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Castiel felt the shiver of anxiety as the alpha angels pulled the names of beta and omega angels from the gilded chalice set on top of the stone alter; one by they were paired off through the lottery, and each time the next in line would approached the alter his jaw would clench and his nails would dig into his palms.

He cast a look around at the others gathered around; at the others who had placed their names into the lottery and the other angels who were lined up to take a chance on fate an select a mate through the lottery. He was scouring through the gathering for a single face out of hundreds – the man he’d decided to take the crazy risk for.

He found him eventually, heart beginning to pound in his chest at the idea that the archangel wasn’t participating. But there he was, tall and proud with Samael ever present at his side even though the younger angel was already mated.

There was only a slim chance that Michael – Dean, Castiel had committed the angel’s preferred human name to memory the moment he had introduced himself – would pull his name from the chalice. Samandriel and Inias had tried to talk him out of it, to get him to try and approach the archangel before the festival began, but Castiel had decided to chance it.

It was a roll of the dice; fate being put to test.

The angels gathered in the town square began to dwindle, and both Dean and Castiel were still there. Dean approached the chalice, his eyes finally tearing away from what was happening directly in front of him to scan the crowd. His eyes met Castiel’s; without looking away he reached into the chalice and pulled a sliver of paper out.

He didn’t bother reading it, simply balled it up in his fist and began to walk towards where Castiel stood. His pace began to slow the closer to Castiel he got, and finally he wavered long enough to check the slip of paper. Castiel gulped, heart vibrating against his ribcage, when Dean looked up with a slight quirk of the lips.

--

Castiel’s fingers gripped at blankets on Dean’s bed; forgetting every thought about Dean’s peculiar taste in all the trappings of human life as the archangel’s tongue swiped across his puckered hole before pushing inside. He was torn between thrusting back against the tongue and forwards into the older angel’s hand as it slowly pumped his cock.

His wings trembled, spreading out and shifting while he pressed his face into the pillow. A wet spot had formed on the pillow beneath where his open mouth had pressed down on it.

The blood that had marked his body from the beginning of the festival had long since dried, cracking and flaking with each tightening and relaxing of his muscles; every squirm elicited a rumbling chuckle from Dean that vibrated through his body – sent shockwaves of pleasure along his spine until he was begging for more, broken sentences in English tangling themselves in with the litany of Enochian and Latin.

Dean kissed his way up to the small of Castiel’s back, teeth skimming along his spine in small bites and gentle presses of his lips until he reached Castiel’s neck, his body pressing down against Castiel’s, fingers shifting through the feathers of Castiel’s wings.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Cas.” Dean mouthed at Castiel’s ear, taking lobe into his mouth and sucking lightly. He could feel the heat from his breath on his own face, the moisture of it warming Castiel’s skin and his own.

“Dean, please.” Castiel pressed up against Dean, felt his cock press against his heated flesh.

“I rigged the drawing. Couldn’t let anyone else have my pretty Sarim.” Dean bit Castiel’s neck, breaking the skin. He lapped at the blood, kissed his way to Castiel’s mouth. Castiel moaned into Dean’s mouth, entire body shaking in pleasure as Dean gently squeezed the oil glands at the base of Castiel’s wings.

“My heart was racing; so worried someone else would draw my name.” Castiel let out a breathy moan as Dean’s finger circled his hole, teasing him before sliding in. Castiel was lost in the sensation; biting at Dean’s lips and losing moans into the cavern of Dean’s mouth each time a finger was added, not registering the three fingers pressing inside him as individuals but as a whole as they pressed in and drew out, spreading and flexing until he was drunk on desire, hips rotating in stuttering undulations.

Dean withdrew his fingers, moving just long enough to roll Castiel over. Castiel hooked his legs around Dean’s waist, hands clasped with Dean’s above his head as Dean slowly pushed in, their breaths coming out with each other’s names, broken and fragmented. Dean moved slow, giving Castiel time to adjust.

Each thrust was slow but powerful, jolting Castiel’s body so he felt each movement as if it were reaching all the way to his throat. He begged for harder, prayed for faster. Dean wrapped one arm around Castiel’s torso, pulling and shifting until they were sitting up, Castiel in his lap with his back pressed against the cool wall.

Castiel pressed against the wall, used it for leverage to move his body in tandem with each thrust – his eyes fluttered shut, mouth lax and open as Dean met each rotation of Castiel’s hips with a thrust. Dean left bite marks along Castiel’s clavicle and chest while Castiel’s nails dug into his shoulder blades just above his wings.

Dean slammed into Castiel, feeling himself swell and knot – binding them together while wrapping his hand around Castiel’s cock, stroking him – swiping a finger across the slit and rotating his wrist just slightly.

Castiel came on a choked off moan that might have contained the syllables of Dean’s name – his human name, never the one their father gave him – as Dean’s seed filled Castiel.

Dean’s forehead pressed against Castiel’s, their breath mingling as Dean fucked into Castiel lazily, without purpose. Castiel rotated his hips slowly, gasping as Dean let out a stilted groan, coming just a little more from the movement alone.

“Stay with me after the festival.” Dean nuzzled Castiel’s chin, pressed kisses along his jaw.

“It was always only you, Dean, from the day we met.”

--

Michael was wounded, bleeding out on the filthy soil of Earth. Castiel saw him then, an ethereal beauty – so perfect. Castiel knelt down, pulled his head into his lap and focused his grace on healing the older angel.

“What’s your name, Sarim?”

“My name is Castiel; you should reserve your strength, Michael.”

“Dean.”

“What?” Castiel looked down at the archangel, head tilted in confusion as he looked down at the archangel; his grace intertwined with the archangel’s, healing the wounds.

“I go by Dean, Cas.” Michael – Dean – reached up and brushed his fingers against Castiel’s cheek, leaving a bloody smear in the wake of his fingers. His eyes closed, chest rising and falling as he slept while Castiel healed his wounds. Castiel pressed his hand against Dean’s shoulder, eyes opening wide in shock as his grace seared the flesh of Dean’s arm. His grace burrowed deep inside, leaving a piece of the Sarim’s entangled with the archangel’s.