The heat started to get through to him, too. It was an unusual feeling, uncomfortable, but when he looked at Dean, Castiel was still doing well. The hunter was sweating, a film of sweat gracing his forehead, running down his cheeks in the tiniest drops. It was his fault of bringing them to Africa of all countries. The heat would weaken the hunter, make walking at daytime impossible. Then there was a terrible cold at night, slowing them down as well. While Castiel would enjoy nature, flowers that would only blossom in the dark, Dean would swear and freeze and having to lend his coat.

Dean was topless, it was more bearable this way, according to him and they were launched under the only bit of relieving shadow they had been able to create – his coat was installed as a small shield from the sun, sticks used to stabilize it. Castiel had been lost in thought, but then he felt a palm brushing over his leg. His eyes flickered up into the hunter’s and the expression he found was wild, hungry. “I am sure we can find a source of water in the night.” Castiel said, but it didn’t seem to be what Dean wanted to hear, his hand sliding up his thighs in an almost forceful motion.

“You’re beautiful.” he said, voice hoarse and slow, as cracked as his lips were.

“You’re influenced by the amount of heat. You should rest.”


The hand arrived at his crotch and Castiel flinched back, the feeling that was shooting through his spine welcome in a way that made him frightened. His hand reached out to wrap itself around Dean’s wrist, shoving the hand away.

The following look in the hunter’s eyes was a mixture of disappointment and aggression. He tried batting Castiel’s fingers away. “You know…” he said and Castiel suddenly saw that his breathing was heavy and as his eyes flickered over his tightened jeans, he knew he was aroused. “You know you want it, Cas.”

Slowly, Castiel let Dean’s hand wander free and it forced it’s way against his crotch again, brushing over it, making him tremble and let out a shallow gasp. The touch, even though weakened by the fabric of his clothes, set the angel’s heart aflutter and he suddenly felt the heat around him more than ever. “No.” he said, determinedly, but then Dean was over him and his lips on his’ and it was familiar and hot and terrifying.

Castiel brought both his hands on the hunter’s shoulders, shoving him away. “Sleep.” he said, the word falling from his lips even though he was amazed by the way Dean suddenly looked at him.

A groan, shuffling and Dean’s head was lying on his lap, green eyes looking up at him. “One day I’m gonna get you off and there won’t be any reason for you to be a sissy.”

He gulped, his fingers starting to draw lines in the hunters hair by running through it.


Castiel had never seen showering as much of a necessity, until Dean pointed it out: “You stink." 
Well, their travel had been rather exhausting, going through cattle fields and muddy forests, and Castiel hadn’t cared as much as let Dean get two hours of sleep and a something to wash himself in before they’d move on, but this time it was apparently his turn to lock himself into the small cabin and rub himself with foreign gels and liquids, provided by the hosts of the to-let-huts so he’d smell better. Stepping under the stream of hot water was unexpectedly pleaseant, so Castiel was taking his time, indulging into standing in this warmth until Dean would wake up. Which he did. Furiously, though. The hunter came rushing into the bathroom and Castiel was just about to shut him up, opening the door of the shower, when he realized he was being without clothes. 

Castiel looked into Dean’s face and his expression amused him to an extent that was highly inappropriate. He dutifully closed the door. "Five minutes.” he said, loud enough so it was audible through the plastic. He’d definitely try ‘showering’ again.