A Marriage Made In... Somewhere - ch. 2
Title: A Marriage Made In... Somewhere
Author: Dire Banshee
Rating: NC-17, possibly R
Warnings: some swearing this chapter, kinda gross food. Does people with wings count as a warning?
Word Count: WIP (2,622 this part)
Summary: Heaven and Hell are warring kingdoms that have finally reached a peace agreement. To make sure it sticks Prince Castiel of the Angels and Prince Dean of the Demons are to wed. Neither are all that thrilled about it.
Previous
Dean didn’t miss the way the Angel Prince stared down his nose at the Demon’s offered hand, or whatever Michael did behind his brother’s back that made the younger male jump and glare at the King before extending his own hand.
“It’s… good to meet you, Dean,” he said at length, voice like gravel.
“Yeah,” Dean replied, “You, too.”
Michael smiled at the civility being shown and clapped Cas on the back before motioning to the waiting chairs.
“Shall we?” he asked before guiding his Queen to her seat at one side of the table.
The others moved to follow the Angel King’s lead but not before Dean jerked his folded wings a few inches above his head in an Are you serious? gesture to his father. John sent his eldest an apologetic sweep of wing but his eyes said that the wedding was still on so Dean would just have to make the best of it. Mary’s look was more sympathetic and Dean knew that if he raised enough of a fuss that she would find a way out of this thing for him. It was tempting, incredibly so, but Dean scrounged up a carefree smile and shook his head; he’d deal, he always did. There were two chairs at the head of the table reserved for the guests of honor and there was a brief bit of confusion as both he and the Angel Prince attempted to take the king’s traditional seat on the right. This was something Dean hadn’t thought about, or, if he was being entirely honest, had tried hard not to think about; which one of them would take on which role as a mated pair, not only in their leadership responsibilities but in the bedchamber as well?
Demons were notoriously bi-sexual so Dean had fooled around with males and females alike but he’d never actually coupled with any of them. As the Crown Prince of his people he couldn’t run the risk of bringing an illegitimate child before his parents and a male lover would have expected to have the needs of his family met, like any honorable Demon would do for his submissive partner, not something the Prince was willing to do for someone not tied to him through marriage. He’d feel guilty as fuck if it didn’t work out and a whole family suffered because of it. Dean couldn’t even fathom the other way around, his station not allowing him to bow to any male other than a King, and, seeing as how the only Kings in the area were his dad and his grandfather, that wasn’t going to happen, but he’d had dalliances, knew how to bring pleasure with his hands and his mouth and had received pleasure in the same ways; he was no virgin in that sense but quite untouched in others. Dean had always assumed he would be the dominant partner but had no idea what the Angel’s views on the subject were, what Castiel expected of their union and what their people’s expected of them both.
Castiel was watching him silently, piercing blue eyes seeming to stare into his very soul, and Dean realized that everyone was waiting on them. In the interest of getting to the food, Dean moved to the side and allowed Castiel to take the king’s seat, only because his family members were all seated on that side of the table, while Dean took the seat nearest his father. He felt a swell of pride when his father brushed a wing against Dean’s own, silently telling him that he’d handled the situation diplomatically, like he’d been raised to do but didn’t always follow. Pasting on a cocky grin that had John rolling his eyes, Dean leaned back in his chair as the Cupid stood to give the blessing.
“I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that I never thought this day would come,” the priest said, beaming at those gathered. “To see not only peace come once more to Heaven and Hell, but to see the two kingdoms joined together in the best of ways.”
He turned to look at Dean and Castiel with soft, dewy eyes and Dean prayed to the All-Father that the Angel didn’t start crying, this was awkward enough as it was. There were murmurs of approval from the crowd as the Cupid continued.
“I would like us all to raise our glasses to the two who wished for peace enough to make this day possible, Prince Dean and Prince Castiel; may the All-Father smile upon your union and bless it. Who knows? This may be a Love Match in the making.”
The Cupid raised his cup of Divinity, an Angelic wine only brought out for weddings, or funerals, or births, or coronations, or… actually, whenever something ‘special’ happened, and toasted the two Princes as those gathered did the same, with well-wishes and amused chuckles for the Cupid’s words. Dean felt his face heating and he attempted to sink down in his chair but a swift kick to the ankle from his mother’s dainty foot had the Demon Prince sitting correctly again. A glance to the side showed Prince Castiel’s eyes trained on his plate, his hands in his lap though Dean could see his fingers picking restlessly at the elaborate embroidery on the tablecloth in front of him.
Dean could feel eyes on him without even looking up and bumped his shoulder against Castiel’s. The Angel blinked over at him and Dean pasted on a grin, raising his own glass of Hellfire.
“Smile, dude,” he spoke low. “Everybody’s lookin’.”
True to his formal upbringing, Castiel seemed to snap out of his contemplation of his fate and raised his own glass to mimic Dean, even managing a small smile.
“That’s the spirit,” Dean muttered as the two clinked glasses and drank to the cheers of the gathered nobles. If either of them needed a refill afterwards, no one said a word.
The procession of food began soon after, more food than Dean had seen in one place in his entire life, and seemed to be made up of both Princes’ favorites. Dean spotted some well-known fare - a platter of burgers, patties of ground up meat, from a creature called a cow that the humans in the West raised, placed between two small loaves of bread that were quite popular with all social classes in Hades where Dean had spent most of his years growing up and steaming baskets of cut up potatoes that had been seasoned and dipped in boiling oil until they were soft on the inside and crunchy on the outside, as well as several delicacies of Hell and her territories. Whole firebirds, still covered in the scale-like feathers that protected them from the intense heat of their lava-bed homes, sulfur boar stuffed with the sweet flesh of the prickly-shelled pom’a gran’t fruit, tiny frost dragons from the farthest reaches of Hel, Hell’s semi-frozen neighboring kingdom, and their larger, fire-breathing cousins, cooked whole and swimming in a soupy paste made from ground up chilies; Dean’s mouth watered at the sight. Then, the Angels’ traditional fare was brought out.
Dean could hear his brother, the giant nerd, explaining to Lady Jessica what each of the odd-looking dishes were and Dean found himself listening in. If he was going to be living with Castiel for the rest of his life he’d need to know what some of this stuff was anyway. They apparently grew things big over in Angel-land because each dish needed at least two servers to carry them out, sometimes more. The first dish was in a bowl almost a big as a bath tub, a creature that seemed to be made almost entirely of tentacles, a newly hatched kraken according to Sam, swimming in a soot-black broth, the tentacles arranged to drape artfully over the sides of the huge bowl. Dean eyed the thing warily as it was set down near the head of the table and couldn’t resist poking at the nearest tentacle with the tines of his fork. Castiel gave him an odd look and Dean set his fork down, but kept an eye on the bowl.
A round of applause from many of the gathered Angels drew the Demon Prince’s attention to the next dish being carted out. It was an egg, but it was the biggest egg Dean had ever seen. Easily as tall as Sam, the egg took three servers to cart the three legged platter it rested on toward the table.
“It’s a Roc egg,” he heard Sam whisper excitedly to Jessica. “They only serve this during extremely special occasions because it’s so dangerous to raid the nests. They let the egg incubate until it’s only a week away from hatching and then boil it.”
Dean blinked at his brother, certain he couldn’t have heard that right, but Sam looked completely sincere. A loud crack broke through the din of excited chatter and Dean returned his attention to the servers, one of whom was taking an ornate hammer and chisel to the massive shell, slowly working his way around until the other two could lift the top portion of shell away. Inside was a fully formed, cooked, Roc chick in a broth of its own egg juices. Dean could only blink at the sight, the chili sauce dragon suddenly not looking as good as it had only moments before. A small sound to his left had Dean looking at his father who, by the look on his face, seemed to share his eldest son’s sentiments exactly. By the time the gigantic spider was wheeled out and cut open to reveal a mass of shinning black eggs Dean was about ready to cut and run, peace treaty be damned, but two things happened at once. One, Azazel set a full glass of fortifying Hellfire in front of the Prince and two; the less intimidating salads began to arrive.
Dean had never been so happy to see a piece of fruit in his life.
Gratefully taking his bowl of habanera peppers from the server, Dean pulled the stem off of one of the small, orange vegetables and popped it into his mouth. The hot vegetables were actually to help cleanse the palate between each dish so the flavors of one didn’t pollute the flavors of the next but Dean had eaten the things like candy since he was a child and easily fell back into the habit. He could see the Angel Prince eyeing the small bright-skinned peppers and, in a gesture of good will, slid the bowl closer to the him. The other Prince hesitantly plucked one of the little peppers from the bowl, picking the stem off as he’d seen the Demon do, and stared at it for a moment. It didn’t smell like much of anything and the brief lick he gave the brightly colored skin yielded much the same result.
“You gotta bite it, dude,” Prince Dean prompted from beside him, frowning down at his plate and poking at the bit of kraken tentacle one of the servers had cut for him with his fork. Castiel nodded, mostly to himself. The Hell fruit was most likely like the strawberries that grew in Heaven that didn’t smell or taste like much until one bit into them.
A small bowl of Arachnae caviar was placed before him and Castiel offered his husband-to-be his own bit of advice.
“It’s easier to cut the skin near where the colors change,” he said. “Then you can reach the meat without damaging it.”
Castiel watched silently as the Demon followed his instruction, making a happy sound of surprise when the tough outer skin fell away from the moist, tender muscle of the giant cephalopod.
“Huh,” Dean said as he cut a piece of the surprisingly fragrant meat. “Thanks, Cas.”
Prince Castiel paused with the new fruit, or possibly vegetable, at his lips; Cas?
“You’re welcome… Dean,” he replied at length, feeling nearly every eye in the room upon them but did his best to ignore them.
Perhaps these Demons weren’t as bad as his father had made them out to be. He may not have made his presence known the past three days but he had been watching, observing the gathered Demons and noting their behaviors which were nothing at all what he’d been raised to expect. Those attending had been every bit as civilized as the Angels he’d grown up with, in some instances perhaps even more so. There was still the matter of Demons being responsible for the deaths of both of his parents, but Castiel understood War, didn’t fault these people for attempting to defend themselves, and the Demon beside him was not the one who had struck the killing blow.
Perhaps… perhaps this arrangement wouldn’t be as bad as he’d first thought.
With that thought firmly in mind, Castiel slipped the bright orange fruit between his lips and bit down, unsure of what flavor to expect. What he didn’t expect was for his mouth to be set on fire! The Hell fruit’s caustic juices burned over his tongue and trickled down his throat, the fumes rising into his nose and seizing up his lungs and Castiel pushed away from the table, gasping and choking but unable to see through the tears in his eyes. He could hear a flurry of commotion around him then large hands gripped his shoulders and Michael’s voice sounded in his ear.
“It’s alright, little brother, you’ll be okay.”
“Here, have him drink this,” said a second voice, this one of a woman.
A cup was pressed to his mouth, some kind of cool liquid wetting his lips, and Castiel took a large swallow, the burn of the damned fruit washing away to be replaced by the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He could breathe again and took in a great lungful of air, coughing the last of the burn from his throat as his brother dabbed at his eyes with one of the linen napkins. Blinking open his eyes, the Angel Prince took in the faces of those gathered around him.
“Are you with us, son?” the Demon King asked and Castiel realized that he was helping Michael to keep the younger Angel from lying completely on the floor. His Queen hovered close by, a golden goblet in her hands and, behind her, Prince Dean watched the scene with wide green eyes. Castiel blinked and nodded.
“Yes,” he replied. His throat felt like he’d swallowed boiling soup, rubbed raw and protesting speech. “I’m fine.”
“Here,” Mary held out the goblet to him. “Drink some more of this; it’ll help with the burn.”
Castiel gratefully took the cup from her and drank down more of the liquid. It looked like cream and tasted unlike anything he’d ever had.
“It’s milk from the Aditi cattle Queen Kali of Swarga Loka sent as a wedding gift,” the Demon Queen explained.
Castiel had heard stories of the sacred Aditi cattle raised on the nation of Swarga Loka, an island bigger than the kingdoms of Heaven and Hell combined and ruled by a benevolent, but ruthless, Queen. The Aditi cattle were never used for their meat but their milk was so rich it could keep a traveler in good health for weeks, even if they ate or drank nothing else, and remained unspoiled for months.
Once he was breathing normally and had regained his feet, Michael clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.
“You gave us quite the scare, little brother.”
Castiel managed a slight smile to ease his brother’s mind.
“And myself,” he replied. “I apologize for the interruption but I believe I will retire for the evening.”
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