[2012 DCBB] The Dreamer and the Mystic - Chapter Five
Title: The Dreamer and the Mystic
Author: bellanovaskies
Artist: littlestshipper
Genre: Fairytale, Romance
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Mary/John, implied Dean/Cassie, Sam/Ruby and Sam/Jessica
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 110,000
Warnings: Violence, language, strong sexual content, and scenes of graphic torture.
Summary: When Dean Winchester’s eighteenth birthday arrived, he was expected to choose his Queen-To-Be; instead he found himself falling for a mysterious stranger with eyes like stars. Eleven years later, accompanied by his brother and their father’s knights, Dean journeys into ancient lands that have long since faded into legend and lore, to once again find the eyes that had bewitched him. Castiel's tribe may be a force to be reckoned with, but nothing can prepare Dean to face his own father, and confess his love for a less-than-human being.
The memory is still fuzzy, but Dean knows where he’s meant to go. After a few minutes of walking, he recognizes the door he and Castiel had snuck out of when they had crossed through the building with their torches. It’s a different path that leads to the same destination: the lake garden.
Dean doesn’t want to think about the suspended feeling in his mind. It feels like he is about to come crashing down to Earth in a single slam that will break him. He doesn’t want to think about that witch in his stomach and hischest whenever Castiel's role in his life comes to mind. He doesn’t want to think about how unsettling it is, to willingly walk past hidden paths in search of a man who can walk through his dreams, and through them, touch down to his very core. He doesn’t want to think about how wrong it is, and how he does it anyway because it is in his nature to be defiant. And how his defiance had very nearly ended his life two days ago.
But Castiel had come to save him.
He’s tired of the same thoughts swimming in his head over and over again, of what was right and what was wrong. That’s he’s desecrating his father’s name just by being in this foreign land of forgotten lore. That he’s courting a creature-that he wants and probably even needs-a creature he’s meant to annihilate. It’s always the same doubts, the same fears, and the same discussions. He hates that he is putting Sam through them, and that he is letting these thoughts get to him.
Blue illuminates his vision, but the temperature doesn’t drop into the same chill it had the last time he had been there. It’s just as beautiful, as unreal and vast as it had been a matter of days ago. The out-of-season flowers, the vast variety of trees both massive and small, the crumbling stone bridge.
It smells of pine and roses, a woodsy scent just this side of sweet, but something else tickles his nose. Apple and cinnamon, and it instantly triggers his memory of a taste he loves. Pie; it smells like freshly baked pie.
Rolling mountainsides slip into the undisturbed water, their peaks frosty. With the blue glow and ethereal beauty forgotten for now, Dean stumbles down the small hill, mindful of the flowers, until he reaches the shoreline. There’s a blanket there, similar to the ones that were layered on the bed he had woken up on. Atop the blanket is an assortment of pies that the mere sight of nearly makes him weep for joy. He vaguely registers the crumpled pile of clothing on the side.
“Cas?” He’s nowhere to be seen, and Dean is slightly troubled. Who in their right mind would leave such a treasure trove unattended?
There’s a splash behind him, and Dean turns quickly to find Castiel surfacing from the pool, rubbing some water out of his eyes. He shakes his head, drips flying from the strands of his hair before they stick to his forehead, and Dean is reminded of a bird shaking itself dry. It’s adorable, Dean thinks, but the thought vanishes when Castiel walks out into the bank.
He’s built nothing like the young man Dean had met the night of his birthday, that person having been skinny and delicate, womanly. Now, Castiel is built like a warrior. His waist isn’t slender, and his hips aren’t fragile. His chest is lean and muscled, biceps and thighs thick with coiled strength. The display of deathly precision in the clearing suddenly makes sense, and Dean finds his entire chest cavity plunging into his stomach, and his blood plunging even farther down.
The understanding that Castiel is completely naked, that there is lake water sluicing down said naked body, reaches Dean's comprehensive thoughts last. Castiel’s smile is just as bright as it was all those years ago, eyes soft around the edges in adoration, but his eyebrows are arched shyly, waiting for Dean to speak instead of just standing there with wide eyes and a slack jaw. “Hello, Dean.”
“H-Hey, I was just... uh, you wanted to see me?” Dean cringes at the how stupid he sounds. Like a teenager on his first date, unsure of what to say. He shoves his hands into his pockets, fingers meeting with the vial Inias had given him, and it finally dawns on him what it’s meant for. There is no way to suppress the burst of color on his face.
Castiel nods, shaking off his wings and accidentally splashing Dean in the process of it. He smirks at Dean’s flustered stuttering. “How are you feeling?” In a move entirely uncalled for, Castiel invades Dean’s personal space, eyes inspecting every inch of freckled skin in search of lingering bruises. “I did the best I could to heal you, but after eight hours, my power began to waver. I didn’t intend to stop until you were fully healthy, but I feared that I would hurt you further if I pushed on.”
Dean stumbles a step back, muscles tensing and chest fluttering at the proximity, but Castiel steps with him, unwilling to let him move away. “Um, I feel wet-Christ, I mean, I feel butt-Better! Good. Good in the no-longer-at-the-brink-of-death sort of good, not-dammit-Cas!”
The son of a bitch smiles, and Dean shoves at a slippery shoulder. Castiel’s teasing him, and damn if it doesn’t make Dean hot under his collar. He’s slept with dozens of women, in every position and on every surface possible, but Castiel is making him stutter and blush like a preteen. Dean remembers being far more graceful about it when he was eighteen.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Castiel asks. And although the question is genuine, there is amusement in his voice. He steps back, giving Dean his space and bringing up his wings to cover his nether regions.
It makes him look bashful, and Dean can feel his resolve waning rapidly. Michael forbade them from sharing a touch, but it looks like Castiel is not at all intent on obeying. Then again, that could well be Dean’s dick analyzing the situation. He licks his lips, eyes roaming Castiel’s chest. “No, th-that’s fine. Thanks for the help. I really owe you one. And by ‘I owe you one’, I mean that I owe you half the planet for saving my ass.”
Castiel sits down on the blanket as Dean speaks, wings languidly resting over his lap as he beckons him over. “You owe me nothing of the sort. I wished to heal you, and so I did. It would be a shame for you to die on me when we’ve only just been reunited.”
“How selfish of you,” Dean says, before quickly clarifying, “I’m joking.” Of everything that has changed, Castiel’s inability to understand a joke isn’t one of them. “Honestly, I’m grateful for it.”
Smiling, Castiel busies himself with serving Dean some of the pie. “I spoke to Michael regarding the tasks, and he is infuriated by my request.”
Dean isn’t sure at what he ought to be looking at: the pie, or Castiel’s face. He settles for the pie, because looking at Castiel tends to make his eyes wander downward. “You requesting for a rewrite?” Taking the silver plate, Dean thanks him with a nod. “The second one doesn’t sound as bad as the first, I’m sure I can take it.”
Castiel frowns. "The maze warps a human's perception of time and reality. It may not be physically lethal, but it will drive you mad the moment you step inside. You would feel as though decades have passed, when in truth, it has only been a minute." Castiel sighs as he pokes at his pie. "I told Michael that if he wants to see me off with honor, he is to cancel the remaining tasks."
The pie filling is piping hot, and it tastes like paradise wrapped inside a pastry. Dean makes a noise that causes Castiel to smile again, wrenching him out of his darker thoughts. “The consequences? I’m afraid to know what those are,” Dean says, sitting close to Castiel’s side, but not close enough to touch him. “You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?”
“Not exactly, but Michael isn’t pleased. He’s a traditionalist. He doesn’t doubt that you are the one of prophecy, but the Word of Law was set down millennia ago. If he lets me go back to Eldosia with you, and you are not proven worthy before the eyes of the Nephilim, I will be disgraced,” Castiel says, but he doesn’t look too troubled by it.
“You aren’t a woman, Cas,” Dean says hotly, anger bubbling in his gut. “And even if you were, why should you be disgraced by being with someone you... you know, care about?”
“Tradition, customs, moral high ground. More of the usual.”
“So what, you plan on disgracing yourself for me?”
“Dean, nothing is more important than your safety. What need do I have for grace if I can’t share it with you?” Castiel says it with such ease that Dean nearly chokes on his pie. “Are you all right?”
“Y-Yeah, I’m fine, just...” Dean coughs out a breathy laugh. “Those are pretty big words.” His gaze burn into the diminished slice of pie, unable to look elsewhere. The statement made his chest twist and stomach jump, and Dean is now afraid that he is truly toeing the line of no return here. “That’s it then? You throw a tantrum and Big Brother Michael just lets you off with a warning?”
Castiel shakes his head, his smile falling away. He looks down at the piece of blueberry pie he has taken for himself, shoveling it around his plate. “I’m afraid not. He insists that you go through with them all, that he cares little for my ‘naivety’ and fervor. It’s a lie, however,” he says, and his lips turn up into a sad little smile. “It’s because he cares too much, that he endangers your life. I will not stand by and let that happen again.” Castiel then takes a forkful of pie, huffs as it passes his lips, the taste of it clearly very pleasant.
“Guess that means I’m a dead man tomorrow. Again,” Dean says with a frown, but even the threat of death isn’t enough to stop him from taking a piece of the blueberry pie Castiel is enjoying so much. It makes him content, seeing Castiel so pleased by the pie.
“You won’t be.”
“I don’t think they’re gonna let you interfere again.”
“They won’t, but you are not going to participate in another death match.”
“Oh?” Dean straightens up, curious to hear what Castiel has to say. “What’s the plan?”
“We leave.”
“... What?”
“We leave,” Castiel repeats, his voice casual as he dips a finger into the hot filling and sucks it clean. It’s meant as a distraction, but Dean doesn’t buy into it. “I don’t care if I’m disgraced, or hunted, or anything else, Dean. You are going to leave this place safely, and I will come with you.”
Dean scoffs sharply, leveling Castiel with a glare that is coolly returned. “How is that a good idea? If Michael doesn’t kill you, Dad will.” It’s after a tense silence that Dean realizes what it is that he’s said. “I didn’t mean...”
“Michael is right, isn’t he? About your king?” Castiel looks resigned, and Dean hates it. He hates the subdued look in his eyes when Castiel turns away to stare out into the lake, pie cooling on his feather-covered lap. “What do you propose I do? If you end this victorious and have won my hand?”
That’s Dean’s cue.
The air is warm, and it settles around him like one Castiel’s wings. The serenity of the garden, accompanied by the stillness of the lake, makes it easy for Dean to think. His decision to not linger on it, to not think or doubt it again, is easy to remember here, when there is only Castiel for company. This is the line, and Dean is finally ready to cross it, however hesitant he may be.
“I’m not fighting for your hand, Cas,” Dean begins. “I’m not fighting for it, because I already have it, you idiot.” And it’s as close to a confession as Castiel is ever getting. Dean heaves a sigh, ignoring the widening blue eyes in front of him. “My father doesn’t know. Our rendezvous is still a secret. They know about ‘Castiel’, yeah, but they think it’s this dark haired lady with eyes like stars,” he says with a chuckle, and is glad that Castiel looks amused by it.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing right now. It’s like I’m walking without thinking. My feet keep moving forward when logic tells me that I have to take a step back. You have no idea how many girls I’ve screwed around with, but none of them were you. The thought of spending my years living with one of them made me think about how much...” Dean panics then, visibly lurching back to stop himself from saying what he’s about to say. “H-How much fun we had. You and me, a-and... I wanted to give that a shot.”
Castiel is looking at him with a blank expression. “That’s the most I’ve heard you say at once.”
Really? That was what he had to say? Dean just opened his heart up, threw all his goddamn emotions into the air, and that was all he got back?
“We’re done here,” Dean says sharply, settling down his plate and fork with a racket, and getting to his feet. He doesn’t get far, when a wing smacks his side and sends him falling right back down on the blanket. “Hey!”
“I am not,” Castiel says, and there’s a lethal edge to his words that makes Dean sit up straight like a little boy.
“For once in my life I try to be serious about this shit, and you go treating it like a joke.” Dean knows he sounds wounded, lips pressed into a thin line.
“If I recall correctly, you dislike the notion of me being treated like a maiden. I suggest you stop acting like one.” The sentence ends in a growl, and Dean has to shift on his spot. “We are both expected to play our roles here, Dean. I as a trophy and you a chauvinistic prince too masculine to express his feelings. Look me in the eye, and tell me you believe that.”
“Does that even matter?”
“It does to you, and don’t lie to me by saying that it doesn’t,” Castiel says, sitting completely still. His eyes are hard, but there’s understanding in them, making Dean feel tiny under his gaze. “I’m willing to set aside who I’m supposed to be, in favor of a future of my choosing, and if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here. But it still bothers you. It matters to you what your mother thinks, and your father, and your brother. I’m not asking much of you, Dean. All I want is for you tell me what it is that you truly want, and how far are you willing to go for it.”
“You already saw the answer to that,” Dean murmurs, shaken, and desperately trying to crawl back into the shell that Castiel split open.
“Then tell me,” Castiel says, slow and steady, “what you want.”
Silence falls over them again, Castiel staring intently at Dean, who is still sprawled ungracefully where he fell on the blanket. There is too much there, Dean thinks, and breaking his own promise, ‘think’ he does. Everything is too difficult again, too suffocating and too soon. He doesn’t know what Castiel means, and that scares him.
“Stop thinking, Dean, and tell me.”
Struggling with the knot in his chest, Dean says, “I want to know where you got this pie from.” Castiel frowns at him. “It’s delicious.”
“You are insufferable.”
“But you love me like that.”
“I do,” Castiel says, and without warning, leans over to kiss Dean soundly.
When they part, the conversation is dropped. Dean had hoped that they would spend the night rolling around and rubbing some naked skin, but part of him is glad that most of those things had now been spoken. Both Sam and Castiel know what they are dealing with now, and neither of them push, making Dean feel relieved and grateful for their understanding.
Castiel lies back on the blanket, looking up at the twinkling stars. He seems to be counting them. It’s strange, but it’s a very Cas-like thing for him to do, Dean decides. Dean goes through two entire pies, pear and rhubarb, before setting his plate down with a satisfied sigh. His stomach is warmed by the thought that Castiel took special care to bring the pies along, and Dean can’t help but smile at the stargazer, though he cannot see him clearly in the darkness.
The world is hushed and the night warm, but there’s still tension in the air as they linger in their silence. Dean doesn’t like the silence, and so he interrupts it. “What’s up with your wings?”
Startled from his reverie, Castiel blinks up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Your wings are different from the others.”
“Yes,” Castiel says. He looks down at where his appendages are still folded over his lap, and he stretches them both outward without warning. They drag across the blanket and grass, and Dean carefully adjusts himself so that the one that bumps against his leg can fan out to its full span. “That they are,” Castiel finishes.
Without asking, Dean threads his fingers over the black wing settled on his lap, combing out and straightening the long damp feathers. They’re warm and soft, and Dean can feel muscle give way as he kneads them. Dean guesses their size, and decides that they are much bigger than the first time he saw them, if not puffier. The feathers are longer, and they have increased in density. He wonders how Castiel manages to swim with them. But they are different; they're black, when all the other Nephlim's wings are the purest white. "How come?"
It takes a moment for Castiel to answer, too busy shifting and moving on the blanket as Dean works at his wings, purring deep in his chest and sighing under the ministration. “Our powers are carried within our wings,” he pauses to lick his lips, and it isn’t until his hips accidentally buck that Dean notices his erection. “When we reach twelve years of age, we are put through tests at a coming of age ceremony. If we pass, our wings mature, and so do our powers.” He says it with a sigh, heels digging into the blanket when Dean tugs at a mass of jumbled feathers.
“And?” Dean prompts, voice pitched low as he flattens his palms and runs them over the outer coat of feathers. His hands slide like fine stone beneath it, and the noise that rips out of Castiel’s throat has Dean hard in seconds.
Slow to collect himself, Castiel goes on between gasps. “I passed all of my tests, three different times-Dean, Dean, please, pull on them...” Dean grants him the request, and his head tips back, eyes rolling with the pleasure.
Castiel tries to reach down and touch himself, but Dean swats him away. “Go on, tell me the rest.”
Whining, Castiel does so. “My wings refuse to mature, so my power is limited. I-It was the first sign, of me being the one of prophecy, the very l-last-Yes, Dean, yes...”
Dean brings the wing up carefully, and mouths at the arch. His cock twitches in his trousers when Castiel keens, and scrambles against the blanket. “So your wings change color when you mature, is that it? That’s why everyone has white wings and you don’t?” Castiel moans out a ‘yes’ that sounds more like a ‘please’. Releasing the wing, much to Castiel’s disappointment, Dean continues talking. “Why don’t they change, though? If you passed your tests-”
“Can we not talk about this now?” Castiel says with an exasperated sigh, sprawled on the blanket, naked and wanting.
Dean laughs. “Michael said we couldn’t do the dirty until I’m worthy,” he says smugly, watching Castiel bristling.
“I promised you you’d have me, and here I am,” Castiel honest-to-God purrs against Dean’s lips, but pulls away before they can kiss.
Getting to his feet, Castiel rolls his head to work out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. He bites his bottom lip coyly, spreading out his wings and arching them well above his head like an exotic bird on display. Belatedly, Dean sucks in a breath, realizing that he isn’t that far off. The thought is confirmed when Castiel grins at him.
“Are you...?”
“Our wings are used for a great many things. To express authority, rank, and to court.”
“You’re like a bird, then,” Dean says, amused by the mental image.
Castiel, however, puffs up his chest and lowers his chin, making himself look imposing while spreading his wings to their full wingspan. “Do I look like a bird to you?”
He doesn’t. He seriously fucking doesn’t. Castiel is all man; powerful muscle and chiseled body, a hint of stubble on his face, and his aching cock hanging heavily between his legs as he shows himself off to Dean. The side of the coin that shows Castiel as not human shines bright, and Dean curses himself for finding that so damn alluring.
Castiel wants to mate with him, and it’s not the innocent rubbing that had happened that one time. This is the real deal, and Dean feels his cock jerk at the thought of getting roughened up by Castiel. “No,” he says, and his voice cracks. “You don’t. I’m thinking more along the lines of ‘avenging angel’, but definitely not a bird.”
Dean stands up, and makes quick work of removing his clothing and clumsily casting them to the side. He watches Castiel’s backside as he walks into the lake, wings once again tucked tightly against his back as he goes under and surfaces shortly after. Dean hisses when he feels a light breeze ruffling the hair on his skin.
It’s absurd. Hell, it’s the craziest thing he’s ever done, so Dean can’t help, but laugh as he runs forward, splashes into the lake before diving, paddling, and surfacing in front of Castiel with a gasp for air. “Hey there, handsome,” Dean greets with a grin, and sputters when Castiel splashes his face playfully. “I take that back.”
“Of course you do, Dean.”
The words fall away when Dean pulls him close, their feet brushing as they move to keep themselves afloat. Castiel’s fingers thread through Dean’s short hair, and pull him in for a soft kiss, body rolling into him as their tongues meet halfway, moving languidly.
Pulling away, they rest their foreheads together, Dean chuckling as his hand snakes under the water, giving Castiel a slippery tug. “Reunion sex?”
Castiel wraps his legs around Dean’s hips, pulling him closer to bump their cocks together. It’s fleeting, the water making it difficult for them to fully control the movement. “In the water?”
“Bet you’ve never done it before.”
“Dean,” Castiel starts, swiping his tongue across Dean’s wet lips. “I’ve never had anyone else but you.” At Dean’s shocked expression, he chuckles, and sucks his bottom lip between his own teeth. “My hand has kept me company for several years.”
“Why would even do that, Cas?” Dean grabs Castiel’s ass and grinds them together, but sinks mid-motion, getting a mouthful of water. “Shit. This is gonna be a hassle.”
“We can take it back to the blanket, if you’d like.”
“Shame. I was looking forward to a little wet action.”
Castiel bites at Dean’s pout, and leans over to whisper beside his ear, “But it would be easier to move against me, hm? To drink me?” He gasps in shock as Dean grabs him by the wrist, but it turns into a fit of husky laughter when he is clumsily tugged towards the bank.
Their movements are ungainly, both unwilling to pull away as they make for the lake’s edge and stumble into grassy land. They stop to kiss, quick and messy and wet, before Castiel pushes Dean onto the thick blanket and lays over him in one swift motion, wasting no time. They’re both desperate, and there really was no use in dallying around.
Dean spreads his legs to better accommodate Castiel, excited by the fact that their wet skin slips, adding to the overload of sensations lighting up all over him. Their cocks slide together, trapped between their abdomens as Dean thrusts up, slapping Castiel’s left butt-cheek to make him buck down to meet him. It rips a moan out of both their mouths, but their sounds are quickly drowned out by lips and tongues.
Hands slip down Castiel’s back, and Dean marvels at how strong it feels, solid against his touch. There’s something undeniably arousing about touching Castiel like this, slow and deliberate, unlike their first time when it had been rushed and quick. That’s not to say that it hadn’t been good, because it was, but Dean is enjoying his exploration of Castiel's body with the time it warrants. And he has only just begun.
He touches Castiel’s sides, feels the ribs move as the other man caresses Dean’s face lovingly, and grabs his hips. Dean guides him into a steady gyrating movement, Castiel gasping beside his ear, groaning out his name with need.
Once their hips are in motion, Dean ventures further down, fingers skimming down ridiculously toned thighs. Castiel gasps, then giggles when Dean accidentally presses down where thigh turns to knee. He stops and kneads at the muscle there when he can’t reach any further, making Castiel purr against his neck. “You like that?” Dean asks, turning his head to kiss Castiel thoroughly.
When he hears an approving hum, Dean flips them over, mindful of Castiel’s wings. They are in a similar position to last time, but Dean intends to do more than just rub their penises together. Leaning down, he nibbles on Castiel’s stubbled jaw, before tracing his tongue up and over to flick across his lips. “I’m gonna drink you now, just like you said.”
Castiel shivers, moaning when Dean kisses his way down his neck, sucks on a clavicle, and moves lower until he’s sucking on a pebbled nipple. He’s done this countless times with women, so he figures it shouldn’t be that different with a man. Dean circles it with his tongue, gives it a flick before pressing his lips around it and sucks.
Castiel’s hand at the base of Dean’s neck tugs the short hairs roughly enough to hurt, and Dean takes that as a positive reaction and does it again. Castiel whimpers, bringing his own hand up to tease the neglected nipple as Dean continues to torture him. Dean eventually waves him away, lavishing the other nipple with attention as well.
That accomplished, Dean moves further downward and runs his hands along Castiel’s chest, feels the muscles flex and shift as he breathes unevenly beneath him. He kisses his abdomen and ribs, accidentally tickling him, and dips his tongue into Castiel’s navel. It’s a blessing, Dean thinks, that it doesn’t taste sour, like most of the times he’s done it before.
“Dean, would you... please...?” Castiel sounds wrecked, and Dean can’t help but moan at what that smoky voice does to him. He chuckles though, low and gruff, when Castiel’s cockhead nudges beneath his chin.
Castiel’s words about never having done this with anyone but him suddenly come back with a gravity that leaves him gasping for air. He said he would take his time making Castiel undone, but now, looking up at him from his vantage point, seeing him panting and disheveled, debauched and torn away from the pristine pedestal his people kept him on, Dean just wants to devour him. He wants to blur the lines and melt into him, become one and never pull away.
Castiel is sacred, something holy, soiled once before by Dean’s impulsive and reckless behavior. And there he is, sprawled beneath him again, begging to be taken in the most human and forbidden way possible.
Grasping Castiel’s cock, Dean gives it a stroke that leaves Castiel reeling, screaming silently as Dean presses the tip of his tongue to his base, and drags it slowly towards the tip. Feathers flutter helplessly, and Dean chuckles with his lips pressed to the shaft. “How’s it feel?”
The answer is lost in a groan.
Dean lies on his stomach on the soft blanket, head between Castiel’s thighs, and softly sucks on the head of Castiel’s dick. Short and abortive, only teasing him, until he finally takes the shaft a quarter of the way into his mouth. He’s unpracticed and awkward, but he gets the gist of it, and performs it to the best of his abilities. Dean bobs his head, hollowing his cheeks, and it’s enough to make Castiel cry out into the night.
Having brought Castiel too close, Dean opts to kiss him instead, occasionally licking random patterns and nuzzling his face against his manhood. Beads of pre-come smear across his cheek and lips, and he laps at whatever he can reach.
When the hand on his head softly strokes his ear, Dean looks up at Castiel, who is staring down a bit more calmly. His lips are swollen and wet, eyes wider than usual, but his breathing seems mostly even. “You okay there, tiger?”
Castiel nods jerkily, and shifts his hips so that his cock slides across Dean’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to just... lose control. I’m not used to these kinds of sensations.”
Dean smiles wide and bright, wraps his lips around the side of Castiel’s cock and sucks lazily on a vein. Castiel’s inexperience with sex thrills Dean’s very blood, heating it up and sending it a frenzy. “That’s the fun part. You don’t think, just ride it all out. So long as you don’t choke me.”
Taking a shaky breath, Castiel nods and lies back down. “Please, continue.”
Chuckling, Dean takes the tip between his lips and squeezes slightly, making Castiel’s hand tighten on his hair. “As you wish.”
Dean spends his time alternating between pressing teasing kisses and licking along the raphe. His hands touch and pinch Castiel’s thighs and the backs of his knees, where the sensitive skin makes Castiel both laugh and moan as he jerks against the blanket, sweat beading along the cracks and crevices of his body. Dean fondles his balls, playfully squeezing and tugging, massaging them against his palm, and Castiel is dangerously close to finishing.
When he nudges his thumb experimentally against Castiel's entrance, Dean is startled by Castiel's response as he seizes up and convulses, and if it weren't for the lack of fluid, Dean would swear that Castiel had just orgasmed.
“Oh, Dean! Do that again, please, do that again...”
With a wicked smirk, Dean rubs light circles against the puckered skin, pressing only softly before pulling away. When Castiel’s back arches and eyes fall hooded, mewling at the touch, Dean gives his own neglected cock a few strokes. He’s noisy, terribly vocal about what he likes and wants more of, and Dean is finding it increasingly hard to not come so early on.
“Inside, deeper, press deeper,” Castiel rambles.
Pressing a kiss onto Castiel’s belly, Dean leans over to reach for his discarded trousers and searches for his blue vial. He sends a mental prayer of thanks to Inias, wherever he is, and he wonders if this had been Castiel’s idea all along, or if Inias knew him better than anyone and decided to make it easier for them. Either way, Dean is going to make good use of the oil. Castiel is blinking up at him, confused and needy, but doesn’t say a word when Dean uncaps the small, blue container, and pours a good amount of oil on his hand.
Dean has never done this before, and he sincerely hopes he can cruise through it like last time. Logic and instinct drive him. If it is tight, then stretch it if possible. If it needs to move, then lubricate it. It’s simple enough, he thinks, but he still hesitates as he circles Castiel’s hole again. Taking a steadying breath, Dean pushes a finger in.
Castiel’s body stiffens at the intrusion, mouth falling open in a silent gasp, and Dean has to shush him, whispering absent nothings into his skin as he moves around. Dean’s not sure how long it takes him, wiggling his finger, slipping out and then in again, curling it and thrusting it until Castiel is loose enough to take another, and another.
Three fingers and a hoarse voice later, Castiel is bucking into Dean’s hand, muttering a string of profanities Dean had not known him to be capable of saying.
“Cas-Cas, you okay? You okay?” Dean’s mutters the words mindlessly into Castiel’s chest, kissing and licking at the sweat there as he pumps his fingers into his lover’s body. “You ready for me?”
He’s forward harshly, met by a hungry mouth that is unrelenting against his and, yes, Castiel is more than ready for it. “I want you, Dean. I want-hmm’you inside of me, I-oh...”
The tightness of it is something Dean will never be able to explain. How the walls inside Castiel’s body clench around him in a wicked and wet grasp, pulling him in and refusing to let go, it’s something Dean suspects he will never grow tired of. He’s fucked whores and princesses, even a nun once, but nothing, nothing will ever feel like this. Maybe that is the allure of sodomy, the maddening heat and tightness of it, always leaving partakers short of breath and begging for more.
But it isn’t that at all, Dean thinks hazily. None of it matters because Castiel is touching him. Castiel’s hands are running along his back and sides, wherever he can reach, and although it’s desperate, there is also reverence in the touch. Castiel’s eyes are hooded and glossy, filled with a light and adoration meant only for Dean. Castiel’s lips are soft and moist, and they hold nothing but breathless outcries of wanton ecstasy and Dean’s name. It’s just Castiel, wrapped around Dean so tightly that all he can do is sob with pleasure at the realization.
The world can keep its whores and princesses, its unholy nuns and twisted traditions. Dean is grounded, has finally found his anchor, and he’s right here, screaming out his name with so much passion that it shakes Dean’s soul.
Finally bottoming out, Dean stills and waits for Castiel to adjust to his girth. His breath puffs over Castiel’s nose, and the man chokes out a laugh that turns into groan when Dean moves his hips in a light, circular motion. Eyes shut, cheeks red and mouth slick with saliva, Castiel looks beautiful, struggling for breath as he lays on his back, legs held up and apart by Dean’s hands. It takes him a moment, but Castiel eventually shimmies his hips as a signal for Dean to continue.
Shaking with excitement, Dean pulls out a bit before slowly sinking back in, fingers biting into the back of Castiel’s knees. It’s a slow burn, and he has to fight back the desire to pound relentlessly into the insane heat that threatens to swallow him. Beneath him, Castiel groans and pointedly lifts his hips. “Move, Dean.”
Dean moves his hips, out and in, in one slow movement that leaves Castiel choking on a breath. He does it again, and again, until he’s set an easy rhythm they can both take. Castiel hands scramble for purchase as his entire body moves up the blanket with the force of Dean’s thrusts, but it doesn’t stop him from pushing down to meet him, taking him deeper into himself.
It’s slow, but rough and messy. There’s none of the pretended competence of their first time, when they tried to seem older and more experienced than they were. Now, it is nothing but raw, sloppy, loud, and desperate. A constant begging for more, deeper, faster, dirtier. And it is intoxicating.
Dean is growling out abortive forms of Castiel’s name as he bucks into him, hissing random things as he hovers over him and bites the man’s lips and licks whatever he can reach. Castiel is too coherent, demanding that Dean take him all the way, even while he’s doing nothing more than helplessly writhe and keen beneath him. Dean is determined to fuck him speechless.
His balls slap noisily against Castiel’s ass, and it adds to the turbulent bumping of their mouths and tongues. Skin against skin. It still isn’t enough. Pressing another open-mouthed kiss to Castiel’s mouth, Dean straightens up and grabs him by the legs, pulling him flush against his lap so that he can increase his speed. Castiel makes a noise that’s too high for his usual timbre, and Dean’s hips stutter in their pace. “Christ, do that again, Cas, come on.”
Castiel only groans, though. He’s unhappy with the change of positions. It’s difficult to properly watch Dean from where he is still sprawled on the covers, and he can’t kiss or touch him.
Dean’s not sure how Castiel does it, but he manages to sit up without purchase, and shoves Dean back. Dean catches himself just in time, leaning back on his hands so that he’s propping himself up, and Castiel is complacently sitting on his lap, dripping cock hanging heavily between his legs. The dark wings shiver as they are finally able to stretch, giving Castiel the balance he needs to lift himself up, and drop himself down on Dean’s cock with an intensity that makes him howl.
Sitting back, Dean takes to moaning and groaning, the occasional growl escaping him whenever Castiel gyrates his hips and brings his hands up to touch his own chest, tugging at his nipples and whimpering Dean’s name. It’s surreal, watching Castiel fuck himself on his dick, completely open with reckless abandon and crying out for more. His pace is erratic, and he’s often torn between just sitting and rubbing himself on Dean’s lap, and piercing himself repeatedly.
Castiel leans forward then, resting his hands on Dean’s shoulders, and shifts his weight to his knees to kiss him, and Dean is kind enough to make it easier for him. Dean digs his heels into the ground and thrusts up, taking the reins from Castiel and setting a quick pace. It’s a little awkward, the position difficult to hold, but it pays off when Castiel all but screams against Dean’s lips. The heat that surges through his chest drives him then, throwing him into frenzy.
Dean sits up sharply, and Castiel instinctively wraps his legs around him, heels nudging his lower back. One hand braced on Castiel’s back, and the other holding himself up, Dean pistons into him, too close to last much longer.
Castiel is clinging onto him for dear life, bouncing on his lap until his voice is gone, and he’s left screaming silently against Dean’s lips. He brings his wings up and around them, enclosing them both and shutting the world away. It’s only Dean and Castiel in a mess of sweaty limbs and shameless cries, sinful actions and hot melding.
The feathers burn where they touch Dean’s skin, but it’s sensual and intimate, something that only belongs to two of them. Their damp foreheads are pressed together, green eyes staring into blue, mouths hanging open with gasps and moans and each other’s names. Castiel licks Dean’s upper lip, and he chuckles breathlessly. It’s amazing, and no one else can intrude.
Moving his lips, but unable to speak, Castiel desperately wraps a hand around his own cock and starts to jerk himself, puffing a moan against Dean’s face. “You gonna come?” Dean whispers, and Castiel nods frantically, eyes wide and pupils blown. “You got it, Cas. You got it, come on.”
But then Dean swats at Castiel’s hand, and takes hold of the plump cock himself. His loose fist flies over it, fast and slick, his hips still slamming against Castiel’s ass as he searches for his mouth. “Spill it, Cas. All over the two of us. Mark me, a-and you-oh, oh fuck!” Dean is taken by surprise when something snaps deep inside of him instead, and he’s coming harder than he has in ages.
His body shudders violently as his hips snap up viciously, filling Castiel with his cock, oil, and now his seed. Just that is enough to send Castiel over, spilling over Dean’s hand, stomach and chest with a joyful cry. “D-Dean! Dean... Dean-oh, Dean...” Castiel is shaking, wings trembling as they hold formation around them, even after Dean collapses with Castiel on top of him.
Time slows, and there is no other sound aside from their panting as they struggle to get their breaths under control, and noisy half-kisses.
Castiel slides off of Dean, wincing at the sensation of a now-flaccid cock slipping out of him, to curl onto his side. He brings his wings down, using them as a blanket to cover their lax bodies.
“Convenient,” Dean murmurs sleepily, a hand gently caressing Castiel’s hair. “I really like your baby wings.”
“They’re not baby wings.” There is amusement in his voice, but it is drowned out by tiredness. Castiel’s hand is caressing Dean’s thigh, and Dean sighs dreamily, humming with quiet delight. “They might never mature, but they’ll be there to protect you.”
“That’s awfully soppy of you.” Dean angles his head to steal a long kiss, warm and delicious, like the pie he so loves. Perhaps even a bit better, but only by a little. “It’s nice of you to have my back, as long as I get to protect yours as well.”
Castiel shuffles in place, slides the hand that’s been fondling Dean’s thigh up his belly and chest, until it traces his lips. Dean doesn’t mind the little bit of moisture that is pressed into his mouth, and he softly sucks on Castiel's fingertip. Castiel drapes a leg over his. “And I’m being soppy?”
Dean chuckles, smoky and hoarse. “Soppy is me saying that I want to be your knight. Only yours. To protect you and... and cherish you, among other stuff.” His mind is hazy, and he feels far too good to step away from saying these things.
Bringing his wings tighter against them, Castiel noses his way into Dean’s neck. “Would you be my knight? Would you protect me and cherish me?” The hand on Dean's faces strokes his cheek softly, slowing as it catches on his stubble.
“Yeah,” Dean whispers, pressing the tip of his nose to Castiel’s. “I would.”
Humming, Castiel laughs breathlessly. “Thank you,” he says, and aside from that single utterance, he seems at a loss for words.
Castiel’s hand begins to roam over Dean's body, leaving tangible warmth behind. “What are you doing?” Dean inquires, ever so quietly. The hand lingers along his ribs, on his hips, and the outside of his thigh. “Mm, that feels good.”
“I’m healing what’s left of your bruises.” Before Dean can protest, Castiel continues, “Except these.” Castiel pokes tender spots all over Dean’s body: his shoulders, neck, cheek, and parts of his back, all of which hold proof of their act. Places Castiel gripped too tightly, or sucked feverishly. “Those you can keep.”
“Kinky son of a bitch,” Dean says around a yawn, smacking his lips before pressing them once again to Castiel’s. Sleep threatens to pull him under, and as much as he doesn’t mind the safety of Castiel’s wings, he would much rather spend a night in one of their rooms. “I didn’t defeat the behemoth.”
Castiel’s arm comes to rest at his waist, and pulls him closer. “Irrelevant.”
“Lucifer said that only a righteous man could do so. Michael said only a righteous man is allowed to love you.”
There’s a moment of silence during which Dean’s breathing evens out. Castiel presses a kiss onto his eyelids. “We are not bound by these rules, Dean. You fought honorably and...” Dean lets out a snore that makes Castiel smile gently. “And you love me,” he whispers with finality, and the fact that Dean is fast asleep twinges in his chest. The slopes of Dean’s cheeks and the dark lashes that rest against them, Castiel decides, are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Sleep well, my prince.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
It is morning, and Dean’s eyes flutter open to cloudy skies, and a mouthful of feathers. It’s peaceful and quiet, the scent of early morning dew. He stretches, groans, and absently scratches at his belly, only to find it surprisingly clean. Castiel is plastered next to him, head tucked beneath Dean’s chin, snoring softly.
Dean is lingering, that much he knows. Dean Winchester doesn’t stay the morning after, but he reminds himself that this is Castiel. It isn’t a hit-and-run like all other times, it’s a ‘stay for breakfast’ scenario. He knows it will take him a while to get used to waking up in someone’s arms, but he’s more than willing to let it grow on him.
Removing himself from Castiel’s wings is a hassle. Dean finds it to be a cross between amusing and annoying. There’s a feather stuck to his armpit-which makes him giggle when he straightens up and stretches-and another between his toes.
After a dive in the lake to freshen up, Dean lets himself air-dry before slipping on last night’s clothes. He feels good, better than he has in a long time, and he’s determined to not let anything dampen his mood. Placing his hands on his hips, he arches to stretch his back and shoulders. There’s a brief stiffness there, that is easily attributed to the night’s activities, and he sighs in satisfaction. It was a very good night.
Castiel is still asleep when Dean sits beside him, knees to his chest, and with a thoughtful expression. The shadows are no longer there. The insecurities are now nothing but a simmer, accompanying the fear that’s been pushed to the back of his mind. Dean can say that a deep inhale no longer hurts his chest, but fills him with an overwhelming joy that makes him want to run around, whooping, like a little kid. He feels at peace, like a bridge has finally been crossed, and Castiel was waiting for him on the other end.
The reality of the situation still hovers in his mind, and it would be a foolish thing to ignore it. He has yet to face two tasks, each one perilous and life-threatening, but now he’s certain of what he’s fighting for. And for once, he has no real need to be stubbornly rebellious. If Castiel pleaded Michael for leniency, Dean thinks, then so can he. Two individuals hold far more weight than one. Dean may not be righteous, but he’s willing to try, if only for Castiel.
“What’ll you say to Dad when you get back to Eldosia?” Dean says with a glance at the supine figure next to him. He laces his fingers together and twists them, cracking his knuckles. “‘Hey, how you doing’? or ‘Hello, your Majesty. My name’s Castiel and I’ve been fooling around with your heir’?” He chuckles nervously, looking down at Castiel’s relaxed face. “Nah. You’re too polite for that, aren’t you? You’ll probably act like a perfect gentleman. Set most of the noblemen to shame with your manners and big words.”
Castiel sighs in his sleep, a wing twitching above him. His fist curls on the blanket.
Dean only looks at the other man. His hairs stand on end, and his eyes begin to burn when a swell of emotion bubbles to the surface. “You’ll be great ruler one day, Cas. You and me. We’re gonna be great.”
Pine trees sway in the soft breeze, and Dean takes in the welcoming scent, filling his lungs with the crisp morning air. There is more to the situation and the future, so much more, and he’s willing to fight for it; Dean is willing and far more than ready to fight for it. “You’d probably call me an idiot for this,” he says with a fond laugh.
Leaning over, he presses a light kiss to Castiel’s temple, and gets to his feet.
It’s still early, most of the Nephilim are probably just getting into bed, and Dean takes it as his cue. He doesn’t need an armor for what he’s about to do, because it will either make him, or break him. There is no in-between, no maybes or somewhats. He’ll either ride out of Rod’im’s gates victorious, with a proud Castiel by his side, or die at it. “But I’m not dying on you, you hear? We’re gonna get through this in one piece.”
With one last look at the endless lake, the rolling mountains and colorful flowers, the stone bridge and the sanctuary it all offers, Dean walks back towards the city limits. “We’re gonna get through this, Cas. Winchesters always keep their promises.”
Chapter Continued Here
Author: bellanovaskies
Artist: littlestshipper
Genre: Fairytale, Romance
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Mary/John, implied Dean/Cassie, Sam/Ruby and Sam/Jessica
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 110,000
Warnings: Violence, language, strong sexual content, and scenes of graphic torture.
Summary: When Dean Winchester’s eighteenth birthday arrived, he was expected to choose his Queen-To-Be; instead he found himself falling for a mysterious stranger with eyes like stars. Eleven years later, accompanied by his brother and their father’s knights, Dean journeys into ancient lands that have long since faded into legend and lore, to once again find the eyes that had bewitched him. Castiel's tribe may be a force to be reckoned with, but nothing can prepare Dean to face his own father, and confess his love for a less-than-human being.
The memory is still fuzzy, but Dean knows where he’s meant to go. After a few minutes of walking, he recognizes the door he and Castiel had snuck out of when they had crossed through the building with their torches. It’s a different path that leads to the same destination: the lake garden.
Dean doesn’t want to think about the suspended feeling in his mind. It feels like he is about to come crashing down to Earth in a single slam that will break him. He doesn’t want to think about that witch in his stomach and hischest whenever Castiel's role in his life comes to mind. He doesn’t want to think about how unsettling it is, to willingly walk past hidden paths in search of a man who can walk through his dreams, and through them, touch down to his very core. He doesn’t want to think about how wrong it is, and how he does it anyway because it is in his nature to be defiant. And how his defiance had very nearly ended his life two days ago.
But Castiel had come to save him.
He’s tired of the same thoughts swimming in his head over and over again, of what was right and what was wrong. That’s he’s desecrating his father’s name just by being in this foreign land of forgotten lore. That he’s courting a creature-that he wants and probably even needs-a creature he’s meant to annihilate. It’s always the same doubts, the same fears, and the same discussions. He hates that he is putting Sam through them, and that he is letting these thoughts get to him.
Blue illuminates his vision, but the temperature doesn’t drop into the same chill it had the last time he had been there. It’s just as beautiful, as unreal and vast as it had been a matter of days ago. The out-of-season flowers, the vast variety of trees both massive and small, the crumbling stone bridge.
It smells of pine and roses, a woodsy scent just this side of sweet, but something else tickles his nose. Apple and cinnamon, and it instantly triggers his memory of a taste he loves. Pie; it smells like freshly baked pie.
Rolling mountainsides slip into the undisturbed water, their peaks frosty. With the blue glow and ethereal beauty forgotten for now, Dean stumbles down the small hill, mindful of the flowers, until he reaches the shoreline. There’s a blanket there, similar to the ones that were layered on the bed he had woken up on. Atop the blanket is an assortment of pies that the mere sight of nearly makes him weep for joy. He vaguely registers the crumpled pile of clothing on the side.
“Cas?” He’s nowhere to be seen, and Dean is slightly troubled. Who in their right mind would leave such a treasure trove unattended?
There’s a splash behind him, and Dean turns quickly to find Castiel surfacing from the pool, rubbing some water out of his eyes. He shakes his head, drips flying from the strands of his hair before they stick to his forehead, and Dean is reminded of a bird shaking itself dry. It’s adorable, Dean thinks, but the thought vanishes when Castiel walks out into the bank.
He’s built nothing like the young man Dean had met the night of his birthday, that person having been skinny and delicate, womanly. Now, Castiel is built like a warrior. His waist isn’t slender, and his hips aren’t fragile. His chest is lean and muscled, biceps and thighs thick with coiled strength. The display of deathly precision in the clearing suddenly makes sense, and Dean finds his entire chest cavity plunging into his stomach, and his blood plunging even farther down.
The understanding that Castiel is completely naked, that there is lake water sluicing down said naked body, reaches Dean's comprehensive thoughts last. Castiel’s smile is just as bright as it was all those years ago, eyes soft around the edges in adoration, but his eyebrows are arched shyly, waiting for Dean to speak instead of just standing there with wide eyes and a slack jaw. “Hello, Dean.”
“H-Hey, I was just... uh, you wanted to see me?” Dean cringes at the how stupid he sounds. Like a teenager on his first date, unsure of what to say. He shoves his hands into his pockets, fingers meeting with the vial Inias had given him, and it finally dawns on him what it’s meant for. There is no way to suppress the burst of color on his face.
Castiel nods, shaking off his wings and accidentally splashing Dean in the process of it. He smirks at Dean’s flustered stuttering. “How are you feeling?” In a move entirely uncalled for, Castiel invades Dean’s personal space, eyes inspecting every inch of freckled skin in search of lingering bruises. “I did the best I could to heal you, but after eight hours, my power began to waver. I didn’t intend to stop until you were fully healthy, but I feared that I would hurt you further if I pushed on.”
Dean stumbles a step back, muscles tensing and chest fluttering at the proximity, but Castiel steps with him, unwilling to let him move away. “Um, I feel wet-Christ, I mean, I feel butt-Better! Good. Good in the no-longer-at-the-brink-of-death sort of good, not-dammit-Cas!”
The son of a bitch smiles, and Dean shoves at a slippery shoulder. Castiel’s teasing him, and damn if it doesn’t make Dean hot under his collar. He’s slept with dozens of women, in every position and on every surface possible, but Castiel is making him stutter and blush like a preteen. Dean remembers being far more graceful about it when he was eighteen.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Castiel asks. And although the question is genuine, there is amusement in his voice. He steps back, giving Dean his space and bringing up his wings to cover his nether regions.
It makes him look bashful, and Dean can feel his resolve waning rapidly. Michael forbade them from sharing a touch, but it looks like Castiel is not at all intent on obeying. Then again, that could well be Dean’s dick analyzing the situation. He licks his lips, eyes roaming Castiel’s chest. “No, th-that’s fine. Thanks for the help. I really owe you one. And by ‘I owe you one’, I mean that I owe you half the planet for saving my ass.”
Castiel sits down on the blanket as Dean speaks, wings languidly resting over his lap as he beckons him over. “You owe me nothing of the sort. I wished to heal you, and so I did. It would be a shame for you to die on me when we’ve only just been reunited.”
“How selfish of you,” Dean says, before quickly clarifying, “I’m joking.” Of everything that has changed, Castiel’s inability to understand a joke isn’t one of them. “Honestly, I’m grateful for it.”
Smiling, Castiel busies himself with serving Dean some of the pie. “I spoke to Michael regarding the tasks, and he is infuriated by my request.”
Dean isn’t sure at what he ought to be looking at: the pie, or Castiel’s face. He settles for the pie, because looking at Castiel tends to make his eyes wander downward. “You requesting for a rewrite?” Taking the silver plate, Dean thanks him with a nod. “The second one doesn’t sound as bad as the first, I’m sure I can take it.”
Castiel frowns. "The maze warps a human's perception of time and reality. It may not be physically lethal, but it will drive you mad the moment you step inside. You would feel as though decades have passed, when in truth, it has only been a minute." Castiel sighs as he pokes at his pie. "I told Michael that if he wants to see me off with honor, he is to cancel the remaining tasks."
The pie filling is piping hot, and it tastes like paradise wrapped inside a pastry. Dean makes a noise that causes Castiel to smile again, wrenching him out of his darker thoughts. “The consequences? I’m afraid to know what those are,” Dean says, sitting close to Castiel’s side, but not close enough to touch him. “You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?”
“Not exactly, but Michael isn’t pleased. He’s a traditionalist. He doesn’t doubt that you are the one of prophecy, but the Word of Law was set down millennia ago. If he lets me go back to Eldosia with you, and you are not proven worthy before the eyes of the Nephilim, I will be disgraced,” Castiel says, but he doesn’t look too troubled by it.
“You aren’t a woman, Cas,” Dean says hotly, anger bubbling in his gut. “And even if you were, why should you be disgraced by being with someone you... you know, care about?”
“Tradition, customs, moral high ground. More of the usual.”
“So what, you plan on disgracing yourself for me?”
“Dean, nothing is more important than your safety. What need do I have for grace if I can’t share it with you?” Castiel says it with such ease that Dean nearly chokes on his pie. “Are you all right?”
“Y-Yeah, I’m fine, just...” Dean coughs out a breathy laugh. “Those are pretty big words.” His gaze burn into the diminished slice of pie, unable to look elsewhere. The statement made his chest twist and stomach jump, and Dean is now afraid that he is truly toeing the line of no return here. “That’s it then? You throw a tantrum and Big Brother Michael just lets you off with a warning?”
Castiel shakes his head, his smile falling away. He looks down at the piece of blueberry pie he has taken for himself, shoveling it around his plate. “I’m afraid not. He insists that you go through with them all, that he cares little for my ‘naivety’ and fervor. It’s a lie, however,” he says, and his lips turn up into a sad little smile. “It’s because he cares too much, that he endangers your life. I will not stand by and let that happen again.” Castiel then takes a forkful of pie, huffs as it passes his lips, the taste of it clearly very pleasant.
“Guess that means I’m a dead man tomorrow. Again,” Dean says with a frown, but even the threat of death isn’t enough to stop him from taking a piece of the blueberry pie Castiel is enjoying so much. It makes him content, seeing Castiel so pleased by the pie.
“You won’t be.”
“I don’t think they’re gonna let you interfere again.”
“They won’t, but you are not going to participate in another death match.”
“Oh?” Dean straightens up, curious to hear what Castiel has to say. “What’s the plan?”
“We leave.”
“... What?”
“We leave,” Castiel repeats, his voice casual as he dips a finger into the hot filling and sucks it clean. It’s meant as a distraction, but Dean doesn’t buy into it. “I don’t care if I’m disgraced, or hunted, or anything else, Dean. You are going to leave this place safely, and I will come with you.”
Dean scoffs sharply, leveling Castiel with a glare that is coolly returned. “How is that a good idea? If Michael doesn’t kill you, Dad will.” It’s after a tense silence that Dean realizes what it is that he’s said. “I didn’t mean...”
“Michael is right, isn’t he? About your king?” Castiel looks resigned, and Dean hates it. He hates the subdued look in his eyes when Castiel turns away to stare out into the lake, pie cooling on his feather-covered lap. “What do you propose I do? If you end this victorious and have won my hand?”
That’s Dean’s cue.
The air is warm, and it settles around him like one Castiel’s wings. The serenity of the garden, accompanied by the stillness of the lake, makes it easy for Dean to think. His decision to not linger on it, to not think or doubt it again, is easy to remember here, when there is only Castiel for company. This is the line, and Dean is finally ready to cross it, however hesitant he may be.
“I’m not fighting for your hand, Cas,” Dean begins. “I’m not fighting for it, because I already have it, you idiot.” And it’s as close to a confession as Castiel is ever getting. Dean heaves a sigh, ignoring the widening blue eyes in front of him. “My father doesn’t know. Our rendezvous is still a secret. They know about ‘Castiel’, yeah, but they think it’s this dark haired lady with eyes like stars,” he says with a chuckle, and is glad that Castiel looks amused by it.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing right now. It’s like I’m walking without thinking. My feet keep moving forward when logic tells me that I have to take a step back. You have no idea how many girls I’ve screwed around with, but none of them were you. The thought of spending my years living with one of them made me think about how much...” Dean panics then, visibly lurching back to stop himself from saying what he’s about to say. “H-How much fun we had. You and me, a-and... I wanted to give that a shot.”
Castiel is looking at him with a blank expression. “That’s the most I’ve heard you say at once.”
Really? That was what he had to say? Dean just opened his heart up, threw all his goddamn emotions into the air, and that was all he got back?
“We’re done here,” Dean says sharply, settling down his plate and fork with a racket, and getting to his feet. He doesn’t get far, when a wing smacks his side and sends him falling right back down on the blanket. “Hey!”
“I am not,” Castiel says, and there’s a lethal edge to his words that makes Dean sit up straight like a little boy.
“For once in my life I try to be serious about this shit, and you go treating it like a joke.” Dean knows he sounds wounded, lips pressed into a thin line.
“If I recall correctly, you dislike the notion of me being treated like a maiden. I suggest you stop acting like one.” The sentence ends in a growl, and Dean has to shift on his spot. “We are both expected to play our roles here, Dean. I as a trophy and you a chauvinistic prince too masculine to express his feelings. Look me in the eye, and tell me you believe that.”
“Does that even matter?”
“It does to you, and don’t lie to me by saying that it doesn’t,” Castiel says, sitting completely still. His eyes are hard, but there’s understanding in them, making Dean feel tiny under his gaze. “I’m willing to set aside who I’m supposed to be, in favor of a future of my choosing, and if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here. But it still bothers you. It matters to you what your mother thinks, and your father, and your brother. I’m not asking much of you, Dean. All I want is for you tell me what it is that you truly want, and how far are you willing to go for it.”
“You already saw the answer to that,” Dean murmurs, shaken, and desperately trying to crawl back into the shell that Castiel split open.
“Then tell me,” Castiel says, slow and steady, “what you want.”
Silence falls over them again, Castiel staring intently at Dean, who is still sprawled ungracefully where he fell on the blanket. There is too much there, Dean thinks, and breaking his own promise, ‘think’ he does. Everything is too difficult again, too suffocating and too soon. He doesn’t know what Castiel means, and that scares him.
“Stop thinking, Dean, and tell me.”
Struggling with the knot in his chest, Dean says, “I want to know where you got this pie from.” Castiel frowns at him. “It’s delicious.”
“You are insufferable.”
“But you love me like that.”
“I do,” Castiel says, and without warning, leans over to kiss Dean soundly.
When they part, the conversation is dropped. Dean had hoped that they would spend the night rolling around and rubbing some naked skin, but part of him is glad that most of those things had now been spoken. Both Sam and Castiel know what they are dealing with now, and neither of them push, making Dean feel relieved and grateful for their understanding.
Castiel lies back on the blanket, looking up at the twinkling stars. He seems to be counting them. It’s strange, but it’s a very Cas-like thing for him to do, Dean decides. Dean goes through two entire pies, pear and rhubarb, before setting his plate down with a satisfied sigh. His stomach is warmed by the thought that Castiel took special care to bring the pies along, and Dean can’t help but smile at the stargazer, though he cannot see him clearly in the darkness.
The world is hushed and the night warm, but there’s still tension in the air as they linger in their silence. Dean doesn’t like the silence, and so he interrupts it. “What’s up with your wings?”
Startled from his reverie, Castiel blinks up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Your wings are different from the others.”
“Yes,” Castiel says. He looks down at where his appendages are still folded over his lap, and he stretches them both outward without warning. They drag across the blanket and grass, and Dean carefully adjusts himself so that the one that bumps against his leg can fan out to its full span. “That they are,” Castiel finishes.
Without asking, Dean threads his fingers over the black wing settled on his lap, combing out and straightening the long damp feathers. They’re warm and soft, and Dean can feel muscle give way as he kneads them. Dean guesses their size, and decides that they are much bigger than the first time he saw them, if not puffier. The feathers are longer, and they have increased in density. He wonders how Castiel manages to swim with them. But they are different; they're black, when all the other Nephlim's wings are the purest white. "How come?"
It takes a moment for Castiel to answer, too busy shifting and moving on the blanket as Dean works at his wings, purring deep in his chest and sighing under the ministration. “Our powers are carried within our wings,” he pauses to lick his lips, and it isn’t until his hips accidentally buck that Dean notices his erection. “When we reach twelve years of age, we are put through tests at a coming of age ceremony. If we pass, our wings mature, and so do our powers.” He says it with a sigh, heels digging into the blanket when Dean tugs at a mass of jumbled feathers.
“And?” Dean prompts, voice pitched low as he flattens his palms and runs them over the outer coat of feathers. His hands slide like fine stone beneath it, and the noise that rips out of Castiel’s throat has Dean hard in seconds.
Slow to collect himself, Castiel goes on between gasps. “I passed all of my tests, three different times-Dean, Dean, please, pull on them...” Dean grants him the request, and his head tips back, eyes rolling with the pleasure.
Castiel tries to reach down and touch himself, but Dean swats him away. “Go on, tell me the rest.”
Whining, Castiel does so. “My wings refuse to mature, so my power is limited. I-It was the first sign, of me being the one of prophecy, the very l-last-Yes, Dean, yes...”
Dean brings the wing up carefully, and mouths at the arch. His cock twitches in his trousers when Castiel keens, and scrambles against the blanket. “So your wings change color when you mature, is that it? That’s why everyone has white wings and you don’t?” Castiel moans out a ‘yes’ that sounds more like a ‘please’. Releasing the wing, much to Castiel’s disappointment, Dean continues talking. “Why don’t they change, though? If you passed your tests-”
“Can we not talk about this now?” Castiel says with an exasperated sigh, sprawled on the blanket, naked and wanting.
Dean laughs. “Michael said we couldn’t do the dirty until I’m worthy,” he says smugly, watching Castiel bristling.
“I promised you you’d have me, and here I am,” Castiel honest-to-God purrs against Dean’s lips, but pulls away before they can kiss.
Getting to his feet, Castiel rolls his head to work out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. He bites his bottom lip coyly, spreading out his wings and arching them well above his head like an exotic bird on display. Belatedly, Dean sucks in a breath, realizing that he isn’t that far off. The thought is confirmed when Castiel grins at him.
“Are you...?”
“Our wings are used for a great many things. To express authority, rank, and to court.”
“You’re like a bird, then,” Dean says, amused by the mental image.
Castiel, however, puffs up his chest and lowers his chin, making himself look imposing while spreading his wings to their full wingspan. “Do I look like a bird to you?”
He doesn’t. He seriously fucking doesn’t. Castiel is all man; powerful muscle and chiseled body, a hint of stubble on his face, and his aching cock hanging heavily between his legs as he shows himself off to Dean. The side of the coin that shows Castiel as not human shines bright, and Dean curses himself for finding that so damn alluring.
Castiel wants to mate with him, and it’s not the innocent rubbing that had happened that one time. This is the real deal, and Dean feels his cock jerk at the thought of getting roughened up by Castiel. “No,” he says, and his voice cracks. “You don’t. I’m thinking more along the lines of ‘avenging angel’, but definitely not a bird.”
Dean stands up, and makes quick work of removing his clothing and clumsily casting them to the side. He watches Castiel’s backside as he walks into the lake, wings once again tucked tightly against his back as he goes under and surfaces shortly after. Dean hisses when he feels a light breeze ruffling the hair on his skin.
It’s absurd. Hell, it’s the craziest thing he’s ever done, so Dean can’t help, but laugh as he runs forward, splashes into the lake before diving, paddling, and surfacing in front of Castiel with a gasp for air. “Hey there, handsome,” Dean greets with a grin, and sputters when Castiel splashes his face playfully. “I take that back.”
“Of course you do, Dean.”
The words fall away when Dean pulls him close, their feet brushing as they move to keep themselves afloat. Castiel’s fingers thread through Dean’s short hair, and pull him in for a soft kiss, body rolling into him as their tongues meet halfway, moving languidly.
Pulling away, they rest their foreheads together, Dean chuckling as his hand snakes under the water, giving Castiel a slippery tug. “Reunion sex?”
Castiel wraps his legs around Dean’s hips, pulling him closer to bump their cocks together. It’s fleeting, the water making it difficult for them to fully control the movement. “In the water?”
“Bet you’ve never done it before.”
“Dean,” Castiel starts, swiping his tongue across Dean’s wet lips. “I’ve never had anyone else but you.” At Dean’s shocked expression, he chuckles, and sucks his bottom lip between his own teeth. “My hand has kept me company for several years.”
“Why would even do that, Cas?” Dean grabs Castiel’s ass and grinds them together, but sinks mid-motion, getting a mouthful of water. “Shit. This is gonna be a hassle.”
“We can take it back to the blanket, if you’d like.”
“Shame. I was looking forward to a little wet action.”
Castiel bites at Dean’s pout, and leans over to whisper beside his ear, “But it would be easier to move against me, hm? To drink me?” He gasps in shock as Dean grabs him by the wrist, but it turns into a fit of husky laughter when he is clumsily tugged towards the bank.
Their movements are ungainly, both unwilling to pull away as they make for the lake’s edge and stumble into grassy land. They stop to kiss, quick and messy and wet, before Castiel pushes Dean onto the thick blanket and lays over him in one swift motion, wasting no time. They’re both desperate, and there really was no use in dallying around.
Dean spreads his legs to better accommodate Castiel, excited by the fact that their wet skin slips, adding to the overload of sensations lighting up all over him. Their cocks slide together, trapped between their abdomens as Dean thrusts up, slapping Castiel’s left butt-cheek to make him buck down to meet him. It rips a moan out of both their mouths, but their sounds are quickly drowned out by lips and tongues.
Hands slip down Castiel’s back, and Dean marvels at how strong it feels, solid against his touch. There’s something undeniably arousing about touching Castiel like this, slow and deliberate, unlike their first time when it had been rushed and quick. That’s not to say that it hadn’t been good, because it was, but Dean is enjoying his exploration of Castiel's body with the time it warrants. And he has only just begun.
He touches Castiel’s sides, feels the ribs move as the other man caresses Dean’s face lovingly, and grabs his hips. Dean guides him into a steady gyrating movement, Castiel gasping beside his ear, groaning out his name with need.
Once their hips are in motion, Dean ventures further down, fingers skimming down ridiculously toned thighs. Castiel gasps, then giggles when Dean accidentally presses down where thigh turns to knee. He stops and kneads at the muscle there when he can’t reach any further, making Castiel purr against his neck. “You like that?” Dean asks, turning his head to kiss Castiel thoroughly.
When he hears an approving hum, Dean flips them over, mindful of Castiel’s wings. They are in a similar position to last time, but Dean intends to do more than just rub their penises together. Leaning down, he nibbles on Castiel’s stubbled jaw, before tracing his tongue up and over to flick across his lips. “I’m gonna drink you now, just like you said.”
Castiel shivers, moaning when Dean kisses his way down his neck, sucks on a clavicle, and moves lower until he’s sucking on a pebbled nipple. He’s done this countless times with women, so he figures it shouldn’t be that different with a man. Dean circles it with his tongue, gives it a flick before pressing his lips around it and sucks.
Castiel’s hand at the base of Dean’s neck tugs the short hairs roughly enough to hurt, and Dean takes that as a positive reaction and does it again. Castiel whimpers, bringing his own hand up to tease the neglected nipple as Dean continues to torture him. Dean eventually waves him away, lavishing the other nipple with attention as well.
That accomplished, Dean moves further downward and runs his hands along Castiel’s chest, feels the muscles flex and shift as he breathes unevenly beneath him. He kisses his abdomen and ribs, accidentally tickling him, and dips his tongue into Castiel’s navel. It’s a blessing, Dean thinks, that it doesn’t taste sour, like most of the times he’s done it before.
“Dean, would you... please...?” Castiel sounds wrecked, and Dean can’t help but moan at what that smoky voice does to him. He chuckles though, low and gruff, when Castiel’s cockhead nudges beneath his chin.
Castiel’s words about never having done this with anyone but him suddenly come back with a gravity that leaves him gasping for air. He said he would take his time making Castiel undone, but now, looking up at him from his vantage point, seeing him panting and disheveled, debauched and torn away from the pristine pedestal his people kept him on, Dean just wants to devour him. He wants to blur the lines and melt into him, become one and never pull away.
Castiel is sacred, something holy, soiled once before by Dean’s impulsive and reckless behavior. And there he is, sprawled beneath him again, begging to be taken in the most human and forbidden way possible.
Grasping Castiel’s cock, Dean gives it a stroke that leaves Castiel reeling, screaming silently as Dean presses the tip of his tongue to his base, and drags it slowly towards the tip. Feathers flutter helplessly, and Dean chuckles with his lips pressed to the shaft. “How’s it feel?”
The answer is lost in a groan.
Dean lies on his stomach on the soft blanket, head between Castiel’s thighs, and softly sucks on the head of Castiel’s dick. Short and abortive, only teasing him, until he finally takes the shaft a quarter of the way into his mouth. He’s unpracticed and awkward, but he gets the gist of it, and performs it to the best of his abilities. Dean bobs his head, hollowing his cheeks, and it’s enough to make Castiel cry out into the night.
Having brought Castiel too close, Dean opts to kiss him instead, occasionally licking random patterns and nuzzling his face against his manhood. Beads of pre-come smear across his cheek and lips, and he laps at whatever he can reach.
When the hand on his head softly strokes his ear, Dean looks up at Castiel, who is staring down a bit more calmly. His lips are swollen and wet, eyes wider than usual, but his breathing seems mostly even. “You okay there, tiger?”
Castiel nods jerkily, and shifts his hips so that his cock slides across Dean’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to just... lose control. I’m not used to these kinds of sensations.”
Dean smiles wide and bright, wraps his lips around the side of Castiel’s cock and sucks lazily on a vein. Castiel’s inexperience with sex thrills Dean’s very blood, heating it up and sending it a frenzy. “That’s the fun part. You don’t think, just ride it all out. So long as you don’t choke me.”
Taking a shaky breath, Castiel nods and lies back down. “Please, continue.”
Chuckling, Dean takes the tip between his lips and squeezes slightly, making Castiel’s hand tighten on his hair. “As you wish.”
Dean spends his time alternating between pressing teasing kisses and licking along the raphe. His hands touch and pinch Castiel’s thighs and the backs of his knees, where the sensitive skin makes Castiel both laugh and moan as he jerks against the blanket, sweat beading along the cracks and crevices of his body. Dean fondles his balls, playfully squeezing and tugging, massaging them against his palm, and Castiel is dangerously close to finishing.
When he nudges his thumb experimentally against Castiel's entrance, Dean is startled by Castiel's response as he seizes up and convulses, and if it weren't for the lack of fluid, Dean would swear that Castiel had just orgasmed.
“Oh, Dean! Do that again, please, do that again...”
With a wicked smirk, Dean rubs light circles against the puckered skin, pressing only softly before pulling away. When Castiel’s back arches and eyes fall hooded, mewling at the touch, Dean gives his own neglected cock a few strokes. He’s noisy, terribly vocal about what he likes and wants more of, and Dean is finding it increasingly hard to not come so early on.
“Inside, deeper, press deeper,” Castiel rambles.
Pressing a kiss onto Castiel’s belly, Dean leans over to reach for his discarded trousers and searches for his blue vial. He sends a mental prayer of thanks to Inias, wherever he is, and he wonders if this had been Castiel’s idea all along, or if Inias knew him better than anyone and decided to make it easier for them. Either way, Dean is going to make good use of the oil. Castiel is blinking up at him, confused and needy, but doesn’t say a word when Dean uncaps the small, blue container, and pours a good amount of oil on his hand.
Dean has never done this before, and he sincerely hopes he can cruise through it like last time. Logic and instinct drive him. If it is tight, then stretch it if possible. If it needs to move, then lubricate it. It’s simple enough, he thinks, but he still hesitates as he circles Castiel’s hole again. Taking a steadying breath, Dean pushes a finger in.
Castiel’s body stiffens at the intrusion, mouth falling open in a silent gasp, and Dean has to shush him, whispering absent nothings into his skin as he moves around. Dean’s not sure how long it takes him, wiggling his finger, slipping out and then in again, curling it and thrusting it until Castiel is loose enough to take another, and another.
Three fingers and a hoarse voice later, Castiel is bucking into Dean’s hand, muttering a string of profanities Dean had not known him to be capable of saying.
“Cas-Cas, you okay? You okay?” Dean’s mutters the words mindlessly into Castiel’s chest, kissing and licking at the sweat there as he pumps his fingers into his lover’s body. “You ready for me?”
He’s forward harshly, met by a hungry mouth that is unrelenting against his and, yes, Castiel is more than ready for it. “I want you, Dean. I want-hmm’you inside of me, I-oh...”
The tightness of it is something Dean will never be able to explain. How the walls inside Castiel’s body clench around him in a wicked and wet grasp, pulling him in and refusing to let go, it’s something Dean suspects he will never grow tired of. He’s fucked whores and princesses, even a nun once, but nothing, nothing will ever feel like this. Maybe that is the allure of sodomy, the maddening heat and tightness of it, always leaving partakers short of breath and begging for more.
But it isn’t that at all, Dean thinks hazily. None of it matters because Castiel is touching him. Castiel’s hands are running along his back and sides, wherever he can reach, and although it’s desperate, there is also reverence in the touch. Castiel’s eyes are hooded and glossy, filled with a light and adoration meant only for Dean. Castiel’s lips are soft and moist, and they hold nothing but breathless outcries of wanton ecstasy and Dean’s name. It’s just Castiel, wrapped around Dean so tightly that all he can do is sob with pleasure at the realization.
The world can keep its whores and princesses, its unholy nuns and twisted traditions. Dean is grounded, has finally found his anchor, and he’s right here, screaming out his name with so much passion that it shakes Dean’s soul.
Finally bottoming out, Dean stills and waits for Castiel to adjust to his girth. His breath puffs over Castiel’s nose, and the man chokes out a laugh that turns into groan when Dean moves his hips in a light, circular motion. Eyes shut, cheeks red and mouth slick with saliva, Castiel looks beautiful, struggling for breath as he lays on his back, legs held up and apart by Dean’s hands. It takes him a moment, but Castiel eventually shimmies his hips as a signal for Dean to continue.
Shaking with excitement, Dean pulls out a bit before slowly sinking back in, fingers biting into the back of Castiel’s knees. It’s a slow burn, and he has to fight back the desire to pound relentlessly into the insane heat that threatens to swallow him. Beneath him, Castiel groans and pointedly lifts his hips. “Move, Dean.”
Dean moves his hips, out and in, in one slow movement that leaves Castiel choking on a breath. He does it again, and again, until he’s set an easy rhythm they can both take. Castiel hands scramble for purchase as his entire body moves up the blanket with the force of Dean’s thrusts, but it doesn’t stop him from pushing down to meet him, taking him deeper into himself.
It’s slow, but rough and messy. There’s none of the pretended competence of their first time, when they tried to seem older and more experienced than they were. Now, it is nothing but raw, sloppy, loud, and desperate. A constant begging for more, deeper, faster, dirtier. And it is intoxicating.
Dean is growling out abortive forms of Castiel’s name as he bucks into him, hissing random things as he hovers over him and bites the man’s lips and licks whatever he can reach. Castiel is too coherent, demanding that Dean take him all the way, even while he’s doing nothing more than helplessly writhe and keen beneath him. Dean is determined to fuck him speechless.
His balls slap noisily against Castiel’s ass, and it adds to the turbulent bumping of their mouths and tongues. Skin against skin. It still isn’t enough. Pressing another open-mouthed kiss to Castiel’s mouth, Dean straightens up and grabs him by the legs, pulling him flush against his lap so that he can increase his speed. Castiel makes a noise that’s too high for his usual timbre, and Dean’s hips stutter in their pace. “Christ, do that again, Cas, come on.”
Castiel only groans, though. He’s unhappy with the change of positions. It’s difficult to properly watch Dean from where he is still sprawled on the covers, and he can’t kiss or touch him.
Dean’s not sure how Castiel does it, but he manages to sit up without purchase, and shoves Dean back. Dean catches himself just in time, leaning back on his hands so that he’s propping himself up, and Castiel is complacently sitting on his lap, dripping cock hanging heavily between his legs. The dark wings shiver as they are finally able to stretch, giving Castiel the balance he needs to lift himself up, and drop himself down on Dean’s cock with an intensity that makes him howl.
Sitting back, Dean takes to moaning and groaning, the occasional growl escaping him whenever Castiel gyrates his hips and brings his hands up to touch his own chest, tugging at his nipples and whimpering Dean’s name. It’s surreal, watching Castiel fuck himself on his dick, completely open with reckless abandon and crying out for more. His pace is erratic, and he’s often torn between just sitting and rubbing himself on Dean’s lap, and piercing himself repeatedly.
Castiel leans forward then, resting his hands on Dean’s shoulders, and shifts his weight to his knees to kiss him, and Dean is kind enough to make it easier for him. Dean digs his heels into the ground and thrusts up, taking the reins from Castiel and setting a quick pace. It’s a little awkward, the position difficult to hold, but it pays off when Castiel all but screams against Dean’s lips. The heat that surges through his chest drives him then, throwing him into frenzy.
Dean sits up sharply, and Castiel instinctively wraps his legs around him, heels nudging his lower back. One hand braced on Castiel’s back, and the other holding himself up, Dean pistons into him, too close to last much longer.
Castiel is clinging onto him for dear life, bouncing on his lap until his voice is gone, and he’s left screaming silently against Dean’s lips. He brings his wings up and around them, enclosing them both and shutting the world away. It’s only Dean and Castiel in a mess of sweaty limbs and shameless cries, sinful actions and hot melding.
The feathers burn where they touch Dean’s skin, but it’s sensual and intimate, something that only belongs to two of them. Their damp foreheads are pressed together, green eyes staring into blue, mouths hanging open with gasps and moans and each other’s names. Castiel licks Dean’s upper lip, and he chuckles breathlessly. It’s amazing, and no one else can intrude.
Moving his lips, but unable to speak, Castiel desperately wraps a hand around his own cock and starts to jerk himself, puffing a moan against Dean’s face. “You gonna come?” Dean whispers, and Castiel nods frantically, eyes wide and pupils blown. “You got it, Cas. You got it, come on.”
But then Dean swats at Castiel’s hand, and takes hold of the plump cock himself. His loose fist flies over it, fast and slick, his hips still slamming against Castiel’s ass as he searches for his mouth. “Spill it, Cas. All over the two of us. Mark me, a-and you-oh, oh fuck!” Dean is taken by surprise when something snaps deep inside of him instead, and he’s coming harder than he has in ages.
His body shudders violently as his hips snap up viciously, filling Castiel with his cock, oil, and now his seed. Just that is enough to send Castiel over, spilling over Dean’s hand, stomach and chest with a joyful cry. “D-Dean! Dean... Dean-oh, Dean...” Castiel is shaking, wings trembling as they hold formation around them, even after Dean collapses with Castiel on top of him.
Time slows, and there is no other sound aside from their panting as they struggle to get their breaths under control, and noisy half-kisses.
Castiel slides off of Dean, wincing at the sensation of a now-flaccid cock slipping out of him, to curl onto his side. He brings his wings down, using them as a blanket to cover their lax bodies.
“Convenient,” Dean murmurs sleepily, a hand gently caressing Castiel’s hair. “I really like your baby wings.”
“They’re not baby wings.” There is amusement in his voice, but it is drowned out by tiredness. Castiel’s hand is caressing Dean’s thigh, and Dean sighs dreamily, humming with quiet delight. “They might never mature, but they’ll be there to protect you.”
“That’s awfully soppy of you.” Dean angles his head to steal a long kiss, warm and delicious, like the pie he so loves. Perhaps even a bit better, but only by a little. “It’s nice of you to have my back, as long as I get to protect yours as well.”
Castiel shuffles in place, slides the hand that’s been fondling Dean’s thigh up his belly and chest, until it traces his lips. Dean doesn’t mind the little bit of moisture that is pressed into his mouth, and he softly sucks on Castiel's fingertip. Castiel drapes a leg over his. “And I’m being soppy?”
Dean chuckles, smoky and hoarse. “Soppy is me saying that I want to be your knight. Only yours. To protect you and... and cherish you, among other stuff.” His mind is hazy, and he feels far too good to step away from saying these things.
Bringing his wings tighter against them, Castiel noses his way into Dean’s neck. “Would you be my knight? Would you protect me and cherish me?” The hand on Dean's faces strokes his cheek softly, slowing as it catches on his stubble.
“Yeah,” Dean whispers, pressing the tip of his nose to Castiel’s. “I would.”
Humming, Castiel laughs breathlessly. “Thank you,” he says, and aside from that single utterance, he seems at a loss for words.
Castiel’s hand begins to roam over Dean's body, leaving tangible warmth behind. “What are you doing?” Dean inquires, ever so quietly. The hand lingers along his ribs, on his hips, and the outside of his thigh. “Mm, that feels good.”
“I’m healing what’s left of your bruises.” Before Dean can protest, Castiel continues, “Except these.” Castiel pokes tender spots all over Dean’s body: his shoulders, neck, cheek, and parts of his back, all of which hold proof of their act. Places Castiel gripped too tightly, or sucked feverishly. “Those you can keep.”
“Kinky son of a bitch,” Dean says around a yawn, smacking his lips before pressing them once again to Castiel’s. Sleep threatens to pull him under, and as much as he doesn’t mind the safety of Castiel’s wings, he would much rather spend a night in one of their rooms. “I didn’t defeat the behemoth.”
Castiel’s arm comes to rest at his waist, and pulls him closer. “Irrelevant.”
“Lucifer said that only a righteous man could do so. Michael said only a righteous man is allowed to love you.”
There’s a moment of silence during which Dean’s breathing evens out. Castiel presses a kiss onto his eyelids. “We are not bound by these rules, Dean. You fought honorably and...” Dean lets out a snore that makes Castiel smile gently. “And you love me,” he whispers with finality, and the fact that Dean is fast asleep twinges in his chest. The slopes of Dean’s cheeks and the dark lashes that rest against them, Castiel decides, are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Sleep well, my prince.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
It is morning, and Dean’s eyes flutter open to cloudy skies, and a mouthful of feathers. It’s peaceful and quiet, the scent of early morning dew. He stretches, groans, and absently scratches at his belly, only to find it surprisingly clean. Castiel is plastered next to him, head tucked beneath Dean’s chin, snoring softly.
Dean is lingering, that much he knows. Dean Winchester doesn’t stay the morning after, but he reminds himself that this is Castiel. It isn’t a hit-and-run like all other times, it’s a ‘stay for breakfast’ scenario. He knows it will take him a while to get used to waking up in someone’s arms, but he’s more than willing to let it grow on him.
Removing himself from Castiel’s wings is a hassle. Dean finds it to be a cross between amusing and annoying. There’s a feather stuck to his armpit-which makes him giggle when he straightens up and stretches-and another between his toes.
After a dive in the lake to freshen up, Dean lets himself air-dry before slipping on last night’s clothes. He feels good, better than he has in a long time, and he’s determined to not let anything dampen his mood. Placing his hands on his hips, he arches to stretch his back and shoulders. There’s a brief stiffness there, that is easily attributed to the night’s activities, and he sighs in satisfaction. It was a very good night.
Castiel is still asleep when Dean sits beside him, knees to his chest, and with a thoughtful expression. The shadows are no longer there. The insecurities are now nothing but a simmer, accompanying the fear that’s been pushed to the back of his mind. Dean can say that a deep inhale no longer hurts his chest, but fills him with an overwhelming joy that makes him want to run around, whooping, like a little kid. He feels at peace, like a bridge has finally been crossed, and Castiel was waiting for him on the other end.
The reality of the situation still hovers in his mind, and it would be a foolish thing to ignore it. He has yet to face two tasks, each one perilous and life-threatening, but now he’s certain of what he’s fighting for. And for once, he has no real need to be stubbornly rebellious. If Castiel pleaded Michael for leniency, Dean thinks, then so can he. Two individuals hold far more weight than one. Dean may not be righteous, but he’s willing to try, if only for Castiel.
“What’ll you say to Dad when you get back to Eldosia?” Dean says with a glance at the supine figure next to him. He laces his fingers together and twists them, cracking his knuckles. “‘Hey, how you doing’? or ‘Hello, your Majesty. My name’s Castiel and I’ve been fooling around with your heir’?” He chuckles nervously, looking down at Castiel’s relaxed face. “Nah. You’re too polite for that, aren’t you? You’ll probably act like a perfect gentleman. Set most of the noblemen to shame with your manners and big words.”
Castiel sighs in his sleep, a wing twitching above him. His fist curls on the blanket.
Dean only looks at the other man. His hairs stand on end, and his eyes begin to burn when a swell of emotion bubbles to the surface. “You’ll be great ruler one day, Cas. You and me. We’re gonna be great.”
Pine trees sway in the soft breeze, and Dean takes in the welcoming scent, filling his lungs with the crisp morning air. There is more to the situation and the future, so much more, and he’s willing to fight for it; Dean is willing and far more than ready to fight for it. “You’d probably call me an idiot for this,” he says with a fond laugh.
Leaning over, he presses a light kiss to Castiel’s temple, and gets to his feet.
It’s still early, most of the Nephilim are probably just getting into bed, and Dean takes it as his cue. He doesn’t need an armor for what he’s about to do, because it will either make him, or break him. There is no in-between, no maybes or somewhats. He’ll either ride out of Rod’im’s gates victorious, with a proud Castiel by his side, or die at it. “But I’m not dying on you, you hear? We’re gonna get through this in one piece.”
With one last look at the endless lake, the rolling mountains and colorful flowers, the stone bridge and the sanctuary it all offers, Dean walks back towards the city limits. “We’re gonna get through this, Cas. Winchesters always keep their promises.”
Chapter Continued Here