Yarrow flowers. Graveyard dirt. His own name on a piece of paper.
And Castiel’s ecclesiastical ring, pulled from his finger. He wouldn’t need it any more. He felt surprisingly little as he twisted it between his fingertips. The engraved metal glinted silver in the light of the crescent moon, and he sensed its warmth against his chilled skin.
He bent down and placed the ring in the tin beside the other items, and closed the lid until it snapped shut. He covered it over with his toe, smoothing the gravel of the road flat.
It wouldn’t be long, now.
He only needed to turn around, and there he saw the other man appear, materialising like smoke. He arrived with a hushing sound, like a soft exhale of breath.
The two of them stood ten feet apart, Castiel with his feet in the very centre of the crossroad.
The demon’s eyes were as black as the starless sky. He dressed in the smartest of waistcoats, his trousers tight, his lithe figure sharply defined against the frosted grass that edged every side of the road.
Dean’s face was only recognisable by his features: his slim nose, long eyelashes that caught the moonlight; a pale, defined jaw, his stubble like black frost against his skin. He was as beautiful as ever, but he looked nothing like the man Castiel had been so willing to destroy his own reputation for.
“Anything your heart desires.” the demon said, with Dean’s voice. He put a lilt into his words, easily as defiant as it was inviting.
Castiel knew what he wanted. After so long of waiting, of trying to keep his thoughts at bay, and finally giving in to the fantasies... he knew, and there was no doubt in his mind as to what he would ask for.
He would only get ten years. It was more than he would ever get otherwise.
Stepping forward, Castiel met the demon halfway. Dean stood tall, his shoulders squared; haughty, displaying dominance, but not oppression. His black eyes caught the moonlight, and Castiel silently pined for the green that hid underneath.
They were close enough that they could taste each other on their breath; Dean’s scent was no longer like whiskey, but dangerous and smoky. He smelt like pure sin. Pure evil.
“I’ll say it once more,” Dean murmured, his gaze turning from Castiel’s lips back to his eyes. “What is it that you desire?” Dean’s mouth pulled upward in a dirty smile, and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I won’t ask you again.”
Castiel stared for a few seconds. Then he swallowed down all inhibitions, and said what he summoned Dean here to say.
Dean’s smile became hungry, bordering on cruel. “A deal like that will take more than a kiss.”
“You’re a liar,” Castiel stated, as bluntly as he dared. He didn’t back away from the other man, still feeling the pull of him, still wanting to touch.
Castiel wouldn’t refuse him, however, and they both knew it.
“Oh,” Castiel smiled, trying not to stare too deeply into Dean’s captivating eyes. He was a stranger to this parish, after all. “Please, call me Castiel. I’m only ‘Father’ when I’m in service.”
Dean chuckled, his gaze dropping to Castiel’s hands. “Sure thing.” He met the preacher’s eyes, and parted his lips just wide enough that he could lick them. “Cas.”
The white strip was discarded onto the gravel, and Castiel didn’t even watch it fall. He shut his eyes, giving himself over to the creature that stood before him.
Dean was still warm. His heat bled through Castiel’s black clothes, through the heavy cotton and the velvet. A hand slipped, firm, under the side of Castiel’s jacket, and he leaned into the touch. The other hand went to his belt buckle, and Castiel heard its clasp flicked undone.
Breath on his lips. Shirt pulled out of his waistband.
The cold of the night air rushed under Castiel’s clothes, and he felt his nipples harden immediately, almost to a point of pain. His fingernails were blunt against his palms as he curled his fists up tight, trying to warm his hands.
Dean’s nose pressed into Castiel’s cheek, skin rasping on his stubble.
“You’re not going to help me?” Dean asked, with barely a note on his whisper.
“No,” Castiel said.
He didn’t want to admit it, not out loud, but he was enjoying it. He liked the slow slide of fabric on his skin as Dean undressed him, and he liked the hands that explored him as they went. Dean’s body was closer to him than it had ever been before.
Dean kept moving, undressing Castiel item by item. His jacket curled around his ankles as it fell, his black shirt followed it moments after. The breath of night bit at Castiel’s body, and his eyes snapped open as he shivered.
Dean was looking down, the back of his fingers straying against Castiel’s stomach. Castiel watched him, watched the way Dean’s eyelashes batted, the way his eyes shifted from one area of bare skin to the next. This demon appreciated Castiel in the same way Dean did, that much was clear. He wanted Castiel.
Castiel wanted him, too.
Dean’s eyebrows raised the tiniest fraction as he nudged Castiel’s trousers from his hips. The preacher now wore nothing but his undergarments and his shoes, with his feet tangled in dark cloth.
Man of the cloth, he was no more.
Dean took in a breath, his gaze rising to look Castiel in the eye. His breath formed in front of his face like coal smoke, far darker than Castiel’s own white water vapour.
“Don’t stop,” Castiel urged.
The look in Dean’s black eyes was predatory, his head tipped down to consider Castiel from an inch in front of him. “You want this.”
“I want this,” Castiel said, not bothering to deny.
Dean leaned to kiss him. His lips touched to Castiel’s gingerly at first. Castiel watched his eyes fall shut, lashes extending dark shadows across his waxen face.
Dean’s eyes searched Castiel’s like he would find God’s secrets inside him, but Castiel could only shake his head.
“Does it feel wrong?” Castiel replied, hating himself for leading Dean like that. He knew the answer, but he wanted Dean to stray, somehow. He wanted him to fall, and become corrupt. He wanted Dean to mirror the sins that drenched Castiel’s own thoughts.
“Yes,” Dean whispered, holding Castiel’s eye. “Yeah, it does. I feel dirty, and I feel like I’m...”
He licked his lips, and Castiel’s gaze tracked it.
“I shouldn’t want it. I know shouldn’t feel like this,” Dean finished, looking away out of shame.
Castiel thrilled at the thought alone, of Dean pressing his lips to those of another man. Dean was right; everything he grew up leaning told him it was a sin, and it would condemn him to Hell. But Castiel’s heart told him different.
“Maybe that is so. But in any case,” Castiel smiled, tipping his head so Dean caught his eye once more, “I don’t think you’re the only man who thinks about it.”
Dean was about to reply, but stopped himself. He took a moment to process Castiel’s words, and the expression on his face. Castiel knew where Dean’s mind was leading him, and he said not a word to stop it.
When Dean replied at last, he said, “Oh.”
Castiel croaked as he fisted his fingers in Dean’s hair, their lips breaking apart and turning and lapping. Breath bounced back against his own skin as Castiel exhaled on Dean’s chin.
There was a build of desperation here, it gathered and spread across Castiel’s body like stardust, beautiful - but also like a heavy cloak, smothering him. He couldn’t see past it; it was bright and too close to his skin.
The toes of Castiel’s boots dragged against the gravel, since Dean was holding up his weight. Their mouths moved furiously, wet heat enveloping Castiel’s lips and tongue in a rough and pounding kiss. Dean kissed angrily, his want for Castiel’s touch was obvious. Castiel let him take, and take, because he’d never once been kissed like this. Not this lovingly.
Dean’s left hand moved down Castiel’s side, palm flat on the muscles of his waist. Castiel felt the cloth of his undergarments trembling as Dean undid the drawstring, knuckles pressing and catching against Castiel’s pubic hair as Dean slipped his fingers to tug it free.
“Ohh,” Dean breathed, his lips parted, the moistened flesh of his mouth just touching Castiel’s Adam’s apple. He kissed.
Castiel let his legs be spread apart by Dean’s powerful thigh. He felt breached for a moment, grabbing for Dean’s shirtsleeves as he cried out in surprise. Just the sensation of a leg between his own seemed whole, and filling. Dean’s thigh was solid, and tangible in a way that his supple, rolling body was not.
“Come on,” Dean snarled, opening his mouth wide over Castiel’s throat. Castiel felt teeth, and his head fell back against his shoulders as he choked out a cry to the night.
Dean’s tongue slid, inhumanly hot, over his throat. His saliva chilled on Castiel’s neck, and Castiel could feel his own heartbeat, his own pulsing need all caught up beside his panting breath. Dean began to rock forward against him, and Castiel whimpered.
His hands were curling in the material on Dean’s back, his own erection buried against the warmth of Dean’s hip. There was clothing between them still; Dean’s shirt and waistcoat, his trouser belt.
Castiel’s underwear had shifted to his own lower hips, and was riding up around his crotch, the white cotton dampened by his overexcited emissions.
“Gonna take you,” Dean rumbled against Castiel’s raised collarbone, bringing out goosebumps on his feverish skin.
Castiel’s mind became a rush of compliance, words coming to his tongue: Yes, yes - do it, take me. Please.
He didn’t need to utter a syllable before Dean swayed him, sliding Castiel’s body down his thigh, Dean’s strength drawn from the deepest craters of Hell itself. Castiel could only watch the sky rising higher as he was laid down, his body being rested against ice-cold gravel that made his back clench and arch as it poked sharply at his skin.
Dean was peering down at him, eyes wide, the shadows on his face shaping his features into that of the most magnificent of all monsters. He knelt at Castiel’s hips, his thighs levelled under Castiel’s own raised legs. Dean still held the soft flesh behind Castiel’s knees.
His hands were careful with him; he would be gentle when Castiel wanted that, and he would be demanding when Castiel gave no complaint against it.
Dean let go of Castiel for a moment, and Castiel took the moment to relax; he stared at the inky-black sky, seeing very few points of light.
Needles were stabbing his back, but he knew it was only the dirt of the road, and unless Dean put a great deal of weight on Castiel’s body, the stones would not break his skin.
Castiel put a hand to his mouth, suddenly aware of the pull around his lips and eyes. “So I am.”
“There a reason for that, Padre?”
Castiel slipped his hand from his face to his lap, seeing how his slender hand was so close to Dean’s thigh. He could so easily reach over and stroke him, his excuse being to comfort, or as a friendly gesture. But, as ever, he kept his hands to himself.
“There are many reasons for a smile, Mr. Winchester.”
“Oh, come on now, Cas. If you’re not ‘Father’, I’m not Mister anything. Mr. Winchester is my daddy.”
Castiel met Dean’s sparkling eyes, seeing such a warmth there. “Dean.”
“There,” Dean murmured. Then his smile slowly, ever so slowly, slipped from his face. When he met Castiel’s eye again, Castiel saw Dean’s throat pull up in a gulp. “Much better.”
Castiel watched Dean watch himself separate the two halves of his trouser opening, his folded legs spreading a few inches further apart, his knees scuffing and dragging the rough ground. He seemed so proud, pleased with himself for securing such a fine vessel. Dean was indeed incredibly attractive, especially with his legs apart like that.
Castiel’s breath caught in his mouth as Dean undid his drawstring, and revealed the darker skin of his manhood.
Castiel knew the unbridled desire to touch the rising flesh was as sinful as having kissed the man the flesh belonged to.
If Dean’s eyes weren’t already as black as the purest Indian ink, Castiel was sure his irises would have been taken over by dilation: his excitement was unmistakable. His cock had stiffened enough that it pushed to his lower stomach, dragging a smear of shimmering liquid through the brush of hair there.
Castiel shivered - from the pinch of the winter air, and from unadulterated thirst for Dean’s body to be held against his own. Dean just knelt there, his eyes skating hungrily over Castiel’s splayed limbs, and the rise and fall of his abdomen as he respired.
“Dean,” Castiel pleaded, his voice almost swallowed by the muffling air. “Dean...”
Dean leaned over him, shifting part of his weight onto his hands as he crawled forward. He towered over Castiel, even though his nose only came to rest an inch above his own.
“I’m not Dean,” the demon said, quirking a fast little grin.
“He’s somewhere,” Castiel conceded. “He’s inside you.”
Dean kissed Castiel’s lips, warm and ashen. “He’ll be inside you, Castiel. I’ll be inside you.”
Castiel let out a shaky breath, unable to prevent a needy sound floating out along with it. His eyelids were fluttering, his skin curling with heat as arousal coursed in his bloodstream the same way malevolence coursed in Dean’s.
It wasn’t right, to be so aware of the cruelty that this creature had done, and still want it to make love to him. Castiel knew that fact so well. He was a preacher, a man of God. And yet, he was so willingly giving himself to the other side.
He couldn’t stop himself; he wanted the demon to feast on his innocence the same way he would on a human soul. Dean and the demon, right now, were one and the same. The line was so thin, given how tenderly the demon was prepared to treat Castiel.
Castiel let out a final breath, preparing himself for eternal damnation. There wasn’t a place for him anywhere but in Dean’s arms.
Castiel gave a deep belly laugh, clutching the altar for support. He loved laughing like this - when he was with Dean, he laughed in ways and for reasons that he’d not laughed for in years.
“Only a little, Dean. It’s only a little.”
Dean beamed, and took the communion wine from Castiel’s shaking hand - slowly, and timidly at first, but then all at once he snatched it, bringing it to his own lips and drawing down a swallow that caused him to cringe afterwards.
“Only a little wayward.” Dean smiled, passing the bottle back before leaning his rear against the altar, bunching up the crimson cloth. “A drop of communion wine, sure. But you’re not dipping your toe. You’re practically leaping into the ocean of waywardness.”
He turned to look Castiel in the eye as they perched together on the altar. “You’re falling, Cas.”
Castiel looked down at the wine in his hands, his thumb brushing at the dry label, feeling its papery crinkle under his skin. He smiled as he breathed out. “Are you going to stop me?”
Dean made the softest of amused sounds; laughter. “Nah.” He took the bottle, putting it to his lips again, taking a drink. He held the liquid in his mouth before he swallowed, and passed the bottle again.
As Castiel met his eyes, Dean winked.
“I’ll pull you down,” he said.
Castiel groaned into Dean’s mouth, his breath becoming uneven as Dean’s steady hand moved from his hip to his member, taking hold and pulling.
Years. It had taken years to get here.
Dean fell back for a second, and Castiel’s mouth chased him forward, wanting another taste. But Dean only retreated to Castiel’s stomach, curled up over him. His hands wrapped around the crumpled sides of Castiel’s undergarments, and began to slide them down.
Castiel shook as the cloth tingled at his leg hair, its warmth passing and collecting as the demon drew it down his thighs. Castiel lifted both his legs, gravel shooting pain against his backside as his weight shifted, but he was relieved as Dean tugged the underwear to his ankles, and Castiel could lower his hips.
Dean undid Castiel’s shoelaces with total repose, and within less than a minute, both of Castiel’s feet were bare, his boots and socks removed and flung away. His trousers and undergarments went too, flapping to the ground by their sides.
Castiel lay naked in the freezing night, bare down to his very soul.
Dean rested the tips of his fingers on Castiel’s heart, pushing gently. “Lie back.”
Castiel curled back, hearing and feeling the ground crackling. Everywhere he looked was creeping darkness, save the shimmer of Dean’s face, and the glittering strands of grass that edged his vision. The moon barely illuminated anything, it was so slim. It was like a closed eye, a cat pretending to be awake as it slept - not even the moon was watching their act.
Castiel’s mouth fell wide open as he sucked in a gasp - Dean’s finger touched to his anus, a fingernail causing a line of lightning to strike through Castiel’s lower body.
Dean smiled as he began to circle the puckered hole. The sensitive skin lacked any kind of lubrication, and Castiel sensed an intense fuzziness in his lower half as Dean touched. A quiet moan came from the back of Dean’s throat. Dean was enjoying Castiel’s reaction: panting, hands grasping at empty air, toes tensed up against his feet.
The single finger withdrew for a moment, and Castiel closed his eyes tight as he heard Dean spit, twice. Castiel knew this wasn’t going to be a painless ride.
Dean’s fingers were slipping against each other as he put the hand back to Castiel’s entrance; they radiated heat, and were so, so wet.
Castiel inhaled deeply, raising an arm over his head and resting it on the ground as Dean slid a finger inside. It went effortlessly, as did the second. There was barely a stretch at all, since Castiel had done this to himself countless times.
Castiel moaned, and a sense of weightlessness filled him. Dean pushed in a third finger, slowly allowing them to go deeper inside. The stretch started to make Castiel throb; he loved the sensation, knowing what was coming.
Dean turned his hand at the wrist, and Castiel’s breath stuttered, his head falling to the side. He sighed and bit his lower lip; he felt a knuckle on the place where he felt the utmost pleasure. It was always sensitive there, and Dean seemed to already know to draw his knuckle over it again, eliciting another sharp wail from Castiel.
Dust was puffing up from Castiel’s face, the grit from the road dry and loose from a rainless winter. He could smell it, and he could smell the paint he’d put down earlier. He only hoped Dean wouldn’t get close enough to the ground to notice it.
Dean spat again, not bothering to remove his fingers first. The globule of saliva slid down Castiel’s perineum, a long, cold strand floating across his stomach as Dean turned his head to break it. The slickness coated the open hole where Dean started to shift his three fingers - in and out, in and out, a twist on each stroke.
Castiel reached a hand between his own legs and began to tug on his cock, setting his thumb in his slit and pulling his fingers over the head, spreading his pre-ejaculate over his hardened flesh. His erection had waned only slightly since Dean’s initial breach, but under Castiel’s attention, his arousal grew strong and stiff once more.
He stared at the ground at his side, seeing how it hazed out into a blur as he gazed along its flatness.
Dean’s fourth finger slid in as cold as the night itself, and Castiel grunted at the intrusion; he could easily take four of his own fingers, but Dean’s were already deep inside, and he’d wasted no time in letting Castiel adjust.
“S- slowly,” Castiel whispered, his eyes half-closed.
Dean complied, and he slowed his movement so it took twice as long to push his fingers all the way inside. Castiel felt the bump of knuckles as those four fingers became totally immersed in his body. The strain of muscle was bordering on painful, mostly due to the utter chill in the air - Dean’s spittle was cold, and was getting colder.
Dean held his hand there, his other hand rubbing soothingly up and down Castiel’s thigh. He murmured soft noises of praise, and Castiel knew they weren’t English, nor Latin. He didn’t know what language demons spoke, but he was surely enticed by the flicking syllables, the hollowed vowels. A beautiful language, if deadly.
Dean turned his buried hand, and Castiel clenched his buttocks in sudden excitement as he felt movement against that same spot of pleasure, and fingernails against the softness of his inside. He was weak there, but he felt safe in the hands of the demon who held him.
He had forsaken God, on this night.
He wondered if God had forsaken him, too.
Dean began to pull his hand out, and Castiel voiced a soft mewl at the sensation. Always, his favourite part was just as his own hand pulled out - there!
“Shhh,” Dean hushed, returning his hand a few inches deeper, up to his second knuckle, then withdrawing it once more. Castiel wrapped his legs over Dean’s parted thighs, trying to draw him in.
“Patience, patience,” Dean grinned, tipping his head seductively. The tiny smirk on his face was calm, with none of the desperation that they had both shown in their kiss. “I think this needs a little more slick, don’t you?”
Castiel nodded minutely, his scalp bumping a stone. His dark hair ruffled as a breeze coasted along the ground, picking up the tiniest fragments of dust. Castiel shut his eyes, wincing at the sting.
“B’lee-o’rah,” Dean muttered, his voice low and grating. Castiel turned his face up to look at him, still hovering above. His eyes were shut without any force, and he looked peaceful. The breeze flustered at his hair, a few fallen leaves rushed past his face. The wind became icy for just a second, as he added, “B’evoh t’h muh’nē...”
Castiel curled his legs up tight and pulled Dean in by his shoulders, wrenched Dean’s hand deep inside him in one movement, shouting out a fierce sound; pleasure had shot through him like a flash-fire, and Dean’s hand was slick like it hadn’t been before. It seemed to burn hot, its wetness making Dean’s four fingers seem like nothing. All Castiel felt was the body of a man over him, feeling his warmth, the rasp of his waistcoat against his nipples.
Dean leaned to goad in his ear, “Be ready.”
Castiel nodded, and was still nodding as Dean leaned back on his haunches. Dean’s hand pulled out, and Castiel felt his muscles close up, and he purposely clenched them, stimulated by the sensation as the heated flesh pressed to itself, slippery as if his insides had been oiled.
He let his hand slip to the base of his cock, squeezing. The feeling of being wet alone was rousing enough that he wanted to be sure not to climax just yet.
Dean was touching himself, also. His skin shone with stars, the slickness glittering in the moonlight. Castiel watched the man’s cockhead disappear beneath fingers and his palm, poking out as his fist went to rest on his scrotum, just for a moment.
Castiel matched his pace, and his pace with his breathing. By the time Dean leaned forward, slinking his body atop Castiel’s, each of their rhythm was in time with the other.
Dean waited for the beat, taking his time to line the very tip of his manhood up with Castiel’s hole. Castiel felt it slipping, and felt the heat of Dean’s whole body condensed into the crown of his penis. The flesh was unyielding, and felt as hard as anything against his own malleable opening.
“Be ready,” Dean repeated, breathing out. His hand was on his own cock, his hips rocking the tip ever so gently on Castiel’s edge.
Castiel kept the rhythm of his hand and hips going, no matter how much he wanted to let it falter, to cry out and beg for Dean to fill him in one, to break the rhythm and take him wildly and without inhibition.
Three - two - one―
Castiel was ready as Dean pushed inside; they’d both known the moment to pull together, to tug into each other. Castiel removed his hand from his own hardness, moaning loudly as Dean sank into him, heat swallowed by more heat.
Everything was so soft in Castiel; everything so hard in Dean. They folded into each other, Dean being drowned in Castiel as he rose his own hips to meet him. Castiel’s body became enshrouded by Dean’s, shirtsleeves resting on his shoulders as Dean lay over him, his weight on his forearms.
“Oh-uhh―” Castiel managed, shaking as Dean began to ride into him.
Their hips snapped and thumped, Castiel’s legs wrapped around Dean; Dean used one hand to hold Castiel’s thigh across his lower back, cross-legged at the ankles.
Castiel could feel Dean’s cockhead, the hard rim around it, the way it slid back and forth inside him; every few thrusts the head would bump the nub inside him, and insane curls of solace would singe his veins, and he would make noises that nobody but himself had ever heard.
“Right there, right there,” Dean breathed, every moment that Castiel twisted himself closer; the pleasure Castiel felt was for Dean too, and it was so gratifying to see the half-closed eyes and tiny smile on his face. Still the smile of a demon, but it was Dean nonetheless.
Gravel was cutting Castiel’s back now, but he barely noticed; so many good feelings were writhing inside his body that pain even translated as pleasant.
He arched his back and whimpered, letting Dean take the back of his head and cradle him, his pace slowing for a moment.
Dean changed the angle of his hips. Under Castiel’s bare feet, Dean tipped his buttocks toward the sky, and inside Castiel it caused his member to push down, towards Castiel’s lower back.
Castiel was filled up again as Dean plunged deeper than before, his pubic hair tickling at Castiel’s perineum, dampened by the wetness there. Dean released a grave, deep sound against Castiel’s shoulder, making his whole body rumble.
“Do you like this?” Dean asked him, he too turning his face to the side, so their noses touched and their eyes were an inch apart. Their bodies swayed in their movements, rolling and gritty, muscles pounding. “Do you like being... wasted, like this?”
“Yes,” Castiel whispered into Dean’s ear.
He licked his lips as he gazed at the arch and lines of Dean’s shifting shoulders, his perfect skin made hallow by the moon. Then he blinked, exhaling. For a moment, he forced Dean’s cock out of him, smiling as Dean growled in complaint and had to use his hand to guide himself back in.
Dean leaned up to kiss him, their mouths meeting like a gentle roll of distant thunder.
Castiel listened to the huffs of their breaths, the pulse of his own heartbeat in his head, the scraping of dirt under their bodies. They must have shifted at least a foot since Dean pushed inside, as their forward drive was steady and forceful.
Castiel’s put a hand on himself and again matched their pounding pace, rarely faltering for more than a second.
The sound of their kisses was softer than anything Castiel had heard before. Dean made the simplest of human sounds, not caring to pin them down as he kissed. He sighed and muttered pleased words, more strained noises coming from further back in his throat.
Castiel didn’t know how long this demon had wanted this. If it was anything like how long Dean himself had wanted, then he was unsurprised that the demon was so devoted in his attentions.
“I never said you were. Dean, believe me, I’ve known bad people.” Castiel lowered his gaze, smiling at the back of the pew that separated them. “Compared to them, their darkness, and the shadows of their souls - you are the brightest star in the sky.”
“Aw, man, that’s just soppy.”
Castiel laughed at Dean’s disgruntled, slightly embarrassed expression, but they both smoothed their faces over after a few seconds, if only to be able to look clearly at each other.
“No,” Castiel continued, glancing to Dean’s full pink lips. “No, I really mean it. As a parish priest, I see a lot of men and women; sinners. They come in here to confess, to share with me the wrong they’ve done. Not one of them has ever been brave enough to say it to my face.”
Dean gulped, turning his face away. “Bravery, sure.” He scoffed, then hooked his arms over the back of the pew. “I’d call it total insanity. I - ha - can’t believe I even said that to you. Must’ve been drunk or something.”
“I’m glad you told me,” Castiel admitted. He probably looked quite sheepish as he added, “There have been so few times in my life when I myself have felt unburdened after someone else’s confession. What you said to me, that night?” Dean met his eye, and Castiel smiled. “It made me feel more relief than I’d ever felt, not for years. To know I wasn’t the only one who thought those things... wanted that...”
Castiel’s eyes drifted from Dean’s as he thought back, to many months ago, that night he and Dean had spoken so openly. “I want to thank you for that, Dean. It changed how I saw a lot of my life.”
Dean actually blushed. Castiel smiled at the sight, as it was a delicate colour on his already perfect skin.
“Gee, Cas, you really know how to make a man feel special,” Dean grinned. He was trying to be facetious, but it didn’t take a single thought for Castiel to know Dean really meant those words.
“You too,” Castiel said.
They stared at each other for a moment longer... then another moment.
Castiel was the one to break their eye contact. It made him too needy, he always felt he was toeing the line, and was a single second from falling into Dean’s lips, pulled in by the gravity in his eyes.
“Some day, Cas,” Dean said, speaking the words to Castiel’s back as he edged out of the pew. “Some day, you’re gonna know what it’s like. I swear by it.”
“What what is like?” Castiel asked, straightening his cassock as he stood up.
Dean didn’t answer.
The way Dean’s parts moved in such a steady rhythm within Castiel was somehow captivating. Like the beat and thump of his hips was part of them both.
Castiel’s hips were aching, his back was surely bleeding, his hole was sore and still becoming sorer. As Dean filled him, he swept deep and rushed back out; his cockhead remained buried but his meaty whole slid free. His eyes stayed half-closed, and Castiel watched the shade behind the lids, seeing how they glittered like glass orbs. He couldn’t see where Dean was looking exactly, as he had no pupils, both eyeballs masked with complete darkness. But Castiel saw that Dean was pleasured; his cheeks were hot, the film of sweat on his forehead chilled from the night.
Dean made sounds like he might make if he were alone, giving himself release - but this was better than that, this was where two souls merged and became one. The Church saw it as the ultimate act of love, and while Castiel had grown to disagree with so many of the teachings of his parish, he could at least agree on that fact.
This was sacred.
On unholy ground, they made love under the moonlight, and this was the sacred act.
Castiel sat up straight when he heard Dean’s voice on the other side of the confessionary. “I am.”
Dean was quiet for a moment, then spoke. “I’m here because I need to get something... off my chest.”
Castiel turned his eyes to the Heavens, silently praying that these next few moments be easy. There was so much potential for it to be difficult, even painful to hear.
No matter what Dean was to say, it would be revealing. About Dean, yes, but given Castiel’s proximity and friendship, it would skin something from himself, also. It always did.
“Speak, child,” Castiel said.
“I’ve met someone. A man.”
Castiel screwed up his eyes tightly. He prayed again. Let this be easy. Please.
Castiel gave his sanction to continue, “Tell me.”
Dean swallowed audibly. “I’ve known him a good few months, almost a year now. He’s... he’s a good man.”
Castiel was silent, and let Dean speak.
“I wanted to confess that... I want... to meet with him. Tomorrow. At the fountain in the square. And...” Dean became quiet, then he sighed. “And when I meet him, I would take him somewhere nice. And private. Where there’s nobody else.”
Castiel shook his head, breaking his clergyman’s persona for the sake of the hurt that rose in him. “Why are you telling me this now, Dean?”
Dean breathed out, his shadow casting Castiel’s eyes into darkness through the tiny holes of the screen between them. “Because when I’m with him, I want to― God. I want to love him. So, so badly. I need him. God-dammit, Cas, you gotta know how bad it is.”
Castiel inhaled deeply enough that it hurt his lungs. “Do not blaspheme in my church.”
“What? C’mon, Cas―”
“I am Father Castiel to you.”
There was a long, long silence. All Castiel felt was a simmering fury, a new brand of unhappiness that was completely unlike what he felt when he saw men kiss their wives, or resided over their weddings.
It was obvious that Dean was talking about Castiel. Castiel wasn’t ignorant, nor stupid.
But what infuriated him, was that after all of this time, after all of the nights the two of them had spent together, talking and laughing over the most trivial of things, alongside the most personal of revelations, that Dean was so cowardly that he could only ask for this through a wall, behind Castiel’s veil of chastity that he’d spent so long trying to uphold.
“Father,” Dean began, voice low, “I came here to confess a love. Something I shouldn’t feel, not for him. I came here scared. Not of revealing myself, but of rejection. I couldn’t do this to your face, Cas. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to see you say no.”
Dean spoke so calmly now, like he was soothing a child to sleep.
“I’ll be there tomorrow, at the fountain,” Dean continued, standing up and making the booth creak. “An hour after evening mass.”
The door to the confessional swung open as Dean stepped out, and a draft covered Castiel’s feet.
“Have a good night, Father,” Dean said.
The door closed, and Castiel listened for the footsteps as Dean walked for the exit.
Castiel ran his palm over his mouth, trying to stop his lips from quivering. He felt his own smile. Flicking his eyes to the Heavens once more, he gave God his apologies.
“I will meet you there, Dean.”
The dusky vapour of the demon’s breath carried over Castiel’s shoulder, and he rolled his head back, groaning out a pleasure at hearing his own name spoken so brokenly. “Tell me― Oh, say my name again...”
“Cassss...ti’l,” Dean hissed, teeth nipping at the tendon that raised in Castiel’s neck. Castiel barked out a note of pain, an open hand slapping down on Dean’s clothed back. The waistcoat rode up under Castiel’s clutched fingers, and his breathing stuttered, his legs clenching as Dean bit down again, mouth open wide this time, taking flesh between his jaw.
He didn’t bite hard enough to break the skin, only enough that Castiel felt his teeth. Canines; animal parts of him, such a feral act they were committing here in the dirt, like wild creatures.
Castiel whimpered, again feeling Dean’s cock penetrate further than ever, the blunt head driving down slowly and earnestly. Castiel’s spine arched; he ignored the cutting stones as they burned marks like fire at his back - his insides flowed with a saturation of honey, so much colour that he felt fit to burst.
“Dean, right there, again.” Castiel curled his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sighed as Dean’s lips made to part his own. His stubble stung as it rasped against Castiel’s face.
Castiel’s manhood was being neglected; he could no longer fit his hand between his body and Dean’s body, as Dean was lowered completely to Castiel’s stomach. The buttons of Dean’s waistcoat skidded over Castiel’s ribs, he felt the bumps, as did his nipples feel the burn of rubbing cloth.
“Castiel... my angel,” the demon growled, biting firmly - possessively - on Castiel’s lower lip.
Castiel grunted, unable to stop a groan as the demon licked his lips apart for him, dipping his tongue to taste the flesh of Castiel’s cheeks.
“I’m no angel,” Castiel whispered, closing his eyes. His words brushed on Dean’s upper lip, his breath then rushing over Dean’s nose as he exhaled, mouth open. “I’m a fallen man, Dean.”
“You fell for your sinner,” the demon grinned, pressing a dark chuckle to Castiel’s left ear, almost nuzzling his cheek. “You fell with him.”
“You’re not him,” Castiel breathed. “I only want him―”
“You’ll get him,” the demon spat, drawing his face back and glaring at Castiel, looking directly into his eyes. “You’ll get him when I get what I wanted.”
“You wanted me,” Castiel replied, allowing the demon to begin rocking again, resetting their pace to an even rhythm. Dean’s hips rolled to push himself inside Castiel, as he lay bare on the road, taking it. Wanting it still, but finding he wanted more and was unable to have exactly what he wanted this way.
“Yes,” Dean said, nodding gently and kissing Castiel’s nose, eyes slipping shut as Castiel watched him. “Yes, I wanted you. But you can have him. When I have satisfied you, your deal will be sealed.”
Castiel stared at the night sky, watching Dean’s hair shift above him. “What does satisfying me entail?”
Dean chuckled again. It wasn’t warm, nor recognisable. It was the laugh of a demon, tainted. “I think you know.”
“You want to pleasure me to completion,” Castiel replied, giving the most obvious conclusion.
“Mmmm,” the demon moaned, mouth opening as he leaned in, taking Castiel’s lips in another tender kiss.
Castiel knew the demon was many things: cruel, unforgiving, a murderer. But he - it - was also loving, and had so much love within it that Castiel was almost sure it was a freak of its own kind. He hated how much he felt in return; Castiel was not a man who could be loved by something, no matter how vile, and not mirror its own feelings.
“And when―” Castiel was cut off by a kiss, and he nosed Dean away so he could speak again. “When you have given me my release, what then?”
“Then I shall relieve myself of the body of your beloved,” the demon said, like it was obvious. Another kiss, another soft drag of a hand down Castiel’s naked side, toying with a nipple. Castiel was sensitive there, and he sighed out a single, lingering note that shuddered to silence as he ran out of air.
“Will you return?” Castiel asked, gasping for breath as the demon tipped his tongue down, lapping at the sweat on Castiel’s throat. Castiel grunted, turning his chin to the black dome above and allowing the demon access.
“In - mmh, ten years... Ten years, and I will return.” The demon blinked, fast and flickering as he leaned to kiss Castiel’s forehead. Then he moaned through his nose, a sound that caused Castiel to shudder, and he gasped as the demon changed pace again.
The dirt road grated under them, and they were nearing the centre of the crossroad as they rode together, bodies thumping.
Castiel’s mouth opened wide, crying out a loud, sudden yelp as the demon picked up both of his thighs, resting them on Dean’s crooked knees as he knelt on the road. Castiel was split around Dean, his erection straining in want for touch, which neither of them could give. Castiel’s arms were only able to spread against the ground, keeping his back from touching painfully to the dirt, not wanting to suffer that even once more.
“T- Ten―” Castiel heaved a breath, whining through his open mouth, eyelids fluttering.
Dean was so heavy inside him, and Castiel could sense every part of his own body, the way he breathed and the air lifted his chest, the skin on his hips pulling in a way that made him feel good, made him feel beautiful. Even with his eyes half-closed, he could see the way the moonlight kissed his pale chest, his nipples dark circles at the peak of his muscle. His body was moving so accurately; the drumbeat in him controlled the way he bucked and flexed, and the seconds he took his breath.
He couldn’t speak to get his question out, but the demon knew that. It was trying to cause such discomposure in Castiel that he would never speak again - or at least it felt like that. Castiel could only moan, or whine, making noises that years ago would have made him blush. Some sounds, he had no idea he could even create. They were the cries of passion that a man of the cloth should never hear, let alone make himself.
The light of the church flooded the courtyard, making its cobblestones shine orange in the black night. The clouds of breath before Castiel’s face were warm as they floated back onto his cheeks, and he let himself breathe with his mouth open, keeping his nose warm. His hands were wrapped in his cassock, fingers tucked under his arms. It had been a bitter winter, and Castiel was only glad that he’d had such warm company to share.
If he had imagined these moments correctly, Dean would be here to take him somewhere, and they would be warm together. For a while they would be cold, their skin bared to one another for the first time, but then?
A beauty, Castiel had imagined. To kiss another man, to kiss Dean...
“Hope you’ve not been waiting long,” Dean's voice called.
A grin spread on Castiel’s face, and he turned to meet the voice. “Only moments.”
Dean stepped into the light of the moon, his darkly-dressed figure avoiding the spill of orange. “I’m glad you made it.”
Castiel tipped his head. “You, too.”
Dean swayed forward, not drunken, but easier than usual. Castiel wondered if he was hesitating, having second thoughts about this meeting, and its purpose.
“Where was it you would like to take me?” Castiel asked, looking up into Dean’s eyes hopefully, as they stood a foot apart.
Dean gazed down the inch between their heights with a smirk on his face. “Oh,” he said, “I’d take you just about anywhere, I think.”
His eyes flashed black.
Castiel uncrossed his arms and took a step backwards, gasping in shock. “Dean - Dean, your eyes―”
“The vilest filth in existence runs in my veins tonight,” Dean grinned, his posture changing, becoming cocky; he set one hand on a hip, the other held upward towards Castiel, as if beckoning him to join him. “I’d hoped you might want to dance.”
Castiel stared, suddenly shaking, and not from the cold. “You’re a demon.”
He knew of demons, the other ministers often spoke of such creatures, but - God help him - he thought it was a belief, another myth in the string of stories that made up the Christian religion. But now, he saw black eyes, saw how Dean was altered here. This wasn’t the man Castiel loved.
“Won’t you dance, angel?” the demon requested again, giving the smallest bow, offering his hand once more.
“No, no - I want Dean back.”
The demon’s smile was crooked, pulling Dean’s lips in what seemed like a mockery of a smile. It knew the theory, but had no idea how Dean usually smiled. It was oily and unpleasant, and it chilled Castiel enough that he almost stumbled on his cassock as he took another step in retreat.
“You can have him back,” the demon said, lowering its arm at last, giving up on a dance. “Only if I get what I want.”
“I doubt I have anything you want,” Castiel replied, eyes darting around the courtyard, and for the first time hoping that someone else would walk in upon him and Dean alone. “I have no money,” he said, looking the demon in the eye, watching the blackness twinkle. “I have no property, no rights to any place on the planet. I have no assets but the clothes I wear and...”
He gulped, because he had one thing. The silver ring upon his finger, that represented the last semblance of bond he had with the Church. His beliefs were skewed, and he’d broken too many rules. If he gave up the ring, he wouldn’t stay with the parish. Without the ring, he had no symbol to constantly remind himself that he was meant to be a good man. A man of God.
“Are you done?” the demon asked, blunt. He stuck his hands in his waistcoat pockets. Waistcoats were a dress choice that Dean himself had never chosen - at least not in close-cut black.
Castiel nodded, unsure. He had nothing more to say on the matter of what he owned.
“I have no interest in money.”
“I want you. Your... innocence.”
Castiel balked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Pardon granted.” The demon flicked a sharp grin, Dean’s teeth as straight as ever, but seeming out of place. “Castiel, I shall be clear: I have long-searched for this. Men, so willing to give each other this... raw sin. Lust from the deepest heart of hearts. A love, if you will.”
“Dean and I―”
“Let me finish!” the demon snapped, snarling. “You and your dear Mister Winchester are positively delightful, let me tell you. I can’t say I like Dean quite as much as you, though. So much corruption of innocence in you.”
The demon crept forward, pointed boots crossing the cobblestones with delicate taps. Castiel stood his ground, determined not to be afraid as Dean loomed into his face, raising his fingers to cup Castiel’s jaw. Dean’s hands were warm, and gentle. Castiel’s eyes flickered closed, lost immediately in the relief of having Dean touch him.
“I’ve been looking for potential sinners,” the demon said, voice simmering on Castiel’s lips, making them tingle. “I know that you’ve prayed for this. For Dean. For him to be naked and willing.”
Castiel’s eyes snapped open. “How can you know that?”
Dean grinned once more. “The same way I know Dean has only ever prayed twice in his life.”
Castiel blinked, exhaling as the demon’s hand slipped away from his chin. “Only twice?”
Dean nodded, black eyes locked to Castiel’s face as he stepped away, starting to wander the courtyard as he spoke. “The first time, to plead the Maker that his little brother Sammy be spared from sickness.”
Castiel gulped, nodding. “He was very sick. I did all I could―”
“The Maker won out, in that round, I think,” the demon said.
Castiel’s insides twisted. “But Sam is still alive. What do you mean?”
Dean chuckled. “I mean, I don’t think it was your playing doctor that helped, Castiel. Sometimes a rare prayer can go a long way.”
Castiel nodded. Prayers were like magic, and he knew magic was real. Even if medicine did nothing, a spark of hope, just awareness that someone had said a prayer - that helped.
“The second time,” the demon continued, resuming its meandering walk, “he prayed for you. Last night, in fact.”
Castiel stared, swallowing down a lump of emotion. He’d not expected that, not at all.
Was he really so important to Dean that he would pray for him? It showed equal desperation between Castiel’s turning up here tonight, and saving the life of Dean’s only brother, the brother he loved more dearly than anything in this world. How could Dean truly care that much for him?
Throughout this thought, Castiel knew he would do the same for Dean. He would give a real prayer, with real feeling. And indeed, he had. Not only the previous night, but dozens - hundreds of times before.
But, forget prayers. He would do near-enough anything if it meant he could have Dean.
“Turns out,” the demon carried on, “demons can sometimes hear the prayers of the desperate. The men who pray for things that ought not be prayed for.”
Castiel swallowed. “God knows I mean no evil. I cannot - will not - let myself ever believe that my love for Dean, or any other man, is a contamination of my soul. Beyond any doubt, demon, God shares this view.”
“Does He, now,” Dean tutted.
Castiel couldn’t help but falter. He was steadfast in his beliefs, but he had never told them to anyone but Dean. To hear Dean uttering words that suggested Castiel was wrong... it altered his mind. In less than a second, Castiel lost a part of his faith: in God, and himself.
“Tell me what you mean to tell me, demon, and then kindly vacate Dean,” Castiel said, determined. He’d seen Dean’s face show too many broken expressions, and he despised this.
“I came to tell you that you can’t have him. Not until I have what I want. And I want...” Dean stepped back to Castiel’s side, licking his beautiful lips as he came closer. Castiel’s chin was again taken by soft fingers, turning him towards Dean’s face. “I want you.”
Castiel stared back defiantly. “If I give you what you want―”
“You can have Dean back. But,” he added, before Castiel could interrupt, “you have to make a deal with me for it.”
“A demon deal.”
“Exactly. I get to fuck you, you get Dean back, and we all go on our merry ways. Until such time as I return to collect on my deal.”
“Collect on my deal,” the demon answered. “You knew - this already, angel, unh - you knew―”
“Tell me wha- what will happen―?”
“I take your soul.”
Castiel cried out, flooding with pleasure, so close to his peak; his was bruised and cut, but the intensity of sensation was incredible. The demon was a lover, so very much a lover. Castiel only hoped that Dean would be this glorious. But down to it all, he didn’t care; all he wanted was the man he loved to be returned.
“Until then - until then, what happens? Ohh, yes, there, Dean...”
“You get to lay down with your beloved,” the demon hissed, curling tongue tracing the rim of Castiel’s ear, making him whimper, back tensing as the miniscule affection sent shivers down his spine. “You’ll have Dean for those ten years. I’ll be nowhere to be seen.”
“I’ll have you all to myself.” The demon smiled against Castiel’s cheek, and he felt it. The last word came whispered, tickling Castiel’s ear. “Forever.”
The word turned Castiel’s blood cold with ice and hot with fever at once.
He’d be the demon’s plaything for all of eternity.
Somehow, though... just maybe, it was worth it, to have those ten years of Dean. As the demon always said, they would be happy years. Without hatred of other men, without them becoming outcast. The demon could ensure the two of them were left alone to love for a decade, and that in itself was a miracle.
It hurt Castiel to know that the one time a real miracle was granted to him, it was at the hands of the darker breed of angel. The shades of Hell. Power equal to that of Heaven, but unjustly easier to access. Castiel understood now why humankind was so much more receptive to evil than otherwise. Hell gave more visible results.
“Nuh-uh-uh,” the demon taunted, vaporising out of Castiel’s grasp, yet again. “You can’t catch me, Castiel. I won’t let you have me if you won’t let me have you.”
“I’ll kill you!” Castiel barked, hurling a stone at the black smoke that reformed into Dean as the projectile passed through it.
“Only one thing will kill me, as far as I know.” The demon spoke conversationally, as if Castiel wasn’t reddened from chasing it around, fuming and shouting.
“What is that, pray?” Castiel asked, tilting his head, eyes dangerous. “I’d very much like to get my hands on whatever it is.”
Dean chuckled with his mouth closed, then bumped his eyebrows, giving in. He twisted his head to the left, and with a hand, raised the side of his waistcoat. Below it, tucked into his belt, was the handle of a knife. “This nifty thing, right here. Sadly, angel, you’d have to kill Dean to kill me, while I’m in this body; I don’t suppose you’re keen on that.”
“That’s Dean’s knife,” Castiel said, frowning at it. For a moment, his desperation to catch the beast was quietened, and he looked at the demon in confusion.
“Mister Winchester here never told you everything, I dare say.”
Castiel stood completely still now, staring across the courtyard.
The demon flashed into nothing, then howled back into existence a foot in front of Castiel. It smiled. “He’s a hunter, angel. He kills monsters like me whenever he’s not in your church, wishing your hands were tugging on his pretty cock.”
Castiel’s lips parted, a twinge of shock finding his heart.
“Secrets, secrets, secrets. Oh, how crafty we all are.” Dean’s black eyes twinkled, and he tipped his head the other way, considering Castiel. “He lied to you, didn’t he? Yes. And you’ll still love him.” The demon pressed its lips together, shaking its head as it glanced away. “Pathetic.”
“He had good reason to hide the truth,” Castiel said, nodding to himself. He would doubt it later, but right now, he believed it.
“How about you love me, instead? I’ve never once lied, you know.”
“I’ll never love you.” He believed that, too. And yet, later...
“That’s it, that’s it, c’mon Cas...”
“Don’t use that name, only De- oh... Only Dean can call me that...”
“I like ‘Castiel’ better, anyway.” The demon ruffled a purr against Castiel’s shoulder, croaking as he fucked fast again, then slow. Every stroke ever-so-slightly nudged at that torturously pleasurable gland, and Castiel was desperately clawing at breaths, gasping as he climbed to his peak.
“I have you, Castiel, I have you. You’re mine.”
“Not yet. I’m - mmmm, I’m not yours just y- yet...”
“Now, now,” the demon growled, moaning loudly onto Castiel’s jaw, shaking his skull with the sound.
Teeth grazed his stubble, hands clutched to the bones of his hips. His toes were biting into his own feet as he tensed them, so very close.
“Come for me, Castiel. Orgasm. Do that filthy little thing that you do, when you climax. Feel it bleed through you, that pleasure, that overtaking pleasure...”
“Ohhh- uhh...” Castiel sighed, eyes rolling back. He’d never felt this much.
“Enjoy these seconds,” came a whisper, the demon’s taunt against his ear, quiet as he pounded, their bodies’ thumps breaking up Dean’s voice. “Enjoy them, angel, for they are the last few seconds you will see me while you are still alive.”
“You’ll kill me,” Castiel breathed, shaking, so tense that even the feel of taut muscles was causing him thrill.
“Yes, angel. When I come to take you... I’ll take your body and soul, all for me.”
Castiel closed his eyes, shutting out the black eyes and the night sky and the moon, wanting to imagine it was really Dean he was making love to.
“Come for me. Come for me. My angel.”
Castiel took a breath, shuddering with light the colour of nightmares. It was pleasure, but evil and raw like Hellfire in his veins, and he cried out as climax took him. He screwed up his eyes, screaming - God forgive him, screaming, as heat burst from him, a rush of smoke in his lungs, dirty, dirty, dirty―
He whispered prayers begging for forgiveness as the moments after passed; Dean was still inside him, as hard as ever, still filling him with tiny bursts of fluid as the demon remained excited.
Castiel’s eyes fell open, vision blurry from his eyelids being closed so tightly. He was shaking with bliss, unable to do anything but gasp.
The face above him swam into focus, Dean’s bright face illuminated by the moon.
Castiel frowned. The face that looked down upon him was shocked, lips rounded, eyes... Eyes with pupils that would surely be green if they weren’t in the coolest of moonlight.
Dean’s smile flickered and rose, finding Castiel’s eyes for the first time in years. “Hey, Cas.”
A howling wind roared for a moment, all around them, and Castiel inhaled, his attention diverting to above Dean’s head. There, he saw what he’d not expected: demonsmoke, hurling itself in a ball, twisting and diving angrily as it tried to leave but had nowhere to go.
Dean tipped his head up to look, his cock slipping an inch further inside Castiel. Castiel’s breath caught, as did Dean’s, but they both saw the demon. It was furious.
“Cas, what did you do?” Dean asked, voice breathy with awe.
“I- I drew a devil’s trap. In the crossroad. It’s under the dirt.”
“It can’t leave. Shit. Shit, I can’t―”
Castiel put a hand on Dean’s neck, drawing him down so their faces were level, Dean’s lips beside Castiel’s ear. Castiel turned to whisper to him, “Use your knife.”
“It doesn’t work on smoke,” Dean hissed back, hurriedly. Castiel felt him throb inside him, and Dean bit his lip, eyes shutting. He was still so hard, Castiel could feel how aroused the other man was. If anything, Dean had gotten harder since the demon had been removed.
“Try,” Castiel said.
Dean stared for only a second, before - in a flash of movement, he wrenched the knife from his belt and knelt up, slashing it through the twisting cloud of smoke over his head. It was a vicious movement, practised and accurate.
The smoke puffed up, angrier than ever. Dean, with his hand still on Castiel’s naked hip, cut it again. Then stabbed.
The smoke blazed red then yellow, like dust turning into flame. It flared, bright enough that Castiel squinted at the sight. He felt a flare of heat on his face, a fire engulfing part of the air over his and Dean’s bodies, then there came a crash like thunder, but grittier.
Ash crumbled over Castiel’s face, making tiny hissing sounds by his ears as the particles rained down onto the dirt.
Castiel exhaled, opening his eyes. Dean groaned and lay on top of him, body warm, waistcoat and shirtsleeves pressed to Castiel’s chest once more.
“Dean?” Castiel whispered, eyeing the top of the other man’s head.
Dean was frozen, like he was scared to move. Castiel understood; Dean was still extremely aroused - if any of the stories the demon told over the years were true, Castiel was unsurprised. Dean was excited by danger.
If Dean pulled out, he’d be making love to Castiel. And he had nowhere else to go but out.
Castiel smiled, realising there was really no other option here.
“Dean?” he asked, pressing a single kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “Dean, would you like to finish?”
Dean looked up, eyes wandering from Castiel’s chest, to his throat, then his lips, then his eyes.
Castiel smiled for him. A real, happy smile. He’d never been happier to see another person in his entire life.
Dean’s mouth mirrored it. Then his eyes. Oh, he looked joyous as well.
He licked his lips, and with his eyes set on Castiel’s, he edged his weight onto his forearms, and began to rock.
Castiel sighed, such relief in him. He lay back and watched Dean sway atop him, felt the human warmth of the other man.
He spread his legs a little wider, setting his bare feet onto the ground, enjoying the feel of stones under his toes. It felt real and perfect, for once.
Dean gave a tiny moan, guttural and shy. Castiel moved his hand from the back of his neck to his hair, and began to thread his fingers in it. It was thick and dusty from demon ash, but Castiel loved the feel of it. It was Dean.
“Cas,” Dean murmured. “Cas... Uhh, please...”
Castiel smiled, tugging on Dean’s hair so his lips were pulled nearer. Near enough to kiss. He stopped before they made contact, and let Dean decide.
Dean trembled forward, sinking inside Castiel’s hole over again, the base of his manhood putting gorgeous pressure on that one spot of pleasure. Castiel may have been spent, but it still felt like Heaven itself.
Dean kissed him at last. His eyes were shut, the freckles on his cheeks visible so close up. Castiel watched as a crease formed between Dean’s eyebrows, felt the velveteen push as Dean made their lips open together. Castiel let their tongues taste, as if for the first time. This wasn’t the demon any more, he was Dean.
This was the first kiss of many, he hoped. He prayed.
The next ten years wouldn’t be easy; the demon was gone, so the deal was void. But, Castiel thought, numerous difficult years were better than having only a decade of happiness. Where could the happiness really be if the days were counted, after all?
Dean sighed, thrusting slowly and gently. Castiel relaxed, ignored the pain of the gravel under him.
Castiel smiled into the kiss, adoring the nickname from Dean’s lips. “Yes, Dean.”
Another kiss, long, holding tight to each other.
At last, Dean breathed out, “Thank you.”
Castiel left a smatter of kisses across Dean’s mouth, feeling Dean’s longing in each returned kiss. There would be plenty of time to satisfy them both properly, later on.
Dean rode into him, again, again, not speeding up, but plunging deeper on each thrust, building. He looked at Castiel with sure wonder. Castiel could only imagine what he was thinking.
Dean began to falter in his rhythm, huffing out tiny whimpers. His hands clutched tighter at Castiel’s body, hands clammy on his skin.
The man above Castiel looked so beautiful like this; desperate, so desperate for Castiel. His pupils were dilated, one iris catching the moonlight in a perfect circle around his eye. His lips were curved into a smile, clearly enjoying himself.
“I’ve wanted... this - you, for... oh, Cas...” Dean’s eyelids fluttered, his lower lip drawing under his teeth for a moment before he sighed. “Cas, c- can I―?”
“Finish, Dean. I’m yours.”
Dean’s eyes opened fully, and he peered down at Castiel like he was sacred. “C... as...”
Castiel smiled as he felt Dean release inside him. A wet heat, alien, like nothing he’d felt before. Dean groaned with satisfaction, mouth open.
He flumped onto Castiel’s chest, shivering. Castiel began to stroke his hair.
The night was open and wide, the wind smelled like snow, the plains around them rushed with the sound of distant life. A bird called, a wolf howled.
Dean and Castiel lay together on the crossroad, the ash of a vaporised demon strewn around them.
Below the gravel, a painted pentagram extended the width of the crossroad. It was there to keep them safe, and it would do so until dawn, when Dean and Castiel would leave together, after having talked all night.
They didn’t know where they were going, but they went, and their hands were joined as they did so.
Ten years? Huh.
Make it a hundred.