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That Which is Mine

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It's witches, of course. It's always freaking witches, and if Dean ever sees another of the spiteful, arrogant little shits again it’ll be too soon. He’d rather take something violent and angry and fight ‘til he’s bloody than deal with fuckers who get their kicks from messing with your head too.

With Sam back at the motel stitching himself up (he’d gotten himself a big gash on the arm and an even bigger pissy attitude, and Dean can not deal with that right now), Dean’s really starting to feel like he’s fallen in the deep end here. Just him, his baby parked nearby, stood in the middle of goddamn nowhere with two witches and very little idea as to what to do next; these chicks are frigging crazy, murderous, and Dean has no idea how to kill something so powerful. If he’d known this was what he was up against there’s no way he’d have carried on alone, but hey, he’s apparently a total dumbass with a death wish.

Luckily Cas is pretty quick to answer his admittedly not very polite prayers, appearing beside Dean with a rustle of feathers and wearing a glower that could kill. It takes him a couple seconds but then he’s in full on smiting mode, and whoa is it ever hot (and totally badass) the way he takes a stride towards the witches, slams his hands against their shoulders simultaneously and smites the ever-living fuck out of them as they scream with rage.

Unfortunately, it's not before one of them manages to fling something at them in retaliation, spitting a few carefully chosen words under her breath; he’ll later come to realise that if you corner a witch and let it get to the point where she knows she's going to die, but give her enough time to carry out one more spiteful action in revenge, you're pretty much friggin' screwed one way or another.

Dean wipes the streaks of sweet-smelling crimson powder from his cheekbones and studies the traces of it where it's dusting his fingertips.

"Cas, what the fuck did she do, man?" Dean groans because with witches, shit is about to go down.

He turns to face Cas, who is stood wide-eyed and panting way harder than he should be all things considered. He's about to ask if he’s okay when suddenly a wave of lust hits him like a fucking freight train, and he's gone from annoyed to confused to having a raging hard-on in approximately two seconds. Wanting Cas isn't exactly new (hell, he wanted him two days ago and banged him on the dresser in the motel room in the fifteen minutes it took Sam to go get dinner); going from nought to gotta-get-my-dick-in-there-five-minutes-ago in the blink of an eye, however, is pretty freaking alarming to say the least.


Before he even has time to connect his thoughts with his actions, he's yanking the trenchcoat to the ground and pulling Cas's shirt off, ripping buttons off as he goes. Cas looks in no way surprised by Dean's sudden change of plans, breathing his name like it’s the most important thing in the world right now and twisting his hands into Dean’s t-shirt in a desperate tangle of fingers.

"Shit, what is this?" Dean rasps, sliding his fingers into Cas's hair and claiming his mouth before he can even begin to reply.

When he eventually pulls away to lick and bite at Cas's neck, Cas simply growls "Magic," which is pretty fucking unhelpful, but Deans' thoughts are rapidly being overtaken by this all consuming need and he finds he doesn't really care what’s going on, where they are or why they’re doing this.

Cas drops to his knees and deftly unfastens Dean's jeans before moving to lie back onto the ground propped up on his elbows; he’s tousled and already looking wrecked and he hasn’t even been fucked yet.

"Dean, get inside me, I need this, I need you," he pants, and then hurriedly finishes stripping the remnants of his clothing off.

"Fuck," Dean growls, barely managing to remove his own clothes before he's on him, pressing him into the soft grass beneath them. Grasping one of Cas's wrists in each hand, Dean pins him roughly to the floor, rubbing his dick along the crease of Cas's thigh. It's not enough, it's nowhere near enough and he feels like he's going to die from this. Cas is his and he needs to do something about that, needs to claim him in every way imaginable.

"Cas, gotta get in you, gotta fuck you," he groans, spitting messily onto his fingers and tracing them around Cas's hole.

"Yes, yes," Cas gasps, bucking his hips up against Dean frantically. Dean preps him quickly and roughly and at any other time it'd be a shoddy job, but right now he's not in the right mind to care and it looks as though Cas isn't either.

Rolling him onto his stomach, Cas scrabbles to his hands and knees and barely has chance to settle into it before Dean is positioning himself behind him, practically fucking mounting him in his hurry to climb on and fuck into that tight heat.

He shoves inside in one hard push, saliva and precome slicking the way just enough to get by, and Cas opens up around him with a groan that sends lust whipping through Dean's body from fingers to toes. Draping himself over Cas's back, Dean draws back until the head of his dick catches on the stretched rim of him and then fucks back in so hard Cas's elbows nearly give out.

He's gasping "Dean, Dean, harder, take me," and rocking back against him in desperate movements; it's fucking up Dean's rhythm completely and he pushes Cas down with a hand between his shoulder blades, shoving him roughly to the floor.

"Stay... the fuck... still," he grits out, hips pistoning back and forth, and Cas goes utterly pliant, whimpering with pleasure and dropping almost flat to the ground so Dean can thoroughly own him. God, he's so fucking tight like this.

He stays like that a while, fucking him hard and deep as Cas lies there are just takes it, low sounds of pleasure punched out of him with every thrust. Dean yanks him up by the hips to get a better angle, Cas's head still bowed in submission; leaning right over him, he braces his hands either side of his prone body and brushes his lips across the shell of Cas’s ear.

"So hot like this, taking me out here on your hands and knees like a fucking animal," Dean growls, teeth clicking whisper-close to his ear; Cas gasps, tilting his head to allow Dean to bite at his neck, sucking pretty, dappled bruises onto the skin that look so right, a brand flesh-deep and infused with something that is more than just lust. “Anyone walked by, they’d see what you are; see that you’re mine, Cas, always.”

Running his thumbs down the hollow of Cas’s arched spine, his hands slip easily in the sweat that’s collected there; it’s practically dripping off him, beading on his skin in response to the exertion and prickling heat. Dean’s so lost in everything that he doesn’t realise how close he is to coming until it’s scant seconds away; grasping Cas by the hair, his hips stutter and he spills everything he has inside his willing body in a series of hard, violent thrusts, holding him down while he pulses what feels like a week’s worth of come inside him. The sound Cas makes is like nothing he’s ever heard before, and he tightens around Dean and ejaculates onto the grass in a wet splatter.

Dean pulls out, his own come spilling out and trickling down Cas’s thighs as he does so, and fuck if that isn’t one of the hottest, most perfect things he’s ever seen. Cas twists gracefully beneath him to lie on his back, looking up at Dean and breathing heavily. The fog is lifting a little and Dean is regaining some lucidity; everything is still a bit of a hazy mess, but he can actually think now, which has to be a good thing. One of the first things he realises is that they’re both still totally fucking hard, and whatever this shit is, it’s really powerful stuff.

“Y’okay?” he asks Cas, and he’s slotting himself deep inside him again before he even realises he’s doing it.

Cas rises up to meet him with a contented hum. “Yes, Dean,” he says, undulating his hips to work himself on Dean’s cock and holy fuck, Dean’s eyes are practically rolling back with pleasure at how good that feels.

“What did she do to us? This is gonna end eventually, ain’t it?” he asks, and he can’t help the worry that creeps into his voice. While death by fucking Cas would be a pretty damn good way to go, he’s not sure he wants his time to be up just yet; besides, it’d be pretty embarrassing.

“It’s a fairly basic spell,” Cas says, and his voice is hoarse as all hell. Probably all the fuck-me-harder moaning, Dean thinks. He rears back on his knees and picks Cas’s legs up to rest on his arms, thrusting steadily; it’d probably be easier to talk if he wasn’t balls-deep in Cas’s ass right now, but the thought of pulling out is like an actual physical pain.

“I know of it in theory,” Cas continues. “Though obviously, until now I had not experienced a mating spell’s influence in a... practical setting.” He turns his head smoothly, baring his neck in an obvious invitation, and Dean braces himself above him to mouth at the soft skin there before descending to imprint teeth marks over the muscle of his shoulder. “I believe-” Cas begins again, then pauses to groan, eyes falling shut with pleasure. “- I believe it will pass in an hour, maybe two. The effects will lessen with time.”

“Why’d she even do it, though?” Dean grits out, lightheaded with pleasure and struggling a bit to see straight. Losing control is never much fun, but he can’t say this hasn’t been pretty fucking awesome.

“I imagine she thought that as the effects wore off, we’d be horrified,” Cas says, voice getting more and more thready and thin with fucked-out bliss but with a hint of humour under his words.

“Sucks to be her, then, huh?” Dean smirks, rolling his hips. Fuck, everything’s starting to go hazy again, his thoughts drowned out with mark and claim and mine.

“Dean, please,” Cas moans, running his hands along Dean’s body and pulling him in until he’s buried to the hilt like he can’t ever be full enough. He doesn’t even know what’s part of the spell anymore and what is simply him, his own instincts and emotions running so close to the surface; what he does know is that he’s aching to get things rougher and faster until they’re completely lost in one another again. Dean pulls out in a long, wet slide despite Cas’s protests and wraps his fingers around the angel’s wrists hard enough to bruise.

Climbing to his feet and hauling Cas up with him, he bends him face-down over the hood of the Impala, kicks his legs apart and pushes back inside so they can finish what they started.