Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I wish I did, but I don't.
Summary: Dean gets Castiel drunk for the first time. Castiel gets horny for the first time.
Warning: Drunken!incoherent!Cas, language, slight sleep!kink
Notes: Big, big thank yous to my lovely beta, Miss thevinegarworks, for the swift and gentle betaing of this shitty fic. This was originally written as a response to a prompt over at deancaskinkmeme.

Castiel is drunk off his ass and Dean is about this close to losing his temper. He can't remember why the hell he thought teaching Cas to be more human would be a good idea, because it certainly wasn't one. In fact, it was possibly one of the worst ideas in the history of bad ideas – worse than that waitress from Tampa. All this little excursion of theirs got either of them was a massive headache and a pile of vomit in the back of the Impala.

"Cas, buddy, you need to stand up straight so I can unlock this door," Dean pleads with the body currently slumped in his arms.

"Mmm? De-hean. C't wahlk," or something like that comes from some place that Dean assumes is Cas' mouth; he's a little buzzed himself.

Dean pushes Castiel up against the door of the motel room and attempts to retrieve the key card from his pocket, but it's a failed attempt. Both of them go toppling over onto the sidewalk and Dean is pretty sure he just fractured both his wrists trying to keep Castiel's head from hitting the concrete.

"Hey," Cas says, sounding pleasantly surprised, "How'd we geht d'n ‘ere?"

A growl rumbles in the back of Dean's throat as he hefts them both back into a standing position.

This time, he makes sure that his forearm has Cas pinned firmly against the wall before he tries to do anything else. Once the key card is in his hand, he opens the door and all but throws Cas into the room.

The angel lands on the floor with both of his arms raised above his head, looking for all the world like Dean himself did the first time he kicked back one too many shots of whiskey. It would almost be endearing, if he hadn't just spent the last hour trying to carry Cas back to their motel room. The son of a bitch may look small to the untrained eye, but Dean knows better.

"Dean. M'on th' floor ‘gain," Cas complains, pulling the most hilarious pouty face Dean thinks he's ever seen. "S'no fun."

"Man, I think you've had a little too much fun," Dean laughs, shaking his head and feeling the tension start to fade. A drunken Castiel was a Castiel that was far too difficult to stay angry with. "Let's get you into bed."

With that, Dean bends down to put a hand under each of Cas' arms and lifts him from the floor for what seems like the thousandth time tonight – but it was about time he returned the favor. Cas leans his weight onto Dean and tries his best, or what Dean assumes is his best, to take the few steps needed to get him to the bed. Dean still does most of the work.

As Dean falls onto the bed with Cas, the angel asks, "You're comin' w'th me?" And it sounds so sweetly pathetic that Dean can't help but stifle his laughter in Cas' neck.

"You need to lose the coats, Cas," Dean says once he catches his breath. "We can worry about a shower in the morning. C'mon, sit up."

Cas wraps his arms around Dean's neck and allows the hunter to pull him to an upright position. Dean wraps an arm around his back to keep the angel from falling as he helps Cas slowly shrug both his trench coat and suit jacket from his shoulders.

Dean's hands travel down to Cas' legs, looking to help him to a laying position, but they find something else entirely – a rapidly growing bulge in the angel's pants. Holy fucking damnation, Cas is hard; Cas is hard because Dean is touching him.

"Whoa there, sailor," Dean tries to keep his cool, "you really don't need to get drunk with strangers."

Cas shakes his head a few times, then looks as if he's going to hurl again, and then he settles on smiling, blurry eyed, up at Dean. "Yer not a strang'r. Yer my human."

"Not really what I meant," Dean mumbles, heat creeping into his cheeks. But, goddamnit, Dean Winchester is blushing.

"Dean," Cas draws his name out, long and pleading, and rolls his hips in the most obscene manner Dean could have hoped for – not that he was hoping for any of this, per se.

"What, Cas?" Dean whispers, feeling his own breath tickle his face because he's just that damn close to Cas – and Cas' lips. And yeah, maybe Dean is a little hard too.

"Lay me down," Cas commands, "M'head is spinnin'."

Dean knows he's sporting a shit eating grin, but he also knows that Cas is too far gone to call him on it. So he happily obliges and helps his angel lay down on the bed; he's even happier to lie down beside Cas and press his erection into a warm, all too inviting thigh.

"Whadd're you doin'?" Cas says and not-quite-looks up at Dean with eyes that are trying way too hard to focus.

"Shhhh," Dean soothes him, "This'll help you sleep. I promise."

"Mm'kay," Cas barely mutters as he lets his eyes fall closed, and Dean isn't sure if the angel just fell asleep or not.

Dean immediately places his open palm over the bulge in Cas' slacks and slides it up and down in a few short strokes. When Cas only responds with the furrowing of his brow, Dean assumes the angel isn't going to protest. He unbuttons and unzips the slacks and slides his hand just inside the waistband of Cas' boxers.

He's gently grinding his cock against Cas' thigh when he asks, "If you want this to stop, you just say so, okay?"

Cas opens his eyes and his expression reads of discontent, but his hips are thrusting up in rhythmic succession. "No, Dean. Pl's. Wahnt you ta- touch it. Touch me."

And why the hell would Dean ever say no to that? He thumbs the head of Cas' cock and watches as the angel's eyes fall closed once more.

He makes quick work of wrapping his hand around the base of Cas' dick and starting in on a rhythm of fast, firm pulls. Rocking his hips in time with his tugs, Dean knows he's going to cum in his pants like a fucking twelve year old, but he doesn't care. He keeps jerking Cas, hot and fast, and listening intently to the sound of each gasp that the angel sucks in. Fuck, Dean can't believe how good this feels, how much he wants to be inside Cas, to fuck the angel senseless and hear how fucking pretty he screams. But, no, Dean wants Cas to remember that if it happens. And he can't be sure that either of them will be too clear on this in the morning.

"Fuck, Cas, so fucking hot," Dean slurs as he feels his orgasm building, just on the verge of release.

He tightens his grip on Cas' cock just as he spills his seed into his jeans and tugs harder, needing Cas to know how it feels – coming undone at the hands of the person you trust most in the world. He wants to share this all with Cas, wants Cas to wake up and be aware when he climaxes.

But Cas just bucks his hips helplessly a couple more times, before shooting a few thick ropes and whispering a nearly inaudible, "De-hean, god yes."

Dean pulls his angel tight to his body and kisses him, ignoring the foul taste and everything else shitty in their lives for as long as it takes to suck Cas' tongue into his mouth and have what he's truly wanted for so long.

Cas is limp in his arms.

"G'night, Cas," Dean whispers into his ear, smiling and pressing a kiss to the angel's temple. "I'll see you in my dreams."