Word Count: 1406
Summary: Cas doesn't seem to be able to wash his hair properly; lucky for him Dean is there to help him out.
Author's note: This is my fill to blindfold_spn and it was originally posted here. The original prompt was: ''Dean has to help Castiel wash his hair.''
Also, this had no beta, so all mistakes are my own :)
Castiel can't wash his hair on his own.
Well, he can, but he apparently doesn't see the difference between shampoo and ordinary soap once he's in the shower, thus ending up with a mop of hair unusually unruly even for him and lamenting general discomfort and itchiness to Dean; of course, it all results in putting them in this totally inappropriate position.
That is to say Cas is bending shirtless over the tub and Dean is next to him, sitting on the border finger-deep in his hair, washing them again with a huge amount of tearless shampoo.
You know, the one for babies, just in case.
It is all so embarrassing Dean doesn't really want to think about how he ended up accepting this arrangement to begin with, but he's not so good at lying to himself as not to admit that he took advantage of the situation to satisfy a long lasting curiosity about Castiel's hair.
It's just that it always seemed so soft and silky, begging to be touched and smelled and just felt, that Dean didn't even consider refusing a chance to satisfy this desire.
So here he is, fingers traveling around Cas' scalp, smoothing over the soft expanse and reaching behind, down over the nape of his neck. He can feel the weight of that now all-too-human head, how Cas follows the movements of his hands, vibrating deep in his throat with sounds of pleasure and contentment.
The air around them is foggy from the shower vapors, every surface wet as well as Cas' skin, translucent where soapy water trickles down the length of his back; new patterns Dean is suddenly tempted to follow with his tongue. The smell of shampoo wafting up from the lather covering the soft dark brown curls reminds him of honey, warm and sweet and as of now forever branded in his brain as the way Castiel smells.
He finds himself leaning in, never stopping touching him; fingertips brush over the back of Cas' ear, thumb feeling up his pulse, quickening at every inch he gains in his silent exploration. He's hovering and he knows it, crowding him over the tub like there's a magnetic force attracting him and he has no choice but follow while Castiel shifts on his knees, uncomfortably bending over the rim and flushing a glorious pink under Dean's ministrations.
He's beautiful and Dean wants to see more. Wants to lick up every secret of his skin, count his lashes and press just as many kisses on his collarbones; run the tip of his tongue down his torso as thoroughly as his hands swim through silken hair, catching and gripping and just cleansing him of everything horrible around them.
He feels himself stiffen in his pants and it's inevitable, really. Too hot and warm and Castiel just there, breathing with his lips parted, eyes closed and eyelids fluttering like he might be dreaming.
He is not; this is real and tangible and Dean tugs at his hair once to make a statement. To say 'Yeah, we're really here' without wasting any breath on words.
He tugs once, delicately, and then again; more forceful and demanding, pulling his head back in one swift motion. He doesn't give Castiel the time to gasp his surprise for he's suddenly on his lips, sliding down the border of the crappy motel tub to kneel on the floor next to him, same level.
Face to face, lips on lips. He feels Cas' breath leave his lungs and settle inside himself and he replaces it with his tongue, sliding moist and full, heavy across his, exploring his mouth as his fingers keep tracing patterns in his hair, still gripping him tight, sliding through the lather.
He nibbles at that full mouth, bottom lip stuck between his teeth and soothed by his tongue, while Castiel finally shakes himself from the blissed out trance he seemed to have been fallen into. He's a flutter of naked skin and muscle, sinew moving under a sheen of dampness resting on his body and all around the air. His arms come up and encircle Dean drawing him in, close, closer. Closest.
Chest to chest Dean forgets himself in favor of mapping out the shape of Cas against his body, warm and slippery and perfectly solid. His hands finally leave the luscious brown curls they were attending to and slither down, a trace of foam painting patterns down the road, finding Cas' waist and holding tight. A long, infinite embrace while they get deeper inside one another, grunts and groans and moans lifting in the air and swimming in the misty bathroom all around them.
He's dimly aware of the fact they're rutting and panting breaths against each other, biting their way to a release that's not so far by now. He digs blunt nails inside Cas' flesh and swallows a beautiful sound, burying it so far inside himself he'll never be able to get rid of it, thinking at the same time that no, why would I want to anyway?
Cas is keening and panting and his mouth shapes Dean's name around his tongue, licking and nipping and suckling until there's nothing Dean can do other than dip his hands down; fingers trembling around the fly of both their pants to try and just get closer, feel Cas as much as he needs to; as he craves and wants like he swears he never wanted anything in life.
It takes a moment longer than it normally would, being so out of himself with arousal; but he's there now and the sigh Cas lets out the moment Dean grips him tight and warm in his palm – the moment he starts stroking him and fisting the both of them in a snug, sweaty cage – is enough to bring him on the edge and stutter a strangled cry through his teeth, busy biting down on Cas' neck.
He hears Cas pant his name, 'Yes' coming out in between heavy breaths while Dean's hand works both of them faster and faster until it's just a blur, a slapping sound to add to a visual he cannot get, buried deep into Castiel's flesh, sucking a mark where neck meets shoulder and not regretting, never regretting.
He clenches his fist around them and pushes up his hips, rhythm awkward for the both of them but seemingly enough, cocks slippery against each other and rising happily and eager for more; leaking and throbbing and warm, so warm. Burning hot, coating themselves in each other's pleasure, seeking friction and release.
Dean is there, almost there; he licks up a moist line of pure lust up Cas' neck until he meets the plump shape of his earlobe, tucks it in his mouth and pulls gently at it with his teeth: ''Come on,'' he grunts, pushing up in shameful thrusts, gaining in speed and force. ''Come on Cas – ah – give it up.''
Castiel moans, a slight frown on his forehead, mouth open in a silent 'O' and Dean feels him still; feels him shake and stutter and pump his pleasure out, hips jerking and soft, slimy strings of come kissing his stomach in warm sploshes of white.
It hits him then; this is it. He just witnessed Castiel's first orgasm and it all falls down on him so hard, so beautifully that he only has time to fasten his lips to Cas' slightly parted ones and suck at his very essence that he's coming too, hard and plentiful, painting his bliss all over his hand and Cas' cock, still twitching and heavy and perfectly, perfectly slotted to his own.
He comes back to awareness and they're slumped against the tub, a mess of sweat, shampoo and semen on their skin.
He looks up to see Cas staring at him, eyes blue and shiny and a little secret smile tugging at his lips.
He smirks then, open and broad and free of anything other than sated happiness, and with a swiftness acquired in decades of training he tackles Cas to the ground, towering over him and gripping his hair through what's left of the honey scented shampoo.
''Take your pants off and forget about washing your hair,'' he says, taking the time to drag his lips across Castiel's, loving the feel of him moaning and squirming under his body, ''You're going in for the full Dean Winchester shower experience now.''