“Man, something’s wrong with Cass.”
Sam looks up from his coffee to stare at Dean who’s clearly expecting some sort of answer. Probably blind acceptance.
But Sam knows different.
Cass is happy; obviously so.
All of them had generally remained in the bunker over the past three months. Sure there were some cases here and there, but nothing that they weren’t used to. A salt and burn in Idaho and a nest of vamps that had been running a strip club were the most interesting things they had come across in a while.
Maybe the peace and quiet was making Dean paranoid.
“I don’t know what to say Dean.” Murmurs Sam, taking a sip of his coffee, “Cass is happier than I’ve seen him. He hasn’t left the bunker much and he always sits with you watching bad movies and Ophra. I think you’re just going a bit stir crazy.”
Dean presses his lips together, making a thoroughly affronted sound. “Firstly, I’m teaching Cas about Earth, okay! What better way than reality T.V? And secondly, don’t you dare try to turn this on me!”
“Whatever you say Dean.”
“Just look at him alright.” Commands Dean, turning back to the frying pan to flip an almost perfect pancake. “You’re not around him as much as I am, but I’m telling you something’s about to go sideways, I can feel it in my gut.”
Sam graciously withholds his comment about Dean feeling the build-up of grease in his gut. He can be a good brother… when he wants.
Dean is on high alert.
Sam could lollygag all the live-long-day and ignore Dean’s warnings if he wanted, fine.
Dean’s eyes remained glued to Cass as he sat stiffly on his designated chair. At this point, it’s safe to say that Cass has been twitchier than that little squirrel from Ice Age. His shoulders shift so suddenly sometimes that it jars Dean out of whatever trance he’s in. Other times, his face contorts into what can only be deemed as a constipated expression. Except Cass is an angel. He doesn’t need to drop a load. Not that Dean ever asked. But come on, the dude barely eats anyway.
Slowly, Dean ruled out situations methodically.
No demon deals.
No mind-control from the God-Squad.
No betraying them and becoming a god.
Could it be PTSD, from his time with the devil?
That couldn’t have been easy and Dean knew just how bad Sam was messed up. With Cass, it wasn’t 180 years, granted but who was he to judge… he’d broken after only thirty.
Thinking of the hell days isn’t exactly helpful right now, so Dean pushes it down, swallowing it like a hard pill with a glass of straight whiskey.
The only plausible options left were that Lucifer had somehow scarred Cass or maybe Amara had done something. Amara had no reason to hurt the angel though, she liked Dean, had resurrected his mother for God – Chuck’s sake – Amara hurting Cass makes zero sense. However, he knows Cass well enough to know that asking him at this point may as well be like igniting the gas tank in the kitchen.
Meanwhile… Cass notices Dean’s attention. Just like he always has. This time it’s different; not just a brotherly slap on the shoulder that leaves him hollow inside… this time it’s worse… Dean doesn’t trust him. Castiel surely hasn’t given him any reason to, after countless betrayals over the years that not even he could forgive himself for. He doesn’t begrudge Dean from only concluding the obvious; he just wishes that it could be different.
Since his… situation he’s been… compelled… for lack of a better word, to stay in the bunker. And during that time, Castiel has noticed some peculiar things about Dean. The cup of whiskey that would almost always be clutched in his hands had turned to coffee or Sam’s home-made juice. His friend had clearly decided that he couldn’t even allow himself any weakness around Castiel and… it hurt. It hurt more than an angel should be able to feel.
He really was a useless, insufferable burden that Dean was forced to bear, just like Amara had said… just as Lucifer had proven as his absence went unnoticed for weeks. Just look, he has successfully taken away all of Dean’s pleasures. Dean no longer leaves to have sex or drink. He waits here in the bunker, not wanting to leave Sam alone and waits patiently for Castiel to betray him. That thought alone makes him curl his shoulders, hunkering slightly in shame.
Castiel knows what he really is to the brothers.
The evidence has been there time and time again. But his mind refuses to accept it. Dean doesn’t really need him. Dean isn’t nice to him… he doesn’t really care. Castiel could die bloody right here and now and the Winchesters would move on. Sam… well Sam is a people person and a loyal man. Whereas Dean is straight about what he feels, he has known Sam to push his feelings aside… suck it up and work with whatever monster they need at the time.
Nobody cares that you’re broken Cass!
Words said so long ago that never fail to haunt him.
You can’t stay.
The feeling of unending loneliness.
He’ll die alone. Castiel knows it will come to pass just as Amara had promised him.
The claim she laid on Dean was stronger than his own. Their bond even perhaps… more profound. Castiel swallows harshly however his throat feels no relief.
Soon Amara’s parting gift would burn away his wings and grace. Sam and Dean would be none the wiser they’d be free of him. The need to be loyal because he’d saved Dean from hell, or possibly because they were just afraid of his wrath.
I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in.
I gave everything for you and this is what you give me?!
I’m the one who will watch you murder the world.
Castiel decides that he deserve it. He deserves to suffer with the cure sitting by his side taunting him.
“Cass.” Says Dean, reaching over to shake Castiel’s shoulder, the angel leans so far in that he almost topples off his chair. Under normal circumstances Dean would find this hilarious but the look on Cass’ face answers questions he’d been too chickenshit to ask.
“You gotta talk to me man.” He pleads, trying to connect with the jarringly distant Castiel.
“Dean…” it’s a baritone grumble that so Cass that Dean bites down on his anger, just for a moment.
“Last time we talked you threw me out of the bunker.”
Heat crawled up Dean’s neck, shame taking residence in his gut.
Is Cass worried that I’m going to kick him out. I deserve that I suppose.
“Cass, I’m sorry about that. You have no idea how much I regret it and the fact that you died afterwards didn’t help any.”
“Don’t placate me Dean.” Commands Castiel, and Dean swears that his voice raised an octave. “If you want me to leave, tell me so.”
Dean snorts, face twisting in rage that reminds him too much of the Mark. After a calming breath he manages to get words out, “So – so what? You think that the last few months I’ve just been buttering you up with movies and popcorn and your own friggin room just to kick you out? Hell Cass, I don’t know if you’ve even noticed but Sam is convinced you’ve moved in with me because I put a recliner for you in my room!”
Castiel remains silent.
He wants to believe Dean. But-
“I’ll be gone soon anyway Dean.” It’s hollow. A confession and not the one he thought he’d be making.
“The hell does that mean?” Dean’s expression can only be described as indignant. It’s an expression Castiel has grown accustomed to. “You’re just gonna fuck off to angel-land or –or- fuck.”
“I’ll be dead soon enough Dean.”
Silence. Castiel half expects a chuckle from Dean. But any mirth – any expression at all is swiped off Dean’s face.
“Are you – is this like what you told me in that motel? After purgatory? That you’d… off yourself?” Castiel smiles gently at Dean’s attempt at communication. His confusion is preferable to any – other emotions.
“Sort of. But not really.”
“Gee. That clears it up Cass.”
Dean throws his arms up then waves a beefy finger at him. “We don’t keep secrets Cass, you know where that gets us.”
“Dead.” Which is what he wants to be.
Gone. A burden unshouldered. The Winchesters would continue to save the world, as they always had, without him – or sometimes even in spite of him.
“I am not letting you do it.” Dean’s voice is stern, not even loud enough to echo off the bunker walls. “Whatever the hell is wrong with you spit it out, or else I’ll go out and find it myself.”
Dean listens, expectantly, hopefully.
Cass sighs, as though expelling his energy. “Amara.”
Mentions of the darkness tears unpleasant memories free: Lucifer possessing Cass, leaving Sam and Cass to unabomber God’s sister with a chest-full of friggin’ souls.
“What?” he chokes out. “She- She had this… um… connection to me. She wouldn’t hurt you. She knows how much you mean to- to me… and Sammy. What happened Cass?”
Amara tilted her head, tired of Lucifer’s screaming and thought back to the old church. Dean’s soul was unwilling to leave his body. That could only mean that he was connected to someone else.
In her presence Dean should have only felt overwhelming peace and attraction.
“Castiel.” With a wave of her hand Lucifer is pushed aside.
“Do you know what you are?” she asks, circling him… a predator sizing up its meal.
“You’re static.” Amara lets her thorough disdain show, she’s played on Castiel’s insecurities once before and it had worked splendidly. “You are disrupting my connection to Dean. Do you know what humans do when there’s static Castiel?” her glowing fingers press to his temples, her next words are blurred, “They change the frequency.”
Castiel screams. And inside him Lucifer screams too. And Amara grins, feeling Castiel’s grace tremble and tremble. There would only be one way to – reset his frequency. One that would never come to pass.
“Cut the crap, Cass!” Dean knows he’s being insensitive, but it’s not something he’s really known for anyway.
Castiel, oh angel of the lord has not been acting very angely for who knows how long and now when he’s about to spill the beans he just freezes up like a damn car that hasn’t been started for months.
“She – um – well uh, Amara did something to my grace. She morphed it into something mangled and unnatural, this body will soon be unable to contain it.” Castiel’s quiet confession shot through Dean like Michael’s Lance. “She viewed me as a threat to her bond with you. It seemed as though she disliked the effect I had on you. It’s understandable, really. She’s doing you a um – solid – as you say, by getting rid of me.”
Sam’s intentions were pure when he came over to the table to skim some of the new mythology books that that he had collected. Instead he was greeted with a choking sound coming from Dean.
At first Sam thinks he’s just got some pie stuck from stuffing his face, but Cass is there too, calmly regarding Dean who stops choking long enough to pin him with an incredulous stare.
“What’s going on here?” Sam asks, almost scared of getting an answer.
Sparing Sam but the slightest glance, Dean focuses his attention on the sullen Cass once more.
“You – you sanctimonious asshole!” Dean growls, tearing to his feet in a whorl of fury. “Sammy, you have to help us – fix this mess. We have to get Amara – Chuck – the whole shebang…”
Sam’s feels eyebrows shoot up into his hair, baffled by his brother’s sudden desire to contact the dangerous, powerful cosmic entities who could kill them in one fell swoop.
“Why would we do that Dean? Nothing’s wrong. Besides, disturbing them on their family bonding trip would probably just jump start another apocalypse.”
“Son of a bitch!” Dean stomps angrily over to Cass and yanks him up by the trench-coat, completely adverse to his pinched expression. “Cass is dying. They need to fix it – him. Right friggin’ now.”
“Dean.” Sam’s eyes dart over to Castiel who just lets himself hang limp in his brother’s grip. “She can’t undo this.”
“A cure then.” Proposes Dean, latching onto the idea.
Cass sighs, twisting out of Dean’s grip to face him slightly. “She left me with enough grace that treatment would soothe it into it’s natural shape once more.”
“What is it then?”
“The cure, you bastard. Tell Sam and he’ll start making a list.”
Cass gulps, turning to Sam for support but Dean senses it and moves to block his view of Sam. Of course, some parts of the great big gigantor remain visible. Big whoop, Dean does what he can with what he has.
“Dean… it’s peculiar actually – unheard of to be precise. I’d feel more comfortable - ”
“What? Dying?” snarkiness seeps into Dean’s voice, and he knows that he should be supportive, calm but – Dammit Cass!
“You wouldn’t do what needed to be done anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean.” Dean’s world was slowly tilting off it’s axis. He’d started out with good intentions and the promise to handling this right. Now everything was spiralling out of control. All the problems that they had allowed to fester were stinking and turning the air between them rotten.
He didn’t trust Cass not to betray them and likewise, Cass didn’t trust Dean to take him seriously.
But Cass was dying.
“Please. I’ll listen. Just talk to me.”
Cass’ gulp is audible. “Would you mind leaving us alone?” Cass’ voice is more unsure and timid than Dean’s heard. And despite himself, he feels a hot bout of jealousy searing up his throat. Of course, Dean had managed to ruin things so much between them that he wants him to leave, wants Sam instead. That’s smart, he supposes. Sam is the smarter one and he’ll do ‘what needs to be done.’
His eyes flit up as he tries to find the words to utter his consent. Only Cass isn’t looking at him. His gaze is locked onto Sam like a snipper.
“This is uncomfortable.” Says Cass, “And I’d rather talk to Dean alone. Since he’s the one forcing me to.” The last part is whispered but it doesn’t stop the relief Dean feels. He hadn’t screwed up too badly yet.
“Sure, buddy. But if whatever this is doesn’t work, you need to tell me immediately. Dean’s not the only one who cares about you.”
“Thank you Sam.”
Dean is silent as his brother departs. Castiel supposes he should be thankful. Dean’s jokes are not usually funny to him but he enjoys Dean’s company and the fact that Dean feels comfortable enough to jest with him as he does with Sam. At this moment though, the silence allows him to formulate his thoughts. If Dean truly wanted to help him he would be uncomfortable with what Amara had implied. Maybe something smaller and less obtuse might frighten him less.
“My wings are an extension of my grace.” He begins, stilling under the inquisitive, green stare. “If you touch my grace it will relax and settle into its rightful place.”
“That’s it?” asks Dean with a touch of incredulity.
Castiel shakes his head. He should be as honest with Dean as possible. Show him that he’s not a liar anymore. Even if Dean refuses to help him, at least he would not have tricked him again.
“In this plane, my wings would be considered somewhat erogenous.”
“Oh.” A gap. “Why me then? I don’t even like dudes.”
“Exactly. She knew you would never do it Dean.” He says, silently pleading for Dean to not draw this out.
Turning away from him slightly, Dean braces his arms on a chair, leaning into it like he can’t support his weight. “Dammit.” He mutters, turning his head to face Castiel, “She was wrong. I’ll do it.”
Dean guides Cass to his room. He figures that he’s less likely to have a freak out session if he’s on his turf.
When Cass ditches his shirt and lays on his stomach the reality of the situation barrels into him. He’s basically going to be jerking off his best friend to cure him.
Cass’ eyes find his in the silence, “You shouldn’t have to force yourself to do this Dean.”
“I’m not. I swear.” Another lie. “Just… it’s weird. Are you even comfortable with this?”
“I trust you.” And the sincerity in those blue eyes reassures him.
Dean claps his hands together once and rubs them together. “Let’s do this.”
Without a word, Cass manifests his wings. They span the entire length of the room and their silver and blue feathers practically exude grace. They eyes dance across them not knowing where to focus. The feathers don’t look hard and dry like some of the birds’, but soft and fleecy. He notes the parts where some feathers were singed off in the fall and where the muscles lay exposed, the spots where new feathers had begun filling the gaps. Most of all though, he admired the full sections the majesty of it all… the honour and trust that was placed in him – that Cass would allow a mere human to see and touch his heavenly form.
These wings carried him out of the pit. His fingers itch to thread through the soft feathers. He wanted things to be normal again. He wanted to prevent Cass’ pain.
“Buddy, these are - ” he swallows, overwhelmed.
Cass mistakes his silence for revulsion. “I know Dean! I’m aware how hideous they are now. How broken.”
Dean shakes his head, inching closer, hating the vulnerability in his friend’s eyes.
“They’re stunning Cass. Better than all the seven wonders combined. They’ve just taken a bit of damage is all.” He knows his breathy his voice sounds, but Dean remains in his trance-like state, not wanting to look away. “Can I touch them now?”
Feeling Cass’ nod of assent, he perches on the edge of the bed and lightly touches the bluest feather he can find.
Cass’ sharp breath and subsequent slackening of muscles is enough for Dean to continue.
Threading his fingers through a bunch of feathers at the base of the wings reminds him that this is an erogenous zone for Cass. His hands still but continue to stroke lightly. Cass trembles from wing to toe. He’s holding back, Dean realises. He’s trying to be a good friend and make this less awkward.
It’s a nice gesture, but Dean can’t fathom not being able to move while getting a handjob. The self-control that it would take to not even moan or grunt… he wouldn’t be able to manage such a feat.
“It’s ok.” He murmurs, “I know you can’t help it. I won’t mind if you moan or move.” Dean leans forward, noting that Cass’ eyes are screwed shut, his breaths coming in shallow pants and his hands dig into the sheets.
Dean smiles, slowly tracing a finger down his jaw. That gets his attention for sure. “Hey. Did you hear me? I won’t make fun of you, not now.”
Cass opens his eyes, and Dean notes with some satisfaction that his pupils are blown so wide that only a small ring of blue is visible.
Dean runs his hands over a different section, enjoying the way Cass tightens his face a small moan slipping out. “I’m good at sex, Cass. Let me make you feel good.”
“Dean.” His own breath stutters, not expecting the angel’s voice to be so rough.
“That’s it.” he murmurs, shifting to straddle Cass.
Dean’s fingers move without his consent. They massage and caress a path along both wings, noting the spots that cause Cass to buck up into him.
“Is this working?” he asks, his tone more intimate than intended.
“Yes. Don’t stop Dean.”
Carefully, he leans forward brushing his lips across the angel’s cheek, gradually moving down to his neck and across the arch of his wing. One hand remains braced on the angel’s hip to prevent him from throwing Dean off with his emphatic movements. His lips brush past something damp and sticky and he yanks his head back. A timid finger presses the spot and Cass yelps, gasping for breath with fingers immediately reaching back to wrench Dean’s hand off.
Dean gulps, “You good?”
Like a man possessed, Dean leans in once more, carefully flicking his tongue over the spot again. The tasteless substance coats his tongue but he doesn’t have much time to think about it as he’s flipped harshly onto his back. Blue eyes glare down at him and just behind that, Cass’ wings rise imposingly. Dean flushes; in any other situation this would be undeniably hot.
Lips press against his open mouth with Cass reaching inside to stroke his tongue. His mind shatters, splintering off into different directions. Cass is kissing him. Cass is staring at him with lust filled eyes. They’re just friends right?
But his mouth is otherwise occupied so he can’t even check in.
Cass has his arms pinned securely above his head and he continues to pummel his lips. Realising that he’s not kissing back, Dean forces his lips to move, not wanting to make this more awkward for Cass. If the angel wanted to indulge himself a bit, Dean wouldn’t stop him. Besides, this kissing felt different to the usual sloppy ones where his back was pressed to the wall or he was drunk out of his wits. This felt… safe, maybe even caring.
Next he feels Cass at his neck, nipping and sucking with fervour. A low chuckle vibrates his throat. “You liked me licking there, didn’t you?”
Cass halts his ministrations to pin Dean with a heady yet smug stare. “You seem to be enjoying this quite a bit as well Dean.” He punctuates each word with a slow grind into Dean’s pelvis that has moans ripping out of his throat. Somehow, he’d gotten hard. And Cass had most definitely noticed.
It was better than Cass had ever imagined. Staring down at Dean’s dazed expression his erection pressing into Castiel’s thigh, his lips still wet and ripe from Dean’s attack. He’d been so scared that Dean would reject him that he hadn’t considered what would happen if he said yes.
“You seem to be enjoying this quite a bit as well Dean.” Castiel growls, failing to keep the pride from his voice.
That he would make this sexual creature writhe beneath him with just his clothed hips sent a surge through him. When Dean had told him to enjoy his ministrations he’d embraced it whole-heartedly, determined to make the most of the situation and engrave every second… every touch into his grace. That Dean even agreed to his spoke volumes, that Dean could even tolerate the visage of his broken wings was a miracle. Dean would never cease to overwhelm him.
“Cass.” No moan could have sounded sweeter than one that rolled off of Dean Winchester’s tongue. “Casss…” Hands gripped his hips, pulling them back down, harsh breaths fanned his face. He felt his own erection rub against Dean.
“We have too much clothes on.”
Angel grace was never designed to take clothes off; instead it singed them from their bodies, not even leaving any ashes behind.
Dean gaped at him in shock and everything stopped for a moment.
“Damn. We’re on fire!” Dean manages between deep chuckles.
Castiel finds his own lips tipping upward and his grace swell.
His grace was no longer kicking like a bull in a pen and somehow along the way he’d completely forgotten the purpose of this endeavour. Castiel’s smile withered and he felt himself withdraw. He should tell Dean. He never wants this dance they’re doing to stop but he doesn’t want his first time with Dean to be something coerced due to misplaced gratitude.
“Cass, what’s the matter?” Dean is still half-way lost in lust but Castiel immediately feels him tense, staring worriedly up at him.
“My grace has settled.” His voice sounds bitter to his own ears.
Dean winces, and he can practically feel the man draw away. From the way the veil drops over his open, inviting gaze to how his eyes now flit everywhere but to Castiel’s.
“Right.” Mutters the oldest Winchester, “Just leave me here like this then.”
Castiel glares at him.
“You only did this to keep me alive Dean.”
“How do we know it even worked?” demands Dean, once more looking at him with concern. “You don’t even know for sure? Let’s just finish what we started.”
Almost amused, Castiel grins, “Well, seeing as I’ve had my grace for millions of years, I believe my opinion will do.”
“No! It – you – Jesus!” Dean hooks his ankles over Castiel and turns them so fast they almost tumble off the bed. He lays there in silence, trapped between the soft mattress and Dean’s chiselled abdomen. Castiel realises what Dean wants… what he’s trying to do.
He wants this to continue as much as Castiel does. But he’s too scared to ask. Even as Dean hovers above him, Castiel can see the shame swirling in his eyes, filtering back into his brain like poison. Dean will destroy himself over this whether or not it happens, at least going along gives him a chance of finally finding peace with himself.
He brings his lips to Dean’s once more shifting his hips so that the tips of their erections graze each other. “Let’s finish this Dean.”
“Cass.” Castiel savours the breathy tone to Dean’s voice, the vulnerability and trust Dean gives him by allowing him – wanting him – to see him in this state of carnal rapture.
He slowly drags himself lower on the bed, kissing Dean on whatever patch of skin hovers over his mouth. His wings are once more stowed for convenience. Castiel had a plan, something that would distract Dean from his worries about their situation. Despite himself, Castiel feels a touch of awkwardness as he comes eye-level with the pink head of Dean’s penis.
Dean, to his credit, hikes his hips up a bit so that Castiel has some more breathing room.
Almost timidly he laves at the pink smooth flesh eliciting several grunts and a series of shudders from Dean.
“You like this.” Castiel observes, repeating the motion, enjoying the human’s response.
Dean buries his face in the pillow, biting down on the soft fabric to stop the pitiful sounds that want to escape his throat. Who knew an angel could be this good at BJs. Dean’s legs are barely holding him up now that his hands are clenched in the sheets.
“Hold my hips still.” He breathes, words further muffled by the damned pillow.
“I like the way your body moves when I touch you.” And screw it all, Dean can practically hear the pout in his friend’s voice.
Pushing up onto his elbows he eyes Cass, who has his fingers hovering just below his dick as though he can’t wait to continue
“I can barely hold myself up over here.” He says.
“Let’s try something more comfortable then.” Suggests Cass. “Lie on your back.”
And damn it, the command just makes him harder.
On his back, knees bent and spread, Dean almost regrets asking to shift. Now he’s forced to see Cass, see exactly who’s doing what to him and it’s scary. He half expects Cass to stare at him throughout but to his shock the angel doesn’t even say a word as his mouth swallows Dean whole. The abruptness has his legs gripping the angel in a vice, his hands reaching for the mop of short black hair beneath him.
Cass doesn’t move. He sucks… like a vacuum and moves his tongue on the underside of his member like a pro. Dean shudders and gasps, legs flailing and muscles trembling violently. He’s too close too soon. Instead of screwing his eyes shut, he lets himself enjoy Cass as he finally starts pumping his mouth up and down.
It’s unbelievably good. Somehow the angel has no gag reflex and doesn’t even graze him once with his teeth.
Finally, when his cock head starts twitching and his hips start moving of their own volition, he tugs Cass’ hair, the universal gesture to get off. Of course the angel doesn’t really get that and continues his mind-blowing – or dick blowing, as some would say – motions. Dean wiggles more, tugging a bit more, he almost wants to just let him continue and blow his load right then and there but if one of them comes then the other will follow… then they’ll go back to never doing things like this again.
As much as he hates himself for it, as much as he wants to go back… Dean can’t help but remember the way he melted under Cass’ touch. The way he lost control under touches that normally wouldn’t have made much of a dent. It was almost like his body thought of Cass as erotic and amped up the pleasure automatically.
Let’s be honest. If Cass came to him in a female vessel they would have been going steady a long time ago. Cass had all the qualities that Dean wants in a partner, strength, autonomy, loyalty… and Cass had come to care about Sam; almost as much as Dean does. He’s already a Winchester in all but name, having kick-started his very own apocalypse by having nothing but good intentions.
Cass looks up catching Dean’s eye and stilling. “You’re close.” He observes, discretely palming his own cock.
“Just give me a minute.”
Cass tilts his head inquisitively. “I always thought the point of this exercise was to achieve an orgasm.”
Dean hears his own gulp, “Yes. It is. But I was thinking let’s draw this out a bit. Make sure all is really well and good with your grace.”
Castiel sighs. Dean was still hooked on restoring his grace as an excuse. It isn’t that surprising to him considering the Winchesters’ extended, toxic history of denial.
Before he has a chance to say anything, Dean pipes up in an overly excited, “Hand-jobs!” then catches himself with a slight blush and a much more tempered: “Face me, on your side.”
This time, it’s Dean who initiates the kiss. It’s slow, relaxed, and Castiel can feel his partner’s fingers brushing up his ribs and occasionally stroking a nipple. His own hands are squeezing Dean’s hips and tracing his cheek bones. While Dean only let’s his eyes flutter open every now and then, Castiel’s eyes are yet to leave the hunter’s form. This is the only form of intimacy that Dean allows himself. The only time he really let’s go from his responsibilities and the guilt and self-loathing he bears. And he’s allowed Castiel to see him like this and relax in his presence.
So Castiel doesn’t let his eyes drift for even one second.
In the back of his mind he knows, just as Dean knows, this is a one-time experience. They will never see the other writhing in pleasure again – at least not as long as there’s evil in the world. He knows Dean’s stance on relationships and hunting: that the two were meant to be mutually exclusive. So he would take what Dean gave willingly, and he wouldn’t ask for more than his share.
“Are carnal relations always like this for you Dean?” the question slips unintentionally.
Dean has his eyes open now, his hands never stopping their caress. “No. It’s never been this… intense. I can trust you. I don’t have to worry about you being some monster sent to seduce me, or hurt Sam. You’re just you. And I’d rather have you…”
“…cursed or not.”
He smiles at the memory, thinking how his heart had soared at the words. If he’d had his wits about him, he would have assured Dean he felt the same. That he would do anything, kill the world and himself for this human.
“How is it? – for you I mean.”
“I love you.” staring at Dean, with his face bathed in the dim lights, his gaze intent on Castiel, looking at him as though he’s sacred loosens his tongue more than a sea of whiskey would. The words are out there, forever. “I always have. I suppose you know; everyone does. The thought of sex has always bored me, except in regards to you. Sometimes, I find myself wondering what it would be like to breach the few inches between us and kiss you. Or to have you open your eyes and the first thing you see is me – maybe, I imagine, you’d love me too.” He breathes, almost shrinking away from the devastated look on Dean’s face. “I know you wouldn’t have done this otherwise. Sometimes I think about taking a female vessel… but that would be selfish and you would never really, truly see me as female. Sometimes I wish you were gay, but I know you’re not, that this form isn’t attractive to you. How is it for me? It’s everything I want for a fraction of the time that I want it. And I’m okay with that, I’ll take anything you give me and I’ll give anything you desire. Just forget the world and we won’t let tonight end.”
“I can do that.” Dean breathes, roughly. Wrapping his fingers around Castiel’s shaft he asks, “Have you done this before.”
“Then just follow my lead. Do what I do, and really, whatever you want. I’ll tell you what feels good.”
Following the hunter’s lead, Castiel wraps his fingers around Dean’s head. He figures it’s the same as his mouth, just less wet.
Dean squeezes the top of him slightly, swiping his thumb back and forth over the slit. Pleasure buzzes through him, and he thrusts his hips, trying to get closer, trying to get more friction. Dean lowers another hand, lightly massaging his ball sack while stroking a bit faster, twisting maddeningly when he gets to the top.
“You forgot about me, huh, buddy?” teases Dean, his hands moving faster and faster.
“Dean.” Castiel wills his hands to cooperate with him. To reciprocate, like a good partner. But the pleasure distracts him. He can barely get his hands to stop shaking long enough to give Dean more than a weak stroke. Meanwhile, Dean doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, as he chuckles lightly and doesn’t let up the assault against Castiel’s dick.
Flat on his back, now, Dean’s face buried in his neck, hands tight around his throbbing member. One of his hands remains tangled in the sheets and the other threaded in Dean’s hair. He’s helpless to do anything but moan against the relentless pleasure.
His breaths come faster, his hips thrust so fast that Dean just keeps his hand in place and lets him buck up into it. His voice becomes shrill, moaning and babbling shameful things in Enochian. He feels himself approaching the infamous orgasm. So close. The imagery of Dean and the feel of his fingers all over his body make him shudder, his hips losing their rhythm; wanting to get closer and escape the intensity of the sensations all at once.
Abruptly, Dean removes his hand. It does the equivalent of drenching him in molten lava.
His hips keep thrusting and twisting trying to find something to grind on. His eyes lock with Dean’s, begging him to continue. Dean only bites his lips and grabs Castiel’s wrists, pinning them above his head and gently kissing his finger-tips.
When Castiel finds his breath again, he pushes out of Dean’s grip, staring at him accusingly. “Why did you stop?” he demands, voice trembling. “Just a few extra moments…”
Dean gnaws on his lips, feeling guilt bubble up. It was truly cruel of him to stop Cass, especially when he was so close. It was a dick move. But Cass had said he wanted this to never end.
“You good?” he asks, feeling the huff beneath him.
“I would have been great if you gave me a few more seconds.”
Dean bristles, “You said you didn’t want tonight to end.”
Cass stills, realisation dawning. “How long can you keep doing this?”
A good question if there ever was any. And Dean has no idea. He always approached sex single-mindedly; the goal was to come, plain and simple.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Cass frowns, “I don’t know how healthy that is, Dean.”
“Not very, I suppose, but…”
“I know.” Cass captures Dean’s mouth in a bruising kiss. He can feel the trepidation radiating from him, but he knows that they both want this.
“Dean. I want to try something.”
“Sure. Try away.”
“I don’t know if you’ll like the idea.”
Dean looks chagrin, “Cass I’ve had just about every type of sex there is.”
“But never with a man.” Disputes Cass, eyes shifting nervously. “I want to finger you.”
“No!” Dean’s mind races. The indignation… he surely won’t enjoy it. “No way.”
“I’ve seen it done throughout the millennia.” Says Cass, nuzzling into Dean once more, “I assure you, I know how to make it feel good.”
Castiel watches the confusion and fear streak across his friend’s face.
Dean shakes his head once more, a slight tremble passing through his muscles. “I can’t imagine how, Cass.” He mutters, “I don’t feel comfortable.”
Nodding slowly, he prepares his next words, “Fair enough. But I want you to try it on me. It’s always been something I’ve been intrigued by and lately, I’ve wondered if would prove to be as good for me as it is for everyone else.”
“But – I – I’ve never – I don’t know how to - ” Dean stutters, fumbling with his fingers.
Castiel lays an arm on his thigh, tantalizingly close to his erection. “I’ll tell you Dean.” A short pause. “Will you do this for me?”
Slowly, Dean nods, his face still tight with trepidation, but now resolute to do this for Castiel.
With a small smile, Castiel releases Dean’s legs, shooting the hunter what he hopes is a sultry wink. “Give me one second.”
The few seconds that he spends away from Dean to steal a bottle of lube from the Lebanon pharmacy leaves him ravenous. He enters Dean’s room with a whoosh and immediately crashes their lips together, taking control of their kiss.
He presses the bottle of lube into Dean’s hands and moves onto his hands and knees – the pose which he observed the most often.
“Usually, the bottom is stroked to hardness. But since I’m already adequately erect you can lube your finger and touch my hole.”
Dean snaps to attention, listing assiduously to his orders and nodding slightly. Castiel listens to the bottle snap open, and the wet sounds it makes as Dean applies it. A shiver runs through him as Dean places one finger against him.
Castiel struggles to figure out his friend’s reaction. What he’s thinking.
Why do people seem to like this position? He wonders bitterly as he twists his head, angling to find a better view of Dean.
What is he thinking? Is he panicking? Doubting himself? Wondering if he will hurt Castiel by attempting this.
“Dean,” he announces, no longer comfortable in the stillness and silence, “I don’t like this position very much.”
Dean yanks his hand away and Castiel sees him glancing at the floor sadly. “Sorry I’m screwing this up for you.”
“You’re not,” he assures, “I wouldn’t do this with anyone but you. I didn’t like it because I couldn’t see you, it felt…”
“Frigid. Disconnected.” Supplies Dean. “Um… I was wondering.”
“Yes, humans often engage in such activities.” Teases Castiel.
Dean pokes his side, moving to cradle his head in his hands.
“Why did you hide your wings? I enjoyed having them around.”
Castile shakes his head. The wings had their time, but he wants to indulge himself in Dean, experience as much as he can before they’re forced to stop. Dean seems to understand his forlorn expression and once more lowers himself, nudging Castiel’s legs open.
Slowly, he breaches the rim, pressing gently and lightly licking Castiel’s erection. After a few minutes Dean’s finger stills and he slowly draws it back, Castiel hisses, arching his back as new nerve endings are stimulated. Dean’s fingers slide past something inside him that makes him screech and fall, boneless, onto the bed. That fingers stills, still resting on the bundle of nerves that Castiel can only assume is his prostate. He keens, swirling his hips, trying to get Dean’s finger closer.
“There.” He breathes, “Rub there.”
Dean watches his, bewitched, making slow circles with his index finger. Enjoying the way Castiel twitches and trembles. Castiel’s cock is flushed and a small puddle of pre-cum is collected near his slit. Dean masterfully swipes it away with his thumb and spreads it over the remainder of Castiel’s erection with ease. His other finger continues to twist and stroke. The intensity of the feeling is overpowering, even to an angel.
When Dean presses firmly against his prostate and swallows his erection, hollowing his cheeks and humming quietly Castiel loses it. Blinding pleasure rips any other thoughts from his mind. He screams like a banshee, his hands holding Dean’s head in place as he sucks him through the orgasm. His hips thrust automatically and his back arches as his body writhes, the lights flicker and he feels as though his grace might explode through his vessel, but Dean holds him throughout, stroking comforting lines on his thighs.
Castiel slowly finds his way back to himself. For a short moment he thought that he’d been banished.
His grace is no longer swelling, but lying languidly in his body. Glancing down, his member twitches as Dean slowly distributes the white globs on his stomach, gently swirling and patting as though entranced.
Abruptly, the languorous feeling stutters into stark fear.
He’d… finished too soon. The night would be over, Dean told him…
“Relax Cass.” Murmurs Dean against his stomach, pushing himself up so that they lay side by side. “I guess I was being a bit unfair to you. This is your first time, it’s not fair that I tease you and don’t let you come.”
Not sure what to say, Castiel tentatively draws Dean in for another kiss. His brain is slowly becoming functional, enough so that when Dean gasps and thrusts his erection against his side he realises how bad a lover he’s been.
“You need to orgasm as well Dean.”
“I can hold out a bit longer. It’s not my first rodeo.”
Castiel observes him suspiciously, he has no doubt that Dean will hold on as long as possible, but he wants the hunter to enjoy this as much as he had. Would Dean cry out when he comes? Moan? Would he tremble under Castiel and beg him for more? Would his eyes be open or shut? He would very much like to look Dean in the eye as he crumbles in pleasure; watch his green eyes mist with pleasure and swirl with satisfaction.
Would Dean cuddle with him after or was he expected to leave?
Castiel indulges Dean for a bit, letting him rut against his thigh only to stop just as he was close. Then he once more wrapped his lips around Dean. His member throbbing wildly in Castiel’s mouth, jerking slightly with every brush of his tongue. Dean’s pre-come leaks freely, leaving a saline taste on the back of Castiel’s throat. The molecules taste like Dean. Once more, Dean pulls away when he feels himself nearing an orgasm, bracing his hands against the wall and screwing his eyes shut harshly. His cock is flushed and swollen, more red than pink now really.
He knows he should talk to Dean, encourage him to stop tormenting himself. But he won’t because all he can think about is that he won’t survive if Dean casts him aside after this. He gives Dean a sidelong glance. The hunter trembles and jerks with every movement, sweat covers his skin and his hooded gaze glances over Castiel’s body.
“Do you still want to try it?”
Castiel cocks his head, wondering. Dean’s hands feel around in the darkness and the bottle of lubricant slams into his chest.
“Fingering.” He says, and he can feel himself jolt eagerly
“I mean. Go slow. I want to try it and it seemed like you really enjoyed it.”
Gently, Castiel coats his finger, pressing against Dean’s opening. He sees Dean’s pulse hammer in his throat and his watches the movement of Castiel’s hand.
“Look at me.” he orders, tilting Dean’s chin up with his free hand. Dean obliges, his eyes locking onto the angel’s. Castiel notes the slight wince as his finger enters Dean and moves to kiss his cheek, rubbing at his nipple until he moans once more. He’s almost afraid that a single touch to his cock would send the hunter over the edge so he keeps his hands carefully away. “Don’t worry. You just need to relax and let your body adjust.”
Feeling Dean’s nod, he presses more of his finger in going slowly and noting every flinch that makes it past Dean’s poker-face. Glancing down, he notices that Dean is only at half-mast now and reaches forward to wrap his fingers around him, leaving his index finger to rest lightly on the slit. In turn, Dean wiggles his hips, eager for more friction and shifting the finger inside him slightly.
Feeling Dean’s muscles relax, Castiel creates a steady rhythm, slowly inserting and drawing away his finger. When Dean begins to swivel his hips and his fingers thread with Castiel’s atop his cock, begging him to move, Castiel slips his second finger in.
Dean moans. Moans. Into his neck, his hips undulating.
“Please.” Castiel finds himself glad that he no longer has to focus on his body’s needs and can direct his attention soley onto Dean. “Please C-Castiel.”
Dean’s eyes are screwed shut, but the pleasure is written all too clear on his face, compounded by the mindless pleas from his lips and cemented by the way Dean’s soul scorches beneath the surface of his skin.
Castiel spreads his fingers, searching around. When he finds Dean’s prostate he brushes it lightly and Dean tenses. A few seconds later he applies pressure which causes Dean to scream.
“That- that’s so good. Oh my God!”
“I’m glad you enjoy this Dean.” He murmurs, tracing his fingertips across Dean’s still closed eye lids. “Open your eyes. I want to see you as you come apart under my hands.”
Dean’s eyes flutter open and Castiel is lost in a meadow of green. His fingers continue to move in circles inside Dean. Castiel enjoys watching the various expressions of pleasure dance across his friend’s face. His other hand grasps Dean’s erection, gripping it and pumping him in time with his fingers, taking care to tease the tip ever so often.
“Cass I’m too close.” The words escape, a moan, as Dean presses back into the pillows beneath him.
“Let go Dean.” He encourages, not letting up, “You’ve held out long enough.”
Dean answers with a sharp whine and a subsequent blush. Castiel continues his ministrations, keeping steady eye contact with Dean. He can sometimes see Dean glancing down to where their bodies touch and then back up, the blissful expression never leaving his face.
He can feel the tell –tale twitch of Dean’s cock and the clench of his muscles on his fingers and he speeds up, stroking a with a bit more fervour and intention.
Heady moans and breathless sighs wrestle their way out of Dean.
And Dean releases.
The first spurt catches on Castiel’s fist and the second and third shoot off to some unknown location. Dean’s cock kicks and pulses in his grasp as his experiences his release, his fingers caught in a vice-like grip as Dean’s hips spasm up and down. Dean’s head tips back, his legs drawing up a bit to gain purchase on the bed. His eyes though, his eyes remain on Castiel throughout, letting the angel see – everything.
Castiel moves his hands away as Dean bristles from sensitivity, feeling a bit guilty as Dean flinches at the removal of his fingers.
His lips remain pink and parted, eyes still lingering on Castiel.
Castiel stills, unsure of what happens next as Dean basks in aftermath of his release. He lays almost serenely, Castiel thinks, on the bed now; his expression dazed and thoroughly content. His heart pinches, seeing the hunter in what must be a fleeting moment of freedom.
He’s not sure how long he stares at Dean. But he knows the moment his expression shutters, for Castiel feels the sound echo in his own heart. The creases and worry lines make their presence known, his legs untangle from between Castiel’s and his soul… oh his soul – it compacts, folding in on itself, trampling itself in a way only Dean Winchester could figure out how to do. A special type of torment.
Castiel doesn’t make him say it.
He can’t hear the words himself.
He can’t listen to Dean make light of this – of them – of something that should change everything, but he knew would only be forgotten.
Castiel crawls out of Dean’s bed, a numb, ‘sleep well Dean,’ on his lips. Only in the hallway does he realise that he burnt their clothes. Bracing his arms on the door he screws his eyes shut to quell the blurriness. He won’t break. He’d already gotten so much more than he could hope. But how could he go on? How could he watch as Dean flits and has sex with every woman who crosses his path? How would he forget tonight?
Bitterly, he wishes he could change it. To not have this piece of fruitless hope; to not have Dean’s orgasmic expression or the way he said ‘Cass’ taunting him from behind the tip of his eye lids.
He knew, even at the beginning, it was only a matter of time before the cycle started again. Yet, Castiel felt some pride that he was able to sojourn it, if only for one night.