When the spell hits, Dean ducks and covers. It’s a reflex action, one the body learned ages ago, even if it is ultimately useless. There’s no way to defend against this magic, or to resist the jolts of power not too unlike possession that’s curling under his skin and pressing.
Dean screams, for Sam, for Cas, for Bobby. Still the spell rises, flooding his senses and rending his entire being blind to nothing but the intrusion.
This is magic with intent. This is clever magic, almost sentient in its own way, prodding at Dean’s mind curiously like knives flaying the layers of his thoughts. Not this, not this, insecurities are so old hat, and then, oh, what do we have here?
Even Dean doesn’t let his thoughts linger in this forbidden space filled with self-loathing, frustration and tightly-coiled lust. The magic focuses, smiles, and then carefully strips away all the uninteresting baggage to the reveal a diamond core; it shines brightly after being denied for so long. How easy to sing praises of this, the most base of all emotions, evidence that Dean Winchester is a worthwhile host after all.
This spell doesn’t create something new. It only takes what’s already there, gives it claws, and sets it free.
Dean stops screaming.
Castiel had heard Dean’s cry for help. How could he not, when all it takes is the placement of his name of Dean’s lips and intent in his heart for Castiel to feel the tugs of a calling. It’s not a prayer, as Dean and Sam oft refer it to, but a summoning, and one that Castiel assuredly goes when coupled with the naked distress he’d heard in Dean’s breath.
“Dean?” He looks around the old decrepit house he’s materialized in, taking in details swiftly – the remains of a fight, the smell of blood, the thrum of old magic in the air – before hands are on him.
It’s difficult to sneak up on an angel, let alone one who’s been powered up as Castiel has been, but there are a great many surprises in store today. Not only has Castiel been taken unawares, but the hands that have grabbed him belong to Dean, whose eyes are wilder than Castiel’s ever seen, and who’s inexplicably strong enough to throw Castiel into a wall.
The first slam of Castiel into the hard surface is more about shock than pain, but the fist that catches his jaw is definitely about pain, which rattles up Castiel’s skull. He can heal and discard the dizziness easily, but there’s no pause to do so because Dean’s leaning in under his raised chin and biting the tender skin there, teeth clamping down on the flesh that would’ve torn apart if it weren’t for the fact that there’s an angel keeping this body together.
Castiel manages a tight, “Dean—” but Dean growls, shoves Castiel harder against the wall, fingers digging like claws into the sides of Castiel’s body. Curse, Castiel realizes. Of course it would be, and he can still smell the residue of magic in the air.
“Dean, you need to focus,” Castiel says calmly. Dean lets out a muffled grunt, pulling back to bare angry teeth at Castiel before kicking his knee and shoving him to the floor.
It’s the suddenness of this manhandling, and the fact that this is Dean, that slows Castiel’s reflexes where he would be fighting back by now. He needs to help Dean, find a way to stop this without hurting him, and it’s as Castiel’s busy thinking up the best way to do this that he barely registers the removal of his jackets.
Dean’s clawing at his body, Castiel belatedly realizes, making soft huffing noises that sound more animal than human. Castiel tries to pull away but Dean holds firm, crawling on top of Castiel and forcing his body flat against the floor. If Castiel could see his eyes he could gauge how far Dean’s gone, but Dean’s got him face down, breathing hot on Castiel’s ear before biting the shell.
Dean’s thighs are like iron at the back of Castiel’s, his knees like anchors against the floor, and when he shifts, there’s the hot press of an erection against Castiel’s lower back.
Castiel jerks with surprise, trying his best to stay still while Dean rolls his hips, rubbing his hardness against Castiel while panting softly.
Lust curse, Castiel thinks. There’s a way of knowing for sure, though. He doesn’t have permission to do this so he whispers a quiet apology before he closes his vessel’s eyes and uses his other eyes to reach in.
Dean’s head, already tumultuous when he is himself, is now a storm of raw emotion, pulsing strong and steady like a heartbeat.
want want want want mine mine want mine want want want
“Dean,” Castiel tries again, hoping to reach something recognisable in his friend. “Dean, if you can hear me—”
Dean’s howl is one of rage. His palm slams the back of Castiel’s head, forcing Castiel’s face firmly down to the floor. Castiel’s jaw aches, his human body weak, and he’s angry now. Dean will hurt himself at this rate, and Castiel needs to help him. He uncurls his hands, pulling at his reserves of strength—
Now that’s cheating. That voice isn’t Dean’s.
Castiel gasps, breath rushing from his lungs as he collapses under the weight of Dean’s body. He remembers being this weak before, trapped in a human body and all its limitations, and it’s not a situation he’s happy to be in again.
In contrast, Dean sounds pleased, rubbing himself against Castiel and growling against his neck between small, quick bites against skin.
Powerful magic, then. Castiel can feel some of it bleeding through and it’s making him dizzy, hard to concentrate. He still struggles and pushed back, but Dean is inhumanly strong, locking Castiel’s body to the floor while teasing fingers travel up the inside of Castiel’s legs, stroking cloth.
He can’t physically reach out, but Castiel can still mentally poke into Dean’s head, finding the same chant of want want want mine mine want.
“Dean,” Castiel said, swallowing tightly, “Dean, you know me.”
The last thing Castiel expects is for Dean’s thoughts to surge on him, as though he can sense Castiel in his head. The chant becomes: Cas Cas Cas Cas mine mine mine Cas mine
Dean’s fingers curl in the crevice between Castiel’s legs. Those some fingers had been strong enough to throw Castiel around, and now they dig, push and rip.
“Dean, this isn’t you,” Castiel says, shuddering when Dean’s fingers push through the tear in his pants, grabbing the cloth of the underwear inside and tearing that, too. Castiel keeps murmuring things, using Dean's name to remind him of who he is.
The first push of a spit-slick finger into Castiel’s body makes him yelp. It’s an undignified sound, which he blames on the curse. Castiel is certainly not so weak, for he is an angel and Dean’s friend, and he knows very well that Dean is under a spell. It is up to Castiel to focus and get them both out of this, and it is only the curse that is making his body shiver at the slide of human fingers – two, now – plunging in and out of him.
Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas cycles around Dean’s brain.
Castiel tries to comfort Dean, using what little power he’s been spared to stroke into Dean’s thoughts, litting him know that Castiel understands. Something that isn’t Dean laughs quietly – oh, how charming – but when Castiel tries to chase it, it retreats and hides.
He can't think about that now, because there’s Dean’s a cock nudging his ass, demanding entrance. The head pushes at the ring muscle and Castiel feels his body stretch, the small pucker being forced open and wide until Dean’s cock is granted entry. It’s dry and it hurts, but Castiel is still an angel and that pain can be ignored – what he can’t ignore is how Dean’s cock feels impossible huge, sliding in and sheathing itself in the tightness of Castiel’s human body.
The litany of Cas Cas Cas mine Cas mine devolves into wordless feelings, though somehow Castiel can still understand the gist of them. He can feel how Dean wants Castiel so much it hurt, and how the only relief to be found is inside Castiel’s body, if only it would accept him.
Dean’s hands are clinging to Castiel’s shoulders and chest, pinning him down between petting him idly. Castiel’s more distracted by dick inside him, which is waking up nerves he’d never even known existed, let alone could feel like this.“Dean,” Castiel tries again. He chokes, gasps for breath when Dean’s cock travels deeper. “Dean, you can’t—”
Teeth find Castiel’s shoulder, clamping down hard. The pissed off growl that follows causes Dean’s whole body to vibrate against Castiel’s, frustration in every movement of trying to get closer. A hard snap of his hips drives his dick all the way inside Castiel, balls slamming against Castiel’s ass.
Castiel can pick out the wants in Dean’s head, the mental images as clear as any image seen with his vessel’s eyes. Castiel knows that Dean is angry that Castiel is resisting, that Castiel is stupid, that Castiel isn’t taking it the way he’s supposed to. Dean wants Castiel so much that the only justice in the world would be if Castiel wants him back.
Dean wants Castiel to gag for it, to roll over and offer his neck, his ass, his mouth, everything he is for Dean to take and use.
And the only way that’ll happen, according to Dean’s curse-addled mind, is that Dean shows him what it means.
Inside Castiel, Dean’s cock is swelling. That isn’t normal. Castiel may not have had sex before but he knows what human copulation is supposed to be like and this isn’t it.
He struggles, tries again to push Dean off but Dean howls, forces him down and his legs to splay with a hard thrust of his cock. There’s come inside Castiel now, slicking the way and making it easier for Dean to move even as that swelling continues.
There’s a smug feeling in Dean’s head now, pleasure of having Castiel where he belongs. Knot, is the word. Castiel deserves to be here, hanging off Dean’s cock until he learns that this is what he wants. Dean circles his hips, testing the knot and making sure it’s in place before he thrusts shallowly.
The curse rises once again.
There’s no physical escape, not with Dean tied off inside him, but Castiel closes his eyes and tries to not experience anything. He tries to ignore the sensation of Dean’s cock making itself at home inside his now-slick channel, the blood-swollen member no longer having to force Castiel open because he’s all opened up, swallowing up Dean’s cock and come.
He tries not to register the way Dean rolls his hips, changing the angle until his dick bumps Castiel’s prostate and – after Castiel has failed to be silent when that happens – keep fucking in that angle as though it’ll make any difference.
Because it won’t make any difference. Castiel is Dean’s friend and he is helping Dean get through a curse, nothing more.
He certainly isn’t bucking up when Dean grabs the globes of his ass, forcing them apart. Dean is leaning up off him, since there’s no longer the need to hold him down, and Castiel can feel the glee in Dean’s mind as he looks down to where his dick is caught inside Castiel’s swollen hole. The knot is working, keeping them locked together, but there’s so much come some of it is leaking back out, trickling down Castiel’s skin to fall in droplets on the floor.
There’s a sound, almost like a rumbling purr, when Dean comes back down and plasters himself to Castiel’s back. He kisses the sore broken skin where he’d bitten down earlier, almost coherent apologies in his head as he nuzzles at Castiel’s shoulder and neck.
Castiel almost cries out, because this is worse. A curse that forces Dean to violence he knows how to deal with, but now Dean is tender, touching him in ways that he never did before, even when he was normal, and that’s a different kind of cruelty.
“Dean,” Castiel pants. His own cock is swollen with aroused betrayal between his legs, but he won’t touch it. He doesn’t want to come like this, even as he feels Dean’s disappointment that he isn’t even trying.
For a moment Castiel thinks Dean will grab his dick and stroke him to orgasm, but that doesn’t happen. Dean merely holds him, fucks him in sweet, shallow thrusts, every little jerk causing the knot to shift inside Castiel and press in interesting places.
“Cas,” Dean whispers. The sound is so unexpected, the name so familiar on Dean’s lips, that Castiel comes.
He doesn’t mean to.
The orgasms shatters Castiel, starting from the aching heat in his ass that Dean’s made his own, unfurling upwards and outwards until Castiel’s crying out, hands curled into fists and cock ejaculating untouched. He’s coming, clenching in shameful desperation around Dean’s cock, because it’s right where it’s supposed to be, deep inside Castiel and filling him up with wetness.
Dean sighs, the relief in his mind palpable. The storm has calmed, and as Castiel slowly descends from the high, he realizes the truth.
This is Dean. Not the entirety of him, yes, but Castiel knows Dean, and he is here.
There is truth in his wanting this.
And if there is truth in that, then perhaps Castiel can accept the truth in this: he wants it, too. Forgive him, Castiel’s wanted Dean to hold him down and fuck him open, to be forced to his knees and desired in ways he’d never known could exist in all his millennia of existence. And this body is expressing those wants now: Castiel’s hole wants to be filled with Dean’s dick, Castiel’s prostate wants to be coated with Dean’s come, Castiel’s human body wants to be marked all over and in every possible way.
Well, that was fun.
At Castiel’s back, Dean suddenly stiffens. His body shifts, his mind pushes Castiel out, and it’s – Dean. Really Dean.
“Cas?” Dean croaks, horrified. He tries to pull off but the knotting holds tight, and Castiel guesses will remain for quite a while longer. “What the fuck—” He chokes, body trembling, and Castiel realizes that he’s coming again, flooding Castiel’s insides with another batch of come. Dean jerks, making anguished noises as he tries to stop his body from thrusting into Castiel’s.
Castiel fumbles, finding Dean’s hand and gripping it comfortingly. “Dean.” The knot holds true between them, and Castiel squeezes around the wonderful, thick bliss of it, hoping that it will show Dean that he is still welcome to the comfort of Castiel’s body.
They are going to be here for quite a while longer.