Point Dexter

Just a li'l somethin' somethin'.

Title: Point Dexter
Rated: MA
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Profanity, sexuality (m/m, biting, desk sex, etc)
Summary: Castiel joins Dean and Sam during an investigation and decides part of his disguise will be a pair of glasses. This is extremely distracting for Dean.
Notes: Written for my friend Cas, who has a glasses and biting kink. *yara*
Disclaimer: I own nada.

It was Castiel who had insisted on joining the brothers during their infiltration mission.

Sam and Dean had assured the angel they would do fine without his aide, as this undercover job was a simple enough task for humans. They hadn't quite put it that way; Castiel just translated their "no, we can handle this fine, okay?" as thus. Still, the quarantined apartment complex was crawling with FBI agents, and one false move could mean another hard night in the slammer. Castiel didn't exactly worry for their safety on this part; for all their stubborn headed and brash ideas, they were a slippery pair who worked humans like puppets--most of the time.

It was the little bit involving a powerful and hungry son of a Prince of Hell, Beelzebub, that concerned him. Beelzebub was no Lucifer in terms of power, so his son even less, but they were both high in the hierarchy of Hell. Rumor had it Raphael had once fought the demon spawn, and lost pitifully. Someone of his caliber failing certainly meant Cas was in no condition to try himself. But Dean and Sam were there, should the devil show, constantly starving and craving the flesh of man. All ready it had consumed half of the apartment complex's residents--a little over 28 people and 15 pets--within two days, and it still wasn't sedated.

Castiel at least had to monitor the hunters, had to keep an eye out. If he got close enough, a sigil could hold him off for at least a few hours while the two came up with some way to finally slay the fatass. So, no, no matter what Dean and Sam said to reassure him, Castiel wasn't going to risk their lives without some higher help. He didn't stay to finish the argument; told the boys he'd be back early morning, in proper visage as the others.

This "proper visage" was a crisp black suit, shades, looking clean cut and hair gelled back nicely. Sam was nearly unrecognizable; he had cut his shaggy hair, combed it back. Dean had told him he looked a lot like a douche, but his baby soft face wasn't helping his rugged image either.

Castiel, on the other hand, didn't do much work. He abandoned his coat, leaving him in his wrinkled, frumpy and probably-not-washed-in-months business suit beneath. His hair was ruffled, the stubble still on his face, and while he had learned to master the ability to tie his tie, his cuffs were undone, flipped upward, mud still sticking to the sides of his faded shoes. And his disguise?

"Glasses."

Sam smirked, hands on his hips. Castiel had decided that ditching his coat and putting on a pair of glasses would make for a perfect disguise. The frames were thin, black, with a slight square edge; sophisticated and classy, they actually managed to bring out even more of the blue beneath. "Is it not sufficient?" he inquired, sincerely baffled.

"It's not like we're turning ourselves inside out," Sam agreed, "but the glasses--they aren't really necessary." He could at least thank God he wasn't wearing a big plastic nose and bushy mustache as well.

The angel tilted his head. "A popular idol of your media is described as wearing simply a pair of glasses as a disguise," he explained. "It is only when he has removed them and his suit concealing his true garbs do people recognize his identity."

Sam gaped. "... Superman?"

Castiel nodded firmly once. "Yes."

There came no reply for a good minute or two. Dean had been rather quiet, which struck both his brother and Castiel as strange in their moment of awkwardness. Dean would have been wailing on poor Cas, teasing and poking fun at him. But the hunter was silent, and he watched the two banter with eyes reflecting some emotion the angel recognized as "bedroom eyes." Which, he supposed, made sense--they were in the hotel bedroom, after all. Though Dean had once told him it was not a "literal saying." More figurative human bullshit; they just cannot be blunt.

"Sailormoon doesn't even have a disguise, and yet people can't tell her apart from her normal life," Sam added. "That doesn't mean it works in real life, too."

Dean chose the perfect time to finally enter the discussion. "Sammy, how do you know about Sailormoon?" he inquired. Sam kept quiet, mind rolling over for a legitimate, totally manly answer. Dean just laughed and winked. "Gotta admit, Japan does love their T&A though." Then he bounced forward, clapped and rubbed his hands together. "Hate to break up the gossip party," he snickered and stood looking between them, "but glasses or no glasses, we gotta job to do."

"R-Right," Sam coughed, still embarrassed from Dean's previous question. He gathered the usual supplies and headed out first. Castiel was still a bit confused; he thought the idea was ingenious, but he instead shrugged it off and went to follow.

Just as he turned, Dean took his arm, not too tightly, and pulled him back. Castiel stared at him, intrigued. "Hey," Dean whispered, ducking his head low, and his lips were very close to Cas's ear, "I like 'em." With a smirk, he let his arm go, slapped his shoulder and left, whistling The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades.

---

During the fifteen minute car ride to the apartment complex, Castiel had explained his presence would be dampened, so the demon, Nimis, would not suspect an angel in the vicinity. They went over their plans, recited the questions they would ask and of course, told Castiel not to act like an oblivious fool with no social skills or concept of humans. Castiel insisted he had been doing a lot better; he did, after all, tell an old woman who was going to donate to a grocery store's Santa Claus for homeless children he was a fake wearing the Pagan god's robes to fool the feeble minded.

They didn't talk for the remainder of the trip.

---

The disguises had worked, as did their practiced introductions as FBI agents. All ready passing a group of police officers, no one had yet to recognize their identity. Castiel had done well in presenting his badge--upright this time--and his gravel voice was perfect for a mysterious, gruff agent. They had to flash their badges a few more times before they were allowed into the heart of the complex center, which was mostly conjoined buildings of ten.

Men and women were scouring through the rooms, up and down along the staircases and elevators, dusting for fingerprints, picking every nook and cranny for evidence.

"Nothin'."

Dean, Sam and Castiel looked up from their pads. The town's sheriff sighed. "We've been out here two days now, workin' mornin', noon and night, and we haven't found a single clue," he explained. "It's like they just... up and disappeared."

"No evidence of foul play anywhere? Blood?" Sam paused. "Entrails?"

The sheriff blinked. "No, no," he mumbled and shook his head. "None of... that."

Dean asked, eyebrows knitted to appear more stern, "Did anyone report any strange happenings recently? Room temperatures suddenly dropping? Lights flickering? Electronics going haywire?"

"There were..." the officer licked his lips, thought for a moment. "One of the ladies who reported the kidnappings said her neighbor, a missin' boy by the name of Ted Yarn, was screamin' about somethin' or other, she didn't hear exactly what. She then said she heard a loud whining noise, like static on the TV at full volume."

The three looked amongst one another. "Is there any way we can talk to her?"

"'Fraid not," the sheriff answered, "she was the last person to disappear before we evacuated the other fifty-two residents this mornin'."

"The woman was unable to decipher what Ted was saying?" Castiel inquired. The brothers watched him carefully; so far, so good.

"Said it sounded like a bunch of gibberish. Deep, too."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Enochian, Latin or Hebrew?"

The sheriff blinked before Dean elbowed Castiel aside, Sam moving to step in front of him and hide the angel from view. "He means to say," Dean cleared his throat, "did it sound like he was speaking English or another language? If Ted wasn't bilingual, it could imply there was a second voice and thus a second person."

"No, nothin' like that," the officer replied.

Castiel watched as Sam and Dean continued to interrogate the sheriff, who was none the wiser of who they really were. Instead he turned, gazed around the giant room. Unlike the others, he could smell the foul stench of Nimis polluting the air. Oh, he was definitely here all right. Castiel noticed the trail of scent, like that of slime, run along the railing on the third floor. He slowly paced forward, eyes glued to the railing as he followed it closer and closer to where the demon last--

"Ooph!"

Castiel stumbled back, regaining his balance before he could fall on his ass. Something tickled his nostrils, but before he could sneeze, he caught the woman who collided with him. "Are you injured?" he asked, standing her up.

"No," she replied then frowned, "oh, God, I'm so sorry."

Castiel noticed her eyes were on his chest. Looking down, he just now realized the front of his black suit, up to his chin was covered in thick, white powder used for dusting out fingerprints. Dean excused himself from the sheriff, leaving his brother with the reigns and stomped forward. "Sorry about that, miss," he apologized, yanking Castiel back with a tug on the arm. The grip clearly read "you are an idiot." "He's new. Typical rookie, you know?" That charming smile and friendly laugh always comforted the ladies.

It worked; she was even blushing. "Oh, well," she tittered, "I wasn't watching where I was going. It wasn't all his fault." She bit the corner of her lip. "But, God, I made a mess. I probably ruined your suit."

"It has fared worse," Castiel assured, plainly, "the blood of demons have been the only complica--"

Dean bust out an awkward cackle. "Yeah, okay!" And while confused at first, the police woman giggled, too. "It's fine, really." Dean moved Castiel forcefully aside. "We'll clean him up in no time." With one more sweet nod, he dragged Castiel off down the hall in a hurry. The landlord's office was empty at the time, and they were given approval to use it to clean the poor sap up.

Once out of ear shot, Dean scowled lowly, "What the Hell, Cas? I thought we told you not to wander off without one of us with you!?"

The door to the office slammed shut and locked. Dean drew the blinds closed quickly. "I was following Nimis's trail," Castiel informed.

Dean turned to regard him with another much-too-fatherly lecture when his jaw snapped closed and he found himself struck with silence. In all the tugging and pushing, Castiel's coat and tie had loosened, slacking at his shoulders. He was too busy trying to pick off his now white tie that he hadn't even noticed the state of his glasses, which were crooked and hanging at the tip of his nose.

Damn, did he look good.

"It was still fresh," Castiel continued, eyes glued onto his tie. His fingers were now dotted with the powder as he struggled to keep the rest of himself clean. In his attempt to make his tie look as professional as possible, Cas had tied the knot too firm. Now no matter how much he picked at it, the damn thing wouldn't loosen. "I have a feeling," he mumbled, eyes still lowered, glasses hanging, "he is not far from where we are currently--"

Castiel gave a throaty oomph when Dean grabbed his tie and yanked him roughly forward. Castiel scampered a foot or two before catching himself. He peered over his crooked glasses at Dean's face inches from his own. "Dean," he said, eyes squinting, "is there something you need?"

"If I didn't know you," Dean grumbled, and urged him closer by the pull on his tie, "I'd say you were doing this on purpose." Their mouths were almost touching. Dean had moved in close enough that his breath was fogging the lenses of the angel's glasses.

"I am afraid I do not understand," Castiel retorted. It seemed almost instinctual when he reached up, mechanically adjusting his glasses. "These are more troublesome than they are worth," he noted, "Jimmy's vision was never a hassle enough for me to consult his 'reading glasses' in the past."

Dean smirked. He sunk one finger into the tie's knot, tugged, and it was loose. Castiel widened his eyes--was that some sort of magic? "So Jimmy's a four eyed geek, huh?"

"If you mean he wears glasses, then yes. Only when it comes to reading."

"Well," the hunter grinned. He let one thumb stroke below Castiel's eyes, leaving a streak of white behind. "He should consider wearing them more often. At least you should."

"I do not need them," Castiel insisted. It was a surprise when he found the small of his back meet the landlord's cluttered desk. It hadn't even occurred to him Dean was pushing him back. Now he was pinned between it and Dean's irregularly hot body. "Dean," he said again, more firmly, "what are you attempting to do? I thought you were to help me clean up and then report back to duty?"

"Sam can handle it for about five more minutes or so," Dean assured. And it became clear to Cas what the hunter wanted when he suddenly took a small nip at the corner of his mouth. Of course, taking it slowly was never Dean's forte. That gentle caress was quickly followed by a knee grinding against Cas's crotch. It was enough to cause the angel to stiffen, wriggle, mouth tight and throat growling.

Dean knew that stance well. It meant Castiel was breaking without trying to lose his cool. It was a routine act--Dean hit a soft spot, Cas gave a growl, tensed and then Dean hit that soft spot again and, well.

Dean let one hand crawl up Castiel's chest from beneath the wrinkled undershirt, his flesh hot against the pale white beneath. His fingers only had to brush one erect nipple before Castiel had his hands in his hair, digging and pulling, and thrusting his mouth into Dean's. Dean took him close, hands burying into his hips, knee continuing to work against his bulge, which was becoming rock hard. Dean's face smashed his glasses tilted upward, one ear piece cocked free.

They drew back, tongues pressed to the other, before Cas dropped back down, taking Dean's top lip in his teeth. He chewed at first, savored the pink, soft flesh like meat, glasses once again drooping to a downward slant. Dean let his tongue taste saliva, some of it his own, moist on Cas's chin before giving a slight jolt when Cas really bit into his lip. Hard, so hard, with a possessive force that shot painful heat into his abused lip. The angel let his mouth go, and Dean's tongue lashed along his top lip to taste copper. He smirked, wiping and smearing blood away with the back of his black cuff.

Castiel moved back, head sunk, predatory blue eyes looking over the rims of his glasses, at Dean with challenge. Dean just smirked and tore apart the top of Cas's undershirt, teeth sinking into the flesh above and below one ash speckled collarbone. He could taste it with a mixture of salt, teasing the skin between grit teeth. He pulled back until thin curls of white epidermis peeled with his teeth and once freeing the skin, Dean roughly shoved Castiel onto his back on the desk, knocking over a pile of papers with the collision. Dean kept him pinned down with a hand just below his throat, and Cas groaned as he fumbled gracelessly with his belt, practically ripping off his pants and underwear.

"Goddammit, Cas," Dean snarled, letting Castiel's clothing slip down to his ankles before ripping open his own fly. "This is somehow all your fault!" he snapped lowly and spit into his palm, quickly lubing his dick to the best of his ability given their risky situation.

"I... do no quite follow," Castiel breathed. Maybe it was because he was enabling oh God and at that moment Dean had shoved two fingers inside him, hastily prying him apart as he wriggled on his hands like a fish on a hook. "Fuck."

"Yes, and it's your fault," Dean scowled. A few more tugs and it was sufficient. Dean lathered his cock with a little more spittle, before taking Castiel's hips and driving into him. The angel gasped and arched, Dean bending forward to cover his mouth again, stifling the following cry. Castiel rutted against his cock, fingers twitching and tearing at the wood beneath him.

Dean brought his mouth to the crook of the angel's neck, right where flesh was bare next to his upturned collar. He bit hard, fast, grinding teeth before pulling away. Shadows of his teeth were rings of red, blazing against white flesh. Castiel reached up one shaky hand, eyes connected with Dean's. They were glazed, tired, half lidded behind those pioneer of glasses, and his fingers fondled at Dean's ear, scratching at the shell, trying to get a firm grasp to pull him down.

Those glasses, though, on his face they framed him so nicely, bringing out an innocence wound up tightly in silk. With a muffled 'fuck,' he turned Cas suddenly onto his side, causing the angel to twist and moan, awkwardly between resting against his belly and side. One long leg stretched to hook around Dean's shoulder, and he held it firm as he continued to pound into him. At this angle, more spread, he was able to reach deeper depths, and hit that sweet spot that sent Castiel screaming.

Dean hit that spot over and over again, directly like a bull's eye. Castiel's noises were so delicious, soft whimpers and grunts, his eyes lazily rolling upward. But it was no surprise when suddenly there came a knock and jiggle of the door knob. Cas was still learning the meaning of restraining himself during sex, and of course the whines and mewls did not quiet.

Dean quickly reached over, snatched the ashen tie from the table and wadded it into Castiel's mouth. He bit into the fabric, his cries muffled as he met in waves with Dean's strokes. "What is it!?" Dean demanded, voice a high croak.

"Is everything okay?" It was an officer.

"Everything's fine! We're just washing out the rest!" He hoped to God his snarling got through to the idiot's skull. And it seemed to have worked, because there came no reply. Over the dampened whimpers, Dean hard footfalls moving away, until it was silent again on the other side. He exhaled, relieved, and continued the previous pace. His eyebrows wiggled at the flushed angel grinding hungrily into him.

"Pretty smooth, huh?" Dean jeered.

Castiel fished the tie from his mouth. "D-Dean," he gulped, "I am going to--"

"Wait a second!" Dean snapped. Just a few more pumps and he quickly pulled out. Grabbing a wad of napkins, it took him five seconds before he came into them with a low growl. Castiel, on the other hand, felt empty and still lingering on the edge. Dean took a deep breath, blanching as he rolled up the soiled tissues.

"D-Dean," Castiel whined.

"Right, right," the hunter grumbled. He fetched a handful of napkins, applying them to Castiel's cock before stroking it fiercely with his hand. Castiel rose into that hand, struggling to maintain his groans. Another few seconds, and he came too with a keen, soaking up the tissues. Dean quickly took the mess to the office's bathroom, flushing down the evidence.

Castiel wearily sat up on the edge of the desk, pants and underwear still hanging around his knees. Dean washed his hands and walked back to him, zipping up his pants. "That was your first quickie," he chuckled, "how'd you like it?"

Castiel said nothing. He couldn't really fathom or piece together a whole sentence. He looked tired, and yet completely blown out of his Goddamn mind, slightly swaying and crouched forward. Dean purred, "Rendered you speechless, huh? Nothing unusual. But you know..." He paused, fingers carefully fixing Cas's glasses until they were in proper place. He leered at the still recovering angel. "You keep wearing these on the job, and we ain't gonna get much work done."

---

Sam wasn't really appalled. Disappointed? Sure. Shocked? Not at all.

After eight minutes, Dean and Castiel had emerged from the office. Castiel's front was still powdered, but at least they managed to clean up some of it. His cheeks were a bright red, his tongue tied, and he kept tugging up his collar as if trying to hide something. Dean, on the other hand, looked slightly more wrinkled and there was a fresh cut on his top lip. And both of them were glowing like the fucking sun.

"Cleaning up," Sam growled huskily, "my ass."

END