Killing Loneliness

This is a gift for my good friend Cas, as promised, in return for drawings she did upon my request. :) There are no glasses or crossdressing; I decided to try something different, since those were written for you all ready hurp.

Title: Killing Loneliness
Rated: MA
Pairing: established!Dean/Castiel
Warnings: mild profanity, sex: frotting (not frottage; 2 Dicks 1 Hand); takes place around latter season 5
Summary: Castiel's feeling, accordingly, "clingy, needy and lonely." Dean does what Dean does best--and it's not hunting.
A/N: This was written to copious replays of recorded rainstorms and "Breathe" by Télépopmusik. Title has nothing to do with the HIM song beyond the name; it just popped into my head and I decided to roll with it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It was a terrible hurricane season on the coast, every news station with their pretty plastic newscasters saying the same thing. Wind velocity blah blah outrageous, inches of rain expected blah blah fucking Noah flood, lightning and thunder and hail, oh my. Flashes of wind and rain bending trees to their whim and blowing roofs off helpless houses danced across the screen, reports flooding (no pun intended, of course) in constantly about any new damage, quick to alert the general public when hurricane El Diablo gave another sneeze and blew out another neighbor.

Dean had been trying to find something more interesting to watch. Doctor Sexy MD, a game show, borderline public porn, anything, just to make him forget the terrible fucking choice he and Sam made coming down to this state of madness. They had no choice, really, what with so much demonic activity regarding a handful of murdered people written off as "casualties of the storm." Of course their base of location, after driving (but mostly walking, since the streets were flooded) for two days in search, had to be near the eye of the storm and once they all went back whence they came, the boys were not pleased as punch to discover they were not the creators or controllers of this mad hurricane.

Blame that fucking Apocalypse.

Dean finally just switched the TV off, unable to hear the same old bullshit just get worse by the hour. Outside was enough proof--wind was blowing, rocking the cars in the motel parking lot, which was luckily uphill of the floods. Dean meticulously covered the Impala up in a tarp, patching the windows with foam he bought; he couldn't weigh the poor girl down, but at least she wouldn't have to suffer all that rain or hail. And the rain, Jesus, the only time it had stopped was once in the two days they were there, and that was barely for an hour. So it had been a picnic interrogating friends and family of the victims while drenched, their umbrellas blown inside out, their professionalism just as well.

They had meant to leave early that morning, but flash floods and even worse hail closed down nearly half of the streets and even some of the highways, leaving them trapped until this thing, well, "blew" over. Which wouldn't be anytime soon, but at least tomorrow, as Cindy Morris of Channel 15 News assured, there would be a small chance of sun and the rainfall would be more sporadic than it had for a week now.

Since everyone was advised to stay off the road, and cops were stationed to make sure no idiots were out frolicking about, five games of Paper, Rock, Scissors had Sam suit up in his newly purchased poncho (which was a godawful neon pink since the store was sold out, and Dean grabbed the last, blue one) and boots and begrudgingly went out into the fury of God to gather them some dinner via a McDonald's just a couple blocks from the motel.

Dean yawned loudly. His stomach gave a small flip from hunger and he checked his watch. Sam had left only two minutes ago, but it had felt like an eternity. "Christ..." he grumbled and rolled on his side, massaging his scalp in hopes of working out the tension. For a while he laid there, listening to the storm outside, arms hugging anxiously at a pillow.

In a time before demons and angels, Dean had fallen asleep to the sound of rain and thunder. In that moment of peace, it was almost like a lullaby all over again. Too bad he was too hungry to sleep, even if he did close his eyes and counted naked chicks leaping over the fence. If his calculations were right, if Sam wasn't somehow stopped by an officer asking him if he was crazy for going out in this storm, because the pink poncho was not exactly helpful to his sanity, then he'd be back with the food in a little over--

Dean nearly crashed out of his bed when he heard the loud thud-thud-thud on the door. For a moment, he thought lightning had struck the damn hotel. Realizing it was just someone knocking, Dean's surprise was overcome with confusion. Sam couldn't possibly be back so soon, unless aforementioned cop dragged him back. Dean gathered to his feet and moved towards the door, hand hovering above his gun laying all comfy beside a pack of gum and brochures.

"Yeah," he shouted at the door, clutching the doorknob tightly, "who is it?"

"Dean. It's me. Open up."

Dean instantly recognized that voice. The peephole confirmed his suspicions and he quickly unlocked the door, yanking it open. "Castiel," he said, "where--" But his jaw clamped closed the moment he fully took the angel in.

Castiel was drenched to the bone, his hair stuck like a wet mop to his head. It was all the blood on his clothes and face that worried Dean, however; deep pools that split into rivets of soft pink down the materials. His face was pallor, the usual electric blue in his eyes subdued to a similar shade of pale. He looked up at Dean, tired, miserable... wet.

"Unfinished business," Castiel croaked.

"Jesus, man," Dean scowled and quickly took Castiel by the arm, pulling him inside. It took very little effort; he came much like a rag doll. Dean stood him aside to shut and lock the door before pushing him towards the bathroom, leaving muddied footsteps and a trail of water behind. "Why didn't you call me?"

Castiel stood by the bathroom door, still and dripping everywhere. "I finally ran out of minutes," he said, but there was no humor in his tone. Just something numb, dull, with a twinge of irritation.

Dean shook his head as he quickly turned on the shower. "At least tell me you're not injured," he scowled and pulled Castiel over. He blanched at the pink blood soaking his hands, quickly running them under the water. He heard the curtain flutter before looking aside, jumping as Castiel stepped right under the warming water, clothed and all. "Come on, Cas, you've hung around me long enough to know how to take a frickin' shower."

"My clothes need washed, too," Castiel answered, and maybe that was some attempt at humor. But he stepped out of the water, the coat weighing him heavily down.

It became apparent the angel was too weak to undress himself. And while Dean had seen him naked plenty of times, he still wished he didn't have to help. He wasn't Castiel's mom. Yet, watching him try to slooooowly peel off one sleeve of his coat alone was aggravating Dean beyond measure, and he quickly reached out, helping him to yank off the blasted thing. Once off, Dean held it up; it had to weigh as much as a small child, damn; he quickly threw it over the shower railing, letting it drip everywhere. This wasn't his place to clean up, and kicking a towel underneath the drip was good enough.

Castiel's suit, though dark, seemed clean of blood, just the front, tie and what little of the white undershirt peeked out. Dean was hopeful this meant all the blood coating the angel belonged to others and others alone. Castiel fiddled at his tie, trying to untie it, only succeeding in making another knot. "How do you work these things," he grumbled.

"Magic fingers," Dean replied. In no time flat, he had the tie off, eyebrows wiggling before tossing it on the towel catching the water dripping from the hung coat. Castiel blinked, didn't understand--Dean possessed no particular magic of such--but when the hunter cleared his throat, he nodded faintly and went back to taking off his second coat, handing it to Dean who tossed it over the trench coat.

"Come on," Dean said, looking back, "you're almost..." He trailed off, suddenly speechless. Castiel was left in his white undershirt now, picking at the buttons of his sleeve. The white had soaked in, big red spot over his belly; contours and creases of his torso pressed into the wet, nigh invisible material, two hard nipples touched against the surface. Dean spotted a belly button below the bloodstain, the very tip-tops of groin and pelvic muscles from his loose hanging pants.

"Dean."

Dean snapped to. "Sorry, I was distracted by your Milk Duds," he teased.

Castiel stopped unbuckling his belt. "Milk... Duds...?"

"Nevermind."

Castiel rose his arms, allowing Dean to pull the shirt over his head, messy wet hair now pulled up into multiple licks. Nearly as normal. And, well, like many other times, Dean just watched as he yanked out his belt and dropped his drawers, letting them pool in a wet mess at his ankles. Carelessly he dragged his feet out his shoes, the socks pulled off with disgusting slops and dropped outside the tub with the pants.

Dean assessed the display. Nothing new he hadn't seen before; couples bruises and minor cuts, but no serious damage. The blood, indeed, had not been his own. It was only until Cas started shivering did Dean look up. His lips were turning a soft blue; he bit down on the corner bottom, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

"So... Can I get in the shower now...?" Castiel mumbled.

Shivering. This was a new concept for the angel. It was... human. Dean frowned pitifully and nodded. "Get yourself cleaned up, buddy," he said and closed the curtain on him. He had made way to leave, but, since there was nothing waiting for him in the other room, he rather sat on the toilet, listening to Cas shuffle about under the hot water, steam clouding the ceiling and fogging up the dinky bathroom mirror.

"So," Dean exhaled and peered at the pile of clothes. Puddles were forming around the towel, the center turning pink from the blood dripping down above. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

"I told you. Unfinished business," Castiel answered.

Dean perked his eyebrows. "Down here? The same area where we killed those demons just last night? You implying--"

Castiel interjected: "No. You cleaned up well. No survivors."

"Then it must be personal."

A pregnant pause. "You could say that."

Dean nodded. "Well, whatever personal business you had," he said, and slapped the bloody coat, "it's dead now."

"Yes. I made certain of that."

It wasn't like Dean didn't respect people keeping secrets. Lord knows he had more than the entire state of Texas. But when it came to loved ones, when it came to them appearing at your door drenched in rain water and someone's blood, Dean wasn't exactly as respectful of their privacy as he usually would have been. The fact Castiel wasn't telling him anything irritated him, since the angel practically knew everything about him and his brother, and yet another half simply told him to let it be.

"Looks like you gave your 'personal business' one Hell of a bloodletting," Dean smirked.

Suddenly, the curtain flew open, Castiel's head peeking out. Some of that light had returned to his tired eyes. "Dean," he said.

"Cas."

"I wish to take a bath," Castiel insisted, face stern, voice all business.

Dean blinked. "... O-kay." Castiel stepped aside, Dean hitting the sprocket; instantly the shower head went silent, water gushing from the faucet into the tub. Dean yanked out the shower curtain and quickly shoved in the plug, all the while the angel watching curiously. "You really ought to learn to do these things for yourself," he said.

Castiel nodded. "This will be my first bath," he noted, but Dean's eyes happened to be stuck on a certain organ hanging limp at the angel's pale thigh. His attention tore away when Castiel sunk to a sit, experimentally; the blood had washed out, leaving the water clear and clean. Stretching his legs slow and easy, Castiel sat forward, hunching almost, and stared at his faint reflection in the quivering water.

"Baths are nice, but they're more of a girl thing," Dean said. Castiel was fascinated as he watched the water rise around him, fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap. Dean inhaled then exhaled loudly, making a clicking noise against the inside of his cheek. The angel did not look up. "Sooo," he mumbled, "I guess I'll leave you to your first bestest bath ev--"

"Wait!"

Dean had turned to leave when suddenly Castiel grabbed him by the pants leg and yanked him back. The floor, slippery and wet, caused him to slide clumsily forward, and neither of them knew what happened, except Dean cursed, Castiel jumped and the water exploded; when it all cleared, Dean found himself sittings sideways in the bathtub, Castiel at the far end with his back to the running water. His hand still held onto Dean's jeans.

"Did you... just..." Dean shut his eyes, hands raised. His head hurt, probably hit the wall. "Did you just do that?"

"You slipped," Castiel explained. "I did not mean for you to fall."

Dean fluttered his eyes, smiling tightly, at his lap, which was submerged in water. "Yes, well, I can see that."

Castiel stared at him. "Shit happens," he spouted seconds later without even a thought.

The hunter looked at him, surprised, before managing a smile. "Yeah," he said, wincing as he sat up, legs still dangling over the side of the tub, "shit indeed." As he attempted to climb out of the bath, sickened by his wet clothing clinging tightly to his skin, Castiel took his shoulder. "What now?" Dean scowled.

"I asked you to wait," the angel replied, "to ask if you will join me."

"What? No," Dean spat, but did not move.

"You might as well. You are here now."

"Sam'll be back in like fifteen minutes."

"Then you can leave in fourteen."

"Cas--"

"Dean."

The two had a war of the wills through their locked stare. Both so stubborn, the pouring water roaring in their ears. Finally, Dean sighed and rose his hands like white flags. "Jesus, fine," he growled, "but let me undress first."

"It doesn't seem to matter now," Castiel said. He kept his hold on Dean's pants leg.

Dean studied him for a moment. "You're real clingy tonight, you know?"

"I suppose so, though it is not my intention," Castiel apologized.

"I don't think anyone intentionally means to be clingy."

"I see."

After the few seconds of silence, Dean reached past Castiel's shoulder, quickly turning off the water. "Floor's all ready flooded, don't need to add more," he stated. Castiel nodded and Dean sat back. "You're not usually needy, you know."

Castiel furrowed his brows. "I thought I was clingy?"

"Same diff." Dean waved a hand at him. He gave a powerful grimace as he slowly dropped his legs into the tub. Castiel scooted back, until they each shared one end of the tub, pairs of legs pulled to their chests, though there was barely any room left regardless. "What's the deal, then?" Dean asked. "Your personal business get too personal?"

Castiel flicked water. It was almost cute. "Perhaps, perhaps not," he answered. "I am experiencing an emotion humans term 'indescribable.' ... And, to you, 'clingy' and 'needy' as well."

Dean laughed and reached out, pinching and tugging wet bangs hanging like a fringe over Castiel's forehead. "We all feel that way from time to time. Don't sweat it. Maybe if you could put a name to it, you feelin' a little lonely?"

Castiel barely winced. "It..."

The hunter stretched his arms over his bent knees. "That's okay, too." He knew what loneliness was, knew her like a best friend. Though 'friend' was pushing it.

"It is very human."

And that was the root of the problem. Dean knew it had nothing to do with Castiel's mysterious battle. It had everything to do with his declining grace. From having to knock at the door instead of teleport inside; needing help to undress, pale skin, sweat, fatigue, decrease of body temperature. It seemed to have been overloading Castiel's systems; like some alien force trying to assimilate another without his consent. Skin fusing with energy, blood drowning him whole, emotions tearing apart everything he once was...

"I'm not good with this comforting stuff," Dean confessed. "I don't know what to tell you, Cas. You know what I'd say, cause you know the truth of the situation. I'd just be repeating things."

Castiel bobbed his head. "I don't need a lecture or pat on the back, as you will," he agreed. He slipped forward, long, spindly fingers reaching to touch, just lightly, the tips of Dean's. "Perhaps it is just you I need right now."

Dean twitched a finger back. "That's sorta romantic," he smirked. "But don't always put your eggs in one basket."

"'Eggs'?"

"Nothing."

Dean crouched forward, stretching his arm to cup the back of Castiel's neck. He pulled the angel forward, who came willingly, until their mouths locked. Dean kept his hand on the nape of his neck, the soft tuffs of wet hair above his fingers, his second grasping an arm and yanking the angel closer. Castiel slipped between his legs, forcing Dean to part his against the small confines of porcelain and tile.

Castiel took his face in his hands, kissed hard and hungry. The heat his body produced, he could feel it as it passed, hot and wet, between their mouths. Their tongues pushed and pressed against and around one another, running along the bridge of teeth, the soft, pink of flesh, and Castiel shivered when a wet thumb caressed his cheekbone as fingers drew into his hair. Dean pulled them apart, nearly breathless, Castiel a little better off; the angel took a moment as he drew back, bit and sucked just a second or two on Dean's bottom lip before letting his head drop, saliva dripping from his bruised, red warm lips.

"Too small to do much," Dean mumbled. His cheeks were flushed from heat, not all of that from the water and steam. Castiel nodded thoughtlessly. "C'mere."

Doing as told, the angel sunk forward, letting Dean's fingers bury into his lower back. One hand forced open the fly of his pants and underwear, letting loose his erection. The hand on Castiel's back ordered him forward, until his own hard on met Dean's. Both shivered, Castiel arching forward as the pearls of his spine pressed into taut flesh.

"Relax," Dean ordered, voice husky. His hand moved up Castiel's back, passing one protruding thigh bone before settling over a shoulderblade. Castiel leaned forward, flinching, before resting his torso against Dean's chest, head to head with the hunter. Dean took both cocks in one calloused hand, closing carefully around them, forcing them together. When Castiel stirred, fingers on his back massaged at a small knot, easing him back down.

In the silence, Dean began, stroking both, first moderately, carefully, so as not to startle or discomfort Castiel. The angel breathed hard into his ear, eyes shutting as his hips bucked into the hand. Dean upped the pace a little, gave his bottom lip a small bite. Castiel dug his stubbed nails into Dean's shoulders, closing them into the wet fabric of his shirt.

As hips began undulating faster, harder, Dean quickened the pace, chuckling as he turned his head, lips brushing against Castiel's ear. "Needy indeed," he teased, taking a small bite on the earlobe. Castiel tensed, a tongue crawling up along the shell of his ear; a breath to tickle his cheek, the corner of his mouth caressed with warm lips. The angel turned his head, kissed hard, first lips before tongue, sucking air in desperately through his nostrils.

Sweat mixed with water, Dean's fingers trembling as he stroked faster. Castiel slumped against him and he stalled, unlocking lips. "Cas," he croaked, "Cas, you okay?"

Castiel nodded feebly.

"If you want to stop, just say so."

Castiel dropped a hand to Dean's left nipple and pinched it hard over the shirt. Dean groaned and bucked up, sending another jolt of shared pleasure. "Well," he chuckled, "guess you're okay." He sunk his thumbnail into Castiel's slit, causing him to jump and hiss between grit teeth. "Good you are, cause I was gonna be super pissed if you made me stop right before I'm about to cum."

"Don't stop," Castiel panted, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck, "don't stop." He continued riding with the motions, water rocking, one crossed hand digging into Dean's hair and squeezing a fistful. "Don't stop," he breathed. He kissed the top of his head, nuzzled, took in his scent. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

Dean squinted his eyes. "Might have to... In a minute..."

Castiel whimpered, closing his eyes and nodding. He understood, as he felt his own orgasm approaching. He drew back, hands touching Dean's face, and their eyes locked. Dean's hazel green, dear Lord, it was so human, but it burned with a passion not even God could destroy. And somewhere ghosting the back of his head, Castiel wondered if his eyes were just as human, but naked of this same amazing power.

Gloom threatening to overcome him, Castiel dropped in for one last kiss. It begun as they reached their ends. Castiel came only a second before Dean, each groaning and holding one another as Dean released them both. In thick curls their seed pooled between them, their cocks flaccid and exhausted. Dean had to cut the kiss, giving a big exhale.

"Okay, we gotta get out," Dean grumbled and gently sat Castiel back. "Heat's making me light headed."

"Yes."

Castiel slipped back, letting Dean rise, water gushing from his clothes. Castiel managed to smile, just slightly, as Dean bitterly pulled his shirt and pants off. Monkey see, monkey don't, so to speak, Castiel removed the plug, letting the water drain. He stood, making sure he was clean. Dean, naked and out, tossed him a spare towel.

One emotion from before, the one he had listed, was gone now. Castiel believed it was the loneliness.

----

When Sam returned, he didn't even bother asking or commenting on Castiel's sudden appearance. The angel was curled on his side, fast asleep, on Sam's bed. The blankets were pulled up to his waist, and he was wearing the hotel's complimentary bathrobe. Sam was more curious as to why Dean was in a different pair of clothes than when he last saw him a half hour ago.

"Unbelievable out there," Sam grunted, tossing off his poncho. He hoped to never see it again. Dean sat up from his bed as Sam deposited his hamburger and fries before him. "Walk was a bitch and the people at the joint were understaffed. I swear it was like they were on their last frozen patty when I got there."

Dean took a big bite out of his hamburger. He groaned with pleasure. "Worth it," he mumbled around a mouthful.

"I hope so," Sam said, taking out his chicken salad. He sat at the table, eyes back on Castiel. "I'm not going to ask any questions but one."

Dean looked at him, slightly nervous.

"Why do you always have him sleep in my bed?"

END

I love how in many of my bigger D/C fics, Sam is always out running an errand or shit.