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Grab the Bull by the Horns

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Both Sam and Castiel had been thrown off by Dean’s new behavior as a demon.  Of course, the initial anger and near rampages had been expected.  But it was the behavior after he’d calmed down that got them.  Nothing seemed to bother him anymore, he was more relaxed and open; smug and taunting at times.  He also got far too much enjoyment out of teasing and tricking them.  He would appear in front of them suddenly at some of the most random and poorly timed moments.  Sometimes he’d move whatever they were reaching for or make it vanish altogether.  More recently, he’d taken to hitting them with his invisible limbs.  Well, invisible to Sam.  Castiel could see the frayed wings folded against his back, the strong tail tapering off from his spine, the twisted mask over his face, the short and ram-like horns curling from his skull…

Castiel tried not to look at him.  He hated this creature that had devoured the bright and shining soul.  This creature that insisted on tormenting him with that shit-eating grin.  This creature that could see his wings.

They could be doing something normal, like research or interviewing witnesses of supernatural events, and Dean would slyly lift a wing or his tail and slide it beneath a layer of feathers.  Castiel would tense and shuffle his wings, batting at Dean in hopes of making him stop.  He never did.  He could keep reaching over and sifting through the feathers, searching out every sensitive spot in attempt to break Castiel’s composure.  Castiel tried a few times to discreetly move away from Dean, but either he couldn’t move away or Dean would simply follow him just as discreetly.  After the first few times it happened, Castiel had caught Dean and spoken to him more privately and told him that touching an angel’s wings like that was inappropriate.  That had been a mistake.  Before, Dean had only thought he was ticklish or it just bothered him or something.

Now it was a game of trying to break Castiel down into a flushed, gasping and hopefully groaning mess at all the wrong times.  All the while Dean would stand there like everything was perfectly normal, maybe a little quirk of his lips or looking at him in mock curiosity and concern.  Castiel hated him for it.  But if Dean could play this game, then so could Castiel.

The problem was that Dean’s wings didn’t merit the same effect on him.  The biggest reaction Castiel got out touching them was either a twitch or slight shudder.  He tried ghosting his feathers along Dean’s tail, but that just annoying apparently.  That left only his horns.  Castiel really doubted the bony formations would have an effect on him, he figured they’d barely even register a touch.  But nothing ventured, nothing gained.

His chance came when Sam had gone out to the store.  Unlike Dean, he wasn’t out to publicly embarrass or humiliate him; especially in front of his brother.  Castiel searched through the bunker until he found Dean sleeping on an old couch in a room that had probably once been a commons room for the Men of Letters.  Dean was laying on his stomach with his tail draped over one leg, his wings stretched out; one over the back of the couch and one onto the floor.   His face was half buried in the pillow ensnared in his arms.

Castiel moved silently to the side of the couch, careful to avoid touching Dean’s wings and waking him up too soon.  He hesitated for a moment, thinking that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.  But the indignity he felt when Dean touched him the way he did quickly silenced that thought.  He brushed the back of his fingers over the side of one horn quickly.  He was rewarded with a scrunched face and head shake with a noise of discontent that bordered on a whine.  Castiel raised his eyebrows in interest; maybe the horns were more sensitive than he thought.  He curled his fingers around the base of the same horn and stroked back.

Dean’s entire body went rigid; both his eyes and wings snapped open while his tail went ramrod straight.  Then, a heartbeat later, Dean was shaking his head away from Castiel, flaring his wings and lashing his tail.

“The hell are you doing?” Dean snarled.

“I believe the phrase is ‘revenge is a dish best served cold’,” Castiel stated.

Dean eyed him suspiciously, cautiously getting up.  Before he’d even gotten up on all fours, Castiel was grabbing both horns by the base.  Dean shuddered and ducked his head to make Castiel let go, gasping at the feeling of his hands sliding along the bones. Dean shielded his horns with his arms, using his wings to strike at Castiel.

“Alright, fine!  I’ll stop touchin’ your stupid feathers,” Dean grumbled.

“You’re not getting off that easily,” Castiel chided.

He shoved Dean’s wings aside, lunging for his arms and struggling to pry them away.  Dean growled in frustration, clawing and thrashing away from Castiel.  It took all of Castiel’s strength and grace to stop the demon from getting up; to keep him in a disadvantaged position.  He may have even cheated a bit with a few quiet Enochian chants, only to level the playing field.  Dean was a Knight of Hell after all.  Several more minutes of fighting and struggling resulted in Castiel sitting on his back, trapping Dean’s arms by his sides under his wings, and legs held down by his own while Dean’s tail whipped irritatedly side to side.

Castiel let out a sigh of relief and pride as he settled himself.  He could practically feel the anger and tension rolling off Dean.  He was fairly certain he was going to regret this now, but there really wasn’t any better form of revenge than dishing out what Dean had done to him.              

Castiel slowly stroked up and down the length of the grooved horns, grinning smugly to himself at Dean’s vain attempts to keep quiet.  Every movement always elicited the faintest whimper or whine as Dean buried his face further into the pillow.  Castiel twisted his hands around the horns, making Dean shudder and bite back a groan.  He moved his hands towards the base and paused for a second, rubbing his thumbs in small circles.  At that, Dean gave an involuntary little thrust into the couch.  Castiel smiled and continued rubbing small circles up the length of Dean’s horns.  He whined, gripping the pillow and tried to keep himself still.

Castiel pinched the ends of his horns, rolling them between his fingers.  Dean shook and writhed beneath him with a deep groan, arching his back and thrusting harder into the couch.  Castiel couldn’t help the short, light laugh that escaped him.  Dean shook his head, throwing Castiel’s hands off and glared over his shoulder at the angel.  Though the effect was negated by the flushed and desperate look on his face.

“How does it feel?” Castiel taunted.

Dean’s lip curled back over his teeth in snarl as his tail lashed up and rubbed roughly against Castiel’s wings.  He flinched at the touch and swatted the tail away, then readjusting himself to pin the muscle under his leg alongside Dean’s leg. 



“How does it feel?”

Dean mumbled something into the pillow.  Castiel frowned and leaned forward, making sure to have a solid grip on the horns and sliding his hands along with him.  Dean groaned low and loud, somehow burying his face further.  Castiel pulled on Dean’s horns, making him lift his face as he brought his right beside Dean’s.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite understand you.”

“I s-said it feels good...” Dean mumbled.

“I don’t believe that’s what you said,” Castiel hummed, “At least, that’s not all of it.”

Dean clamped his jaw shut, keeping his blackened eyes fixed on the arm of the couch like it was the only thing in the room.  Castiel scowled and suddenly let go of Dean’s horns.  His breathing hitched before he tipped his head back, nudging the bones against Castiel’s fingers.  When Castiel didn’t resume, Dean’s eyes widened and flicked up to Castiel in a silent plea.

“What?” Castiel asked innocently.

“D-Don’t stop,” Dean grumbled, “It feels good— Almost better than…”

Dean turned his face away again, hiding the heavy blush settling on his face.

“Than what?”

“Better than— j-jerking off,” Dean forced out.

Castiel paused at that; he’d thought Dean would say something like that, but actually hearing it still caught him off guard.  He swallowed thickly, remaining frozen until horns bumped his fingers again.


He automatically continued running his hands up and down the lengths of bone, twirling and drumming his fingers as he went.  Dean became more vocal then, whimpering and groaning louder; uninhibited by the pillow now.  Despite the trembling and tense, spontaneous thrusts, Dean’s body remained relaxed beneath Castiel.  He wasn’t struggling to get away anymore.  That, in turn, allowed Castiel to relax and use less grace in keeping him pinned.  With Castiel now relaxed as well, Dean’s tail slipped up from beneath Castiel’s leg and moved up to his wings again.

He hissed as the tail moved beneath the feathers and sought out all the sensitive spots, but he made no effort to stop it this time.  Every sound Dean made under him sent little shocks down his spine and straight to his dick; the tail rubbing under his feathers was the only thing offering relief right now. 

Dean tipped his head back again and to the side, letting out a deep, contented moan.  Castiel bit his lip as Dean started up slow, rhythmic thrusts that were almost enough to make Castiel bounce on each one.  He grabbed the base of the horns tightly, rubbing small circles again, and pulled Dean’s head back harder.

“Ca-ah-has…” Dean whimpered.

Castiel kept enough force in his movements to move Dean’s head with every motion until Dean was nearly crying under him.  Castiel, himself, was breathing hard from all the rubs and caresses Dean’s tail was working on him.  He may have been teasing— actually, essentially masturbating Dean, for longer, but heat was pooling fast and heavy in his lower stomach; he’d end up climaxing before Dean at this rate.  Castiel let out a ragged breath, moving his hands to grab Dean’s horns from the underside and gently pulled back on the before shoving them forward, forcing Dean’s face back into the pillow.

Dean screamed into the pillow as he came, flaring his wings and arching up; lifting Castiel up.  His legs struggled for purchase to keep him up as wave after wave hit him until he collapsed.  When he dropped back down, Castiel came down with enough force to shock his own orgasm out of him.  Castiel draped over Dean’s back, trembling and panting into his ear.

“That was…” Castiel breathed, “I— I did not intend to take things that far…”

Dean groaned under him, rolling his eyes in disbelief as he regained his breathing.  Castiel bowed his head apologetically, gingerly lifting himself up.  Dean propped himself up on his elbows, eyeing Castiel from the corner of his eyes. 

“Just remember, you’re the one who said ‘revenge is a dish best served cold,” Dean grinned.

Castiel pursed his lips, jumping when Dean smacked his ass with his tail as he laid back down.  He’d just started a whole new game he wasn’t sure he wanted to play.