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Dean had forgotten what it was like, and now he kicks himself for forgetting, because the fact that your best friend is an ageless, unfathomably powerful being isn’t something that should slip your mind so easily. Sure, Castiel fell, became human in most senses of the word, spent a lot of time slumming it with Dean and Sam and had to learn how to fight when you’re made of flesh and bone instead of pure thunder. He had to learn how to drive a car when his wings burned off. Had to learn to sustain his body when his grace stopped doing it for him.
Dean peeks at him over the top of the book he’s flipping through, smiling to himself. Had to learn how to just be.
Castiel is sitting at the middle table in the library, typing on his phone with a concentrated look on his face. Dean knows Claire likes to keep tabs on him even now, even when he’s the one who probably needs it the least.
Eh, Dean can relate. They’re both a bit over-protective of their newly restored supercharged angel.
Castiel catches him staring and smiles at him briefly before returning to his correspondence. Or is he playing one of those puzzle games again? Who knows. Dean slouches down a little in his armchair, a touch embarrassed by how obvious he’s being. But he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he used to regard Castiel as one of them. He still is, obviously, it’s just that something shifts in the air when he moves now. Dean feels the same heavy, low feeling in his gut as he did when they first met, when he was scared shitless but tried to not let it show. Pulled in like a planet to a black hole.
He’s not scared of this Cas. His Cas, same old Cas, only with a bit more muscle, comfortable in his skin, hair graying and stubble growing thick. But he’s an angel now, by the power of Jack, Castiel is now one of the last, most powerful beings in the universe. There’s something about knowing that he could bend reality itself to his will that really cranks Dean’s gears. He’s a hurricane. Dean’s in love with a freaking hurricane.
Why does that make him nervous?
Dean doesn’t consider himself to be a remarkable person, but he’s had some remarkable things happen to him. One of them is the journey with Castiel. The fact that they both made it out in the end, after all the running and fighting, the trials and the terrors, is nothing short of a goddamned miracle. It’s all he ever wanted and more than he deserves, at the end of the day, but he’s trying to reconcile with the thought of getting it anyway. Taking it anyway. No more letting this thunderstorm slip through his fingertips. Dean’s wandering eyes fall to Castiel’s hands, the thumbs moving over the screen. Dean knows what those fingers feel like now, tracing patterns over his body, digging into his flesh, holding him still. A shot of warmth rises through him, and he tugs at his collar. Hmm, those fingers.
So he’s pretty sure the hurricane is in love with him too. Castiel’s touches are never anything other than reverent, so if they’re anything to go by, the proof should be there. They’re not always gentle, but there’s love in every single movement and Dean would have to be blind not to see it, to feel it. He swallows, briefly reminded of the last time, two weeks ago now, when Castiel had been in such a good mood, and it had been infectious, and he’d spent the day kissing Dean at every opportunity he got until Dean was red-cheeked and his heart hurt of tenderness. That night Castiel had spent longer than usual taking Dean apart and Dean had come with damp cheeks and Castiel’s mouth still tracing his, brain and body reduced to jelly, nothing left in him but the supernova in his chest. Every fibre in his fucking body had screamed out the helpless hopeless love he felt, but before Dean had the chance to choke it out, Castiel had come all over Dean’s stomach with a shout and collapsed on top of him and buried his equally damp forehead in the crook of Dean’s neck. Breathing had become a bit of a problem after that. And Dean had just held on and allowed himself to simply live and die in the moment.
“Dean,” Castiel says, smile in his voice and eyes, the barest hint of it on his lips. “What’s wrong?” Dean balances the open book on his thighs, trying to appear casual as he adjusts himself in his jeans, not quite hard but well on his way of getting there by the sheer power of his own randy mind, hoping the book shields the motion. So maybe they’ve been a bit busy, since. Retaining angel status isn’t something that happens overnight. And maybe hunting and cooking and keeping tabs on the kids and the girls and the rest of their little community is becoming a full-time job. Additionally, home renovation has turned out to be a bigger project than he expected. They’ve started with the bedrooms, equipping them with wood paneling and something, anything other than the horrible fluorescent light. (It’s Sam and Cas who call it horrible. Dean doesn’t really mind, but he has to admit the soft ceiling light Castiel showed him online looks pretty homey.) The kitchen is next, and Dean has plans.
He may, also, have plans right now. Or maybe it’s his dick making plans for him, but he sprawls a little in his armchair – shoots a glance at the door, praying the timing is right and that Sam’s still in his room busy with his online college course – and casually closes the book, putting it aside. Castiel’s eyes fall to his crotch, unashamed and interested and Dean flushes, the definition of hot and bothered and painfully aware of the fact that Castiel definitely can tell these things now.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, returning Castiel’s gaze. “Except maybe the fact that we’re damn busy these days.” Castiel nods his agreement, keeping his eyes trained on Dean. Fuck, it’s hot in here, isn’t it? Maybe he should add an air conditioner to the list of things they really ought to fix.
“I like it,” Castiel says. “I like keeping busy. Besides, it really feels like everything is slotting into place.”
“Sure. Except for maybe one thing,” Dean mutters to himself, flushing at Castiel’s raised eyebrows. He gets up, pulls out the chair next to Castiel’s like personal space was never a thing and sits down, resting one hand on Castiel’s knee. “Who are you texting?”
Castiel holds up his phone, but where Dean expected to see messages to Claire, or perhaps Jack, he’s instead met with a lengthy conversation riddled with colorful emojis with someone saved in his contacts as Joseph.
“Who’s Joseph?”
“An electrician Eileen knows. He’ll help us with the new ceiling lights.”
Dean scoffs, leaning back to stare at Cas.
“You don’t need an electrician to change a few light bulbs, Cas. I’ll do that.”
“It’s not just a few light bulbs, Dean. The wiring is bad, and I thought we agreed we didn’t want the flickering lights. I remember you saying you didn’t want to feel like you were ‘shacking up with Casper, no matter how friendly’.” He makes the finger quotes around his phone, and Dean still wants those fingers on him, in him, because they didn’t get this far just for Cas to be snapped up by some idiot electrician named Joseph.
“So?” The warm arousal in his gut is quickly twisting into something annoyed. Something jealous. “I can do that too, Cas.”
“You probably could, but it’d feel better if we got someone professional to do it –”
“And I’m not, of course,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, pulling back.
He’s aware he might be overreacting, slightly, but the edge of his want has turned sharp like a knife. All that softness turned hard. Dean gets up, chair scraping horribly over the concrete floor.
“Where are you going?” Castiel asks, annoyance creeping in around the edges of his voice.
“To jerk off,” Dean says snidely. It’s not how he hoped this night would go, but whatever, it’s how he’s dealt so far.
“Want help with that?” Castiel’s voice is commanding, and Dean’s immediate thought is “oh God, yes”, but he just shrugs, back still turned to Cas. He can hear Castiel get up and follow him anyway.
“Thought you were busy makin’ plans with Joseph, wouldn’t want to bother you.”
In a flash, Dean’s being yanked back and pushed up against the blue-tiled walls of the corridor. Angel of the Lord Castiel is back, alright.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Castiel growls. “This is ridiculous, Dean.”
Castiel’s hands are on him, finally, but Dean can’t get the sight of Castiel smiling at his phone while all Dean could think about was how helpless he feels in the face of the all-consuming love he harbors for this angel.
“No, really. You seem to get along great. Why would you have time for me, when you like to keep busy with Joseph.” Dean’s mouth is running and he should dial it back before he says something really stupid that’ll topple over the tower that is Dean-and-Cas. Again.
Castiel presses closer, holding Dean pinned to the wall without effort, just like back in the day, and it’s making Dean’s dick twitch.
“You cannot possibly be this insecure,” Castiel huffs, fully taking advantage of the situation and using his free hand to cradle Dean’s skull, slotting a thigh between Dean’s legs and rolling his eyes when he feels Dean’s hard-on. Dean’s breathing has turned uneven and rolls his hips, grinding down on Castiel’s thick thigh. He’s losing track of what it is they’re arguing about.
“Or are you just trying to rile me up?”
Thunderstorm, Dean thinks again, mind a little hazy and heart fluttering hopefully.
“N-no,” he grunts, grinding down against Castiel again and gasping because fuck, it’s been two damn weeks, and he’s missed this. Castiel’s thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “I swear.” I swear I was going to seduce you in a much nicer way. But it seems like this is working for Castiel too, because he’s definitely sporting something of an erection too. “Kiss me” slips out, half challenge, half begging.
Castiel complies, and he kisses Dean like he’s been itching for this just as much as Dean has, like it isn’t just Dean who is wound up and suffering from want. Cas wasn’t a bad kisser to begin with but they’ve definitely put in the hours of practice, and it has paid off, pays off right now as Dean’s getting rapidly turned on from the way Cas slides their tongues together, open mouthed and precise, holding his head steady in place. The other hand is sliding down from his sternum to grope at his ass, and Dean bites down at Castiel’s lip in retaliation.
“It’s been two weeks,” Dean says, palming Castiel’s cock through his jeans. If his voice sounds a little hurt, that’s not his fault. “And then you’re all gooey eyed over some dude I’ve never heard of.”
“I only want you,” Castiel rumbles in a voice that allows for no argument. The lights flicker down the hallway and it’s matched by the flickering in Castiel’s eyes.
Dean suppresses a shudder and pushes a hand through Castiel’s hair.
“That you?”
This time it’s Castiel’s time to blush.
“I’m not exactly used to being a sexually active angel.”
Dean kisses him, tugging lightly at his hair.
“Then we gotta practice.”
“That’s a terrible line,” Castiel says, but he’s still grinding minutely against Dean, twitching under his touch, and Dean’s fingers tighten around the dark strands. He wears his hair longer these days and Dean is mildly obsessed with it. The same seems to be true in reverse, seeing as Castiel still has his fingers tangled in Dean’s equally grown-out hair.
“Bedroom?”
Castiel nods, and they untangle just enough to make it down to the door marked 11, the one where they both sleep, and Dean is secretly grateful Castiel continues to sleep with him even though he doesn’t need rest anymore.
Last time they did this it was sweet and methodical. This time Dean’s barely waiting until the door is shut behind them before he starts pulling at the navy sweater, because as much as it suits Castiel, he looks so much better without it. Castiel lets himself be undressed, returns the favor wherever he can reach and his eyes are flickering again, lighting up, and Dean kisses him greedily.
His angel. His thunderstorm.
He’s going to take him apart.
He drops to his knees, yanking the belt loose and pulling down the jeans that were definitely getting tight around the crotch area. The boxers are next to go, and Dean wastes no time getting his mouth on Castiel’s cock, licking a stripe along the underside before sucking the head into his mouth, satisfied by the way Castiel groans. He pulls off and smirks up at Castiel.
“Should I keep going? Or are you ‘too busy?’”
Castiel is glaring daggers at him, fingers knotting into his hair.
“I thought we agreed we’d both been busy. Please keep going.”
“Just cause you’re so polite,” Dean huffs, but he opens his mouth all the same as Castiel guides his dick back inside. Fuck, Dean has missed this, the taste of him, the way Castiel holds him in place like Dean needs him too, the breathy sounds he makes. Dean’s eyes are half closed but he still catches something flash dark behind Castiel, and it sends a thrill through Dean’s body. He pulls off, mindless of the string of saliva that still connect his tongue to Castiel’s dick.
“Get them out,” he demands, voice hoarse. “Wanna see. Wanna see them.”
Castiel lets out a shaky breath as Dean continues to jack him off, waiting expectantly. “Please, Cas, wanna see your wings.” With a soft grunt the room explodes in darkness.
Castiel’s wings are huge.
“Oh, fuck,” Dean moans, palming himself absent-mindedly with his other hand. Castiel’s eyes are glowing now, he seems to have lost control of the surge of absolute power that vibrates under his skin, through the air in the room. Dean starts blowing him again, and Castiel starts thrusting in earnest now, and he’s so fucking hot like this, all sparkling, barely contained electricity, the high arches of his wings juddering and jumping every time Dean swallows around his dick, everytime he licks the precome from the slit, every time he takes Castiel’s cock as far down his throat as it’ll go before Dean needs air again. It’s so good. Castiel is panting, alternating between pulling his hair and scratching lightly, and they could probably both come like this, and it would be awesome. But he didn’t wait two weeks for either of them to blow their loads in under five minutes, so he pulls away from Castiel’s glistening cock and gets to his feet again. Castiel’s hands are there to steady him, to circle around his waist once they’re standing face to face and Dean kisses him with one hand under his chin while the other reaches back to touch.
The feathers are softer than anything he’s ever felt, at odds with the steely exterior of angels, the power and violence in them. Castiel growls, and pushes Dean backwards until he falls on top of the bed, climbing on top of him. Dean reaches greedily for the wings again, fingers not even close to closing around the muscles in the arm, which. Hell yeah. The wings are still somewhat folded in and Dean kind of wishes they had more space, so he could witness Castiel in all his glory. Castiel is arched over him, kissing his neck, one hand firmly stroking Dean’s dick.
“You think,” he murmurs darkly into Dean’s skin, “that I would do this for anyone but you? You think I would let anyone else touch my wings?” The last words are punctuated by a particularly tortuous twist of his wrist. “You think I’d even consider using them for my own sexual pleasure with anyone other than you, Dean?”
“Definitely not just your pleasure, Cas,” Dean gasps, pushing his fingers into the black feathers.
Castiel lifts his head and stares at him, eyes still emitting a soft, blue light. He doesn’t seem to be able to turn it off, and it’s part incredibly endearing, and part undeniably hot. “Your eyes are glowing,” he teases.
Castiel glares.
“I can’t control it.”
“I want you to fuck me, Cas,” Dean rushes out on an exhale, letting his head fall back. The wings cover the whole ceiling. “Just like this. I need you to, please, I –”
Castiel kisses him, rough and demanding, and Dean pushes his fingers through the feathers in his wings again, loving the way Castiel shudders with it. He can sense Castiel hesitating, even though he hasn’t stopped rutting against Dean’s hip, leaving wet smears over Dean’s skin. “You won’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Dean murmurs. “Besides, I remember my safeword.”
“That’s not to be joked about,” Castiel says.
“I’m not joking,” Dean responds, catching Castiel’s eyes to let him know he’s serious. Castiel nods once and leans down to kiss his swollen lips again. With one hand he reaches for the bedside drawer and fishes out the half-empty bottle of lube. Then, in something that feels like it’s straight out of one of Dean’s filthier dirty dreams, he elegantly uses his long wings to spread Dean’s legs while he uses his hands to pour lube on his pointer and index finger fingers.
“Fuck,” Dean groans, gripping the sheets.
“Don’t come,” is all Castiel says before he presses one finger into Dean, slow and deliberate. Yeah, that’s gonna be difficult, but he can do it, damn it. And yeah, it’s been criminally long since they did this. Unable to really do anything for Castiel while stuck in this position, he lets go of the sheet and grabs a hold of the wings again. Castiel shivers, but keeps going, a little quicker now that Dean massages the strong structure of bone and muscle in fascination. The limb is strong and nimble and warm to the touch.
“Dean,” Castiel growls after a while of Dean shamelessly kneading his wings.
“Sorry. Does it hurt?”
“Quite the opposite.”
Dean laughs breathlessly.
“Then don’t come.” He strokes the feathers and in his perverted mind he wants to know what they’d look like with his come on them. He tells Castiel as much, and the lone source of light in the room, the desk lamp, explodes in a million pieces. The room is now pitch black, save for Castiel’s glowing eyes. The only sounds are the rustling of wings, of bedsheets, the wet pumping of one of Castiel’s fingers inside Dean and Dean’s high-pitched sighs he can’t even bother to be embarrassed about. They only slightly intensify when Castiel adds a second finger.
“I want to see you,” Dean begs, feeling robbed of that particular pleasure. One of the wings leaves Dean’s hitched-up leg and in an amazing feat reaches out to flip the light switch on the bedside lamp before returning to its place in the bend of Dean’s knees, pushing him down a little harder. “Oh.”
In the soft lamp light Castiel looks flushed, eyes still glowing, graying hair curling around the edges of his face. Eyebrows knitted together in concentration, steadily focused on his task.
“You’re so hot,” Dean manages, not brave enough to use any other words, such as beautiful, or awe-inspiring, or magnificent. All of which are true. “You’ve always been. So hot, Cas, angel or not, but, fuck, this is a good look on you, and I… oh, yes, right there…” Dean angles his hips as Castiel graces his prostate, chasing the sparks of pleasure. “You’re… you’re driving me crazy, man. And your wings. Fucking magnificent wings, I wish you could… wish we had the space, we need to… we need to find an abandoned warehouse or something, or… I don’t know, fuck under the stars…”
Castiel’s fingers are pumping him fast and hard now, his wings squirming, flapping. He groans, and the hand he’s been using to palm himself with stills, tightens. Then, with shaky fingers he drizzles some more lube in his hand, and soon enough he’s three fingers deep. Dean can’t stop picturing it: an open space where Castiel can spread his wings properly while he’s fucking him, where he can blow out every lightbulb if he needs to, every light in the street. Three fingers are a tight fit, and Dean bites his lips, willing his tightly wound body to relax, to accommodate. Every so often Castiel brushes against his prostate and each time pushes Dean a little further toward the edge. But he refuses to come yet. It takes an eternity, a torturous eternity, but when Castiel finally pulls out his sticky fingers and puts some more lube on his flushed cock, Dean lets go of the wings and reaches for Castiel’s face instead, pulling him in for a breathless kiss.
Still using his wings to spread Dean’s legs apart, Castiel uses one hand to guide his cock inside Dean. Once inside, his wings lose their grip and shoot out at the sides, knocking over what seems to be most things on Dean’s desk and drawer in violent sweeps. He couldn’t care less. Physically it doesn’t feel any different than the other times they’ve done this, he feels stretched full and revels in being so close to Cas, but there’s something about the glowing grace thrumming through the angel, the wings which are flapping and trashing like he’s half-out of his mind that makes Dean feel like he’s fucking ascended to a whole new plane of existance. Castiel kisses him deep as he drives into Dean at a rough pace and Dean just has to lie back and take it.
“Yeah, yes, fuck, that’s good, Cas,” he grunts, running his hands down Castiel’s back, cupping the place where the wings disappear into his skin in fascination. Castiel groans and hitches his leg up higher, mouth trailing down Dean’s jaw, wings jolting above them. “That’s it, right there, god, you’re so good, Cas, fuck.” The room is filled with the slapping sound of skin against skin and the choked out moans deep in Castiel’s throat.
“Dean… Dean…”
“Yeah, fuck I’m right here, you feel so good,” Dean mumbles.
Dean feels almost folded in half and his spine is getting a serious workout, but it’s worth it to be able to trade kisses with Castiel, kisses which slowly lose finesse the longer they’re going.
Even though he fights it, tries to stave it off, he can feel his own orgasm approach rapidly. Dean can’t be blamed for it; Castiel is a freaking angel.
“I’m gonna come, Cas, come on, I, fuck, I wanna come on your wings, wanna come all over them –”
For the second time tonight, the only light source in the room shatters in a violent wave of power.
“Fuck, Dean,” Castiel groans and blindly reaches for Dean’s leaking dick, jerking him fast, feathers absolutely everywhere.
“Cas, Cas –” With one hand cupping Castiel’s neck and one holding onto his wing Dean rides the waves of pleasure that surge through him, arching his back and curling his toes and damn near blackening his vision. Castiel doesn’t let up on the pace, just fucks him through it, unwavering. Dean falls back into the sheets, sweaty and flushed and not a bone left in his body. Castiel pulls out and rolls Dean to the side, and Dean tries to lift his leg – he tries, okay – but it refuses to cooperate. He knows Castiel likes this position and he’s not about to refuse, but it’s kinda Castiel’s fault that Dean can’t move his body anymore.
Lucky for them, Castiel’s wings can assist.
Castiel slides back in, one hand possessively on his hip, and Dean drunkenly reaches for the mess on his own stomach and smears it into the wing that’s curling protectively around Dean.
With the sound of a dozen exploding lightbulbs, Castiel comes hot and pulsating inside Dean, while his other wing threatens to make dents in the concrete walls, and that’s the last thing he notices before he all but passes out.
Dean doesn’t want to think about the mess they’ve made of the room, and after a couple of moments of returning to this plane of existence manages to roll over to face Castiel with a grunt. His eyes have stopped glowing, at least in the literal sense. Dean leans in to kiss him gently, brushes graying locks from his forehead.
“You really liked the thought of me coming on your wings, huh?” he teases hoarsely. Castiel rolls his eyes at Dean, but there’s a faint smile on his lips.
“Hmmmm.”
“And me touching you.”
“I enjoy that, yes.”
“No, I mean. Your wings. Are wings like… like an erogenous zone for you now, or…” Honestly, he never would have imagined it. Castiel strokes his hip lazily.
“Hmmm. Yeah. I think I suffer from some faulty wiring, too.”
“And that I don’t want to fix,” Dean says gently. He snuggles closer, resting his head on Castiel’s chest, and when a warm wing of silky smooth feathers come up to cover him, it doesn’t take much for Dean to start to drift off. “But you are lucky I can change light bulbs.”