
"Dean, listen—"
Cas touches his arm, and Dean flinches and rasps, "Hey."
Cas steps back.
"Look, whatever, I get it," Dean says. "Let's just... Let's... not. Whatever. Okay?"
And Cas just stares at him dumbly for a few seconds, but the worst part is when Cas shakes his head and smiles that smile that isn't really one. "You're just like him."
"Stop saying that," Dean snaps. But as always, he can't stop himself asking, "Like who?"
Cas lifts his hands as if in concession and looks away.
"You should get some sleep," Dean says.
"I should," Cas agrees. He is addressing the space beside Dean's head.
He swallows and his throat aches.
Dean nods and looks down. "Yeah."
Hand on his gun, eyes on the prize. Twilight's gone and the darkness has settled. Cas lets out a long slow breath, and Dean closes his eyes.
Here goes nothing.
spn_summergen fic was porn. The prompt was fucking "Dean Smith with 2014!Cas", okay, so I MEAN. WHATCHA GONNA DO? I just had to get this out of my system before I could write the gen. Thank you to Cally for looking it over.First Watch
Supernatural. Dean Smith/2014!Cas. NC17.
Porny outtake from Slipping Off the Map. ~1000 words
Sun's gone down but the sky's still stained with the last of the light. Cas's hand settles on Dean's shoulder, and this time Dean lets himself turn to the touch. There is something deliberate in the way he looks Cas in the eye, and whether it's acquiescence or a question is perhaps entirely beside the point.
It's all the cue Cas needs.
He surges against Dean, a hungry animal, and kisses him as if he has been waiting all this time. It's the end of the world and everyone is depraved, deprived, so Dean responds in kind, and come to think of it, why should he be surprised at the fervor of this kiss, these touches, how he and Cas has been living in each other's pockets for the past however many – days? Weeks? The acceptance that there is nothing left to lose, except this.
Cas pushes Dean against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Wiry guy with the strength and the reflexes of someone twice as dangerous. This is the part where he kisses like a drowning man. As with everything else in this world, this is a violent thing. Dean pushes back, his hands on Cas's face, palms on his cheeks, Cas makes a broken sound that Dean can't tell is a sob or a laugh or some generic exclamation of lust. Just this unexpected sound falling into Dean's mouth, twisting something in his chest. Cas presses a kiss to Dean's neck, a rallying move, and Dean sucks in a breath at the feel of teeth.
It's all a rush, one big rush, Cas's hand in Dean's pants around his cock, firm grip, fingernails digging into the back of Dean's neck and Dean just holding on as Cas jerks him off, the pleasure building, pressure building, and—
"Dean," Cas says, voice thick with the moment, and the syllable of it grates roughly in his ear, shaking something loose in his psyche. Their foreheads press together, and Dean is murmuring "Cas" and "fuck" and Cas doesn't let up, doesn't let up, doesn't let up. He murmurs a curse Dean can't understand. He understands only this: the skittering heat, the broken syllable of his name, the way Cas seems to already know all his weaknesses, how to touch him, how to take him apart. Dean gives himself up to it, because when was the last time he experienced a sensation stronger than the inevitability of his own death?
"Cas," he gasps, a plea, and Cas murmurs, "Yeah," and then a twist on the pull and Dean grits his teeth and swallows his moan as he comes, messy and sharp and hot over Cas's hand. Dean gasps with every spasm, for a few seconds helpless, and for a few seconds allowed to be.
"Dean," Cas breathes, "I—"
But whatever it is, he can say it later, because fucking carpe diem and Dean must grab the momentum before it flies past and leaves them both unfinished, half-formed. Are they outrunning something? Are they trying to catch up? Dean snaps himself through the post-orgasm torpor and grabs Cas, flipping them around and slamming him back against the wall. Cas grunts in surprise. Dean drops to his knees.
It's been a while since Dean has done this. Years at this point. That conversation from a couple of days ago flashes through his mind – "When was the last time you got laid, man?" and Cas's sharp laugh, "I can't remember" – and when Dean takes Cas's cock in his mouth, he's as rough and frantic, full of purpose and territorial intent, or maybe it's just the rush of being caught up in this, this, whatever this is. Dean lets it rush past unexamined as Cas thrusts into his mouth and grabs his hair. Again, this is a violent thing. Dean pushes back and tries to pin Cas steady against the wall, tries not to choke.
He swirls his tongue around the head, trying to remember how to do this, but he must be doing something right because Cas has his head thrown back against the wall as he grinds into Dean's mouth, and it hurts. His jaw aches. They are used to pain, so okay, just keep on taking it in deep, make it slippery with spit, and then the automatic up and down. Dean licks the underside of his shaft from top to bottom, deliberate and wet, and Cas cries out his name like a curse. Suck and lick and squeeze, and don't be gentle. Gentleness, another foreign thing.
It doesn't take much.
Cas comes with a stuttered moan, and Dean swallows at first, but the taste of it is disorienting and unexpected. One gulp makes him choke. He lets Cas come in his mouth, but when he is spent, Dean turns to the side and spits. Some corner of his mind says, You could've used the protein.
Only then does Dean let himself roll back on his heels to sit on the floor, catching his breath, his heartbeat racing, adrenalin high. Cas fixes his pants. Dean looks up.
That familiar look of people deliberating the next step. There is a terrible light in Cas's eyes.
"Dean—"
"I'll, uh," Dean says, and pushes himself to his feet. "I'll take first watch."
"Dean, listen—"
Cas touches his arm, and Dean flinches and rasps, "Hey."
Cas steps back.
"Look, whatever, I get it," Dean says. "Let's just... Let's... not. Whatever. Okay?"
And Cas just stares at him dumbly for a few seconds, but the worst part is when Cas shakes his head and smiles that smile that isn't really one. "You're just like him."
"Stop saying that," Dean snaps. But as always, he can't stop himself asking, "Like who?"
Cas lifts his hands as if in concession and looks away.
"You should get some sleep," Dean says.
"I should," Cas agrees. He is addressing the space beside Dean's head.
He swallows and his throat aches.
Dean nods and looks down. "Yeah."
Hand on his gun, eyes on the prize. Twilight's gone and the darkness has settled. Cas lets out a long slow breath, and Dean closes his eyes.
Here goes nothing.