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 “What the hell  is  this stuff?” Dean holds the can up at arms length and wrinkles his nose. Sam just rolls his eyes and continues to look for his favorite knife. 

“It’s Excite something or other. We left our deodorant at the last motel, and they were giving it away for free at the supermarket.” 

“Yeah? You ever think that maybe they give this crap away because it’s crap?” Dean replies. “This stuff’s for fourteen year olds who don’t know how to get into a girl’s pants, Sammy.”

“Whatever. If it covers up the smell of sweat and salt, use it.” 

Dean grumbles a half-hearted objection, but he pops the cap anyways. Sam’s right; the Winchester brothers, when not tempered with showers and deodorants, can clear a room of ghosts all by themselves. With a prayer to the gods of Old Spice, Dean peels his shirt off, scrunches his eyes shut, and hits himself with a blast of the stuff.




Less than a mile away,  something  plummets down from the sky, punching through the roof of a Piggly Wiggly to land in a blur of black feathers and golden radiance. 



“This....” Dean sniffs under his armpits, earning a sound of disgust from his younger brother. “This doesn’t smell half bad.” Cocking his head to the side, the man takes another whiff, trying to pin down a scent. It wasn’t something he’d ever smelled in a cologne or body spray before, but the smell was definitely familiar. Damn, what  was  it? Hoping to figure this out before it gnawed at the back of his mind all day, Dean sprays another short burst of the stuff onto his left shoulder.



Back at the Piggly Wiggly, a crowd is starting to gather around the impact zone. Whatever it was that fell is covered in concrete slabs and debris from the ceiling. When someone spots a hand sticking out of the rubble, they start to scream. 

When the body under the concrete starts to move,  everyone  starts to scream. 

There’s a grunt, and the largest piece of concrete goes flying across the room, narrowly missing the assistant manager. And, up from the rubble, stands a confused, irritated Castiel. In addition to his trademark suit and coat, two great black wings unfurl from behind him, and floating delicately above his head is a circle of bright, white light. 

“Have any of you summoned me?” He growls, looking around the panicked group of shoppers. The screaming stops as people notice the wings, turns to praying. The assistant manager swears, then faints. Castiel decides that he is not going to get any answers here. He looks around, searching for a lead, then freezes, nose tilted upward as he catches a hint of a smell. Whatever  that  is, that is what summoned him. He closes his eyes and smells again, feeling the scent tug at the base of his Grace, leading him onward. 

Ignoring the shouts and Hail Mary’s being chanted around him, Castiel keeps his eyes closed and nose tilted to the wind, and walks. 

Around him he can hear cars honking and screeching to a halt. Castiel knows that his wings have somehow been summoned , as has his halo. He makes no move to tuck either back away as he moves forward, drawn by the scent. Nor does he try to fight whatever magic has ensnared him. 

Whatever that scent is on...he  wants it. 




Dean has put the body spray away, giving up on identifying the mystery smell after a few minutes. He’s now sulking, still shirtless as he flips through the few channels this Tennessee hotel has to offer. He’s just about to flip through the “adult selections” when there’s the sound of someone outside of their hotel room. 

A second later, and the door is blown off of its hinges. Both Sam and Dean scramble to grab their guns, but halfway to the weapons, they recognize the figure in the doorway. 

“Cas?!” Dean asks, voice gone half an octave higher in shock. It’s his angel alright, but he’s sprouted a wing and an angel hat since they’ve seen him last. “How did you find us?” 

The hunter barely has time to look down at his ribs, concerned that somehow the protective Enochian sigils have worn off, before Castiel is in his personal space. One strong hand wraps around the back of Dean’s neck and yanks him forward, the angel pushing his face into the crook of his neck and breathing in, filling his lungs with Dean’s scent like it’s the answer to all of Heaven’s woes.

Sam reaches for the Holy Water, concerned that an angel of the lord suddenly seems to want to devour his brother. It splashes off of Castiel’s feathers with no sign of burning, which only makes both men even more terrified. If nothing’s infernally wrong with Cas, then why--

All thought processes in the room come to a grinding halt when Castiel lowers his head and extends his tongue, licking a wet stripe up Dean’s collar bone to the tip of his jaw. He lingers there, staring Dean in the eyes as he flicks his tongue out again, tasting. Dean stares back, eyes wide. He doesn’t have a clue as to why Castiel’s acting this way, but the sudden erection in his pants doesn’t give a fuck.

“Holy oil....” Castiel’s voice comes out as a low rumble, and he tilts his head to take another deep breath of Dean’s smell. “...and myrrh. You’ve anointed yourself and called me down from Heaven, Dean.” 

As soon as Cas says it, Dean recognizes what he’s sprayed all over himself. The dry, holy smell of a blessed olive oil, paired with the spice Castiel himself uses in angel magic. He’s never seen the two used in the same spell, but apparently it’s sexy catnip for angels. 

Even in his aroused, panicked state, Dean can’t stop staring, eyes whipping back and forth from Castiel’s halo to his wings, then back again. The angel follows his gaze upward, then pulls away from Dean’s chin for a moment to grab his halo. To his shock, Castiel  pulls it off,  staring at it with contempt. 

“I have always thought,” he growls, “these were stupid manifestations.” And, before Dean can stop him, Castiel dashes it to the ground, where it shatters into tiny motes of light. 

Dean stares down at the ground, where the last bit of halo flickers into nonexistence. 

“Don’t you need that?” he asks, torn between concern and arousal. From what he can gather, some jackass put holy ingredients into a body spray, and now it’s on him, and Castiel is currently  licking his handprint scar holy crap that’s hot.

“Not for what I’m about to do,” Castiel replies, mouth still pressed against Dean’s shoulder. 

“So, is it just you, or did you just beat out the rest of the angels that are hot for me?” Dean jokes, trying to give his brain more time to catch up with the situation. Castiel glances up at him, and does not look amused. 

“The servant of heaven--” he says, pausing mid-phrase to kiss a line from Dean’s shoulder back up to his neck, “--has anointed himself with oil--” Another kiss, accompanied by a sigh and flutter of eyelids. “And myrrh, on his body, on the most holy place where he is bound to a warrior of heaven...” Castiel slides his hand over the place where his mark is burned into Dean’s arm, and squeezes, sending another jolt of arousal through the hunter’s body. The angel responds to the slight hitch in Dean’s breath by pressing a light bite to his throat. 

When he speaks again, it is calmly, the quiet before a rampant, groping storm.

“Sam Winchester, I am going to carnally worship your brother whether you are in this room or not.”

The younger brother knocks over a lamp in his rush to get out. If the door had been left on its hinges, he would have slammed on the way out. Instead, he just runs as fast as his long legs can take him to the nearest library, intent on researching the problem until he can get rid of the images seared into his mind. 

He’s not even all the way out of the room when Castiel shoves Dean back onto the bed. The hunter doesn’t even try to escape; he’s held an emergency meeting with his dick and hormones, and they’re all in agreement. There’s something about Cas like this, wild-eyed and horny with wings flaring behind him, that Dean wants to see through. 

“What do you mean, carnally worship?” he asks, eyes raking up and down Castiel’s body. The angel licks his lips before answering, and Dean has to try and not to come in his pants as he loosens his tie, simply tearing his clothing off as he speaks. 

“I am going to take off all of your clothes, Dean, and we will join together as one, until your body and soul reach a point of climax and release.”

It’s probably the least sexy way Dean’s ever been told he’s going to get laid, but coming from Castiel, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

Because he can never resist messing with an angel, Dean stretches over to the nightstand where the can of Axe is sitting, and sprays a fresh line of the stuff up his torso. As soon as the scent disperses in the air, Castiel’s eyes go wider, nostrils flaring slightly as his wings snap out to the side with every feather on end. 

Even though Dean wants to just let it go, to let Castiel and his wing-erection get the nasty on with him till they collapse in a pile of feathers and jizz...he’s got to ask. 

“So,” he asks, shaking the can again, “were you just gonna fuck anything I sprayed this on, or are you gonna snap out of this after and...” he trails off, giving Castiel a meaningful glance. 

Is this really you? Is this you really wanting me?

Castiel tilts his head to the side and stares down at Dean with the strangest mixture of emotions ever to be on a human face; lust, compassion, pity, and something else deeper Dean doesn’t want to identify. 

“I do not have the ‘people skills’ to successfully initiate something like this,” he replies. “But I have always wanted you, Dean Winchester. In all ways.” 

Dropping down to kneel on the bed, Castiel crawls on his hands and knees up Dean’s body, lowering his head to lick a trail up the line the scent and taste of the spray has left. When he reaches the man’s ribs, Cas spreads his fingers out against the man’s skin, tracing over what he knows is his handwriting carved into Dean’s bone. Farther down, he can feel the man’s soul, still bearing the mark of his grace. When he speaks, it is a murmur, a secret pressed to Dean’s chest. 

“This anointment that has called me down from Heaven...what I want burns too greatly to ignore. I believe it has ignited a dormant claim in my soul.”

There it is. Cas explains badly, but Dean understands everything the angel’s trying to say, lips pressed against his sternum as he stares up at the hunter. He cocks an eyebrow and slides his free hand into Cas’ hair, and all is understood and right. 

Castiel takes the touch as permission to proceed, and surges forward, claiming Dean’s mouth in a kiss. The angel’s lips taste like the same fragrance that clings to Dean’s body, and the hunter has to admit, it tastes pretty damn good. Nowhere as good as the warm, not-quite-human taste of Castiel himself, though, mouth buzzing with a hint of electricity as the two bump their tongues together, tasting the inside of each other for the first time. Dean can’t help but smile a bit into the sloppy kiss; it’s like licking a sexy battery.

Somehow, Castiel manages to rid Dean of both jeans and boxers during the kiss, because Dean’s in the middle of teaching the angel how to nibble lips  just right when he feels a draft, and a firm hand around his cock.

“Shit!” he curses, hips snapping up into Castiel’s fist. “What happened to-- nh --being terrified of sex?” 

“I  want you ,” Cas pants back, experimenting with how to stroke Dean. “I know your body. I will not falter in this, Dean. If I err in the process, you must tell me. Now open me.” 

Dean blinks and pulls back, giving his angel a look of confusion. “Wha--?” Castiel gives a huff of impatience and grabs the man’s hand. Pulling it up to his mouth, Cas slides three of Dean’s fingers into his mouth, sucking on it till Dean has to pull away, before he gets to close to coming again from the image of Cas’ lips wrapped tight around a part of his body.

Apparently the Pizza Man wasn’t the only porn Cas had been learning from...

“You sure this’ll be enough?” Dean asks, spitting on his fingers as well. 

“Your penis is not as taxing as being impaled through the chest,” Castiel reminds him. And then he pushes back, rubbing his ass against the curve of Dean’s dick, and the Winchester regrets ever teaching the angel to play dirty. 

Fingers tripping down the angel’s body in their haste, Dean finally brushes his fingers over Castiel’s opening, waits until he feels the other man press back in impatience before sliding a finger in. 

“Fuck, you’re tight...” Dean grunts, feeling his cock move slightly in renewed interest. Castiel doesn’t speak, just lets his mouth hang open in a wordless moan as he focuses on driving himself back against the single digit. When Dean slips a second in, Castiel moans aloud, one hand clinging to Dean’s shoulder, the other sliding up to stroke his mouth. 

The hunter can’t help himself; for all of Castiel’s big talk, he can feel the angel trembling on top of him. He murmurs small nonsense words into Castiel’s palm. Presses kisses to each of his unsure fingers as he works Castiel open. He loses track of time, measures time in breathes and needy rocks of Castiel’s body, so he has no idea how long it takes until Castiel is backing himself up onto three of his fingers, panting for ‘ more, more, inside me Dean. ’ 

Dean nods, spits on his hand and prepares himself as quickly as he can. Castiel, impatient as ever, slides his ass over his cock even as Dean is trying to slick it down with spit. The man smiles, propping himself up on one elbow as he uses his other hand to grip Castiel’s hip and guide him down and on. 

Oh.

Oh  fuck.

Dean’s always been able to keep himself together during sex. He likes to think of himself as a skilled lover, always keeping it together even when he can feel his eyes roll back in his head, toes curling in the mattress as that night’s lover blows his mind. But now, as an angel sinks down on to his cock, there’s nothing in his mind but pleasure and the image of Castiel, eyes closed, wings trembling in wonder at this newly discovered ecstasy. 

The two men are still for a moment, save for little rocking motions as they each adjust to the feeling. Then, Castiel reaches down and yanks Dean up. A quick shift of balance, and Dean is sitting up, Castiel sitting in his lap with legs wrapped around his waist. 

“You weren’t close enough...” Castiel sighs, tilting his head to bury himself in the slope of Dean’s neck once more. Dean just nods, mind still struggling to regain function. In this position, there’s no opportunity for wild thrusting. Their bodies are pressed close, twining around each other as Dean and Castiel find a deep, rolling rhythm that hits all the right spots. 

Rocking his hips up into Cas, Dean smooths his hands down the angel’s sides. Even now, Castiel is still shaking. He’s moaning and gasping Dean’s name, so it can’t be in pain. Cursing the way it makes him sound, Dean forces his brain into gear, voice hoarse as he whispers in Castiel’s ear. 

“Cas...? You okay...?”

He feels Castiel nod into his neck and take another deep breath--another hit off of him, Dean thinks to himself. The angel clings to Dean’s back, using his grip to grind himself down even harder against the other mans groin, as if even the small amount of Dean he would lose through thrusting was far too much.

“There is just so much,” he gasps, and Dean feels the bite of his blunt fingernails dig into his back. “But not enough.” 

Dean can’t help but chuckle a bit at that. 

“I can fix that, but you’re gonna have to let go of me a bit.” 

Castiel considers this for a moment before simply letting go, falling flat onto his back with his legs still wrapped around Dean. The hunter moves with him, learning forward over him. He pauses when he feels Castiel slide both legs over his shoulders, wings shifting and opening below him. Dean’s been too in awe of the new appendages to touch them till now. He’s never seen anything other than shadows, and they’re...intimidating. A reminder of just how powerful this creature is that he’s currently got his dick in. 

However, in this position it’s hard not to be tempted, and he gives in. At first touching them gently, then sliding his hands up to grip the joints. From the way Castiel gasps and arches up underneath him, Dean figures it’s not an unpleasant sensation. 

“Looks like you’ve got handles now,” he chuckles as he leans forward bit by bit, experimenting with exactly how far he can bend Castiel. 

As it turns out, the answer is ‘completely.’ Dean only stops when the angel’s knees bump up his ears, mouthing a silent curse as he wonders at Cas’ flexibility. 

“Touch yourself,” he orders, “while I...while I fuck you.” He can’t say “make love,” but he shows Cas the sentiment with touch, tender hands clutching his wings, hot, open mouth worshipping the angel underneath him as he starts to snap his hips in and out of Castiel’s ass.

Castiel buries his hands in Dean’s hair, cries his name as he begins to move back against him, and again time is lost. Dean’s mind dissolves into the heat, the warm scent of oil and myrrh mixing in with the smell of arousal. There are no sounds for him but the gasps from Castiel’s mouth, the flex of strong wings under his hands, the whisper of feathers against sheets as he drives into him. Soon, there is no Dean and no Castiel, just a tumbled mess of lust and clinging need on the motel bed. 

Dean’s orgasm punches out of him without warning, body tensing as he mouths words he didn’t know he knew how to say against Castiel’s neck as he empties himself inside the angel. Cas follows behind him, whimpering something in Enochian as he spills between their bodies. Dean is Dean again, and Castiel is below him, though the mark on his shoulder still sparks and crackles with unseen energy. 

“Did I--” Castiel breaks the silent afterglow, panting and out of breath. “Did I preform correctly?” 

Dean laughs, open and loose now in the postcoital haze. Pulling out of Castiel, he presses a kiss against the angel’s forehead. 

“Yeah, it was fine, Cas.”

They rest together, and even though Castiel is curled around Dean, wings draped over his body protectively as they kiss and doze, it is not cuddling. The two don’t move for an hour. Even when the motel owner begins screaming about indecent exposure and damage to his doorway, Castiel simply flicks a wing in his direction, and the broken door slams back into position, returning the men to privacy.