Archive of Our Own

Dean has this really, really bad habit of refusing to admit he's sick. Too many years spent taking care of Sammy or even Cas have made him reflexively stuff the ill-feeling down as deep as he can manage. Dismissing sneezes as allergies ("Is there a cat in here? Not cool guys.") and pretending a cough is just a hearty throat clearing ("Went down weird when I swallowed or something I guess.") but Cas keeps watch on him vigilantly as always, and when his fever spikes and he doesn't want to leave the bed, Cas is ready. “‘M fine, Cas. Don’ worry ‘bout me.” Dean offers through a stuffy nose. “Yes Dean, of course you are. That’s why your temperature is 7 degrees above normal. Now here: orange juice and chicken soup. You’ll feel better soon.” Cas smiles softly and sits beside him on the bed while he eats. “‘Kay. Thanks, Cas.” “Of course, Dean. Always.”

 And days later, when Dean is nearly recovered from his cold but still feeling miserable, Cas leads him by the hand down the hall and into the bathroom, where a tub full of steaming hot water is just waiting for Dean. "I'd kiss you for how awesome you are, but I don't want you sick too," Dean said, smiling. Cas helps him strip, slow and gentle, and steadies him as he slides into the soothing water. "This is perfect, Cas. Thank you. I'll have to find some way to make up for you taking care of me."

Cas wakes up one morning to a most delicious smell. There, right there, on his nightstand, is a tray of excellently prepared food: pancakes, bacon, diced potatoes, fried eggs, and strawberries, with a tall glass of chocolate milk. Cas doesn't have to wonder for a second who made this for him--Dean is an extraordinary cook--but he's not sure what he's done to warrant such a pleasant surprise. He eats his breakfast with enthusiasm, wondering what Dean has on his mind.

 Cas takes his time showering and getting dressed, still trying to think why Dean would prepare such an elaborate breakfast for him. He's wandering down the hall away from their bedroom when he smells...what is that? Lemon? Orange? Cinnamon? Hm. Cas continues toward the kitchen, more curious than ever.

 Cas finally enters the kitchen to find a mountain of muffins: lemon poppyseed, cranberry-orange, apple cinnamon. And a chocolate creme pie bigger than even Dean could eat in one sitting. He's just about to ask Dean what's going on when get gets a glimpse of Dean himself: practically bustling around the kitchen, complete with an apron and oven mitts... and little else.

 "Heya, Cas," Dean offers with a grin as Cas stands in the doorway. "Dean, what is all this?" Cas asks and gestures to the plethora of desserts before him, somehow managing to look at once perplexed and delighted. "It's uh... well, it's sort of my thank-you for taking such good care of me when I was sick. You were really great and I just... this is the only thing I could think of." Dean shrugs and tries not to look directly at Cas.

 Cas' soft huffed laughter drew Dean's attention back to him. “But, Dean, don't you think this is a...an excessive number of confections?” Dean looked around at the countertops, removing his oven mitts. “Yeah...yeah, I guess I overdid it a little,” he said quietly. “I don't know, maybe I should've done something different.” Cas crossed the room and came to stand in front of the other man, taking his hands in his own. “Dean, stop. You’re misunderstanding me.” “I am?” “Yes. I didn’t mean to make you think your gift is inadequate. I’m pleased, actually. You made all my favorites,” and Dean was smiling again, which is all Cas really wanted. “I only meant that it’s not necessary for you to repay me. I took care of you when you were ill because you’re very important to me, not because I wanted anything from you.”

 “Oh. Well,” Dean removed his apron and hung it on the wall. “Alright, then, uh, how about we go enjoy this pie?” He lifted the chocolate crème almost reverently from the counter. “I was wondering, Dean...” “Yeah, Cas?” “Why are you baking in only your socks and boxer shorts?” Dean blinked numbly at Cas for a moment, processing what he'd said, before looking down at himself. “Ah. Right. I just...I thought if the muffins and pie didn't pan out, that there are other things you'd enjoy instead.”

Dean grinned, his smile spreading as Cas caught on. “I think...I think the desserts will wait for us, Dean,” Cas murmured, now openly staring at Dean's shorts. “Good call. Let's go.” Dean grabbed Cas by the wrist and pulled him quickly down the hall to their room. They're two steps from the door when Cas flips his hand around to grab Dean and push him against the wall, his hands on Dean's shoulders and his forehead on Dean's.

Dean grins and tips his head up so his nose brushes Cas', and whispers, “Bed's right in there, you know. Super comfortable awesome memory fo--” “Would you please,” Cas exhaled, “please shut up. I'm trying to kiss you.” Dean pulls at Cas' bottom lip with this teeth, nipping gently as Cas lets out the smallest of moans. “C'mon, Cas,” Dean breathes between kisses, sliding the last few feet along the wall.

Cas' fingers are twined with Dean's as they collapse on the bed, Dean on his back in his boxers and Cas stretched on top of him in a pair of black denim pants that are probably Dean's and a shirt that definitely is. Cas is sucking at a spot just behind Dean's jaw and moving his hips slowly, both of them reveling in the friction, their breathing gone shallow. Dean slides his fingers under the hem of Cas' shirt, his hand splayed wide against the heated skin of his back.

Cas untangles his hand to thread his fingers through Dean's hair, nails dragging over his scalp in time with the motion of his hips. He works his way down Dean's neck, leaving damp kisses along the line of tendon and artery, collarbone and sternum, his free hand gripping the point of Dean's hip with a strength sure to bruise. Cas divests Dean of his shorts with haste, continuing the slow journey down his torso and leaving Dean breathless.

He slides down the bed, shedding his loose shirt and baggy jeans quickly, then travels languidly back up the inside of Dean's thigh, trailing nips along sensitive skin, as Dean trembles with the effort of staying still beneath Cas' attention. Every small motion makes his cock twitch against his belly, already so hard he can barely stand it; his breath sucked through his teeth when Cas dances the back of one nail along the shaft.

Cas hums quietly, a low, steady sound, as he presses small kisses to the side of Dean's cock, modulating the pitch slightly as he travels the length of it because he knows it drives Dean crazy. “Huhmmm uh Cas, ummm, I'm supposed to be repaying you here you know,” Dean offers, trying to steady his breathing. “Nonsense, Dean,” Cas responds, and closes his mouth around the head of Dean's dick. He teases the ridge and slit with his tongue before pulling off and continuing, “This will do nicely, if you still insist on repayment.”

Dean's breath is caught somewhere between gasp and groan when Cas drags his tongue along the length of him. Cas closes his hand around Dean's left hip to remind him to stay still and spends innumerable seconds lowering his mouth onto Dean's aching cock. Cas' throat closes convulsively, and oh, shit, Dean is going to come right the fuck now if it happens again. He buries his fingers in Cas' messy hair and tugs, eliciting another soft moan and a slow exhale.

Cas' head lifts and lowers, varying the suction and tormenting Dean with his tongue as his panting, whispered moans—“Cas, yes, fuck, ohh, yes yes Cas”—come more loudly and often. Cas brings his free hand between Dean's thighs to massage Dean's balls, rolling them in his palm and teasing just behind them with his long fingers, the muscles in Dean's legs and stomach trembling as he neared climax.

And Cas knows, like he always does, when Dean's standing on that precipice, and one hard suck-swallow has Dean coming hard with a strangled grunt. Cas breathes through his nose slowly, keeping just the tip of Dean's cock in his mouth as his breathing slows and Dean starts to move his fingers idly along Cas' scalp. Dean sighs softly as Cas slides up the bed to rest beside him, both of them half-sleepy and drowning in the other's gaze. “Thank you, Cas. Really.” “Of course, Dean. Always.”

Sam finally gets back to the bunker just after dark, he's exhausted. He's ready to fall into bed and sleep for two or three days, with maybe a break in there somewhere for some food. He ditches his gear in his room and decides he may as well eat something before crashing, wandering towards the kitchen with a weary yawn. He stops short, however, at the sounds from inside. “Ohhhhhh. Mmmmm, yes, Dean. Sooooo good.” He sighs and thinks, fuck it, I'll get something later, and trudges back to his room.

 Dean sighs contentedly around another bite of chocolate crème pie, smiling as Cas does the same beside him. “Hey Cas, d'you think we should save some for Sammy?”