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In the beginning, God created land and seas. Day and night.

He created the multitudes of Heaven. Bright beacons of light. Loyal and immediate. The sworn protectors of Heaven.

He created life. ‘Big plans for that fish.’ Warriors watched from above. When ordered, they acted. Blood scattered like stars. Many died and were not missed.

But the mission requires bodies now. Dean Winchester has been reckoned, and war is upon them.

Human bodies. Curious things.

An awkward squeeze of a hand. The cool touch of a breeze. The scent of summer rain. Fire warm in the hearth.

Balthazar drinks bourbon for the experience of liquor. His intrigued eyes examine his brother’s vessel. A strong man, made stronger by the rigidity of righteousness.

Balthazar sets a hand between Castiel’s shoulders. Fabric is a thin membrane, thinner than skin. Castiel’s power thrums beneath, electric magnitude. Wings batter their displeasure against his mortal cage.

“Works of art, aren’t they?” Balthazar murmurs.

Castiel peers over his shoulder. His gaze is stern, yes. But it is the fear that lingers. This fear urges Balthazar to pull on the collar of his brother's coat, easing the garment from his shoulders. Balthazar loses Castiel’s gaze , turned from him with a bowed head. From this angle, he can see the clench of his brother’s jaw.

“You are a work of art,” Balthazar says, quieter.

Castiel chuckles. “Your vessel is affecting you, Balthazar.” But Balthazar does not miss the strain to his voice. A low, beautiful break.

“Is yours affecting you?” Castiel does not answer, but Balthazar hears his breath catch.

His breath. An amazing thing. Oxygen locked under his brother’s tongue.

When Castiel risks another glance, Balthazar sees the warmth on his cheeks. His vessel appears youthful with this color, far too young for Castiel. But he is still young in his own way, Balthazar supposes. As is Balthazar. Not in age, but in experience. How humorous; centuries-old beings mere infants in these bodies.

Balthazar braces two fingers beneath Castiel’s chin. Castiel mutters a single note - not a word, just a sound. His eyes widen, this fear again. “I have always found you beautiful, Cas,” Balthazar admits. “You did not need this body. But I must say-” a smirk, “it doesn’t hurt.”

“Lust is a sin,” Castiel blurts. He grits his teeth as soon as the words come out, clearly embarrassed.

Balthazar catches him by the tie - the lovely, smooth accessory that Castiel does not know how to knot. It is turned the wrong way, but the mistake is too precious. Balthazar has not had the heart to correct him.

He winds it around his hand, one slow loop, then another. Each one draws Castiel closer to him. His brother approaches with cautious steps.

When they stand close enough, Castiel sets hands on his waist. A shiver of pleasure moves through Balthazar. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Castiel laughs without sound. “Why?”

“Why not?” Balthazar replies. He places a foot between Castiel’s. One hand still wound in Castiel’s tie. The other cups his face, tracing his warm cheek. “Say ‘yes’ to me, Cas.”

Castiel frowns. “We shouldn’t-”

“Say 'yes’ to me.”

Castiel worries a lip between his teeth. It is a nervous gesture. Balthazar finds it quite fetching.

Castiel finally nods, but this is not good enough. “Say it,” Balthazar presses.

Castiel smiles. “Yes.” Perfection.

Perhaps Balthazar would be just as intrigued by any of their kin within these vessels. But he does not think this is true. He feels it as he runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair. The rush of excitement when Castiel’s lips part, nervous but willing. Balthazar lingers inches from his mouth. He can almost taste Castiel’s breaths.

Taste. Glorious.

When their lips touch, it is an unsure nudge of contact. This is something they have witnessed time and again. The tedium of body after body, kiss after kiss. They have been watchers of the world, but never experiencers. Until now.

Castiel makes a quiet sound. Just this creates a surge, Balthazar’s arms around Castiel. Embracing him. Kissing him. Holding him as if made to do so all along.

He was, wasn't he? Balthazar has felt this for many years. Castiel is his kindred brother, the one he will stand with against all evils. Perhaps the one he will die for.

Before these bodies, Castiel was precious to him. But now, Balthazar can show him. He can feel him. Excitement pulses through this strange skin he wears.

“You…sexy minx,” Balthazar breathes. Castiel groans against him. Maybe he is displeased by the words, or maybe he is pleased by the kiss.

He looks flustered when Balthazar gives him room to breathe. Balthazar’s forehead rests on his.

In this reprieve, Balthazar takes his time loosening Castiel’s tie. He could open his shirt buttons with a simple wave, but Balthazar chooses to indulge. One button, then the next. The unwound tie dangles over his brother’s stomach.

Castiel closes his eyes. Balthazar cups his chin between his fingers. “Cas,” he murmurs.

“These bodies are strange, brother,” Castiel says. The words come out panicked.

Balthazar smiles. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

Castiel nods without hesitation. This means more than the sight of his kiss-soft lips, or his skin, a shy flush of curiosity. Castiel does not trust because he is bound to. He trusts because Balthazar is Balthazar.

“May I kiss you again?” Balthazar asks.

Castiel surprises him by turning to the side, his eyes lit by the fireplace. “Can we sit?” he asks.

Balthazar tilts a quizzical head. Both at the position request, and at his brother’s initiative. On the battlefield, Castiel is cunning and quick. At times, his unconventional tactics draw reprimands from their superiors. But in this setting, Castiel has thus far followed Balthazar’s lead.

Castiel sits on the couch. He stretches a leg out, leaning into a corner. The fire light is like gold on his skin. His blue eyes appear darker in the flickering shadow.

He has no idea how beautiful he is. This vessel, or the impressiveness beneath. Balthazar sees his bound wings, black as a raven. His grace glow bright, even as the celestial body sits calmly within. A lion with squinted eyes, feigning sleep, but watching still.

“Cas,” Balthazar murmurs. He sets a knee between Castiel’s legs and tucks his face into his neck. His mouth slides up Castiel's throat, pressing kisses as his thumb strokes Castiel’s collarbone.

Castiel begins to unbutton his shirt, sighing under his attention. Balthazar allows him to toss the garment to the floor and welcomes the hands that run up his sides. His own wings twitch at the happy familiarity.

“Balthazar,” Castiel murmurs.

Balthazar’s strokes between his legs with his knee. There is a stirring of interest, the start of a swell that makes Castiel’s head drop back, a groan on his lips.

Balthazar takes advantage of the angle. He bites up the stretched neck to the soft flesh beneath his chin. Castiel gasps. His fists knead into Balthazar's back, forcing him closer.

Balthazar laughs, delighted. “Skin makes you adorable.”

Castiel grunts beneath him, frustrated but amused. “I can’t hold enough of you,” he mutters. “This body is too limited.”

Balthazar hums. He understands this sentiment. Skin rubbing skin is like nothing Balthazar has ever experienced. The contact seems to carry its own static. Certain touches are felt with more gravity than others.

But skin is finite, and arms only have so much reach. In their true bodies, there is no barrier between wavelengths of light. They can collide with each other, bind together. Joined, they can streak through the sky like stars, laughing and singing praises into the night.

Balthazar still has Castiel, and Castiel has him. But their waves cannot cross. They are bound, separated.

Balthazar guides Castiel’s hand to cup the front of his slacks. “Would you like more of me to hold?” he asks.

His poor Castiel looks positively mortified. He stammers and blushes, the epitome of the virgin youth. Except, his hand stays right where Balthazar sets it. And when it does move, it curls around the forming shape of Balthazar’s arousal.

Balthazar is more forward with his desires than his brother. But when it comes to the actual experience of pleasure, Balthazar is just as new. He gasps, expression tight.

Castiel watches with wide-eyed fascination. Balthazar chuckles and presses his mouth to Castiel’s jaw. “Keep touching me,” he says, before he takes Castiel’s mouth again.

Castiel stutters under his lips. But if there is one thing is dear brother excels at, it is following an order.

Castiel cups the outline of Balthazar’s erection. He begins to knead, first with the heel of his palm, then the tips of his fingers. Balthazar groans and straddles his thigh for balance.

“I like you like this, brother,” Castiel enthuses. Balthazar laughs. Poor Castiel tries, but the speaking part still has room for improvement.

His attempt is admirable, though. Balthazar likes it enough to grind his knee harder between Castiel’s legs.

Castiel goes bone-straight against the couch cushions, a yelp trapped tight in his throat. The sound makes something dark curl inside Balthazar. Something dangerous and possessive, demon-like in its greed.

Balthazar eases from his brother’s arms and lowers to the floor in front of him. His knees sink into the rug, heat from the fire at his back.

He unbuttons and unzips his brother’s slacks. His cock is flushed hard. A good size, this vessel. Balthazar hums his approval. He has not done this before. But, first time for everything?

Castiel looks alarmed. Balthazar thinks, at first, he's just stunned by his own position. The sight of himself blushed stiff in Balthazar’s hand.

But it is something much different causing his brother’s worry. “Why are you on your knees?” Castiel’s asks. His eyes are large with confusion.

Balthazar responds with a long, lazy lick over the head of his cock. It is an interesting flavor, skin. Somehow solid and soft, a warm firmness beneath his tongue. The molecules of flesh come together to form the taste of the vessel. But there is hint of Castiel too. Something indescribable but familiar.

Castiel shudders. His thighs stretch wider across the couch.

But as Castiel’s body responds, his expression turns more flustered. His cheeks stain red and mouth opens. “Balthazar, why are you on your knees?”

“Position, Castiel,” Balthazar assures him.

With a hand wound around the base of his shaft, Balthazar curls his lips around the head and sucks. He takes just the tip first. Pets it with his tongue like a well-behaved pup. The saltiness is stronger at the slit, an intriguing flavor that Balthazar urges with hollowed cheeks. Precum dribbles onto his tongue.

Castiel gasps. His attempt to speak comes out as a spectacular failure of mashed letters and need. Balthazar rolls eyes upward to watch him. Castiel’s expression is a wild frenzy. His chest rises and falls rapidly, pretty little nipples tightened into pebbles. His belly button hidden by the tie crossed over his belly.

“Balthazar,” Castiel forces out.

Balthazar gathers more of him into his mouth. He is rigid between his lips, hot and tense. A fascinating sensation. Balthazar opens his mouth wider. He strokes beneath Castiel with a flat drag of his tongue. He is careful with his teeth, lips glossing over previously left wetness.

Castiel reaches out abruptly, arms around Balthazar’s shoulders and face in his hair. He nearly succeeds in wrenching himself from Balthazar’s hungry mouth. “I don’t want you on your knees,” Castiel says.

He sounds so wounded, Balthazar can’t help but laugh. “Doesn’t this feel good?” he asks.

Castiel does not deny it. But when he sits back, Balthazar sees the seriousness of his expression. The shock and hurt. Balthazar is taken aback. “Cas?”

“Come, sit with me,” Castiel says. It is his added “Please” that is the most convincing - a quiet but firm entreaty.

As bizarre as Balthazar finds Castiel’s objection, he moves immediately back up to the love seat. Castiel comes to him as soon as he is settled. Balthazar gathers him to his chest, fingers in his hair, his other hand on his back. Soothing, stroking.

Balthazar feels the zip of his own fly undone. His own cock is drawn from between the open edges of his pants.

“I seem to have misjudged this situation,” Balthazar says, chuckling.

Castiel’s expression is grave. “Do not bow to me,” he mutters. “Ever.” The final word is accented by a fist working slowly up the length of Balthazar’s cock.

Balthazar hums. He is not sure where this sentiment is coming from. But does not mind what it’s earned him.

How silly would would look to a passerby? Kneeling on this couch like school children, cocks hard over their thighs.

Balthazar loops his hand around Castiel. His shaft is still wet from Balthazar’s mouth, the stroke of his hand accompanied by a slick swish.

Castiel groans, hips rocking forward. They collide, body to body, cocks rubbing, dry and wet. Gasps are swallowed in tandem, eyes squeezed shut. Panted breaths mingle between their parted lips. Fascinating.

Balthazar opens his hand. He hooks it around himself and Castiel, a wide 'C’ embracing two shafts. Both are pumped in earnest, dry and slick.

He presses closer, cock head tickled by the curls at the base of Castiel’s cock. Castiel’s open tie sweeps between their bodies, a ghost of fabric over already sensitive flesh. Castiel makes a tight sound. His fingers join Balthazar’s, rubbing and smearing. His free hand braces on Balthazar’s stomach. It clenches under Castiel’s fingers, a maddening itch twisting low in his pelvis.

A pulse grows, like a trapped tremor. “Oh…” Castiel breathes.

Balthazar understands what is happening now.

Castiel meets his eyes. His own are barely blue, pupils large and dark. Balthazar holds his stare and quickens his hand. Slick, wet sounds slide between their bellies. The tickle between Balthazar’s legs expands, filling up his stomach, swelling through his lungs.

“Baltha…” His name breaks on Castiel’s moan.

As wonderful at this feels, Balthazar forces himself to focus on Castiel’s drifting gaze. Beneath, Balthazar sees the brightness of his grace, hot and pleased. His wings shudder within, a pulse of desire.

Balthazar nuzzles his stretched neck, biting a tendon leading from collar to jaw. Each nibble draws a new sound from Castiel, successively higher.

When Castiel speaks, he manages a few words of Enochian. Then, he is not decipherable at all. Just sounds and gibberish. Or too many languages to interpret, thousands of broken dialects. His panted breaths burst against Balthazar’s face.

He turns when Castiel tries for his mouth, catching his earlobe with his teeth instead. Castiel’s nails dig into his stomach. Pink scratches rise on his belly. But Balthazar feels their sting deeper, past this outer shell to the celestial being within.

Mortal fences separate them, yet Balthazar has never felt closer to Castiel. Their flesh is so emotional, so desperate to join. How precious, to watch his kindred come apart. Castiel’s stoicism crumbles to a type of pain, a final effort. Then, to bliss so agonizing that Castiel cries out. His waist jumps, and he comes hot on Balthazar’s hand. Castiel’s eyes roll back, mouth open in voiceless wonder.

It is the expression that frees Balthazar. He pumps his cock a few more times. Fast and tight, he has gotten the hang of it now. Balthazar works himself until he is struck as well. His climax is a sudden, toe-curling thing. The world goes blurry, and an unseen fist clenches in his belly.

He has no smart comment when Castiel’s hand drapes over the back of his neck. He rests his forehead on Castiel’s temple, harsh exhales on his jaw, Castiel breathes in kind.

“My god,” Balthazar manages finally.

“Brother,” Castiel admonishes, but the lightness to his voice gives his amusement away. His thumb slides along the nape of Balthazar’s neck.

Balthazar smiles, but something cold settles in his stomach. Strange, this feeling. It's like a warning.

Balthazar tightens his arm around Castiel. Letting go no longer seems possible.

*The End*