Always Cas | ✔

CHAPTER FIFTEEN; part one

     I ask the question before I've even decided I'll say anything.

     I don't want to be mad, thought I was done being mad, because I feel like I have no right to be. But apparently I am still kind of mad. Cas forces himself inside, pushing past me, and starts taking off his clothes, stripping down right there in the entryway. He hangs his coat, first, like that's a normal thing to do, shucks off his shoes, and then pulls the crewneck sweater he's wearing over his head.

     "What makes you think I'm in the mood for this?" I ask and its performative. It's me trying at something that we both know is simply not true. I am always in the mood for Cas. It's an unfortunate circumstance of my life.

     Cas goes, "Oh, you're not?" And he drops to his knees, running a hand up my leg, over my sweatpants. I'm not wearing anything under and they're thin. My body's not mistaking Cas's hand for anything but Cas's hand. I'm definitely not hard, but I'm also not not hard. So it takes about two seconds of him rubbing his hands over my thighs while he looks up at me, all doe-eyed and innocent, for me to get there. "It seems like you are," he says and he licks his lips, the little shit.

     Admittedly, I'm never going to turn down Cas.

     I grip the back of his head, jerking it backwards a bit as I pull him up to his feet. I kiss him, just as roughly, biting at his lip till he opens his mouth to me. We scatter our clothes across the living room floor, make our way upstairs in a rush of limbs until I finally just lift Cas and carry him the rest of the way.

     I think, this is what he wants, right? He wants someone to roughen him up, get under his skin, reduce him to nothing more than a pool of marks. Cas goes down on the bed and I follow after him, crawling up his body. He's flushed all over but I'm not looking, not looking at the faded bruises, the fingerprints that are not mine. A forensics team would not name me if Cas went missing and his body turned up under a bridge.

     When we fuck this time, it's different. It feels like an argument we both know neither of us will win but we're trying, anyway. I pin Cas to the bed, hold him there as I grind into him so slow he's begging when he says my name, asking for more. I want him to feel the pain of it. I want him to remember that I was here. I want to leave my palm print in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, a different kind of imprint.

     Cas moves, hikes an elbow up that knocks me back enough for him to tilt me off of him. I'm disoriented only long enough for him to climb into my lap, bearing down on my chest to give him leverage to fuck me like he's trying to get me to see god. I am seeing god. I'm seeing more of my life flash before my eyes than I remember living. I reach out, holding Cas's hips, trying to slow him down. He slaps at my hand, pushing it away as he leans forward, face hovering over mine so he can moan into my mouth without kissing me.

     I'm so close to the edge and I don't want it to end, not like this. I swing an arm over his shoulders, holding him to me as I roll over. We don't part, but I sink deeper so that my eyes roll for a second and Cas whines. I lift one of his legs to the side, coming at him at an angle. I'm about to jerk him off when he grabs my wrist, stopping me. "If you touch my dick right now, I'll punch you in the face."

    I grin knowing he's good for it, now. "How are you," I pant, "still making sentences?"

    We're fucking to submission. Who's, I'm not sure.

     Cas is clutching my shoulders when he comes. His mouth open as he tips his head back into the pillows making this wanton sound that sends me over the edge. I let my weight go, toppling against him. He's buzzing, I realize. I turn my head and its laughter, soft chuckles that he seems surprised by.