[FIC] Calamity Falls for dauntperplexity
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: Calamity Falls
Author: verizonhorizon
Recipient: dauntperplexity
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4891
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: The holiday forecast for Castiel? Impending doom! But despite mishap after mishap, he’s not dying on Dean’s watch. In fact, Dean can’t seem to stop watching Cas, or touching Cas, or taking care of Cas…and hey, is that mistletoe? No, it’s just the fever talking.
“I know, I know. You’re an angel. I’m an ass. Yada yada.” Crowley waved his hand in the air. “Anyway, pumpkin cheeks,”
Castiel touched his face, frowning.
“As the Fates have written, you’re going to die. Ding dong dead. No more Cas.”
“Bullshit,” Dean spat from Castiel’s side.
Crowley tutted. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news during the holiday season…oh, wait. No, I’m not. I’m actually quite gleeful to have put that brokenhearted look on your face.”
Castiel instantly stole a look. Did Dean really look brokenhearted?
But Dean’s face was just a glower. “You’re no prophet.”
Crowley circled them slowly, and both Castiel and Dean kept their eyes trained on him. “I’m not a prophet, no, but I know people. You know I know people. You know I know people who know things.”
“Stop talking in riddles!” Castiel growled, feeling an urge to punch the slippery-tongued demon.
Dean threw him an odd glance before agreeing. “Uh, yeah. Just…tell us what you know or--”
“Or see myself out, hm? Maybe you should see yourself out, and put you both out of your misery.”
“Come out what?”
Castiel had enough. Marshalling his grace, he grabbed Dean by the elbow and whisked them away before even deciding on a destination.
Dean stumbled as they landed, but Castiel steadied him. “What the hell, Cas? We were getting somewhere!”
“No, we weren’t,” Castiel disagreed, dusting off his trench coat. “You and I know from experience he can’t be trusted.”
Dean’s anger deflated. His aggressive stance melted into one of mild interest in their surroundings. Castiel had flown them to an evergreen forest in New England he had always been fond of. It was night, and they were far from modern civilization. The only light was the full moon overhead. The sounds of the forest were loud, especially the crickets, but Castiel found the environment peaceful.
Dean looked up at the moon, and his skin seemed to glow in the light’s reflection, drawing Castiel like a beacon. Dean’s eyes slid to Castiel. “Don’t you want…” he started softly, then cleared his throat and asked in his usual deep, booming voice, “Don’t you think you should be more concerned about this?”
“Hm?”
“Crowley’s death sentence. It should bother you.”
“It bothers you,” Castiel surmised.
“You’re damn right it does! And it should bother you!”
Castiel shrugged. “What happens, happens. I refuse to spend my suddenly mortal life seeking immortality.”
“Don’t give me that zen shit. And you’re not completely human. Not yet. We flew here. You’re still mostly angel.”
“I’m mostly human,” Castiel countered, flexing his fist.
“Most of us can’t fly, Peter Pan.”
Castiel’s eyes lit up. “But I do want to grow up, Dean.”
Dean laughed because Castiel had gotten the reference. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, and he clenched his stomach through his hearty laughs. His display made Castiel feel warm all over. Dean recovered and said, “That was good, Cas. Nicely done.”
“Really?” Because Castiel couldn’t help but look to Dean for validation, for appreciation, for…something. But whatever he was looking for, he didn’t quite see it in Dean’s eyes, though merriment was there.
“Yes,” Dean affirmed, still grinning. “Though I think you qualify as a grownup, even in terms of human experience. For being new at this, you’ve been through a lot of shit.”
“As have you,” Castiel pointed out.
Dean sobered. “Yeah, we both have.”
“And much of it we’ve been through together,” Castiel pressed. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to him that Dean see their journeys not just as parallel but as one, as experiences they battled together. That was how Castiel saw it, and he wanted Dean to see it that way, too. “Team Free Will.”
Dean looked up, surprised. “You remember that? I thought you were passed out.”
Castiel drew himself in haughtily. “I was merely weakened.”
“Right. Not passed out. Not at all. You were just so weak that I had to carry you to bed!”
“In the honeymoon suite,” Castiel recalled. “Was there any significance to that choice of room?”
Dean’s face scrunched, and he groaned aloud. “Of course not.”
“Of course,” Castiel echoed hollowly. “We had better get back to the hotel. Sam must be frantic.”
“Frantic? Really? Okay, let’s power you up and jet on Angel Airline-WATCH OUT!”
Castiel heard a snap-crack as loud as thunder and rustling branches before looking up to see one of the giant coniferous trees looming closer and closer to him. “Oh!” He shook his wings, prepared to fly himself out of the way, it’d be faster, but apparently he was powering up even slower than he’d anticipated. More annoyed than anything else, he opted for picking up one foot then the other and making a dash for it, even as the enormous tree was falling towards him.
“CAS!”
Dean crashed into him before the tree did, tackling him in a move that would have earned his team several yards on the football field, as Dean had explained during an evening ‘sports night’. Dean knocked the breath out of him, and he thudded to the soft forest floor with Dean’s limbs still wrapped around him. The tree landed too, but they’d escaped far enough that only the lighter, outer branches landed on top of them.
A few seconds passed in silence before they began to crawl out. Castiel surveyed Dean and saw he was covered in twigs, dirt, and pine needles. There was a scratch on his cheek, and Castiel instantly reached out to heal it.
Dean caught his wrist. “Hey, are you alri--”
Castile’s grace infused Dean’s cheek with warmth and health, interrupting Dean’s talking.
“Yeah, well, there are scratches all over,” Dean complained childishly, and Castiel sighed, strengthening the channeling of his grace. Dean shut up, and Castiel was reluctant to end the connection even when Dean must surely have been healed of every minor abrasion on his body.
“So how come your power didn’t work to save you from the evil Christmas tree, but it worked to heal me?” Dean asked, and the tone held an accusation.
“I don’t know,” Castiel replied.
“Well, why do you think that tree fell on you?”
“I don’t think the tree had malicious intent,” Cas answered, amused.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a bit more than a coincidence that immediately after a demon tells you your life is in danger a tree just about crushes you to death as it randomly falls right where you’re standing?”
“No?”
Dean made a strained sound. “So do we have to walk somewhere or are you fully charged?”
“I may never be fully charged again. Ever.”
“Don’t get your feathers in a twist. You don’t know that for sure. Try to lighten up. I just saved your life. Your tombstone could have read ‘Here lies Castiel, Angel of the Lord, squashed by a Christmas tree’. It’s almost ironic. Anyway, I rescued you.”
“And I healed you for your troubles.”
“Great, so we’re even or something. Let’s go.” And Dean promptly clenched his fists and made a pinched face in preparation.
“Try to lighten up, Dean,” Castiel teased, linking their elbows. “It’s just a short flight.”
“Hey, Cas. You know the saying: if a tree falls in the woods…”
They flew.
****
The tree falling on Castiel was just the start.
“I can’t believe that guy just threw his cigarette on the leaves like that!” Dean exclaimed, banging his fist on the diner table where he sat across from Sam and Castiel. “And you were standing right there! You caught on fire!”
“My feet,” Castiel specified. “My feet and pants leg caught on fire.”
“But seriously. Who does that?!”
Sam put his mug of coffee down. “Calm down, Smokey Bear. He’s fine.”
Dean pushed his plate of waffles away.
“You’re not going to eat those?” Sam asked. “Are you ill? Are you dying?”
Dean grunted. “I’m not.” He pushed his chin towards Castiel. “He might.”
Sam took another sip of his coffee, and Castiel pulled Dean’s plate over to himself. “I like waffles,” he announced, stuffing a forkful in his mouth. Only, he must have taken too big of a bite and swallowed too quickly, because he suddenly couldn’t breathe. He made a strained sound and tried to cough, but he couldn’t. He squirmed in the booth and pawed at his throat.
“Shit! Cas!”
Dean clambered over the table, knocking Sam aside, and Castiel saw black spots cloud his vision even as he felt Dean’s arms come around him. And then he was getting punched him in the stomach.
He gasped, and the ability to breathe was miraculously his once again. Woozily, he sagged into the hands that were holding him up. “Dean, I am glad to have finally received a hug from you, but you hug too hard.”
Castiel opened his eyes and saw a dumbstruck look on Dean’s face. Sam couldn’t seem to stop laughing, and Dean threatened to do the Heimlich on him, too.
****
After three more perfectly normal hunter-related incidents in the span of two days - one involving a barrel of monkeys and a screwdriver - Castiel went to talk to Sam.
“Dean has been rather…fatalistic lately. We know Crowley was just - how did you put it? - messing with our heads.”
Sam snorted. “Dean latched onto that because, really, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Cas tilted his head, confused.
“He’s seeing the glass half empty?”
Cas blinked.
“He’s Mr. Doom and Gloom instead of Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows?”
“Mr. Rainbow?” Castiel couldn’t picture Dean as a rainbow, but he furrowed his brow as he tried.
“Look,” Sam said, his voice going into teaching mode. “He lost you, and he got you back. Then he lost you and got you back. And he lost you and got you back! He thinks it’s a cycle. He can’t believe you’re here to stay, that nothing else is going to happen.”
“Nothing is happening,” Castiel murmured, looking down at himself. His hands only had the faintest glimmer of the power of host running through them. Mostly, he was just saw a man in a trench coat.
Sam slapped him on the back, giving a little push as he did so. “So tell him that!”
****
“So you’re a prophet now?” was Dean’s worried response to Castiel intended-to-be-reassuring statement. Dean stretched out his hand and rested his palm on Castiel’s forehead.
Castiel meant to shake his head, but he didn’t want to disrupt the pleasant touch.
“Are you getting visions? Does your head hurt?” Dean’s fingers pressed in on Castiel’s temples, thoughtful eyes searching for clues.
“No, Dean,” Cas answered emphatically, taking Dean’s hand down with his own and holding on longer than necessary before letting go. “I’m not having prophetic visions.” And, he thought to himself, my only headache right now is you!
Dean appeared relieved, but the tension he always carried in his shoulders didn’t ease. “So something could happen.”
Castiel sighed dejectedly, realizing he’d lost this round. “I suppose, Dean.”
“I knew it.” But there was no hint of smugness in his tone.
****
Castiel’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He saw the name flash across the screen and answered, “Where are you?”
“Kirksville,” Sam replied, sounding breathless. “King’s Court Cemetery. We split up. Dean might be outnumbered. Can you…?”
“I’m coming now.”
Castiel immediately flew to the site, materializing behind a large headstone. He heard gunshots and Dean’s shouts. He unsheathed his blade and jumped out from the shadows.
BOOM!
A gunshot rang out.
Castiel’s shoulder burst into pain.
He looked up to see Dean staring at him in horror over the barrel of his gun. “CAS!”
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, though his speech was slurred. He touched his shoulder, and his hand came away drenched red. And then everything went black.
****
Castiel regained consciousness to the sound of arguing Winchesters.
“A text?! A text, Sammy?! You couldn’t have called to say Cas was coming?!”
“I didn’t know you’d accidentally shoot him on sight!”
“The place was crawling with baddies. They kept appearing like the moles in that pop-em game, and I was shooting them. I thought he was one of them!”
Castiel sat up carefully. He was in a hotel bed. He winced when he moved his left arm. He looked down to see his shoulder wrapped in gauze and bandages. “Ow,” he said, the best way he could think to describe the odd and discomforting sensation.
“Cas, you’re awake!”
“Have you healed yet?”
“Does it hurt?”
“Sorry I only texted Dean.”
“Sorry I shot you.”
“Um,” Castiel started, helplessly staring up at the two brothers hovering over him.
“I shot him stupid,” Dean grumbled.
“Nah, he’s probably just dazed. I don’t think he’s ever been shot without the bullets bouncing right off him.”
Castiel was about to tell them that he’d be fine, that he could still heal on his own…eventually, but he bit his lip. Instead he stared at Dean until Dean sat down next to him on the bed. Dean’s hand was resting on Castiel’s. No, it wasn’t just resting there. It was holding his. Dean was holding his hand. “I think I have a fever,” Castiel said. “I’m delusional.”
Dean and Sam exchanged concerned looks, and Castiel let his head droop onto Dean’s shoulder. He wasn’t pushed off. Definitely delusional.
Sam stepped towards the door. “I’ll just…”
“Get him painkillers?” Dean filled in. Then, his hand tightened around Castiel’s, as if he’d remembered something distressing. “Wait, no painkillers.”
“But Dean--”
“No pills!”
“I’ll be back.”
“M’kay.”
Castiel kept his eyes shut and his mouth shut, just letting himself be held. Because that’s what Dean was doing. He was holding Castiel. That was…new. At the sound of the door shutting, signaling Sam had left, Dean scooted over even closer, rearranging them so that Castiel was leaning against him rather than against the pillows. Dean made a nice pillow. Cas told him so aloud.
Dean chuckled, and the rumbling of his chest reverberated agreeably.
It was strange to feel so vulnerable, and even stranger to be letting it show. But unlike previous times when Cas had been weak in front of Dean, this time Dean wasn’t dishing out snarky insults. He was taking care of Castiel. And that was nice. Maybe Cas could speed up the healing process or censor himself, but he didn’t need to, and that was very nice indeed.
“Dean.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Dean froze, body going rigid as he started to unwind himself from Castiel. “Sorry, wasn’t trying to hold you down or anything…”
“No! No. That’s not what I meant.” Castiel twisted around, pinning Dean beneath him in a totally new and spectacular position, and thought about how to clarify himself. But he couldn’t come up with anything. Sam said Dean was overreacting to all the near-death mishaps because he didn’t want to lose him. And Castiel didn’t know how to tell Dean that no power in Heaven or Hell could separate them as long as Castiel could help it. He blinked and looked down the end of his nose, realizing just how close they were in this position.
“Cas, what are you--”
He leaned in and closed his eyes.
Kissing Dean was like leaping off a cliff with his wings tied behind his back. Exhilarating and scary.
Getting kissed back by Dean was like landing. Grounded, centered, home.
Their lips parted with a soft plop and a small “oh” from Dean.
“That’s what I meant,” Castiel said at last. His stomach was flip-flopping, and his heart was thundering in his chest so loud that Dean could surely hear it.
Dean was staring at him with dark eyes. He tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Cas, I--”
But the moment he shifted and gripped Castiel’s wounded shoulder, Castiel gasped in pain. “Ah!”
Dean pulled back as if he’d been burned and stood up, while Castiel curled in on himself, cradling his arm. When he looked up, Dean appeared torn between coming closer and staying away.
“I’m sorry!” Dean blurted out.
For which part? Castiel wondered.
“I have to…go,” Dean said, retreating.
Cas frowned and stood up shakily. “Dean, don’t go, we have to talk--”
“Just rest,” Dean insisted. “We’ll talk later.”
“But Dean!”
Dean opened the door and looked at Castiel over his shoulder. Gruffly, he offered, “I’ll be back.”
“Terminator,” Castiel murmured.
Dean’s lips quirked up, but then he was gone. And Castiel was alone. And he was uncomfortable, emotionally and physically. He wished Sam had gotten those pills for him after all.
****
Castiel was panting cold puffs of air as he chased the possessed Santa across the snow-covered field. Castiel’s side hurt from where the creature had stabbed him, but it had just been a regular blade and he was healing better from it than from the gunshot wound. He knew he could stop him if he could just catch up with him, and he knew Dean and Sam weren’t far behind. It wasn’t going to be his fault that they lost the trail, not after spending all week investigating mall Santas. Castiel had learned that he didn’t like malls, with their crowds and glitter, and he certainly didn’t like it during the holiday rush. If he caught this rogue Santa now, he wouldn’t have to step foot in a mall again any time soon.
He grimaced as he saw a red blur moving onto the frozen lake ahead. The creature was desperate. So was Castiel. He pursued, stepping onto the icy sheet. He almost lost his balance right then, but he figured out he could travel quickly if he moved his feet back and forth like skating.
The creature, on the other hand, had not figured that out and was merely stepping along, and soon enough Castiel caught up with him. Careful of the ice but wanting to take him down, Castiel drew out his own knife and tried to stab the creature through the red and white Santa suit. He hoped they didn’t have an audience, as the situation would rather hard to explain without the fake FBI badge Dean had given him.
They were silent in their scuffle, save for the grunts and hisses of their efforts to take the other down. But finally, Castiel knocked the creature’s knife out of his hands and landed a punishing blow. The creature shrieked and fell. Castiel held his balance, but he heard the sickening crunch of ice as the creature hit the frozen lake hard - hard enough to crack the surface. Uh-oh. Beneath his feet, the ice split and gave way. Very uh-oh.
Castiel shuffled backwards away from the crack in the ice, but he didn’t make it. The crack spread quickly, and before he knew it, Castiel was plunged into the icy water.
Freezing cold, Castiel flapped his otherworldly wings.
Nothing happened.
Swimming it was, then.
But where had the surface gone? All Castiel could feel when he pushed up was hard ice. Ice above, icy water around him. He was trapped. He banged up on the icy barrier, hoping his grace-infused lungs would hold out long enough for him to batter his way to freedom. But although his breath could be held longer than the average human, it was cold. Bitterly, terribly cold. And Castiel’s limbs were starting to freeze.
He thought about Dean. He thought about how they still hadn’t talked about the kiss. And they hadn’t repeated it either. Maybe they would never get the chance to do so. Maybe he’d kissed Dean for the first and last time.
Dean, he thought as his body began to freeze, I love you. That’s what I wanted to say.
His eyes were tired, so he closed them.
He floated.
“CASTIEL, WHERE ARE YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“CAS!”
“OH SHIT, OH SHIT!”
“CAS!”
****
So I did go to Heaven, Castiel concluded as awareness came back to him. He must have died and gone back to his brothers and sisters, because Dean’s mouth was fixed on his and not moving away. Air filled his lungs in time with Dean’s kisses, in and out, and Castiel started to respond in kind. He wanted to continue enjoying the experience but felt a sudden need to breathe on his own. He spluttered and blinked wetly, Dean’s reddened, puffy face filling his vision.
“Dean. Are you doing CPR or kissing me?”
Dean paused. “Both?”
“Okay.”
And their mouths crashed together again, and Castiel didn’t mind that he was soaked through and freezing, because he was still alive and Dean was there, kissing him.
Dean cradled Castiel’s head, angling his chin for more toe-curling licks of tongue and teeth and cheek - except that Castiel’s toes weren’t curling. He couldn’t feel them, in fact. And as eager as he was to meet the delicious swipes of Dean’s tongue, his own was uncoordinated and not responding as he wanted. He shivered, and Dean pried their mouths apart and brushed damp locks of hair off Castiel’s face. “You stupid, brave, bastard!” Dean whispered fiercely.
“Sorry?” Castiel offered.
Dean rubbed their cheeks together. “I hate you.”
“If that’s true, I must really misunderstand human interaction,” Castiel observed.
“Shut it, you,” Dean ordered gruffly but affectionately as he wrapped something soft around Castiel. Something red…
“Am I in a Santa Claus suit?”
Dean didn’t answer, but he put something fluffy on Castiel’s head.
“Dean, am I in a Santa suit?”
Dean’s head turned, and Castiel saw Sam and an officer he didn’t recognize approaching from the distance.
“Dean?”
Dean leaned in and whispered in Castiel’s ear, “Yes, and soon you’ll be in your birthday suit, getting warm in my bed.”
“Okay, Dean,” Castiel agreed, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to but liking the part about being in Dean’s bed.
****
Castiel felt fantastic.
He was warm, embraced, and probably - hopefully - loved.
He lay in a large hotel bed, naked under the sheets with Dean while a morning snow fell outside their window.
Castiel wiggled his toes, feeling them brush up against Dean’s. He wiggled his ass, too, and Dean’s hand came up to lay on his hip.
“Good morning, Dean.”
Dean muttered something similar, but it was muffled because his lips were pressed to Castiel’s neck and making a path up along his jaw to his lips.
Castiel arched to get as much of their skin touching as possible, because every point of contact was spark of pleasure, and this time when they kissed, his tongue could lick into Dean’s mouth in a way that made them both moan.
But Castiel pulled back enough to ask, “Should we talk?”, then bit his lip as he heard how wrecked his voice already was.
Dean’s hands came up to frame Castiel’s face. “Not much to say ‘cept I’m an idiot, and I love you.” He added, softer, “Be with me.”
“You’re-That’s-“ And despite not knowing exactly when or how Dean had realized he loved Castiel, Castiel knew the answer to Dean’s implied question. “Yes, of course!”
Dean laughed and pressed a hand over Castiel’s heart. “I ask an angel of the Lord to be mine and he says of course.”
Castiel felt his mouth shift into a smile. “You didn’t ask just any angel. You asked me. And I’m already yours.”
Dean groaned and buried his hands in Castiel’s hair, tugging him close for a brutal kiss, which quickly turned into a series of drawn-out, passion-filled kisses that made Castiel forget everything other than the way Dean made him feel. And he felt giddy, needy, and spoiled all at the same time, desire coiled low in his belly.
He thrust his growing hardness forward blindly, and Dean’s hand was there, a sweaty, tight fist that made Castiel cry out at how good it was.
Wanting to feel Dean too, wanting to touch him, he arched backwards and dug his fingers into Dean’s ass, pulling him flush against his own backside, where Dean’s wet-tipped cock slid between his cheeks.
“Casss,” Dean hissed, shoving forward involuntarily, closer to the heat.
“Dean. I want you to…I want you.” He pushed his knee forward, spreading himself wider.
Dean followed, arms wrapping slick around Castiel. “Fuck, I know, Cas, I know, I’ve known, and I--”
“Show me,” Castiel insisted. “You’ve been saving my ass all month, now do something with it.”
“God!” Dean yelped, leaping off the bed and fumbling in his bag. “You can’t just say shit like that!”
Abuzz with lust, Cas stretched out and eyed Dean’s bent over form as he grabbed condoms and lube and tossed them onto the bed. Castiel peered at the strewn packages, picking one at random. “Glow-in-the-dark? Is that good? I don’t think green is a natural hue for genitalia.”
“It works for Spock,” Dean muttered, but he snatched it away from Cas and picked a different one. “Now, just--”
But the angle was perfect for Castiel to examine Dean’s fully erect cock and, distracted, he drew he finger along the vein running up the underside. Dean’s whole body twitched in response, and Castiel felt himself grow harder in turn. “Dean,” he breathed reverently, remembering how he’d built this body from scratch, touched every part, but had never been able to appreciate it quite so viscerally as he was now. One finger became three, and then he was exploring the sensitive tip and-
“If you keep doing that you’ll have stay a virgin a while longer.”
Castiel stopped immediately, and their eyes met. As if on cue, they came together again, grabbing and sucking and feeling every inch of flesh between them. It wasn’t long before they were similarly arranged to where they’d started, Castiel flexing back and Dean pressing forward. Achingly slow, Dean stretched Castiel open with his fingers, Castiel’s face smashed into a pillow to stop himself from whimpering. He hadn’t realized it would feel this way, hadn’t realized he would feel it this intensely. Angels weren’t wired for it. Castiel was now, very much so, he was so, so ready... “Dean, come on.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed roughly. “Yeah.”
Dean’s cock pushed into Castiel with such agonizing, measured care that Castiel found himself shoving backwards, wanting Dean in him all the way up to the hilt. “Dean!”
“Shit, Cas, baby, love you, want you,” Dean rambled, holding himself still with impressive restraint while Castiel adjusted.
Castiel didn’t want restraint and didn’t need it. “I’m an angel, Dean, fuck me!”
Dean gasped harshly and started to move, out and back in, faster and faster. Between thrusts, he whispered, “You being an. Angel doesn’t exactly. Make me. Want to. Fuck you harder.” His fingers dug into Castiel’s hips strong enough to bruise.
“It should,” Castiel advised him blissfully. “We’re terrifying creatures.”
“Yeah,” Dean grinned into the back of Castile’s neck. “You’re fucking terrifying.”
“Up, up,” Castiel demanded, wriggling, which had the counter-effect of making Dean grind him right into the mattress.
But Dean caught on, and they separated just long enough for Dean to sit against the headboard, Castiel straddling him. They kissed deeply as Castiel impaled himself on Dean’s cock. Castiel rocked up and down, small twists of his hips that made his eyes roll back in his head. Dean encouraged him, balanced him, whispering filthy, beautiful things about him.
It was better than Castiel had imagined and more pleasure than his body and heart could take, Dean and him entwined, carnally joined, doing what people in love do. He felt himself straining towards climax, and he didn’t fight it. He rode it as he rode Dean, hurtling forward, and he came at last with Dean’s name ecstatically praised from his lips, “Dean!”
Everything burst into brightness, like the heralding of an archangel.
…
“Cas?”
“Mm-hm?” Castiel felt too satiated to talk.
“Awesome.”
Castiel nuzzled Dean’s chest, licking lazily at the anti-possession tattoo. “What.”
“I think you passed out.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Castiel demurred, moving his hands down his body in curious perusal of the aftereffects of sex.
Dean laughed smugly, so Castiel shifted his gentle exploration from himself to Dean, who’s breath hitched, cutting off his snickers.
“I suppose,” Castiel mused, “You could try to prove it to me by doing it again.”
“Oh yes, we’ll do this again,” Dean said, a promise in his voice. “And, uh, this is, for me, it’s--”
Castiel rolled onto his side so their eyes could meet.
Dean’s voice was earnest as he said, “You’re not a one-night gig. I know it might seem sudden, but that’s how it hit me, and--”
Castiel stopped him with a kiss. “I know.” He kissed again. “I know.” He kissed him yet again for good measure. “I’m yours, Dean Winchester, but you’re also mine.”
Dean’s eyes brightened, and the tension he always carried dissolved into joy. “And a happy new year.”
Title: Calamity Falls
Author: verizonhorizon
Recipient: dauntperplexity
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4891
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: The holiday forecast for Castiel? Impending doom! But despite mishap after mishap, he’s not dying on Dean’s watch. In fact, Dean can’t seem to stop watching Cas, or touching Cas, or taking care of Cas…and hey, is that mistletoe? No, it’s just the fever talking.
“I know, I know. You’re an angel. I’m an ass. Yada yada.” Crowley waved his hand in the air. “Anyway, pumpkin cheeks,”
Castiel touched his face, frowning.
“As the Fates have written, you’re going to die. Ding dong dead. No more Cas.”
“Bullshit,” Dean spat from Castiel’s side.
Crowley tutted. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news during the holiday season…oh, wait. No, I’m not. I’m actually quite gleeful to have put that brokenhearted look on your face.”
Castiel instantly stole a look. Did Dean really look brokenhearted?
But Dean’s face was just a glower. “You’re no prophet.”
Crowley circled them slowly, and both Castiel and Dean kept their eyes trained on him. “I’m not a prophet, no, but I know people. You know I know people. You know I know people who know things.”
“Stop talking in riddles!” Castiel growled, feeling an urge to punch the slippery-tongued demon.
Dean threw him an odd glance before agreeing. “Uh, yeah. Just…tell us what you know or--”
“Or see myself out, hm? Maybe you should see yourself out, and put you both out of your misery.”
“Come out what?”
Castiel had enough. Marshalling his grace, he grabbed Dean by the elbow and whisked them away before even deciding on a destination.
Dean stumbled as they landed, but Castiel steadied him. “What the hell, Cas? We were getting somewhere!”
“No, we weren’t,” Castiel disagreed, dusting off his trench coat. “You and I know from experience he can’t be trusted.”
Dean’s anger deflated. His aggressive stance melted into one of mild interest in their surroundings. Castiel had flown them to an evergreen forest in New England he had always been fond of. It was night, and they were far from modern civilization. The only light was the full moon overhead. The sounds of the forest were loud, especially the crickets, but Castiel found the environment peaceful.
Dean looked up at the moon, and his skin seemed to glow in the light’s reflection, drawing Castiel like a beacon. Dean’s eyes slid to Castiel. “Don’t you want…” he started softly, then cleared his throat and asked in his usual deep, booming voice, “Don’t you think you should be more concerned about this?”
“Hm?”
“Crowley’s death sentence. It should bother you.”
“It bothers you,” Castiel surmised.
“You’re damn right it does! And it should bother you!”
Castiel shrugged. “What happens, happens. I refuse to spend my suddenly mortal life seeking immortality.”
“Don’t give me that zen shit. And you’re not completely human. Not yet. We flew here. You’re still mostly angel.”
“I’m mostly human,” Castiel countered, flexing his fist.
“Most of us can’t fly, Peter Pan.”
Castiel’s eyes lit up. “But I do want to grow up, Dean.”
Dean laughed because Castiel had gotten the reference. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, and he clenched his stomach through his hearty laughs. His display made Castiel feel warm all over. Dean recovered and said, “That was good, Cas. Nicely done.”
“Really?” Because Castiel couldn’t help but look to Dean for validation, for appreciation, for…something. But whatever he was looking for, he didn’t quite see it in Dean’s eyes, though merriment was there.
“Yes,” Dean affirmed, still grinning. “Though I think you qualify as a grownup, even in terms of human experience. For being new at this, you’ve been through a lot of shit.”
“As have you,” Castiel pointed out.
Dean sobered. “Yeah, we both have.”
“And much of it we’ve been through together,” Castiel pressed. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to him that Dean see their journeys not just as parallel but as one, as experiences they battled together. That was how Castiel saw it, and he wanted Dean to see it that way, too. “Team Free Will.”
Dean looked up, surprised. “You remember that? I thought you were passed out.”
Castiel drew himself in haughtily. “I was merely weakened.”
“Right. Not passed out. Not at all. You were just so weak that I had to carry you to bed!”
“In the honeymoon suite,” Castiel recalled. “Was there any significance to that choice of room?”
Dean’s face scrunched, and he groaned aloud. “Of course not.”
“Of course,” Castiel echoed hollowly. “We had better get back to the hotel. Sam must be frantic.”
“Frantic? Really? Okay, let’s power you up and jet on Angel Airline-WATCH OUT!”
Castiel heard a snap-crack as loud as thunder and rustling branches before looking up to see one of the giant coniferous trees looming closer and closer to him. “Oh!” He shook his wings, prepared to fly himself out of the way, it’d be faster, but apparently he was powering up even slower than he’d anticipated. More annoyed than anything else, he opted for picking up one foot then the other and making a dash for it, even as the enormous tree was falling towards him.
“CAS!”
Dean crashed into him before the tree did, tackling him in a move that would have earned his team several yards on the football field, as Dean had explained during an evening ‘sports night’. Dean knocked the breath out of him, and he thudded to the soft forest floor with Dean’s limbs still wrapped around him. The tree landed too, but they’d escaped far enough that only the lighter, outer branches landed on top of them.
A few seconds passed in silence before they began to crawl out. Castiel surveyed Dean and saw he was covered in twigs, dirt, and pine needles. There was a scratch on his cheek, and Castiel instantly reached out to heal it.
Dean caught his wrist. “Hey, are you alri--”
Castile’s grace infused Dean’s cheek with warmth and health, interrupting Dean’s talking.
“Yeah, well, there are scratches all over,” Dean complained childishly, and Castiel sighed, strengthening the channeling of his grace. Dean shut up, and Castiel was reluctant to end the connection even when Dean must surely have been healed of every minor abrasion on his body.
“So how come your power didn’t work to save you from the evil Christmas tree, but it worked to heal me?” Dean asked, and the tone held an accusation.
“I don’t know,” Castiel replied.
“Well, why do you think that tree fell on you?”
“I don’t think the tree had malicious intent,” Cas answered, amused.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a bit more than a coincidence that immediately after a demon tells you your life is in danger a tree just about crushes you to death as it randomly falls right where you’re standing?”
“No?”
Dean made a strained sound. “So do we have to walk somewhere or are you fully charged?”
“I may never be fully charged again. Ever.”
“Don’t get your feathers in a twist. You don’t know that for sure. Try to lighten up. I just saved your life. Your tombstone could have read ‘Here lies Castiel, Angel of the Lord, squashed by a Christmas tree’. It’s almost ironic. Anyway, I rescued you.”
“And I healed you for your troubles.”
“Great, so we’re even or something. Let’s go.” And Dean promptly clenched his fists and made a pinched face in preparation.
“Try to lighten up, Dean,” Castiel teased, linking their elbows. “It’s just a short flight.”
“Hey, Cas. You know the saying: if a tree falls in the woods…”
They flew.
****
The tree falling on Castiel was just the start.
“I can’t believe that guy just threw his cigarette on the leaves like that!” Dean exclaimed, banging his fist on the diner table where he sat across from Sam and Castiel. “And you were standing right there! You caught on fire!”
“My feet,” Castiel specified. “My feet and pants leg caught on fire.”
“But seriously. Who does that?!”
Sam put his mug of coffee down. “Calm down, Smokey Bear. He’s fine.”
Dean pushed his plate of waffles away.
“You’re not going to eat those?” Sam asked. “Are you ill? Are you dying?”
Dean grunted. “I’m not.” He pushed his chin towards Castiel. “He might.”
Sam took another sip of his coffee, and Castiel pulled Dean’s plate over to himself. “I like waffles,” he announced, stuffing a forkful in his mouth. Only, he must have taken too big of a bite and swallowed too quickly, because he suddenly couldn’t breathe. He made a strained sound and tried to cough, but he couldn’t. He squirmed in the booth and pawed at his throat.
“Shit! Cas!”
Dean clambered over the table, knocking Sam aside, and Castiel saw black spots cloud his vision even as he felt Dean’s arms come around him. And then he was getting punched him in the stomach.
He gasped, and the ability to breathe was miraculously his once again. Woozily, he sagged into the hands that were holding him up. “Dean, I am glad to have finally received a hug from you, but you hug too hard.”
Castiel opened his eyes and saw a dumbstruck look on Dean’s face. Sam couldn’t seem to stop laughing, and Dean threatened to do the Heimlich on him, too.
****
After three more perfectly normal hunter-related incidents in the span of two days - one involving a barrel of monkeys and a screwdriver - Castiel went to talk to Sam.
“Dean has been rather…fatalistic lately. We know Crowley was just - how did you put it? - messing with our heads.”
Sam snorted. “Dean latched onto that because, really, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Cas tilted his head, confused.
“He’s seeing the glass half empty?”
Cas blinked.
“He’s Mr. Doom and Gloom instead of Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows?”
“Mr. Rainbow?” Castiel couldn’t picture Dean as a rainbow, but he furrowed his brow as he tried.
“Look,” Sam said, his voice going into teaching mode. “He lost you, and he got you back. Then he lost you and got you back. And he lost you and got you back! He thinks it’s a cycle. He can’t believe you’re here to stay, that nothing else is going to happen.”
“Nothing is happening,” Castiel murmured, looking down at himself. His hands only had the faintest glimmer of the power of host running through them. Mostly, he was just saw a man in a trench coat.
Sam slapped him on the back, giving a little push as he did so. “So tell him that!”
****
“So you’re a prophet now?” was Dean’s worried response to Castiel intended-to-be-reassuring statement. Dean stretched out his hand and rested his palm on Castiel’s forehead.
Castiel meant to shake his head, but he didn’t want to disrupt the pleasant touch.
“Are you getting visions? Does your head hurt?” Dean’s fingers pressed in on Castiel’s temples, thoughtful eyes searching for clues.
“No, Dean,” Cas answered emphatically, taking Dean’s hand down with his own and holding on longer than necessary before letting go. “I’m not having prophetic visions.” And, he thought to himself, my only headache right now is you!
Dean appeared relieved, but the tension he always carried in his shoulders didn’t ease. “So something could happen.”
Castiel sighed dejectedly, realizing he’d lost this round. “I suppose, Dean.”
“I knew it.” But there was no hint of smugness in his tone.
****
Castiel’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He saw the name flash across the screen and answered, “Where are you?”
“Kirksville,” Sam replied, sounding breathless. “King’s Court Cemetery. We split up. Dean might be outnumbered. Can you…?”
“I’m coming now.”
Castiel immediately flew to the site, materializing behind a large headstone. He heard gunshots and Dean’s shouts. He unsheathed his blade and jumped out from the shadows.
BOOM!
A gunshot rang out.
Castiel’s shoulder burst into pain.
He looked up to see Dean staring at him in horror over the barrel of his gun. “CAS!”
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, though his speech was slurred. He touched his shoulder, and his hand came away drenched red. And then everything went black.
****
Castiel regained consciousness to the sound of arguing Winchesters.
“A text?! A text, Sammy?! You couldn’t have called to say Cas was coming?!”
“I didn’t know you’d accidentally shoot him on sight!”
“The place was crawling with baddies. They kept appearing like the moles in that pop-em game, and I was shooting them. I thought he was one of them!”
Castiel sat up carefully. He was in a hotel bed. He winced when he moved his left arm. He looked down to see his shoulder wrapped in gauze and bandages. “Ow,” he said, the best way he could think to describe the odd and discomforting sensation.
“Cas, you’re awake!”
“Have you healed yet?”
“Does it hurt?”
“Sorry I only texted Dean.”
“Sorry I shot you.”
“Um,” Castiel started, helplessly staring up at the two brothers hovering over him.
“I shot him stupid,” Dean grumbled.
“Nah, he’s probably just dazed. I don’t think he’s ever been shot without the bullets bouncing right off him.”
Castiel was about to tell them that he’d be fine, that he could still heal on his own…eventually, but he bit his lip. Instead he stared at Dean until Dean sat down next to him on the bed. Dean’s hand was resting on Castiel’s. No, it wasn’t just resting there. It was holding his. Dean was holding his hand. “I think I have a fever,” Castiel said. “I’m delusional.”
Dean and Sam exchanged concerned looks, and Castiel let his head droop onto Dean’s shoulder. He wasn’t pushed off. Definitely delusional.
Sam stepped towards the door. “I’ll just…”
“Get him painkillers?” Dean filled in. Then, his hand tightened around Castiel’s, as if he’d remembered something distressing. “Wait, no painkillers.”
“But Dean--”
“No pills!”
“I’ll be back.”
“M’kay.”
Castiel kept his eyes shut and his mouth shut, just letting himself be held. Because that’s what Dean was doing. He was holding Castiel. That was…new. At the sound of the door shutting, signaling Sam had left, Dean scooted over even closer, rearranging them so that Castiel was leaning against him rather than against the pillows. Dean made a nice pillow. Cas told him so aloud.
Dean chuckled, and the rumbling of his chest reverberated agreeably.
It was strange to feel so vulnerable, and even stranger to be letting it show. But unlike previous times when Cas had been weak in front of Dean, this time Dean wasn’t dishing out snarky insults. He was taking care of Castiel. And that was nice. Maybe Cas could speed up the healing process or censor himself, but he didn’t need to, and that was very nice indeed.
“Dean.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Dean froze, body going rigid as he started to unwind himself from Castiel. “Sorry, wasn’t trying to hold you down or anything…”
“No! No. That’s not what I meant.” Castiel twisted around, pinning Dean beneath him in a totally new and spectacular position, and thought about how to clarify himself. But he couldn’t come up with anything. Sam said Dean was overreacting to all the near-death mishaps because he didn’t want to lose him. And Castiel didn’t know how to tell Dean that no power in Heaven or Hell could separate them as long as Castiel could help it. He blinked and looked down the end of his nose, realizing just how close they were in this position.
“Cas, what are you--”
He leaned in and closed his eyes.
Kissing Dean was like leaping off a cliff with his wings tied behind his back. Exhilarating and scary.
Getting kissed back by Dean was like landing. Grounded, centered, home.
Their lips parted with a soft plop and a small “oh” from Dean.
“That’s what I meant,” Castiel said at last. His stomach was flip-flopping, and his heart was thundering in his chest so loud that Dean could surely hear it.
Dean was staring at him with dark eyes. He tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Cas, I--”
But the moment he shifted and gripped Castiel’s wounded shoulder, Castiel gasped in pain. “Ah!”
Dean pulled back as if he’d been burned and stood up, while Castiel curled in on himself, cradling his arm. When he looked up, Dean appeared torn between coming closer and staying away.
“I’m sorry!” Dean blurted out.
For which part? Castiel wondered.
“I have to…go,” Dean said, retreating.
Cas frowned and stood up shakily. “Dean, don’t go, we have to talk--”
“Just rest,” Dean insisted. “We’ll talk later.”
“But Dean!”
Dean opened the door and looked at Castiel over his shoulder. Gruffly, he offered, “I’ll be back.”
“Terminator,” Castiel murmured.
Dean’s lips quirked up, but then he was gone. And Castiel was alone. And he was uncomfortable, emotionally and physically. He wished Sam had gotten those pills for him after all.
****
Castiel was panting cold puffs of air as he chased the possessed Santa across the snow-covered field. Castiel’s side hurt from where the creature had stabbed him, but it had just been a regular blade and he was healing better from it than from the gunshot wound. He knew he could stop him if he could just catch up with him, and he knew Dean and Sam weren’t far behind. It wasn’t going to be his fault that they lost the trail, not after spending all week investigating mall Santas. Castiel had learned that he didn’t like malls, with their crowds and glitter, and he certainly didn’t like it during the holiday rush. If he caught this rogue Santa now, he wouldn’t have to step foot in a mall again any time soon.
He grimaced as he saw a red blur moving onto the frozen lake ahead. The creature was desperate. So was Castiel. He pursued, stepping onto the icy sheet. He almost lost his balance right then, but he figured out he could travel quickly if he moved his feet back and forth like skating.
The creature, on the other hand, had not figured that out and was merely stepping along, and soon enough Castiel caught up with him. Careful of the ice but wanting to take him down, Castiel drew out his own knife and tried to stab the creature through the red and white Santa suit. He hoped they didn’t have an audience, as the situation would rather hard to explain without the fake FBI badge Dean had given him.
They were silent in their scuffle, save for the grunts and hisses of their efforts to take the other down. But finally, Castiel knocked the creature’s knife out of his hands and landed a punishing blow. The creature shrieked and fell. Castiel held his balance, but he heard the sickening crunch of ice as the creature hit the frozen lake hard - hard enough to crack the surface. Uh-oh. Beneath his feet, the ice split and gave way. Very uh-oh.
Castiel shuffled backwards away from the crack in the ice, but he didn’t make it. The crack spread quickly, and before he knew it, Castiel was plunged into the icy water.
Freezing cold, Castiel flapped his otherworldly wings.
Nothing happened.
Swimming it was, then.
But where had the surface gone? All Castiel could feel when he pushed up was hard ice. Ice above, icy water around him. He was trapped. He banged up on the icy barrier, hoping his grace-infused lungs would hold out long enough for him to batter his way to freedom. But although his breath could be held longer than the average human, it was cold. Bitterly, terribly cold. And Castiel’s limbs were starting to freeze.
He thought about Dean. He thought about how they still hadn’t talked about the kiss. And they hadn’t repeated it either. Maybe they would never get the chance to do so. Maybe he’d kissed Dean for the first and last time.
Dean, he thought as his body began to freeze, I love you. That’s what I wanted to say.
His eyes were tired, so he closed them.
He floated.
“CASTIEL, WHERE ARE YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“CAS!”
“OH SHIT, OH SHIT!”
“CAS!”
****
So I did go to Heaven, Castiel concluded as awareness came back to him. He must have died and gone back to his brothers and sisters, because Dean’s mouth was fixed on his and not moving away. Air filled his lungs in time with Dean’s kisses, in and out, and Castiel started to respond in kind. He wanted to continue enjoying the experience but felt a sudden need to breathe on his own. He spluttered and blinked wetly, Dean’s reddened, puffy face filling his vision.
“Dean. Are you doing CPR or kissing me?”
Dean paused. “Both?”
“Okay.”
And their mouths crashed together again, and Castiel didn’t mind that he was soaked through and freezing, because he was still alive and Dean was there, kissing him.
Dean cradled Castiel’s head, angling his chin for more toe-curling licks of tongue and teeth and cheek - except that Castiel’s toes weren’t curling. He couldn’t feel them, in fact. And as eager as he was to meet the delicious swipes of Dean’s tongue, his own was uncoordinated and not responding as he wanted. He shivered, and Dean pried their mouths apart and brushed damp locks of hair off Castiel’s face. “You stupid, brave, bastard!” Dean whispered fiercely.
“Sorry?” Castiel offered.
Dean rubbed their cheeks together. “I hate you.”
“If that’s true, I must really misunderstand human interaction,” Castiel observed.
“Shut it, you,” Dean ordered gruffly but affectionately as he wrapped something soft around Castiel. Something red…
“Am I in a Santa Claus suit?”
Dean didn’t answer, but he put something fluffy on Castiel’s head.
“Dean, am I in a Santa suit?”
Dean’s head turned, and Castiel saw Sam and an officer he didn’t recognize approaching from the distance.
“Dean?”
Dean leaned in and whispered in Castiel’s ear, “Yes, and soon you’ll be in your birthday suit, getting warm in my bed.”
“Okay, Dean,” Castiel agreed, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to but liking the part about being in Dean’s bed.
****
Castiel felt fantastic.
He was warm, embraced, and probably - hopefully - loved.
He lay in a large hotel bed, naked under the sheets with Dean while a morning snow fell outside their window.
Castiel wiggled his toes, feeling them brush up against Dean’s. He wiggled his ass, too, and Dean’s hand came up to lay on his hip.
“Good morning, Dean.”
Dean muttered something similar, but it was muffled because his lips were pressed to Castiel’s neck and making a path up along his jaw to his lips.
Castiel arched to get as much of their skin touching as possible, because every point of contact was spark of pleasure, and this time when they kissed, his tongue could lick into Dean’s mouth in a way that made them both moan.
But Castiel pulled back enough to ask, “Should we talk?”, then bit his lip as he heard how wrecked his voice already was.
Dean’s hands came up to frame Castiel’s face. “Not much to say ‘cept I’m an idiot, and I love you.” He added, softer, “Be with me.”
“You’re-That’s-“ And despite not knowing exactly when or how Dean had realized he loved Castiel, Castiel knew the answer to Dean’s implied question. “Yes, of course!”
Dean laughed and pressed a hand over Castiel’s heart. “I ask an angel of the Lord to be mine and he says of course.”
Castiel felt his mouth shift into a smile. “You didn’t ask just any angel. You asked me. And I’m already yours.”
Dean groaned and buried his hands in Castiel’s hair, tugging him close for a brutal kiss, which quickly turned into a series of drawn-out, passion-filled kisses that made Castiel forget everything other than the way Dean made him feel. And he felt giddy, needy, and spoiled all at the same time, desire coiled low in his belly.
He thrust his growing hardness forward blindly, and Dean’s hand was there, a sweaty, tight fist that made Castiel cry out at how good it was.
Wanting to feel Dean too, wanting to touch him, he arched backwards and dug his fingers into Dean’s ass, pulling him flush against his own backside, where Dean’s wet-tipped cock slid between his cheeks.
“Casss,” Dean hissed, shoving forward involuntarily, closer to the heat.
“Dean. I want you to…I want you.” He pushed his knee forward, spreading himself wider.
Dean followed, arms wrapping slick around Castiel. “Fuck, I know, Cas, I know, I’ve known, and I--”
“Show me,” Castiel insisted. “You’ve been saving my ass all month, now do something with it.”
“God!” Dean yelped, leaping off the bed and fumbling in his bag. “You can’t just say shit like that!”
Abuzz with lust, Cas stretched out and eyed Dean’s bent over form as he grabbed condoms and lube and tossed them onto the bed. Castiel peered at the strewn packages, picking one at random. “Glow-in-the-dark? Is that good? I don’t think green is a natural hue for genitalia.”
“It works for Spock,” Dean muttered, but he snatched it away from Cas and picked a different one. “Now, just--”
But the angle was perfect for Castiel to examine Dean’s fully erect cock and, distracted, he drew he finger along the vein running up the underside. Dean’s whole body twitched in response, and Castiel felt himself grow harder in turn. “Dean,” he breathed reverently, remembering how he’d built this body from scratch, touched every part, but had never been able to appreciate it quite so viscerally as he was now. One finger became three, and then he was exploring the sensitive tip and-
“If you keep doing that you’ll have stay a virgin a while longer.”
Castiel stopped immediately, and their eyes met. As if on cue, they came together again, grabbing and sucking and feeling every inch of flesh between them. It wasn’t long before they were similarly arranged to where they’d started, Castiel flexing back and Dean pressing forward. Achingly slow, Dean stretched Castiel open with his fingers, Castiel’s face smashed into a pillow to stop himself from whimpering. He hadn’t realized it would feel this way, hadn’t realized he would feel it this intensely. Angels weren’t wired for it. Castiel was now, very much so, he was so, so ready... “Dean, come on.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed roughly. “Yeah.”
Dean’s cock pushed into Castiel with such agonizing, measured care that Castiel found himself shoving backwards, wanting Dean in him all the way up to the hilt. “Dean!”
“Shit, Cas, baby, love you, want you,” Dean rambled, holding himself still with impressive restraint while Castiel adjusted.
Castiel didn’t want restraint and didn’t need it. “I’m an angel, Dean, fuck me!”
Dean gasped harshly and started to move, out and back in, faster and faster. Between thrusts, he whispered, “You being an. Angel doesn’t exactly. Make me. Want to. Fuck you harder.” His fingers dug into Castiel’s hips strong enough to bruise.
“It should,” Castiel advised him blissfully. “We’re terrifying creatures.”
“Yeah,” Dean grinned into the back of Castile’s neck. “You’re fucking terrifying.”
“Up, up,” Castiel demanded, wriggling, which had the counter-effect of making Dean grind him right into the mattress.
But Dean caught on, and they separated just long enough for Dean to sit against the headboard, Castiel straddling him. They kissed deeply as Castiel impaled himself on Dean’s cock. Castiel rocked up and down, small twists of his hips that made his eyes roll back in his head. Dean encouraged him, balanced him, whispering filthy, beautiful things about him.
It was better than Castiel had imagined and more pleasure than his body and heart could take, Dean and him entwined, carnally joined, doing what people in love do. He felt himself straining towards climax, and he didn’t fight it. He rode it as he rode Dean, hurtling forward, and he came at last with Dean’s name ecstatically praised from his lips, “Dean!”
Everything burst into brightness, like the heralding of an archangel.
…
“Cas?”
“Mm-hm?” Castiel felt too satiated to talk.
“Awesome.”
Castiel nuzzled Dean’s chest, licking lazily at the anti-possession tattoo. “What.”
“I think you passed out.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Castiel demurred, moving his hands down his body in curious perusal of the aftereffects of sex.
Dean laughed smugly, so Castiel shifted his gentle exploration from himself to Dean, who’s breath hitched, cutting off his snickers.
“I suppose,” Castiel mused, “You could try to prove it to me by doing it again.”
“Oh yes, we’ll do this again,” Dean said, a promise in his voice. “And, uh, this is, for me, it’s--”
Castiel rolled onto his side so their eyes could meet.
Dean’s voice was earnest as he said, “You’re not a one-night gig. I know it might seem sudden, but that’s how it hit me, and--”
Castiel stopped him with a kiss. “I know.” He kissed again. “I know.” He kissed him yet again for good measure. “I’m yours, Dean Winchester, but you’re also mine.”
Dean’s eyes brightened, and the tension he always carried dissolved into joy. “And a happy new year.”