If Castiel is nervous as he's backed into the shower stall, it's because there's a kind of vicious excitement on Dean's face that makes his stomach clench and his body flare hot despite its recent release. It's because Dean hasn't touched him, not while he walked behind him from the bleachers to his office, through that tiny paper choked room and into the coaches private shower stall. Dean hasn't laid a finger on him, and he's already come once by the brush of his own hand, not nearly enough to satisfy.
He's already read what's going to happen. Exactly what Dean is going to do.
He lets the stronger man shove him up against the wall of the shower with his presence alone, not yet manhandling him as Castiel wishes he would, to dissipate the tension and replace it with another kind of potency.
"Take your clothes off." Dean breathes, and Castiel's heart kicks painfully, groin stirring and skin crawling with anticipation. He wonders if this will kill him. Waiting.
He unbuttons his shirt, pulls it off and then pauses, there's nowhere to put it. Dean takes it from him and drops it outside of the cubical. There's a sense of locker room pranks about this, cruel laughter and humiliation waiting as other boys steal the clothing of their weakling peer and tear away with it, leaving him naked and shamed.
It's happened to him before, high school, the first time round.
It shouldn't bring another flush of blood to his cock, already shivering with over stimulation and need in its mess of cooling ejaculate. He shouldn't want Dean to use the power he evidently had in his own high school years, tormenter and victim from two different places, two different times.
He kicks off his shoes.
Dean is going to see, he realises, he'll see the damp evidence of what he had done. He'll know.
Another low pulse of blood, his hands shake and his cheeks flame as he touches the fastening of his pants, opening them and drawing them down his legs, pants and socks off in one awkward movement. His boxers are damp and Dean, his eyes already raking Castiel's body with proprietary expectation, light on the stain.
His face breaks with longing, calm, menacing arousal breached at last with open want.
"Fuck...oh fuck..." he pants and rubs a hand hard into his own crotch, easing the hard on he's been sporting since he saw Castiel's flushed face bent low over the paper he'd left for him, guessed at what the teacher was doing under the cover of his trench and lapful of papers.
Castiel is frozen for a second, then inches the boxers down, more out of shyness than seduction, uncovering the pale skin and dark hair there. Much of his spend has soaked the fabric, but some still clings to the head and shaft, wet and pearly still, newly shed come catching the dull light of the tiny space.
Castiel whimpers as Dean pushes him up against the cold tile, mouth sucking hard at the pulse in his neck, fingertips toying with the slick head of his cock, rubbing the traces of come into the flushed, sensitive skin. He hardens slightly under the rough treatment, moaning and happily, shamefully, going pliant under the force of Dean's body on his. Liquid heat fills his abdomen and groin, legs feeling weak and heart beating his ribcage like a frightened bird in a fist.
"You like that don't you?" Dean's voice sticks in his throat, the rough words connecting somewhere near the sensitive skin of Castiel's throat, other hand catching Castiel as he slides down the wall a little. He can only whimper in response, feeling Dean's calloused fingers roll the uncut skin that clothes his shaft, working the slickness of his come back into the flesh as it rises willingly, hardening under Dean's hand.
"Get on your knees, hands on the floor." Dean releases Castiel and nudges him gently to the floor. Castiel goes, bracing himself on the tile and listening to Dean rustle his own clothing off, tossing it out of the shower. Castiel can see Dean's feet lifting from the floor, one after the other, his underwear dropping down to puddle over his feet, damp patch visible on the crotch. Castiel shivers, and then the broad, warm body of Dean covers his own, hands meeting the floor on either side of Castiel's waist, soft skin of his abdomen rubbing down over Castiel's exposed buttocks, lips trailing his back afterwards as Dean rests his knees on the floor, nudging Castiel's legs open.
