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Dean is never going to forgive Sam for this. He is never, ever going to move past this. He will be angry and bitter and begrudging about it for the rest of their damn lives.
He’s never going to forgive Sam.
He’s never going to forgive himself, either, for agreeing to this bullshit. Yeah, yeah, he said all that crap about wanting to get his weight down and wanting to get in shape but that was a fucking lie. He’d rather just live with his gut and his shortness of breath and Sammy’s not-so-subtle hints that Dean’s “let himself go” than try fucking yoga.
And not just any yoga, but this hot yoga bullshit. Bikram something or other? Whatever. All Dean knows is that it fucking sucks.
The first horrible thing is that Sam ditched him. Dean was already pulling into the parking lot of the place when Sammy called him and said he couldn’t leave work in time to get over there. When Dean responded that he was just going to go home then, Sam threatened him and said he’s friends with the instructor and promises to ask him if Dean showed up for class.
The second horrible thing is that the room is 100 fucking degrees. Dean feels like he just walked into a sauna inside of an oven on the hottest day in Phoenix. He’s already sweating and they haven’t even started.
The third horrible thing is that all of the people in the class seem like they’ve been doing this for years. They’re all wearing spandex and they’re stretching in positions Dean couldn’t even dream of contorting his body into, and there are only like two other dudes in the class. On top of all that, it takes Dean no more than five seconds to assess that he’s definitely the biggest person in this room. He’s not one to get self-conscious about the roundness of the belly he’s carrying, but right now he’s got the sudden urge to yank down on the hem of his t-shirt over and over again. And he’s regretting the two slices of pie he ate after lunch today.
The fourth and most horrible thing is that the instructor is so fucking hot Christ Jesus on a graham cracker he’s so hot. Of course Dean’s wearing gym shorts, so there’s really no forgiveness if he pops a boner staring at this man’s perfect fucking legs attached to a perfect fucking ass that looks ready to rip right out of his stupid blue spandex. Dean tries to focus on his face or his back or literally anything else instead, but the guy’s like almost 6 feet of pure sweaty sex and what’s Dean supposed to do? He’s just a sad, chubby bisexual with a thing for people who look like they could tear him apart limb from limb and then afterward tuck him into bed with a chaste kiss to the forehead and a, “you are so good, Dean.”
Yeah, Dean should’ve stayed home.
He finds a spot in the very back of the room and plops down gracelessly. He drinks the entire bottle of water he brought and tosses it to the side before he realizes that he’s being watched.
“You’re going to want to refill that before class starts, buddy,” a small girl with a cute nose and red hair says from the spot beside him.
“I’ll be fine, thanks.”
“First time? It’s mine, too. I’m Charlie. I just saw online that the biggest thing to remember with bikram is that you have to stay hydrated. Like, you’re supposed to just drink tons and tons of water. There’s a water fountain at the front of the room. You really should get more before we start.”
Dean raises an eyebrow and asks, “How could you tell it’s my first time?”
“You look pissed off and you keep checking out the teach.”
“What? I am not—”
“Hi! I’m Charlie,” Charlie says to the instructor, who’s standing right there shaking her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Castiel.” Castiel. Of course his name is fucking Castiel like some goddamned hippie on a commune or some shit. Castiel the yoga instructor. Typical. “Is this your first time?”
“Yep! Found it online. I’m not very flexible, but I’m really excited.”
“That’s a good attitude. Make sure you stay hydrated, OK, Charlie?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Castiel turns to Dean then and all Dean can do is mentally shout not now, dumbass repeatedly to his dick. “You’re Sam’s brother. Dean?”
“Oh! Uh, mm-hmm.” Apparently Dean’s lost the ability to connect brain to mouth. Great. Fucking great.
Castiel’s eyebrows pinch together and he asks, “Where is Sam?”
“Work—had to work late. Um, yeah.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I’ve missed his company, but I am sure yours will be just as good. Nice to meet you, Dean.”
“Yeah! Um, you—too. Cas—Castiel.”
Charlie luckily waits until Castiel has moved onto talk to other people before she says slowly, “Wow…you’ve got it bad.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean, not that it matters or anything, but Castiel’s last boyfriend was, um, not in shape. I mean, no offense. I’m just saying. He’s…into that.”
“How the hell do you even know that about a guy you just met?”
“Internet, old man. Internet.”
Dean rolls his eyes and then Castiel is back at the front of the room and class is starting and shit, Dean didn’t go fill up his water bottle.
But hey, Castiel is apparently not only into dudes, he’s into dudes with a little more meat on their bones. Dean’s not even the slightest bit offended at Charlie’s comment since it means he might have a shot with Castiel. Maybe this class wasn’t such a bad idea.
Ten minutes in and Dean’s regretting every decision he’s ever made in his life that has led up to this moment. His back hurts, his knees keep making strange noises, and he’s got a fucking puddle of sweat at his feet.
Oh yeah, and the nausea just kicked in.
His car getting keyed. Day-old pie that’s warm on the outside and cold in the middle. That time he tried to have shower sex and his legs gave out while the guy was inside him and they both crashed to the tile floor. These are the only things Dean can currently think of that he hates more than puking.
He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here now.
“Are you OK?” Charlie whispers.
“I’m going to hurl.”
“Oh god. I told you to get more water.”
“I have to get out of here.”
“That’s not—”
Dean starts rolling up his mat and picking up his stuff but then a gruff voice from the front of the room commands, “Sit down.”
Now is not the fucking time, Dean says to his dick for the hundredth time today. He turns to Castiel and tries to smile but it probably just looks more like a grimace. “I’m going to throw up,” Dean blurts out, and the whole class except Charlie turns to give him disgusted looks of disapproval.
Castiel walks all the way to him while telling the class to continue whatever the fuck it was they were doing.
“No you’re not,” Castiel says quietly but in the same commanding tone.
“No, seriously, dude. It’s about to be puke city in here.”
“I promise you’re going to be fine, Dean. Please have a seat. Stay.”
God, Dean’s known this guy for five seconds and he’s already ready to bow at his feet. “All right, it’s your floor. I ain’t cleaning it up.”
Castiel huffs a laugh. “Get some water, take deep breaths. You’re doing great, Dean.” He winks before turning to walk to the front of the class, and Dean’s body feels like it just got 10 degrees hotter than it already is in this godforsaken place. He is so screwed.
Dean fusses and argues with Charlie in hushed whispers until she agrees to go fill up his water bottle for him. He downs it in a matter of seconds when she comes back, and then he lies on the floor and closes his eyes and tries to focus on breathing steadily.
The next thing he knows, Charlie’s shaking him awake and telling him that the class is over. Shit. He fell asleep in Castiel’s class before it was even halfway over. Sam’s never going to let him live this down.
Dean tries to pack up his things and get the hell out of there before Castiel gets to him, but unfortunately Dean is dizzy and awkward and Castiel is a really fast walker.
“I’m glad you stayed, Dean. Feeling any better?”
“Um, yeah. I, uh, I fell asleep.” Why. Why did he say that.
But Castiel just laughs. “Yeah, I noticed. But you didn’t vomit or leave, and that’s what’s important. I’m guessing you probably won’t be coming back unless Sam drags you?”
Dean drops his head to the floor in shame, which is a bad idea because now he’s just staring at the bastard that is his protruding stomach. “Yeah, sorry, I’m not sure I can do this again.”
“That’s OK, Dean. It’s not for everybody. Here, take my card.” Castiel holds out a business card and Dean takes it without hesitating. “This isn’t the only type of class I teach. Feel free to call anytime for…anything, really. Again, it was really nice to meet you, Dean.”
“You—you, too, Cas.”
Castiel winks again before walking away, and then Dean realizes that he just called the guy by a nickname and why the fuck did he do that.
Dean calls Sam as soon as he’s out the door. “You’re an asshole.”
“How’d you like Cas?”
Oh, so it’s an appropriate nickname. That’s a relief. “You did this to me on purpose.”
“I have no idea what you’re—”
“Oh, shut up. Tricked me into going to class, conveniently had to work late, knew the instructor was hot as fuck, and to top it all off he just happens to be into chubby guys? Real smooth, Sammy. Are you trying to get my fat ass in shape or are you trying to get me laid? ‘Cause I’m getting real mixed signals here.”
Sam’s laughing so hard that it takes him a second to compose himself. “I honestly forgot that Cas’ last boyfriend was on the heavy side, Dean. And I really did have to work late. It’s definitely not my fault that you think everybody is hot.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you.”
“You going home now? I was thinking about swinging by and conning you into cooking dinner for me.”
Dean sighs loudly into the receiver. “Yeah, come over. But I’m putting in all the extra butter I want because fuck you.”
“Yeah, uh-huh, see you soon, Dean.”
Dean puts his keys into the ignition and turns to see Cas walking behind his car with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Oh god. Was he walking behind Dean that whole time. Did he hear everything Dean said. God fucking damn it.
Dean’s pulling chicken out of the oven when there’s a knock on his door.
“Use your fucking key, Sammy!”
There’s the sound of shuffling outside and then the door opens and Sam is talking but not to Dean. Dean turns, oven mitts still on his hands, and sees Castiel standing next to Sam right there in his doorway.
“Um,” is all Dean says.
“Guess who I ran into at the store,” Sam says smugly.
“Hello, Dean. I hope I’m not intruding. Sam invited me.”
Cas holds out a bottle of wine and Dean takes it with an oven mitt-covered hand. “Oh, no, of course not. I always make too much food anyway.”
Cas responds with another fucking wink, and Dean forgets how to move for a second.
As if the fucking spandex weren’t bad enough, Cas is now wearing tight as fuck khakis and a gray v-neck cardigan. His hair still looks damp from showering, and Dean has to stop himself from running up to him and sniffing the fresh scent of shampoo on his scalp.
There’s still about 15 minutes before all the food will be ready, so Dean tells Cas and Sam to make themselves at home. Cas goes to sit in the living room while Sam saddles up next to Dean at the stove.
“I fucking hate you,” Dean whispers without looking up from the pot of mixed vegetables he’s stirring.
“I really did just run into him at the store. Get this, he heard us on the phone today and said he wants to ask you out.”
“What?”
“Yeah, he said you’re funny and, um, his words—‘hot as the deepest pits of hell.’”
“You’re joking.”
“Would I really make up something that ridiculous?”
Dean shrugs, then Sam claps him on the back and heads for the living room to join Cas. Dean feels a little shaky with nervousness, but that’s dumb and gross and he really needs to get over himself because he’s not a fucking wuss.
When Dean’s done setting all the food out on the kitchen table, he heads down the hall to the bathroom and almost runs right into Cas.
“Oh, um, sorry,” Dean mumbles as he tries to get around him in the too-small space.
Cas places a hand on Dean’s chest and gently pushes him into one of the walls. Apparently this guy doesn’t know what personal space is. “You’re nervous. Am I making you nervous?”
God, this guy’s voice is like a growl wrapped in a tornado. “No,” Dean states in the most menacing voice he can manage at the moment.
Cas smiles and moves his face even closer to Dean’s. “Good.”
Then he’s gone and Dean slouches off the wall and takes a deep breath. Goddamn.
Dean expects the worst through the meal, but it turns out to be all right. He lightens up after his first beer, and he becomes downright cheerful at the noises of praise Cas makes around each bite. Not only that, but Cas eats like a fucking horse and suddenly Dean’s not feeling so bad about getting seconds and having less-than-ideal table manners. Sam scoffs at them both for their poor eating habits and Dean thinks it's fucking hilarious.
They decide to watch a movie after dinner, but Sam falls asleep within the first half hour and jolts awake at the first explosion and mumbles, “I’mma crash in your guest room. Night.” He’s already down the hall before Dean can even think about protesting.
Not that Dean would ever actually tell Sam to leave. Sam stays here all the time. But usually there’s not another guest here that Dean’s trying to have sex with while Sam’s right in the other fucking room.
“Does Sam stay over often?” Cas asks, and holy shit since when is he sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean.
“Um, yeah. It’s kind of a long drive back to his place, and he keeps a lot of his stuff here. We both live alone, so it makes it easy.”
“Do you stay with him sometimes?”
“Yeah, but not as much. I like my own bed too much. Memory foam mattress and stuff.” Shut the fuck up, Dean.
“Oh, really? That sounds really nice. I’d like to fuck you on it sometime.”
What. “What?”
Cas turns his head and gives Dean the most powerful stare he’s ever received.
Dean returns the stare with wide eyes and an open mouth and a general lack of brain activity.
Then Cas turns back to the TV and keeps right on watching like nothing happened.
Seriously what.
Dean can feel his palms getting sweaty and his heart rate increasing as the movie’s nearing its end, and he hasn’t had nearly enough beer to be keeping it cool right now. He has no idea what Castiel is going to do, and that’s really fucking terrifying.
The screen goes black. The room falls silent. Dean’s about to run away or make a move or something, but he freezes when Cas gets up and heads down the hall without even acknowledging Dean at all.
Dean just sits and watches Cas’ ass as it turns left at the end of the hall. That’s…his bedroom.
OK, yeah, this is cool. This is fine. Dean’s totally been in this position before.
Except he hasn’t. At all. Ever. The last person Dean had sex with was Aaron, and that was two whole months ago. And Aaron was really good about, like, asking Dean what he wanted to do. Aaron wasn’t powerful and terrifying and irresistible as fuck.
All right. He can do this. If Cas was a girl he’d be totally ready for this right now. He’d be all confidence and charm. Yeah. It would be great.
But Cas isn’t a fucking girl and this is why Dean is bisexual and not pansexual because gender for some stupid goddamn reason makes a huge difference to him, OK?
Dean’s door is closed when he finally gets to it, and he feels like the biggest fucking douche in the world when he knocks. “Um, Cas?”
“It’s your room, Dean, why are you knocking?” Cas asks from the other side of the door, and he actually sounds genuinely curious and not condescending at all.
Dean opens the door slowly and finds Cas, fully clothed, lying face first on his bed. He stifles a laugh and asks, “What the fuck are you doing, dude?”
“I wanted to test the memory foam. It is, as I expected, very nice.”
“Well, uh, you’re welcome to…stay over, I guess. Sleep on it and stuff. I can, uh—I’ll sleep on the couch, it’s cool.”
Cas turns his head then so that one cheek is resting on the mattress instead of his whole face. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m being presumptuous. I often…overstep social boundaries, especially when I am aroused—as I have been since I met you earlier today. Though I would like nothing more than to fuck you senseless and afterward rub the soreness out of your back as you fall asleep, I understand that’s probably not the best first date etiquette I could offer.” He clears his throat and continues, “So, um, I should probably just head home.”
Dean’s never moved faster in his life as he stops Cas from leaving his bed. He kisses him so forcefully that their teeth knock together and they have to pull apart with grimaces before Cas pulls him back down for more.
Cas’ fingers are like magic and Dean’s finding it difficult to focus on anything other than the way they remove his shirts and then explore every inch of his midsection. God, it feels so good Dean might reach climax with nobody’s dick being touched at all.
“God, you really do have a thing for chubby guys.”
Cas huffs a laugh and all but growls, “My ex-boyfriend put on 20 pounds while we were dating. I’m the worst exercise instructor you’ll ever meet.”
Dean laughs at the thought that Sam wanted him to go to yoga to lose weight, and now that’s absolutely out of the question if he and Cas get involved.
They continue kissing, and when Dean tries to move to Cas’ neck, Cas makes a noise of disapproval and flips them both over so that he’s hovering over Dean and holy fuck this guy is strong.
“May I fuck you, Dean?” Cas asks so casually that he might as well be asking about the goddamn weather.
“Please.”
Castiel sits up on his knees and throws his cardigan across the room—and wow, would you look at that, Cas has perfect hips but not a wall of abs like Dean imagined—before unzipping his pants and pulling lube and a condom out of his pocket.
“Seriously?” Dean asks like he just met the biggest slut in the world.
“What? You never know who you might run into at the grocery store. Always be prepared, that’s what my mom always said.”
“Did you just talk about your mom while lubing up your fingers to fuck me?”
“Shh.”
Cas is slower than slow, and by the time he’s got just two fingers inside Dean, Dean’s a writhing, sweaty mess clinging to the sheets for dear life and begging for more. All Cas keeps saying is, “Just a minute. You can do it, just hold on,” in the same tone of voice he used this afternoon when Dean thought he was going to vomit.
Once he’s easily moving three fingers inside Dean, Cas grabs Dean’s dick with his other hand and starts pumping it excruciatingly slowly damn it.
Dean closes his eyes and tries to focus on not coming all over Cas’ hand, and he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even realize that Cas switches their positions so he’s holding Dean in his lap, Dean’s back to his chest. Seriously, how is this guy so strong.
Cas has to move his hands off and out of Dean so he can latch onto his hips and line him up so that Dean doesn’t have to do any work at all. As he sinks down, Dean reaches a hand back and grabs desperately behind Cas’ neck and pulls his face forward so he has to hook it on Dean’s shoulder. They move so slow that Dean feels like he could last all night.
Then Cas out of nowhere picks up the pace and Dean has to wrap his arms behind Cas’ legs just to hang on for the ride. It’s not until after he comes and falls back against Cas’ chest that he realizes Cas wasn’t even touching his dick.
He had his hands on his stomach the whole time. This is a scary guy with a weird-ass kink.
He continues rubbing and pulling at the soft skin as he lazily thrusts up into Dean and comes about a minute later.
They sit in silence for a few seconds, Dean’s full weight against Cas and his fingers still digging into the muscle of Cas’ quads. Once Cas has caught his breath, he wiggles his way out from behind Dean and leaves the room and oh god hopefully Sam is asleep.
Dean’s on the edge of sleep when Cas returns, and he doesn’t really think anything of it when Cas runs a warm towel over his body and massages the knots in his back before tucking him under the covers, kissing him on the forehead and whispering, “You are so good, Dean.”