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Summary
He’s smelled it on Castiel for the past week, felt it in every room of the bunker, the oncoming scent of sex and sweat, roses and spices, clogging his nose until he chokes on it. The cabin outside Hastings is available for as long as he needs, and he heads up the few hours drive to the river, unpacking his things and the extra duffel at the side of the bed. Enough food to last a few days at minimum, extra sheets if need be, and the softest rope he could find. Because it’s not Castiel getting fucked here, no, as much as Dean thought it would be at the beginning.
Castiel doesn't crave physical pleasure for himself—it’s for his partner.