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Dean always felt weird after a hunt. There was the expected tiredness from fighting for his life, but there was also this extra energy. Part of it was probably just coming down from his adrenaline, but there were other aspects to it.
Hunts are never perfect. Someone is always dead that could have been saved, someone is usually mad at them, and Dean is always disappointed in himself. He feels like he always could have done a better job. And the disappointment in himself mixed with the leftover adrenaline always left him feeling restless.
When he was younger, he would deal by going to a bar, picking up a girl, and having meaningless sex with her. Sometimes he would just drive a little faster than he needed to on the way back to whatever shithole they were staying in at the time. But he didn’t need to do any of those things now. Now, he had Cas.
Cas didn’t seem to have the same issue with too much energy, but Dean can’t imagine how that could be. Cas was this angel that was made to do great things, and he was taking care of little issues with the Winchester’s. If Dean was in his shoes, he would feel like leveling a city after each hunt, but Dean isn’t an angel.
Cas was always willing to help with Deans issue after a hunt. Sometimes, they would hit the road together and just drive in companionable silence, going nowhere. Sometimes Cas would sit with Dean while Dean drank. But more often than not, they would fuck.
Sometimes, after a bad hunt, Cas would lay Dean down on their bed and thrust into him nice and slow. He would fuck him deep, and he would punctuate every thrust with a proclamation of how worthy Dean was. Dean usually ended up trying to hold back tears, and coming softly while moaning into Cas’ neck. Dean loved those nights, but he was pretty sure that Cas loved them more.
After a really bad hunt, things would go a little differently. Sometimes, if Dean was really beating himself up about how he could have done more, or he could have been better, he would need something a little more violent.
On those nights, Cas would fuck into him mercelessly, using him like an object. Dean loved it; it made him feel small and like the weight of the world was not on his shoulders. If he could just please his angel, then everything would be alright.
Part of Cas clearly didn’t like bringing Dean pain. He didn’t like hitting Dean, or manhandling him, because this human was the best thing in God’s creation. Cas hit and manhandled Dean, because he absolutely adored Dean’s response. He loved how the hunter would moan, and grin, and clench around him. He loved how Dean was more free with his words, telling Cas he loved him, and that he would do anything for him. Cas loved how Dean opened up when just a little bit of pain was added to his pleasure.
On those nights, Dean usually came at least twice. Cas could use his angel mojo to hold back his orgasm for as long as he wanted, so he could fuck Dean for hours on end without breaking a sweat. Cas could also use his mojo to force orgasm out of Dean, until he was coming dry and reduced to a whimpering mess.
But the best part was always after. Regardless of what kind of night they had had, Dean would end up a sticky, gooey, sated mess, and Cas would remain his impeccable self. Cas always tried to get Dean to let him heal the hunter’s wounds, but Dean never agreed. Cas would secretly take away some of the pain, just to make it more bearable, and if Dean knew he never said anything. Cas would take the stickiness off Dean, and they would cuddle together, Cas always taking the role of the big spoon. And every night, without fail, Dean would sigh contentedly and say “I love you, my angel.”
And Cas would respond with a kiss on the back of Dean’s neck, and a whisper of “Olani hoath ol.”