Dear Heaven, Fuck You
Title: Dear Heaven, Fuck You
Author: earth_heart
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Warning: Semi-au, demon!Castiel, orgasm denial, wall!slamming (a bit, at least), dark!fic
Spoiler: Umm.... alternate version of 4.01?
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
Summary: An angel did not pull Dean from Hell. highermagic convinced me to do this. It wasn't how I imagined it at first, but this is what ended up happening.
------
Dean Winchester crawled out of his grave whole, alive, and mostly unmarked. When he looked himself over, there wasn’t a single scratch or scar on him, from either the hellhounds or any other evil creature he’d ever gotten nailed by. The only mark he did have was a hand print brand seared onto his left shoulder. Beneath the raised, red palm there was another type of brand, but Dean had no idea what the symbols meant. He didn’t like the look of them, either.
Neither did Bobby. When Dean showed them to the older hunter after having to fight for his newly-restored life to prove he was actually him, the older hunter scowled, adjusted his ball cap, and hit the books hard. After Sam was told of Dean’s miraculous resurrection, he joined them in searching to try and find out the truth. Ideas flew all over the place, but no one could make heads or tails of what had happened.
Dean swore it was a demon. Bobby thought he was right.
Sam thought it was something else, but Dean wasn’t quite willing to agree with him. There was something subtly wrong about his brother, something different in the way he acted and carried himself. Dean had no clue what it was, but Sam was different. He couldn’t say much about it at that point in time, so he kept searching. When Bobby mentioned a friend of his who was psychic, Dean was all for it so long as it could give him answers.
Pamela knew her stuff, and she was powerful. In the end, though, whatever they were looking for was stronger than her. Dean watched, horrified, as her eyes burned out of her skull, and the only information he’d been given was a name.
Castiel.
Sam didn’t want them to try and pursue the creature, but Dean had to know. He had to know. Something with an enormous amount of mojo had dragged his ass from the Pit, and he had to know who, and what, it was. Castiel seemed like a bad-ass motherfucker in all the worst ways, and if Dean had a demon on his tail he was going to do whatever it took to get rid of it. He’d had enough of demons, and Hell, and his nightmares of everything. The nightmares weren’t going to go anywhere soon, but if he could just figure out what the hell had pulled him from the Pit, then he could kill it and be done with the whole thing.
So he thought.
Every sigil from every religion in the world was not enough to keep Castiel out of the barn Dean and Bobby had holed up in. The thing walked right in, the front doors slamming open with so much force that they were thrown off of their hinges. He walked right in over the salt lines, and past all of the various devil’s traps and other wards. Blue eyes stared at Dean as he and Bobby unloaded round after round into the demon’s chest, and Castiel didn’t even flinch once. He’d stolen the body of a dark-haired, blue eyed man, but something told Dean that the human hadn’t been wearing all of that leather when Castiel had found him. It molded to the demon like a dark second skin, showing off a flat stomach and a well-toned body that just begged to be touched and mussed up; used and made dirty and put away wet.
Dean stared at the demon and watched a smirk slide across his face, swirling blue overtaking his eye completely. It made the hunter shudder but he held his ground, the demon-killing blade hidden behind his back. Bobby attacked first, swinging a tire iron, but the demon never took his eyes from Dean; caught the weapon easily and threw Bobby against the wall. Dean shouted his friend’s name, but the man was already out cold.
“Hello, Dean.”
Stabbing the demon right in the chest did absolutely nothing. It just stared down at the blade, mildly fascinated, and then pulled it out and dropped it to the floor. Dean couldn’t believe it, and before he could run for another weapon his back slammed up against the creaky barn wall. He barked out a noise of pain, staring into the demonic blue eyes looking right back at him and baring his teeth.
“Let me go.”
“My name is Castiel.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Let me go.”
“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from the hotbox.”
“How many times do I have to say I don’t give a fuck? Let me go!”
Castiel grinned and leaned forward, rubbing his nose over Dean’s cheek and sniffing. “Now why would I want to do a thing like that? I went through so much trouble dragging you out of Hell. I have no intention of letting you get away from me.”
Wind swirled around them. In the sudden crackle of lightning, Dean saw two enormous wings spread from behind Castiel. The demon laughed at the expression on their face, and then suddenly they weren’t in the barn anymore. Dean didn’t know where they were, outside of the fact that they were in a motel room. The wall felt too flimsy and weak against Dean’s back, and Castiel still hadn’t let him go.
“Was there any reason for the change in scenery?” Dean asked, trying his best to be snarky. Castiel smelled like sulfur, and it was messing with his mind. He didn’t like that. Struggling got him nowhere, though. The demon was unmovable no matter how much Dean struggling, his too-hot fingers digging into the hunter’s flesh until bone ground against bone.
“I thought maybe you’d want a bit of a change for the conversation I’m about to have with you, Dean. Wouldn’t want Bobby to hear all of the nasty habits you picked up during your stay with Alistair.”
Dean froze as soon as he heard the name. He would have been happy never having to think of Alistair and what that demon had done to him; what Hell’s master torturer made him do to others. It had haunted his mind since day one back amongst the living, and from the satisfied glow in Castiel’s eye, the demon knew it.
“What the hell are you?”
Castiel grinned. “What do you think I am?”
“A fucking chicken.”
He listened to the warm, amused chuckle and frowned. The voice was all wrong, but the beat of the laughter; the way it rose and fell- he knew it from somewhere. Come to think of it, he knew the name Castiel from somewhere too. Every time his mind tried to supply him with the information, though, it skittered out of his grasp and back into the darkness and the bloody rivers Hell had built up inside of him. Dean wasn’t willing to pass all of the screaming souls and the stench of blood and sulfur to find it.
“Come on, Dean, think hard. I know you know it, so why don’t you just dig a little deeper?” Castiel’s breath washed over his face, a mixture of brimstone and ozone; heat and electricity that made the hair on Dean’s arms rise.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, struggling to get away from Castiel even though he knew it was useless. Rustling filled the air, and suddenly two enormous black wings appeared behind Castiel. Dean stared at them in awe for a second before a memory punched through him so hard he gasped. Castiel’s shoulder was firm and supportive beneath his forehead when he buckled forward, and Dean stared sightlessly at the ground as his memories whirred and overcame him.
Alistair’s hands were always rough and unforgiving when they moved Dean to where the demon wanted him to be. Dean didn’t like the way the dragon demon would touch him; always snapped and snarled at him, baring his fangs and glaring with marbled green eyes. Alistair found it amusing, and more than once Dean would end up on the ground when the white-eyed demon slapped him down with one enormous paw.
There was another one who watched them, his blue eyes following every move Dean made and his large black wings covering his body. He sat just outside of Alistair’s workshop, one giant lion paw crossed over the other and his head resting on them; his black mane fanning out around him.
Whenever the demon would summon him, Dean went eagerly, all too glad to be away from Alistair’s talons. The black lion was day to Alistair’s dragonic night, and Dean loved to curl up in the silky black mane while the blue-eyed demon would groom him.
Sometimes they would torture together, Castiel teaching Dean what Alistair didn’t know. Alistair hated that, but the wyer dragon always backed down in the face of Castiel when the lion would stare at him. Dean learned more from Castiel than he’d ever thought possible, and even if he hated to torture under Alistair’s tutelage, he loved nothing more than to sit on Castiel’s back, snuggling up against his wings, while the older demon ripped and tore into souls in ways Dean had never imagined possible. His ears would always perk up, his tail wrapped around the base of one of Castiel’s wings, and he would watch and learn from a true master.
Castiel always praised him when Dean learned well. Sometimes the lion would pull Dean’s smaller body close and groom him with affection while Dean purred and kneaded the ground. He was like a lion cub compared to Castiel’s greater size and might, but the demon was always so careful with him, even when Dean wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. Dean was just a new demon, and every new demon made mistakes. Castiel was always patient while showing him what he’d done wrong, and when Dean corrected himself there were always special rewards.
He loved Castiel, and the demon loved him. Castiel helped to hide him when the bright creatures came, and when Castiel asked Dean if he trusted him, Dean said yes. He always said yes to Castiel.
Castiel’s strong hands supported him while Dean coughed weakly. He tasted blood and realized his nose had started bleeding during the memory. Dean leaned out over Castiel’s shoulder and spat it out weakly, trying to rid himself of the taste.
“Do you remember now, little cub?” the demon rumbled in his ear, his voice as deep and as raspy as a lion’s purr.
“Yes, Castiel,” Dean whispered, closing his eyes and letting his body go limp. He’d missed Castiel. All this time, it had felt like something was missing from his heart and his soul when he got back from the Pit, and all this time it had been Castiel. “I remember. I missed you.”
Castiel’s hands were strong, cupping his shoulder blades and rubbing the same way his large paws had always carefully held Dean’s smaller body in Hell. Dean sank into the embrace eagerly and tucked his head under Castiel’s chin. Blood smeared across the pale skin from his bleeding nose, and Dean eagerly licked it away.
“Do you regret what you did, cub?”
Dean hummed softly and thought about the question. All his life he’d done nothing but hunt down demons and kill them. Demons were evil, and so was every other supernatural baddie that he’d killed along the way with Sam by his side and Bobby on speed-dial. Ever since going to Hell, though, something had changed. Demons were still bad, and they were still to be killed, but Dean didn’t want to kill Castiel. In Hell, Castiel had been his only true friend. He loved the demon more than anything.
“I... I don’t know. I regret saying yes, but I don’t regret knowing you. I remember Hell, and I remember most things, but I don’t remember everything with you. Cas... help me.” Dean hated how desperate and small he sounded, but Castiel quieted him with a gentle murmur, running his fingers through Dean’s hair and stepping back so he could tilt Dean’s head. His demonic blue eyes looked over every inch of Dean.
“Do you love me, cub?”
“Yes,” Dean whispered reverently.
“How much do you love me?”
“More than anything, but I can’t remember why.”
Castiel’s lips curled into a grin. “Then let me show you.”
When his back hit the bed, Dean arched up eagerly, dragging Castiel down on top of him. The demon pinned him easily and Dean let him, submitting beneath the creature and mewling in delight when his shirt was ripped in half without any effort on Castiel’s part. Cool air trickled over his chest, and then hot lips were sucking on his nipples while strong fingers kneaded at his groin. Dean moaned loudly, spreading his legs in invitation.
“That’s my cub,” Castiel growled in delight, placing sharp, dainty bites across Dean’s chest and up his throat. His words rumbled against the hunter’s skin, making him shiver. “That’s my cub. Always so good for me; so obedient to me. When the angels came for you, I had to hide you away. They wanted to take you from me, but I refused to let them. You are mine, even if it was Alistair who broke you.”
Dean didn’t want to think of Alistair. He tugged at Castiel’s shirt, pulling it over the demon’s head and smoothing his hands down the unblemished back. He almost imagined he could feel the thick, silky fur beneath his palms, and when he reached Castiel’s shoulderblades the demon let out a hiss of arousal and ground down against him.
Their clothes were gone faster than Dean’s need-filled mind could keep up with. He heard Castiel tearing his jeans into scraps but couldn’t care, too eager to feel the demon inside of him after going so long without him. He may have broken in Hell, but he’d been a good worker; an honest worker. He’d been strong, and defiant, and brave, and Castiel had seen that. It made the demon proud, and when the demon was proud, Dean was satisfied. Alistair was his teacher, but Dean didn’t work hard to impress him. All he cared about was Castiel’s praise.
Dean was good at torturing. Since coming back to earth, he had missed it several times, though he had never understood why; had hated himself because of the need he felt to rip apart souls and reduce them to trembling piles of bloody flesh. Now he did, looking up at Castiel as the demon hovered over him. Torturing with Castiel had been one of the greatest experiences of his life.
He wanted to do it again, all of his reasoning swept out the window by the feel of the demon pushing inside of him after Dean was stretched just enough to take him. The first push was blunt and painful, sending a burning tingle up Dean’s spine that curled his toes and made him moan in delight.
“Love you, Cas,” he whined, scratching bloody lines down the demon’s back and feeling how Castiel shuddered in delight above him. Each thrust was deep and hard, striking over Dean’s prostate and turning the burning feeling into a spreading of warmth and pleasure that sent him out of his mind.
“You are mine, cub.” Castiel bit Dean’s shoulder hard enough to make him bleed, swallowing down the blood that bubbled up and making Dean moan in ecstasy. It had been far too long since he’d heard those possessive words, and all thoughts of right and wrong were swept out of his mind as Castiel moved back in, filling every inch of Dean and reminding the human how much he needed the creature, how much he coveted Castiel and panted after him. All he wanted was to please the demon and submit to him.
Castiel thrust into him one last time and came with a guttural snarl, baring bloodstained teeth as his eyes flashed and lights around them exploded. Dean mewled high in his throat, feeling how slick and open he was when Castiel pulled out and bucking his hips. His own dick was heavy from need, pre-come leaking at a steady rate from the slit. When Dean reached down to palm his cock, Castiel stopped him with a sharp growl.
“No. Not until I say you can.”
Dean bit his lip but didn’t protest, watching Castiel intently and waiting for the demon to give his permission. Castiel smiled at him, clearly pleased, and then shuffled back to suck the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth. The human keened loudly at the unbearable heat and pleasure, trying so hard to hold himself back. It was hard to do, his cock twitching and pulsing in Castiel’s mouth, every hard suck causing more pre-come to trickle out.
Finally, when Dean thought he couldn’t bear another second, Castiel pulled back and smiled. “Go ahead, cub. I want to taste you again. I’ve missed it.”
Dean came so hard his vision went black. All he could do was stare sightlessly up at the ceiling, his mouth open as he panted harshly. Castiel’s mouth covered him again, drinking down everything he gave to the demon. Dean’s orgasm was so intense that his body arched off the bed and went stiff until the last few aftershocks punched through him and he collapsed, weak and deliriously happy, back on the bed. Castiel was quick to lay over him, biting and sucking claiming marks onto his skin while Dean whimpered, still over-sensitive.
“So glorious, cub,” the demon growled before licking his way into Dean’s mouth and kissing him with intent and possession. Dean opened for him eagerly, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s neck and holding onto him tightly, afraid that if he let go or opened his eyes that Castiel would be gone and he would have only been dreaming.
“Missed you, Castiel,” he whispered hoarsely when they finally pulled apart. He never wanted to let the demon go again. “Missed you so much. Please don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t,” his mate purred, resting his palm against Dean’s left shoulder and covering the brand perfectly. “This is my mark, my claim on you. The symbols warn demons, angels, and supernatural creatures alike that you have been claimed by me.”
It was a satisfying thought, and Dean rumbled happily, tucking himself close to Castiel and kissing him, feeling electricity tingle across his tongue and spark across his nerves.
“What happens now?” he asked. Castiel grinned, his lips curling back to show his teeth.
“Now we fight. We have a war ahead of us, cub. Angels will try to take you from me, and your family will try to kill me. They will say you are possessed, and that I am evil. We know you’re not, though. You must help me carve a path across this planet to show them all what we are capable of. Remember your skills and use them. Will you do that for me, with me?”
There wasn’t even anything to think about. Dean remembered the feeling of carving apart souls with Castiel by his side, the pure rush of lust and joy he felt when they tore something apart and made it into something new. They made gorgeous creations together, a whole new kind of artwork, and the hunter’s fingers itched to pick up a blade and get started again. He and Castiel had a lot of work to do.
“Do you love me, cub?”
Dean nodded. “More than anything.”
“Will you do this with me? We will be greater than anything out there so long as we are together. What do you think?”
Rolling over to lay on his back, Dean looked at Castiel. Color bled from his irises, overtaking pupil and white until he was staring up into Castiel’s demonic blue gaze with his own marbled emerald eyes. A pleased growl rumbled in his chest, sliding up his throat and passing his lips to be swallowed by Castiel when the demon inhaled, his full lips curling into a smirk. Dean smirked back.
“We’d better get started.”
End note: Wow... I don’t like this for some reason. >/
Author: earth_heart
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Warning: Semi-au, demon!Castiel, orgasm denial, wall!slamming (a bit, at least), dark!fic
Spoiler: Umm.... alternate version of 4.01?
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
Summary: An angel did not pull Dean from Hell. highermagic convinced me to do this. It wasn't how I imagined it at first, but this is what ended up happening.
------
Dean Winchester crawled out of his grave whole, alive, and mostly unmarked. When he looked himself over, there wasn’t a single scratch or scar on him, from either the hellhounds or any other evil creature he’d ever gotten nailed by. The only mark he did have was a hand print brand seared onto his left shoulder. Beneath the raised, red palm there was another type of brand, but Dean had no idea what the symbols meant. He didn’t like the look of them, either.
Neither did Bobby. When Dean showed them to the older hunter after having to fight for his newly-restored life to prove he was actually him, the older hunter scowled, adjusted his ball cap, and hit the books hard. After Sam was told of Dean’s miraculous resurrection, he joined them in searching to try and find out the truth. Ideas flew all over the place, but no one could make heads or tails of what had happened.
Dean swore it was a demon. Bobby thought he was right.
Sam thought it was something else, but Dean wasn’t quite willing to agree with him. There was something subtly wrong about his brother, something different in the way he acted and carried himself. Dean had no clue what it was, but Sam was different. He couldn’t say much about it at that point in time, so he kept searching. When Bobby mentioned a friend of his who was psychic, Dean was all for it so long as it could give him answers.
Pamela knew her stuff, and she was powerful. In the end, though, whatever they were looking for was stronger than her. Dean watched, horrified, as her eyes burned out of her skull, and the only information he’d been given was a name.
Castiel.
Sam didn’t want them to try and pursue the creature, but Dean had to know. He had to know. Something with an enormous amount of mojo had dragged his ass from the Pit, and he had to know who, and what, it was. Castiel seemed like a bad-ass motherfucker in all the worst ways, and if Dean had a demon on his tail he was going to do whatever it took to get rid of it. He’d had enough of demons, and Hell, and his nightmares of everything. The nightmares weren’t going to go anywhere soon, but if he could just figure out what the hell had pulled him from the Pit, then he could kill it and be done with the whole thing.
So he thought.
Every sigil from every religion in the world was not enough to keep Castiel out of the barn Dean and Bobby had holed up in. The thing walked right in, the front doors slamming open with so much force that they were thrown off of their hinges. He walked right in over the salt lines, and past all of the various devil’s traps and other wards. Blue eyes stared at Dean as he and Bobby unloaded round after round into the demon’s chest, and Castiel didn’t even flinch once. He’d stolen the body of a dark-haired, blue eyed man, but something told Dean that the human hadn’t been wearing all of that leather when Castiel had found him. It molded to the demon like a dark second skin, showing off a flat stomach and a well-toned body that just begged to be touched and mussed up; used and made dirty and put away wet.
Dean stared at the demon and watched a smirk slide across his face, swirling blue overtaking his eye completely. It made the hunter shudder but he held his ground, the demon-killing blade hidden behind his back. Bobby attacked first, swinging a tire iron, but the demon never took his eyes from Dean; caught the weapon easily and threw Bobby against the wall. Dean shouted his friend’s name, but the man was already out cold.
“Hello, Dean.”
Stabbing the demon right in the chest did absolutely nothing. It just stared down at the blade, mildly fascinated, and then pulled it out and dropped it to the floor. Dean couldn’t believe it, and before he could run for another weapon his back slammed up against the creaky barn wall. He barked out a noise of pain, staring into the demonic blue eyes looking right back at him and baring his teeth.
“Let me go.”
“My name is Castiel.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Let me go.”
“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from the hotbox.”
“How many times do I have to say I don’t give a fuck? Let me go!”
Castiel grinned and leaned forward, rubbing his nose over Dean’s cheek and sniffing. “Now why would I want to do a thing like that? I went through so much trouble dragging you out of Hell. I have no intention of letting you get away from me.”
Wind swirled around them. In the sudden crackle of lightning, Dean saw two enormous wings spread from behind Castiel. The demon laughed at the expression on their face, and then suddenly they weren’t in the barn anymore. Dean didn’t know where they were, outside of the fact that they were in a motel room. The wall felt too flimsy and weak against Dean’s back, and Castiel still hadn’t let him go.
“Was there any reason for the change in scenery?” Dean asked, trying his best to be snarky. Castiel smelled like sulfur, and it was messing with his mind. He didn’t like that. Struggling got him nowhere, though. The demon was unmovable no matter how much Dean struggling, his too-hot fingers digging into the hunter’s flesh until bone ground against bone.
“I thought maybe you’d want a bit of a change for the conversation I’m about to have with you, Dean. Wouldn’t want Bobby to hear all of the nasty habits you picked up during your stay with Alistair.”
Dean froze as soon as he heard the name. He would have been happy never having to think of Alistair and what that demon had done to him; what Hell’s master torturer made him do to others. It had haunted his mind since day one back amongst the living, and from the satisfied glow in Castiel’s eye, the demon knew it.
“What the hell are you?”
Castiel grinned. “What do you think I am?”
“A fucking chicken.”
He listened to the warm, amused chuckle and frowned. The voice was all wrong, but the beat of the laughter; the way it rose and fell- he knew it from somewhere. Come to think of it, he knew the name Castiel from somewhere too. Every time his mind tried to supply him with the information, though, it skittered out of his grasp and back into the darkness and the bloody rivers Hell had built up inside of him. Dean wasn’t willing to pass all of the screaming souls and the stench of blood and sulfur to find it.
“Come on, Dean, think hard. I know you know it, so why don’t you just dig a little deeper?” Castiel’s breath washed over his face, a mixture of brimstone and ozone; heat and electricity that made the hair on Dean’s arms rise.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, struggling to get away from Castiel even though he knew it was useless. Rustling filled the air, and suddenly two enormous black wings appeared behind Castiel. Dean stared at them in awe for a second before a memory punched through him so hard he gasped. Castiel’s shoulder was firm and supportive beneath his forehead when he buckled forward, and Dean stared sightlessly at the ground as his memories whirred and overcame him.
Alistair’s hands were always rough and unforgiving when they moved Dean to where the demon wanted him to be. Dean didn’t like the way the dragon demon would touch him; always snapped and snarled at him, baring his fangs and glaring with marbled green eyes. Alistair found it amusing, and more than once Dean would end up on the ground when the white-eyed demon slapped him down with one enormous paw.
There was another one who watched them, his blue eyes following every move Dean made and his large black wings covering his body. He sat just outside of Alistair’s workshop, one giant lion paw crossed over the other and his head resting on them; his black mane fanning out around him.
Whenever the demon would summon him, Dean went eagerly, all too glad to be away from Alistair’s talons. The black lion was day to Alistair’s dragonic night, and Dean loved to curl up in the silky black mane while the blue-eyed demon would groom him.
Sometimes they would torture together, Castiel teaching Dean what Alistair didn’t know. Alistair hated that, but the wyer dragon always backed down in the face of Castiel when the lion would stare at him. Dean learned more from Castiel than he’d ever thought possible, and even if he hated to torture under Alistair’s tutelage, he loved nothing more than to sit on Castiel’s back, snuggling up against his wings, while the older demon ripped and tore into souls in ways Dean had never imagined possible. His ears would always perk up, his tail wrapped around the base of one of Castiel’s wings, and he would watch and learn from a true master.
Castiel always praised him when Dean learned well. Sometimes the lion would pull Dean’s smaller body close and groom him with affection while Dean purred and kneaded the ground. He was like a lion cub compared to Castiel’s greater size and might, but the demon was always so careful with him, even when Dean wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. Dean was just a new demon, and every new demon made mistakes. Castiel was always patient while showing him what he’d done wrong, and when Dean corrected himself there were always special rewards.
He loved Castiel, and the demon loved him. Castiel helped to hide him when the bright creatures came, and when Castiel asked Dean if he trusted him, Dean said yes. He always said yes to Castiel.
Castiel’s strong hands supported him while Dean coughed weakly. He tasted blood and realized his nose had started bleeding during the memory. Dean leaned out over Castiel’s shoulder and spat it out weakly, trying to rid himself of the taste.
“Do you remember now, little cub?” the demon rumbled in his ear, his voice as deep and as raspy as a lion’s purr.
“Yes, Castiel,” Dean whispered, closing his eyes and letting his body go limp. He’d missed Castiel. All this time, it had felt like something was missing from his heart and his soul when he got back from the Pit, and all this time it had been Castiel. “I remember. I missed you.”
Castiel’s hands were strong, cupping his shoulder blades and rubbing the same way his large paws had always carefully held Dean’s smaller body in Hell. Dean sank into the embrace eagerly and tucked his head under Castiel’s chin. Blood smeared across the pale skin from his bleeding nose, and Dean eagerly licked it away.
“Do you regret what you did, cub?”
Dean hummed softly and thought about the question. All his life he’d done nothing but hunt down demons and kill them. Demons were evil, and so was every other supernatural baddie that he’d killed along the way with Sam by his side and Bobby on speed-dial. Ever since going to Hell, though, something had changed. Demons were still bad, and they were still to be killed, but Dean didn’t want to kill Castiel. In Hell, Castiel had been his only true friend. He loved the demon more than anything.
“I... I don’t know. I regret saying yes, but I don’t regret knowing you. I remember Hell, and I remember most things, but I don’t remember everything with you. Cas... help me.” Dean hated how desperate and small he sounded, but Castiel quieted him with a gentle murmur, running his fingers through Dean’s hair and stepping back so he could tilt Dean’s head. His demonic blue eyes looked over every inch of Dean.
“Do you love me, cub?”
“Yes,” Dean whispered reverently.
“How much do you love me?”
“More than anything, but I can’t remember why.”
Castiel’s lips curled into a grin. “Then let me show you.”
When his back hit the bed, Dean arched up eagerly, dragging Castiel down on top of him. The demon pinned him easily and Dean let him, submitting beneath the creature and mewling in delight when his shirt was ripped in half without any effort on Castiel’s part. Cool air trickled over his chest, and then hot lips were sucking on his nipples while strong fingers kneaded at his groin. Dean moaned loudly, spreading his legs in invitation.
“That’s my cub,” Castiel growled in delight, placing sharp, dainty bites across Dean’s chest and up his throat. His words rumbled against the hunter’s skin, making him shiver. “That’s my cub. Always so good for me; so obedient to me. When the angels came for you, I had to hide you away. They wanted to take you from me, but I refused to let them. You are mine, even if it was Alistair who broke you.”
Dean didn’t want to think of Alistair. He tugged at Castiel’s shirt, pulling it over the demon’s head and smoothing his hands down the unblemished back. He almost imagined he could feel the thick, silky fur beneath his palms, and when he reached Castiel’s shoulderblades the demon let out a hiss of arousal and ground down against him.
Their clothes were gone faster than Dean’s need-filled mind could keep up with. He heard Castiel tearing his jeans into scraps but couldn’t care, too eager to feel the demon inside of him after going so long without him. He may have broken in Hell, but he’d been a good worker; an honest worker. He’d been strong, and defiant, and brave, and Castiel had seen that. It made the demon proud, and when the demon was proud, Dean was satisfied. Alistair was his teacher, but Dean didn’t work hard to impress him. All he cared about was Castiel’s praise.
Dean was good at torturing. Since coming back to earth, he had missed it several times, though he had never understood why; had hated himself because of the need he felt to rip apart souls and reduce them to trembling piles of bloody flesh. Now he did, looking up at Castiel as the demon hovered over him. Torturing with Castiel had been one of the greatest experiences of his life.
He wanted to do it again, all of his reasoning swept out the window by the feel of the demon pushing inside of him after Dean was stretched just enough to take him. The first push was blunt and painful, sending a burning tingle up Dean’s spine that curled his toes and made him moan in delight.
“Love you, Cas,” he whined, scratching bloody lines down the demon’s back and feeling how Castiel shuddered in delight above him. Each thrust was deep and hard, striking over Dean’s prostate and turning the burning feeling into a spreading of warmth and pleasure that sent him out of his mind.
“You are mine, cub.” Castiel bit Dean’s shoulder hard enough to make him bleed, swallowing down the blood that bubbled up and making Dean moan in ecstasy. It had been far too long since he’d heard those possessive words, and all thoughts of right and wrong were swept out of his mind as Castiel moved back in, filling every inch of Dean and reminding the human how much he needed the creature, how much he coveted Castiel and panted after him. All he wanted was to please the demon and submit to him.
Castiel thrust into him one last time and came with a guttural snarl, baring bloodstained teeth as his eyes flashed and lights around them exploded. Dean mewled high in his throat, feeling how slick and open he was when Castiel pulled out and bucking his hips. His own dick was heavy from need, pre-come leaking at a steady rate from the slit. When Dean reached down to palm his cock, Castiel stopped him with a sharp growl.
“No. Not until I say you can.”
Dean bit his lip but didn’t protest, watching Castiel intently and waiting for the demon to give his permission. Castiel smiled at him, clearly pleased, and then shuffled back to suck the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth. The human keened loudly at the unbearable heat and pleasure, trying so hard to hold himself back. It was hard to do, his cock twitching and pulsing in Castiel’s mouth, every hard suck causing more pre-come to trickle out.
Finally, when Dean thought he couldn’t bear another second, Castiel pulled back and smiled. “Go ahead, cub. I want to taste you again. I’ve missed it.”
Dean came so hard his vision went black. All he could do was stare sightlessly up at the ceiling, his mouth open as he panted harshly. Castiel’s mouth covered him again, drinking down everything he gave to the demon. Dean’s orgasm was so intense that his body arched off the bed and went stiff until the last few aftershocks punched through him and he collapsed, weak and deliriously happy, back on the bed. Castiel was quick to lay over him, biting and sucking claiming marks onto his skin while Dean whimpered, still over-sensitive.
“So glorious, cub,” the demon growled before licking his way into Dean’s mouth and kissing him with intent and possession. Dean opened for him eagerly, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s neck and holding onto him tightly, afraid that if he let go or opened his eyes that Castiel would be gone and he would have only been dreaming.
“Missed you, Castiel,” he whispered hoarsely when they finally pulled apart. He never wanted to let the demon go again. “Missed you so much. Please don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t,” his mate purred, resting his palm against Dean’s left shoulder and covering the brand perfectly. “This is my mark, my claim on you. The symbols warn demons, angels, and supernatural creatures alike that you have been claimed by me.”
It was a satisfying thought, and Dean rumbled happily, tucking himself close to Castiel and kissing him, feeling electricity tingle across his tongue and spark across his nerves.
“What happens now?” he asked. Castiel grinned, his lips curling back to show his teeth.
“Now we fight. We have a war ahead of us, cub. Angels will try to take you from me, and your family will try to kill me. They will say you are possessed, and that I am evil. We know you’re not, though. You must help me carve a path across this planet to show them all what we are capable of. Remember your skills and use them. Will you do that for me, with me?”
There wasn’t even anything to think about. Dean remembered the feeling of carving apart souls with Castiel by his side, the pure rush of lust and joy he felt when they tore something apart and made it into something new. They made gorgeous creations together, a whole new kind of artwork, and the hunter’s fingers itched to pick up a blade and get started again. He and Castiel had a lot of work to do.
“Do you love me, cub?”
Dean nodded. “More than anything.”
“Will you do this with me? We will be greater than anything out there so long as we are together. What do you think?”
Rolling over to lay on his back, Dean looked at Castiel. Color bled from his irises, overtaking pupil and white until he was staring up into Castiel’s demonic blue gaze with his own marbled emerald eyes. A pleased growl rumbled in his chest, sliding up his throat and passing his lips to be swallowed by Castiel when the demon inhaled, his full lips curling into a smirk. Dean smirked back.
“We’d better get started.”
End note: Wow... I don’t like this for some reason. >/