Wait and See

Hot Water

Dean is going to kill her for this, Chelsea thinks as she pulls Sam's shirt over his head. She's seen him shirtless. A few months ago she was holding him up in the pool while he did butterfly kicks.

He's cute shirtless. Slender, but with a little muscle now, not the toast rack look he'd had when he'd just gotten back to the world.

He's also warm and he smells good and his hands are big.

So maybe she is a little too drunk to be making this decision. She'd never had the best tolerance in the world and now that Dean, Cas, Bobby and Karen had all quit drinking she mostly had too. She probably hadn't had a drink since Dean had quit drinking, with the excepting of one glass of wine with dinner when her sister had come into town.

But she would very much like to get laid, Sam would very much like to get laid, and Sam may see Satan tap dance, but they're still both consenting adults.

Drunk, horny, kind of lonely adults who may not be making epically brilliant decisions right now.

Sam unbuttons her blouse like it's a competition- fast and efficient. She swings a leg over his thighs and he slides his hands up her sides and around her back. He pops her bra open with one hand.

"Skills," she comments as Sam slides her bra down her arms.

"Like riding a bike," he replies with a brighter smile than she's seen on him in a while. He slides his hand into the back of her hair and pulls her into a scorching kiss.

It's weird how much different he is than his brother. Dean had been slow and unexpectedly tender for a guy who had made it very clear in their first conversation that he was a warrior. He'd twined their hands and stroked her hair. Sam was already tugging her fly open and working his fingers against her, mouth closed around a nipple and teeth working at the peak.

The thought is weird for a moment, and then she writes it off. She didn't sleep with Dean, Dean had pretty clearly been in love with Cas, even way back then, and it was more than a year ago. So it's not weird if she and Sam wring one out tonight.

Except for the part where Dean is going to kill her.

Her hips are already working against Sam's hand. She tugs his fly open and slips her hand into his boxers, a little surprised that he's already mostly hard. He jerks his head out of the kiss with a harsh breath.

"Everything okay?" Chelsea asks.

"Yeah. Fine. No crazies, just… ummm…"

Chelsea lets go of his cock and brushes her other hand over his cheek. "We can stop."

"No, I'm fine just… two years."

"Oh," Chelsea nods, understanding. "Right. No worries. You first and then you owe me a long second run."

She sits up on her knees and tugs Sam's jeans and boxers down past his hips. He kicks them the rest of the way off. She slides her hands into his hair the same way he did to her and pulls his head down to the couch. She nips lightly at the tendon running down his neck and he squirms.

"Don't worry about impressing me. Just close your eyes."

She spits in her palm and starts stroking him slow but firm while she kisses his neck.

He holds out pretty well, and after a moment or two she's barely teasing him. His hand is gripping her knee so hard that it's starting to hurt. His cheeks are red and sweat is starting to glisten on his forehead as she works her hand up and down. His breathing is shallower. He spasms as she bites gently at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. She grips him tighter and after a few more strokes his whole body jerks up underneath her and he spills wet and hot over her hand while she kisses him.

She grabs a Kleenex off the end table while he catches his breath and wipes them both off. Sam pulls her into another kiss.

"Normally, I'd just grab you and flip you over, but I'm not quite back to fighting weight yet," he laughs, soundly less self deprecating than he normally would with a sentence like that.

Chelsea chuckles, stands up and sits down by Sam's side. This is far from the sexiest night of her life, but it's almost better for that. It's friendly, it's comfortable, it's low pressure.

Sam slides her jeans down, working his fingers against her as she kicks them off. She expects him to take her upstairs. What she doesn't expect is Sam to shuffle off the couch, and kneel between her knees.

"What do you think about a long second run for you, and then a really long third run for both of us?" He asks, grabbing her leg under then knee and lifting it up over his shoulder.

"This is what I like about you, Sam," Chelsea giggles. "You're a thinker."

Dean wakes when the sunlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows is too bright to ignore. He rolls over and feels his hand go through where he expected Cas to be. He sits up and smells the warm coffee wafting over from the nightstand. There's even a Danish on a napkin next to it.

"Awesome," he says, grabbing the cup and taking a sip. Dean kind of just thought coffee was coffee, unless it was the grainy shit from the last pot of the day at a gas station, but whatever this stuff is, it's freaking amazing. Maybe he and Sam should have stayed at five star motels more often back in the day.

Cas is sitting on the little porch, with one of the blankets from off the couch wrapped around himself. Dean slips his jeans back on, grabs the other blanket and his Danish and goes out to sit with him.

The air is crisp and just a little cold, the sun not quite warm enough to counter the chilly breeze.

"Morning," Cas says, smiling up at him. "I was about to come wake you." He has a map and his own cup of coffee. "I went downstairs to buy some breakfast and I met Harry and Margaret. They're here for their 30th wedding anniversary. They've vacationed in the park twelve times. I told them I was here for the first time on my anniversary and they gave me this map."

Cas holds out the map. It's old and worn out with big circles in pen all over it. "They also told me that sometimes people will give you things if you show them that you're staying in the honeymoon suite. That's how I got us breakfast."

Dean loves scheming Cas. He leans over and kisses him. Cas takes his hand.

They sit on the porch in the fall air, plotting out their day and holding hands and Dean just feels overwhelmed with how insanely, surreally, ludicrously normal this feels. A romantic vacation, away from his normal job, with Cas. Who isn't normal, but who Dean loves so much that for the most part he's stopped noticing.

Dean's plan had been to get in the Impala and just drive until something looked interesting, but apparently Harry and Margaret had been very helpful and Cas wants to make more of plan. Dean goes with it. They've got all week. Cas can have a couple carefully outlined out days and Dean can have a few aimless ones. It's their vacation.

They pick four attractions and one restaurant by the time their coffee is finished. Dean decides to add another layer before they leave for the day, because it's almost eleven and it doesn't feel like it's going to get much warmer than this.

Cas follows suit and Dean is watching with just a touch of impatience as Cas pulls out long sleeve shirt after long sleeve shirt, apparently looking for a specific one, which he finds at the bottom of the suitcase. There's a weird rattle and Dean peeks over into the suitcase.

The first reaction is blankness. The second is panic.

Cas packed condoms.

Sam wakes up feeling relaxed and unkinked and satisfied like he hasn't felt in years. His shoulders and his thighs are sore as hell, and a slight sting when he moves makes him remember the nail marks on his back, but it feels good. After Chelsea had done him the courtesy of a run-up he'd gotten her off two more times and gotten another orgasm in for himself to before they'd passed out exhausted. He feels just a little proud of himself for the fact that she still looks well fucked. Her hair is a mess and the very slight amount of makeup she'd put on for the book club was just smudged enough that you could tell it was there.

Sam eases out of bed, careful not to wake her, and goes down to the kitchen. He puts on a pot of coffee, and after digging around for a while, scrapes up the ingredients he needs for Eggs Florentine. It's his only specialty, and he feels a little twinge of weirdness. Jessica had taught him to make this.

Jessica had also been the first person to buy him pajamas. Chelsea was the only other person who ever had, and he'd never admit it, but he'd cried when he taken the bag of clothes that Cas and Chelsea had brought him on his first day back in the world and found that she'd picked out soft, light blue, flannel, pajama pants for him. It had felt like a promise that things could be normal again.

For a little while, at least.

He makes eggs and tells himself in no uncertain terms that Chelsea and Jessica are not alike just because they're both pretty girls who don't care if a guy's not totally normal. He's not projecting or transferring or whatever other pop-psychologist gobbledy good term might get thrown out. Chelsea is his friend. And he had needed last night, and so had she. This is a booty-call, but that is completely fine when it's mutually beneficial.

"You made coffee!" her sigh cuts into his little mental beratement. "My hero."

"I'm making eggs too."

Chelsea makes a noise of appreciation that he last heard with his face buried between her legs.

"You're officially my best hook up ever," she sighs, side hugging him. He jumps a little at the feeling of her wet hair cold on his arm.

"I can finish these up if you want to hop in the shower," she offers.


"Totally. Go for it."

Sam accepts her offer. Her calm is reassuring. He'd realized rather belatedly that right before they'd wound up in bed together Chelsea had been talking about wanting a boyfriend, but this definitely had felt like just a friendly hookup. And, granted, that had never gone well in college, but Sam had still been breaking in the concept of "friends" and hadn't really been ready for an advanced maneuver like "friends with benefits".

Sam runs the shower just a little too hot and climbs in before he realizes that he didn't grab his shower stuff out of his room first. He winds up just using Chelsea's shampoo and conditioner. They smell like coconuts.

"She is a fiery little beauty though, isn't she?"

Sam grits his teeth and keeps washing his hair as though he hasn't heard the voice. He sees things all the time, but only Lucifer ever talks to him. And not in that Nick guys voice. In his real voice. The one that Sam had been able to hear when Lucifer was inside him.

That worries him. He'd overheard Cas and Dean talking about the shell of a man that Rafael had left behind, but he kept reminding himself that Jimmy Novak had been fine after a couple of burgers. Sam had hoped he would get better, and Dean had told him a million times that God had promised that he would get better, but Sam has a hard time believing that God's version of "better" is the same as his.

"And I caught the show last night. She's got some talent."

Sam can see the shadow of Lucifer through the shower curtain. He's pacing back and forth across the bathroom, which he crosses in in three steps because Sam always sees Lucifer in his own body, but dark and twisted and… physically not him somehow, even though it's his body.

"And it was sweet of her to throw you a pity fuck when you're such a train wreck. Don't you think it's a little…Oedipal though? Poor motherless little Sammy going after the woman who drives him around and takes him to the swimming pool and feeds him? I mean… Jessica was a little Oedipal too. The first girl you ever manage to nail down and she's the spitting image of all those pictures your brother used to show you of your poor sainted and roasted mother. I don't know. Fucked up, Sammy."

"Don't call me, Sammy," Sam barks before he can stop himself. He doesn't usually respond to the figment of Lucifer in his head, but sometimes it's just too much.

"Right… right. Only big brother Dean gets that privilege. You know she fooled around with him first. Maybe she's just got a thing for broken guys."

The shadow on the other side of the curtain is pacing back and forth as it pontificates. "Or maybe it didn't even happen and you've just got some sort of fucked up nurse thing, yah kinky bastard."

The hot water hits the scratches on his back at that, and the shadow is suddenly gone.

It's not usually that bad. He can usually push Lucifer away easier than that. Maybe he's just tired. Or even a little hung over.

He dries himself off quickly and goes back downstairs, where Chelsea has coffee and breakfast already set out.

He kisses her before he sits down and she smiles at him and pats his shoulder.

Chelsea drops him off at home after breakfast and he works on his cases. The singing curse in Ohio that Dean worked last year has cropped back up. Sam has been following up, trying to determine why destroying the cursed object would have seemed to have worked last time.

It should be weirder when Chelsea comes over for dinner. Sam's muscles are still sore from working into her last night and she's still got a little hickey visible until she hitches up her camisole.

They make spaghetti. Chelsea asks him what he's working on, then pulls a chair up and starts going over the books with him. It's as comfortable as it was last night. Except for one thing.

"Hey… I'm not sure how to phrase this. I don't want to hurt your feelings."

"Umm… Alright. I'll brace myself then," Chelsea replies, looking up from the book she had been going through.

"Is it okay if we don't tell Dean about… umm… last night?"

Chelsea chuckles. "Tell Dean that I got his mentally unwell baby brother drunk and then seduced him? I was going to send him a card, but, yeah, I guess I don't have to."

"Awesome. Then I'll cancel the cake with "I got your best friend smashed and took advantage of her after she'd just told me she was looking for a boyfriend," written on it in frosting."

"Works for me. And I never said boyfriend," Chelsea says. "I mean, yes. It was implied. But I actually pointed out that I don't like being a third wheel to Cas and Dean."

"I have to agree with that."


They go back to the books. Sam turns a page. Chelsea turns a page. Sam clears his throat. Chelsea takes a sip of her juice.

"What would your thoughts be on doing it again?" Sam asks.

Chelsea looks up at him, smiles, and closes her book.

Dean has been doing pretty well with not freaking out about the condom thing all day. He did spend most of the drive to the Painted Gorge mentally cataloguing all the times he and Cas have had sex in the last two months, and freaking out just a little bit over the fact that they didn't have sex last night, despite the soap-opera esq seduction scene thanks to stupid Chelsea and Sam.

Cas goes directly to the jacuzzi when they get back to the room. He wrenches the faucet up to full blast and he's already stripping as Dean drops their bag on to the bed.

Dean's vaguely aware that with all the royalty money floating around from being the three main characters of a New York Times bestselling series of 61 books that they could actually afford their own jacuzzi in their own house. But even though they're the ones on the paper work and the ones who have actually been living in the house for the last year and a half, Dean can picture the skeptical look on Bobby's face better than he can picture where they would actually put the jacuzzi.

"Dean?" Cas says and in that one word Dean can already hear the tone. It's not actually coy. Coy is too subtle for Cas and hearing him try it is like listening to someone trying to fake your own accent. Even if they're doing it almost right, you can tell how it isn't quite right. "Come sit in the hot water with me."

Dean shrugs and clears his throat, but pulls off his shirt and walks toward Cas. Cas reaches out for him as though he's going to catch him, slots his arms under Dean's and pulls him in for a kiss.

"Are you alright?" Cas asks him. "You've been… distracted all day."

And Dean could lie. He could pull the Sam card. He could bring up the case that he'd left with Bobby because he had a vacation planned and whether or not the word kept turning wasn't on his shoulders anymore.

But the great thing about him and Cas is that neither of them are actually good at being in a relationship, so they don't have the advanced skills like half-truths and could-have-been-trues and they wind up just telling each other the truth pretty much all of the time.

"Let's get in the water first?" Dean says. Cas nods, shuts off the tap, and hits the jets. Cas climbs in and Dean's very aware of the way that he watches Dean as he finishes undressing.

"So why were you so weird today?" Cas asks. He lounges backward in the water and sets his feet on Dean's lap. Dean grabs one and starts kneading it. Cas's head tips further backward. The picture of the jacuzzi in their house is getting clearer.

"Because I saw the condoms in your suitcase," Dean admits.

"Oh. Alright." Cas nods. "I don't understand why that upset you."

"Umm…" Dean's getting better at telling people what he needs, but it's still not comfortable and there are some things that he's not sure how to explain. "Are you… happy… with everything that we do… together?"

Most people would get indignant or desperate to make a point of just how happy they were. Cas just smiles. "Yes."

"So you didn't have anything…planned for this week? With…condoms…which you do realize we don't need right?""

"Chelsea suggested it was best to be prepared. I didn't see any harm."

Dean's starting to wish he hadn't gotten into this. He feels a little like 'the girl' as he continues, "Is that something that you want? Are you… you know… bored?"

Cas settles back further in the tub, eyes only half open. "I am… curious. I hadn't been previously interested because the little exposure that I'd had to the act of anal sex from porn made it appear unpleasantly bestial. I like how intimate we can be together, but I do understand that it's atypical and thought you might be more comfortable in an officially consummated relationship. You did say that sex only 'counts' if there is penetration. Chelsea agreed, though with the caveat that it might be… umm… 'too gay' which I didn't fully understand."

He must be either really tired, or really relaxed, Dean thinks, if he's back to speaking in full Angel. Dean switches to his other foot and Cas arches his back, just enough to be noticeable, as Dean digs his thumbs in.

Having… official sex with Cas shouldn't be too gay, but it kind of is. Rubbing his feet in a jacuzzi on their vacation and- oh yeah- the goddamn strawberries last night should be too gay, but it's… not. Dean struggles to figure out how to explain why that is- or why it even matters. He's dating and stupidly in love with Cas, who can be gender neutral in his own head as much as he damn well pleases, because in the real world he's got stubble and a penis and that makes Dean just freaking gay already. But he's still not sure he can do this.

"Umm… yeah… she's right," Dean finally says. "I'm sorry."

Cas's eyes finally open. He shifts his feet away from Dean and sits up, scooting around the edge of the jacuzzi until he's got an arm around Dean's back. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because… I just can't."

Cas kisses his cheek, and brushes his nose along Dean's cheek bone and- okay, seriously- if anything is too gay it's got to be this. Dean turns to Cas and the nuzzling turns to a kiss. Cas's hand skirts across Dean's stomach. "I don't care, Dean. I'd never be able to enjoy anything you weren't enjoying."

Dean brings a hand up to brush through Cas's hair. "Six months, man. You're really fine just… grinding like teenagers?"

"I was never a teenager, Dean," Cas whispers, tipping his head forward into the kiss again.

"Yeah, you're like a billion years old."

"And human for one and a half. I'm perfectly content with the progress of our physical relationship."

"Okay." Dean pulls back far enough out of the kiss to look Cas in the eye. "Are you sure?"

Cas's eyes shift downward for just a second and Dean's heart sinks. He doesn't want to hold out on Cas… but he just can't do this.


"There is… one thing that I'd like to…umm…consider."

He's blushing Dean notes with sudden fascination. "What's that?"

Cas crosses the last little gap between them, pressing the length of his thigh suddenly against Dean's and tightening his fingers around Dean's side. Despite the tiniest touch of fear, Dean's getting hard.

Cas licks his lips, then pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. "I think… there is something…umm… enticing about oral sex?"

Dean's mouth goes a dry at the way Cas's tone tilts up into a question.


"We don't have to do anything that you're not going to enjoy," Cas repeats, moving back into a kiss and then speaking so close that his lips tickle against Dean's as he talks. "And if you don't… want to… I could… I could do something you'd enjoy and reciprocation wouldn't be required."

Cas's voice drops from its usual rasp to a complete growl as he stumbles through his request. Dean's definitely hard now. Cas wants to blow him. Cas is flushed and breathy and has clearly been thinking about this for a long time and for some weird, possibly Angelic, totally inexplicable reason, is actually desperate to blow him.

"That's not fair," Dean manages.

"It's not a transaction, Dean," Cas whispers, his hand is gliding down Dean's side in a very familiar way. Dean's hips bump upward and Cas settles his hand around Dean's cock, stroking so lightly it's almost like he's not there.

Dean spreads his legs and leans back a little, his body immediately shifting to grant Cas better access even while his mind is still kicking around what's actually happening here.

"Why do you want this so badly?" Dean asks. It's bizarre. He's never known a girl to get this hot and bothered about the idea of doing this to him and it would be one thing if Cas was expecting something back, but… there's the honesty thing. If Cas says it's okay- it's okay.

"It's… um… it seems…" Cas tries. Dean pulls him in for a kiss and Cas puffs out a harsh breath. "It's so intimate... and… umm… sensual."

Dean doesn't say it out loud… but he can't stop himself from wondering just what the hell kind of porn Cas stumbled across and how they managed to edit out the choking and spit and occasionally awkward angles he remembers from the times he's had a girl go down on him, and particularly from the first couple times he'd had girls go down on him. And those girls had been less virginal than Cas by a long shot.

It makes him kind of determined to make this as good as Cas seems to thinks it'll be. He pushes Cas's hands away from his cock, and pulls Cas into a deep kiss. He slides his fingers into the hair at the nape of Cas's neck and strokes his other hand down across that shoulder blade line that still makes Cas tremble. Cas had finally admitted that it was a wing thing- that was where the joint should be, and it still felt like it shouldn't be possible to touch it.

"Stay here, okay?" Dean says.

Cas nods. Dean kiss him quickly, gets out of the tub and grabs towels for both of them. He sets Cas's on the counter, dries himself, then tucks the towel around his waist and goes out to the bedroom. He closes the drapes, flicks the dimmer switch on the fancy wall sconces down to low, arranges the pillows on the bed, and congratulates himself on starting to get good at this whole 'romance' thing.

He goes back to the bathroom, where Cas is looking just slightly anxious in the tub and hands him the other towel.

Cas is warm and dry when Dean wraps his arms around him and starts walking him carefully into the bedroom without breaking the kiss. He navigates back to the bed by feel, and stops when he feels the mattress hit the back of his knees. "You still sure about this?"

"Yes," Cas replies.

Dean lowers himself down onto the bed and leans back onto the stack of pillows he'd set up. Cas lowers himself between Dean's legs and sets one steadying hand over his thigh. Dean brushes a thumb over Cas's cheek.

Cas wraps his hand around Dean's shaft, stroking unhurriedly. Dean shifts his legs a little further apart to give Cas room. Cas starts setting kisses to the insides of Dean's thighs.

Dean's been on the receiving end of a blowjob too many times to count. In the Impala. In ratty motel rooms in at least half the states in the lower forty-eight. Up against any amount of bedroom doors. And it's not like he's ever treated any of those girls as means to an orgasm. He can list all their names and he'd recognize them if he saw them in the street. He's lived a lot of nights like they were his last, but he's not a dog.

But he's never done anything quite like this. Petting his hands over Cas's bare shoulders and tracing his fingertips up Cas's neck as Cas patiently kisses his way up Dean's legs and sets another kiss to his stomach. He looks up at Dean as he takes just the tip into his mouth, and it's not a teasing porn star look, it's not a sexy look-at-what-I'm-gonna-do-for you smirk of the grateful-girl variety. Cas is just looking at him. Making eye contact because it is something suddenly intimate and vulnerable.

Cas isn't hesitant, but he's experimental. It's slow and a clumsy and Cas's total lack of technique should be agonizing, but the look of hopeful concentration on his face is the single most brain meltingly hot thing Dean's ever seen in his life. Cas doesn't work his palm up and down the shaft to take care of what his mouth can't reach, he wraps one arm around Dean's body and holds on just below the small of Dean's back, like he's anchoring himself. When Dean realizes that Cas hasn't quite worked out the potential of his free hand, Dean just takes it in his own, letting Cas work his mouth up and down and show unbelievable promise with his tongue.

It's not perfect, but it's wonderful and Dean's tapping Cas's shoulder to warn him sooner than he thought he would be. Cas pulls off and pushes himself up to kiss Dean, finally bringing his hand into play to finish Dean off as Dean stutters Cas's name out against his lips.

Cas kisses him against the pillows while Dean comes back down and realizes that Cas is working his hips against Dean's like he can't even help it.

Dean would almost have been able to switch places with Cas after that. Held onto his thighs and brought Cas off in his mouth thinking about how hot Cas has been while he'd done it.

But despite the romantic vacation and the hand-holding hiking during the day, (even out amongst the tourists) and the six months of falling asleep holding each other… he just can't… not yet. Not quite yet.

Dean tosses the pillows back toward the headboard, guides Cas up to them and then kisses him everywhere while he works his fist over him. His cheeks, his neck, his chest, his forehead.

They barely bother to clean up before crawling underneath the covers, Dean holding Cas close to his chest and still setting the occasional kiss to the back of Cas's neck until they're asleep.

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