Look Into My Eyes and I Own You
Title: Look Into My Eyes and I Own You
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Castiel/Dean, brief and extremely awkward Sam/Dean and Bobby/Dean (omgwhut)
Warnings: creature!Dean, bottom!Dean, aggressive!Castiel, self-lubrication, rough sex, biting, marking, claiming, D/s, rimming, orgasm denial, knotting
Spoilers: Uhh.... set some time in season six.
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
AN: For highermagic. Title is from “Moves Like Jaggar” by Maroon 5, because that is a sexy, sexy song.
Summary: It was just supposed to be a routine hunt. Then again, when they’re Crowley’s bitch boys, nothing is ever routine. And with their pocket-angel being AWOL and outside their coverage zone, Dean doesn’t know what else to do.
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The bite came from the Alpha werewolf. All Dean remembered was the agony of teeth ripping into his side-the burn of venom in his veins and the unbearable pain of changing, slowly but surely, into something that wasn’t human. Sam tried his best to help, but he wasn’t willing to kill Dean, and neither was Bobby. Turns out that getting bitten by an Alpha changes you in a way that normal werewolves don’t get. Dean went fully wolf his first full moon and hid under his bed, growling and snapping at anyone who tried to come close. Numerous calls to Castiel went unanswered, texts were poured over, and they realized that there was no easy cure for Dean this time. So he’s been a vampire, and now he’s a werewolf.
Being a werewolf doesn’t change Dean’s ability to hunt for the worse. In fact, he becomes a better hunter, able to smell and see things that they usually wouldn’t pick up on until it was too late. He doesn’t like being a werewolf-really, no one should-but it’s better than being dead, and when they’re Crowley’s bitch boys without Castiel there to help them, he really doesn’t see another option. He hunts, he kills, he collects other Alphas, and when the full moon rolls around he holes himself up in Bobby’s house until it’s passed, just in case.
Apparently, life can’t even throw him a scrap of a bone. It’s not enough that he’s a werewolf now. No, he’s an unclaimed werewolf, bitten by the Alpha, and since the bastard didn’t stick around long enough to tell him what was going to happen to him, when Dean wakes up feeling overheated he has no idea what’s wrong with him. He rolls out of bed and whines softly, a completely animal sound. It’s too hot, sweat slicks his skin, but taking a shower doesn’t help. It exacerbates his condition, and when he stumbles down to breakfast he’s already sweating again, his eyes wide and fevered.
“Dean?” Sam stands and moves towards him. He looks at his younger brother, nostrils flaring, and draws in Sam’s scent deep into his lungs. His brother smells like strength, and heat, and power, and something inside of Dean, some part of his brain that is fully wolf, submits and rolls over. He slinks closer, fingers curling, and before either of them can figure out what’s goin on he’s pressed up against Sam, snuffling along his throat and making tiny, excited-sounding growls. A hand grips his shoulder and tries to push him away, but Dean doesn’t want to be moved. He growls again, angrier this time, and licks at a drop of sweat on Sam’s skin. The next shove is much more powerful and sends him stumbling backwards; he catches himself on the wall and stares into Sam’s wide hazel eyes.
“Dude, Dean, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Because Sam is used to Dean’s usually more animalistic displays now, but this is something Dean has never done before. He’s never felt like this, not since being turned-so much heat and want and need filling him, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s already moving back towards Sam again. He’s smaller than Sam, and that makes the wolf part of him happy. Dean presses in close to breathe in his little brother again and whines happily, butting his head against the taller hunter’s shoulder playfully until Bobby pulls him back this time.
“Sam,” the older man says, not even flinching when Dean leans his head back to snuffle right against his throat. Bobby smells like whiskey and cologne, a powerful and pungent smell. He’s older that Sam, not as strong, but Dean still tries to press back against him until Bobby locks his arms and keeps him away. He looks at Dean, then back at Sam. “I think it’s time we called Castiel again.”
Sam’s voice draws Dean’s attention to his brother again and he struggles against Bobby’s hold, trying to break free so he can nuzzle against the strong hunter. “I don’t know if he’ll respond.” He looks frustrated, angry, and it makes Dean whine. “He hasn’t yet, and we’ve been trying for months. I don’t know what else to do.”
Bobby starts to walk backwards, pulling Dean along with him. He struggles, growling in confusion, but his vision is starting to blur, every inhale drawing in multiple scents-including his own, which smells strange to him. It makes his nose wrinkle, lips curling and mouth opening so he can inhale that way. The action is cat-like, but it helps him to get a taste of the scents on the air. He smells like heat and fertility, and he has no idea how he knows that. He just does.
“Well then do a goddamn summoning ritual if you have to,” Bobby snaps. The harshness of his tone makes Dean’s head snap around, and he growls at the older hunter in warning. If he was in his wolf form, his hackles would be bristling, his ears laid flat. “I think this “manageable situation” just got fucked.”
It’s so odd to hear Bobby swear so vividly that for a minute, Dean is struck silent and pliant, letting the man pull him towards the basement. He looks at the hunter, green eyes wide and curious, and cocks his head in curiosity. Then another surge of heat makes his knees buckle and he whines pitifully. He just wants to spread his legs and entice them closer, and that thought should be much more disturbing than his brain is finding it right now. His brain is actually incredibly pleased with the idea, and arousal curls thickly through his abdomen to settle, pulsing and hot, in his groin. He feels himself start to harden and pushes insistently against Bobby’s grip, squirming closer until he’s pressed against the man and grumble-whining against his throat again. He’s so close to the jugular vein, and his teeth itch; he’s a second away from biting playfully when fingers grip the back of his neck tightly and force him down.
Dean goes immediately, submitting to the strength in the fingers as though another wolf’s teeth are biting into his scruff. He glances to the side and sees that it’s Sam who has a hold of him, keeping him away from Bobby. There’s something in his brother’s eyes, something understanding, like realization. That doesn’t matter to Dean, though-it doesn’t even register. All he knows is that a dominant figure is making him submit, and he goes with it; presses back and arches up in invitation.
“Dean,” Sam says, and his voice is low, like a growl. It makes the wolf in Dean perk up and listen immediately. “Go to the panic room.” He’s ready to fight, opening his mouth to whine in protest, but Sam’s eyes harden. “I said go. Now.”
His little brother shouldn’t be ordering him around, and normally Dean would fight back, challenge Sam, but right now he’s scrambling to his feet and bounding towards the basement on his own. He takes the stairs down two at a time, and thinks he hears something about heat before the door closes and he’s left in the musty, musky darkness of the basement. Seeing isn’t a problem, his eyes glowing in the murky light. He wouldn’t even need his wolf-sight to make his way through Bobby’s basement, his feet carrying him confidently to the panic room by memory alone.
The room is small, and cold, but it does nothing to relieve the heat that’s building inside of him. Dean strips down to his boxers barely five minutes after he shuts the door. After five more minutes he begins pacing restlessly, his feet slapping softly against the cold cement-and-iron ground and his labored pants growing more frantic as the minutes tick by. The clock is too loud, it’s driving him insane, and he rips it from the wall-leaves gouges from half-grown claws behind. Wood and plastic splinter and shatter when he throws it at the wall.
His howl echoes in the tiny space, wiggling its way through the cracks and the slats of the rotating fan and filling the entire house. It extends beyond Bobby’s home, leaking out of the walls and wiggling under the cracks of the doors to roll into the surrounding territory-Dean’s territory. It’s a mating call, meant to attract any other unclaimed males to let them know he’s fertile and unmated. Dean has no idea what it means, no clue what’s going on, but the air seems to shimmer and vibrate in response to his call, and the Heavens themselves appear to rumble in response.
Dean’s two days into his cycle when the lock thuds back and the door slowly opens. He strains against his restraints with a desperate whine and looks up at Sam-Sam, who told him exactly what was going on, after Dean’s heat-riddled wolf brain had already pieced together the answer. He’s in heat, searching for a mate, and the only reason they can come up with is the fact that he was bitten by the Alpha and left on his own. They’ve never heard of any cases like Dean’s before of werewolves going into heat. Yet again, he seems to be the exception to every rule.
“Move aside, Sam,” he hears, and Sam does. Blue eyes stare at him, and Dean’s eyes dart rapidly over the angel’s face-dark scruff, dark, messy hair, strong jaw and chin, those blue, blue eyes. He inhales deeply and Castiel’s scent hits him like a punch in the gut. He actually doubles over, clutching at his stomach with fingers that are slick and shining with natural lubrication. His skin glows when the light hits it, sweaty and flushed, and he hears a soft sound from Castiel before the door closes and the angel steps into the room alone.
Immediately Dean lunges forward, ropes pulling taught until the braided material digs into his biceps and keeps him from going anywhere. He’s tied down to keep him from getting loose, to keep him from getting to Sam or Bobby when they come into the room. Castiel looks at the ropes, his blue eyes unfathomable, and Dean whines; strains to get closer to such a strong, powerful scent. Sam is big, and aggressive looking, but he has nowhere near the kind of strength that Castiel houses in his smaller body. Dean wants that strength, his heat demands it, and he struggles fitfully until Castiel frowns.
“Dean, what happened to you?” He looks genuinely confused, like he can’t understand what’s going on. If Dean still had the capacity of speech, he knows he’d be making sarcastic quips and rolling his eyes at the angel’s uncanny knack for having the obvious go right over his head. As it is, all he can do is whine and strain to be closer. Castiel approaches him, and his heat-saturated brain fairly weeps for joy. He’s on Castiel as soon as the angel gets close enough, snuffling the creature’s neck and rubbing against him eagerly.
“You’re in heat.” It’s said suddenly, with clarity, and Dean squirms closer, thrusting his hard cock against the scratchy material of the angel’s slacks and moaning in relief when he comes in a powerful rush of need. His fingers curl into the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat, tugging pitifully to try and get him closer. “Dean, how long have you been like this?”
Does that even matter? Dean doesn’t think it matters. He just tugs, trying to pull Castiel closer, and when the restraints suddenly fall away he moans in excitement and instead shoves forward until Castiel falls back and he can straddle the angel’s lap and grind down against him. His pheromones fill the air around them, enticing the creature, and he watches in delight and triumph as Castiel’s eyes go from wide to narrowed-bright blue to smoldering navy. Strong hands grip his hips and shove him back.
“Get off, Dean. Roll over.” The orders are exactly that: orders. Dean scrambles to obey, rolling over and exposing himself to the angel with a low, excited whine. Fingers smear through the slick on his thighs and ass, spreading it around, and then his cheeks are being pulled apart and a hot tongue is lapping at his loose, clenching hole. Dean mewls, a choked-off sound, and rubs back against the tongue that’s fucking inside of him; curling to catch his rim on the way out. He cries out and shoves back harder, his senses going haywire. Castiel’s fingers curl over his hip and grip down, keeping him in place while the angel breathes teasingly against his entrance until Dean is sobbing and digging at the floor with nails that are growing into claws.
Castiel pulls away suddenly and he whines, trying to turn his head to see where the angel went. Fingers grip his scruff and force his head back down until his forehead is pressing into the cold ground. He’s mounted-there’s really no other word for it-and then something thick and hot is fucking into him with no resistance. Dean howls, knowing that Castiel’s cock is inside of him, and arches back to try and force the angel deeper even though it’s impossible. He feels the cock inside of him, the way it splits him open and fills him in a way his fingers couldn’t. He’d spent hours fucking himself with his fingers, trying to make himself come, and Castiel’s barely thrust once before Dean is coming all over the floor, his cock throbbing and twitching with each pulse.
“Such a good bitch,” Castiel whispers. Dean doesn’t soften at all, he knows he won’t, and he whines when the angel’s fingers curl around the base of his dick. “You won’t come again until I say so. Do you understand?” The creature’s voice is full of command, he’s in total control, and Dean nods frantically; arches his hips and spreads his legs for Castiel so that the dominant male can thrust harder and faster, and plunge even deeper than should be possible with every slam of his hips.
Dean wishes he could say he never expected something like this. Well, considering these circumstances, he can. He never expected to be turned into a werewolf, or go into heat. Having Castiel inside of him, though, the angel’s cock dragging over his prostate with each slow push-and-pull-that, he expected to happen some day. It’s what makes him so agreeable to it, baring the back of his neck and bowing his spine in submission. Each slam back into him draws a wanton little yelp from the hunter, his mouth open and wet as he pants and his green eyes hazy with lust and need.
He’s so hard that he hurts, his cock drooling pre-cum and more cum splattered over his thighs and stomach. Castiel’s fingers are locked around him, though, holding his orgasm at bay, so all he can do his buck his hips forward to try and get some relief, then shove them back into every thrust with gasping little mewls. He needs it harder, wants it faster, and Castiel’s pace adjusts immediately. It’s like he’s read Dean’s mind, and knowing the angel, he probably has.
The fingers at the back of his neck are gone suddenly. Before Dean can look around to see what happened, Castiel’s blunt teeth are digging into the soft, fragile skin; drawing blood and making him groan in painful ecstasy as he’s claimed by the angel. It’s a mating mark, his instincts are telling him, and if Castiel’s fingers didn’t tighten around his cock to the point of pain, he would be coming just from that thought alone. All he can do is mewl, begging with his body; scream when Castiel’s nails dig into his ribs and rake down to his hips.
Dean howls then, in pain and pleasure. One side burns, from where Castiel’s free hand had marked him, and his cock is turning purple because he’s been denied his release for so long. If he cared enough to look, he’d see that his knees are bloody from being scraped across the ground by every thrust of Castiel’s cock into his gripping, clenching body.
“Do you want to come, Dean?” Castiel growls, his teeth scraping over the bloody indentations in the back of Dean’s neck. He whines and nods, his forehead bumping roughly against the concrete beneath him. “Do you think you deserve it? I could smell you all over Sam and Bobby. You tried to get them to mate with you, didn’t you? Oh, baby, you should have known better than that.”
He’s sorry, so sorry, and he whines when Castiel suddenly stops, his cock so deep inside of the hunter that Dean can feel it in his chest and throat. Castiel twists his hips and bucks, and suddenly he’s even deeper, the base of his cock swelling until Dean’s scratching at the ground and whining in pain. He didn’t know angels knotted with their mates-then again, he never had any reason to ask. It’s so primal, so animalistic, that when Castiel’s fingers loosen and the tip of one pad teases the sensitive vein that runs up the underside of his cock, Dean comes with a scream that tears his throat apart and makes blood leak from the corners of his mouth.
Castiel’s knot swells to the point that it hurts, but at the same time, Dean’s never felt anything more filling, more complete. The way the angel grinds into him, hips bucking with every pulse of his cock, stimulates the hunter’s prostate until he’s panting and clawing at the floor again; simultaneously trying to get away and force himself closer. He’s exhausted, strung out after days of heat and need. His body is one enormous ache, his sides burning from the scratching and the back of his neck still leaking blood. Ribbons of red trail down his chin from his mouth, and every breath cuts down his damaged throat and makes him wince until warm fingers bury themselves in his hair and the aches bleed away into the most pleasant sensations.
“Cas,” he whispers, rasping out the first word he’s been able to say in nearly three days. Of course it would be the angel’s name, and he looks back over his shoulder to stare into the navy blue eyes. Dean can’t hold his mate’s gaze for long and drops it quickly, submissive and showing it. The first time he looked into the angel’s eyes, standing in a cold barn with blown lightbulbs sparking around them, he knew he was Castiel’s. He just thought that something like this would never happen-that the angel would never claim him in such a way.
“How do you feel, Dean?” Castiel asks quietly, and his fingers are warm against Dean’s skin, running down his spine to skirt close to the place where they’re still knotted together. “Was I too rough?”
“In all the best ways.” The hunter presses back against Castiel, squirming at the uncomfortable pleasure-pain of what he knows is the knot. Months ago, he never would have guessed or even suspected such a thing, but months ago he didn’t have a wolf’s brain telling him things he never would have known otherwise. “How in the hell did you knot with me, anyway?”
“I’m an angel, Dean.” He sounds amused, his breath hot on Dean’s neck when the hunter feels him lean forward. A hot tongue drags over the sore bite and he whines softly, but tilts his head forward in submission. “We mate while in flight, and in order to make sure that we actually stay connected, the dominant partner will knot with the submissive angel.” The angel is licking the back of his neck, making soft sounds of contentment with every drag of his wet tongue across the mark he left. Dean knows it will scar-Castiel wants it to scar, and in many ways so does he.
“Oh. So how’d you find out about me?”
“I heard the howling. I didn’t know what it meant at first, but then I checked my phone and saw that you and Sam and Bobby have been trying to call me. I apologize; I was out of minutes and I hadn’t gotten more.” There’s a note of apology in his voice, but when Dean turns his neck to look up at his mate he sees how dark Castiel’s eyes are. They’re trained on him, laser-focused, and he whines softly before trying to lick at the angel’s throat and chin. “You tried to mate with others, Dean, when you should know better than that. You have carried my claim since before we properly met. I told you we have a profound bond. And yet, you would try to give yourself to someone else.”
“I didn’t know what was going on!” Dean protests, but he’s already pressing himself closer to the floor in response to Castiel’s dark, deeper rumble. He’s read a lot about wolf packs in the past few months, and he knows that Castiel is asserting his dominance, as both Dean’s alpha and his mate. It’s that thought that makes him bare his throat, and he mewls softly when Castiel leans forward, shifting his body so his cock grinds deeper, the knot still a thick, hard presence inside of him. Hard, blunt teeth drag over his skin for a moment before biting down, and he jolts in response to the flare of pain.
“I own you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel growls when he finally pulls back. Blue eyes catch green before Dean looks away, eyelids fluttering, and rubs up against his alpha. Castiel presses down against him, his hips rocking as the knot slowly begins to shrink. Dean whines and spreads his legs, feeling a trickle of heat down his spine. “I’ve owned you from the second I looked into your eyes, and it’s best you remember that from now on.”
“I will,” the hunter gasps-mewls when fingers curl around his cock and start to stroke. He’s not finished with his heat cycle yet, and he can already tell that. He can also tell that Castiel’s not going to let him go anywhere until his heat is completely gone; just like any alpha with its mate. And he knows, a moan shuddering through him and curling out into the air when Castiel lifts his hips and grinds forward harshly, that he’s never going to need anything but this again.
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Castiel/Dean, brief and extremely awkward Sam/Dean and Bobby/Dean (omgwhut)
Warnings: creature!Dean, bottom!Dean, aggressive!Castiel, self-lubrication, rough sex, biting, marking, claiming, D/s, rimming, orgasm denial, knotting
Spoilers: Uhh.... set some time in season six.
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
AN: For highermagic. Title is from “Moves Like Jaggar” by Maroon 5, because that is a sexy, sexy song.
Summary: It was just supposed to be a routine hunt. Then again, when they’re Crowley’s bitch boys, nothing is ever routine. And with their pocket-angel being AWOL and outside their coverage zone, Dean doesn’t know what else to do.
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The bite came from the Alpha werewolf. All Dean remembered was the agony of teeth ripping into his side-the burn of venom in his veins and the unbearable pain of changing, slowly but surely, into something that wasn’t human. Sam tried his best to help, but he wasn’t willing to kill Dean, and neither was Bobby. Turns out that getting bitten by an Alpha changes you in a way that normal werewolves don’t get. Dean went fully wolf his first full moon and hid under his bed, growling and snapping at anyone who tried to come close. Numerous calls to Castiel went unanswered, texts were poured over, and they realized that there was no easy cure for Dean this time. So he’s been a vampire, and now he’s a werewolf.
Being a werewolf doesn’t change Dean’s ability to hunt for the worse. In fact, he becomes a better hunter, able to smell and see things that they usually wouldn’t pick up on until it was too late. He doesn’t like being a werewolf-really, no one should-but it’s better than being dead, and when they’re Crowley’s bitch boys without Castiel there to help them, he really doesn’t see another option. He hunts, he kills, he collects other Alphas, and when the full moon rolls around he holes himself up in Bobby’s house until it’s passed, just in case.
Apparently, life can’t even throw him a scrap of a bone. It’s not enough that he’s a werewolf now. No, he’s an unclaimed werewolf, bitten by the Alpha, and since the bastard didn’t stick around long enough to tell him what was going to happen to him, when Dean wakes up feeling overheated he has no idea what’s wrong with him. He rolls out of bed and whines softly, a completely animal sound. It’s too hot, sweat slicks his skin, but taking a shower doesn’t help. It exacerbates his condition, and when he stumbles down to breakfast he’s already sweating again, his eyes wide and fevered.
“Dean?” Sam stands and moves towards him. He looks at his younger brother, nostrils flaring, and draws in Sam’s scent deep into his lungs. His brother smells like strength, and heat, and power, and something inside of Dean, some part of his brain that is fully wolf, submits and rolls over. He slinks closer, fingers curling, and before either of them can figure out what’s goin on he’s pressed up against Sam, snuffling along his throat and making tiny, excited-sounding growls. A hand grips his shoulder and tries to push him away, but Dean doesn’t want to be moved. He growls again, angrier this time, and licks at a drop of sweat on Sam’s skin. The next shove is much more powerful and sends him stumbling backwards; he catches himself on the wall and stares into Sam’s wide hazel eyes.
“Dude, Dean, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Because Sam is used to Dean’s usually more animalistic displays now, but this is something Dean has never done before. He’s never felt like this, not since being turned-so much heat and want and need filling him, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s already moving back towards Sam again. He’s smaller than Sam, and that makes the wolf part of him happy. Dean presses in close to breathe in his little brother again and whines happily, butting his head against the taller hunter’s shoulder playfully until Bobby pulls him back this time.
“Sam,” the older man says, not even flinching when Dean leans his head back to snuffle right against his throat. Bobby smells like whiskey and cologne, a powerful and pungent smell. He’s older that Sam, not as strong, but Dean still tries to press back against him until Bobby locks his arms and keeps him away. He looks at Dean, then back at Sam. “I think it’s time we called Castiel again.”
Sam’s voice draws Dean’s attention to his brother again and he struggles against Bobby’s hold, trying to break free so he can nuzzle against the strong hunter. “I don’t know if he’ll respond.” He looks frustrated, angry, and it makes Dean whine. “He hasn’t yet, and we’ve been trying for months. I don’t know what else to do.”
Bobby starts to walk backwards, pulling Dean along with him. He struggles, growling in confusion, but his vision is starting to blur, every inhale drawing in multiple scents-including his own, which smells strange to him. It makes his nose wrinkle, lips curling and mouth opening so he can inhale that way. The action is cat-like, but it helps him to get a taste of the scents on the air. He smells like heat and fertility, and he has no idea how he knows that. He just does.
“Well then do a goddamn summoning ritual if you have to,” Bobby snaps. The harshness of his tone makes Dean’s head snap around, and he growls at the older hunter in warning. If he was in his wolf form, his hackles would be bristling, his ears laid flat. “I think this “manageable situation” just got fucked.”
It’s so odd to hear Bobby swear so vividly that for a minute, Dean is struck silent and pliant, letting the man pull him towards the basement. He looks at the hunter, green eyes wide and curious, and cocks his head in curiosity. Then another surge of heat makes his knees buckle and he whines pitifully. He just wants to spread his legs and entice them closer, and that thought should be much more disturbing than his brain is finding it right now. His brain is actually incredibly pleased with the idea, and arousal curls thickly through his abdomen to settle, pulsing and hot, in his groin. He feels himself start to harden and pushes insistently against Bobby’s grip, squirming closer until he’s pressed against the man and grumble-whining against his throat again. He’s so close to the jugular vein, and his teeth itch; he’s a second away from biting playfully when fingers grip the back of his neck tightly and force him down.
Dean goes immediately, submitting to the strength in the fingers as though another wolf’s teeth are biting into his scruff. He glances to the side and sees that it’s Sam who has a hold of him, keeping him away from Bobby. There’s something in his brother’s eyes, something understanding, like realization. That doesn’t matter to Dean, though-it doesn’t even register. All he knows is that a dominant figure is making him submit, and he goes with it; presses back and arches up in invitation.
“Dean,” Sam says, and his voice is low, like a growl. It makes the wolf in Dean perk up and listen immediately. “Go to the panic room.” He’s ready to fight, opening his mouth to whine in protest, but Sam’s eyes harden. “I said go. Now.”
His little brother shouldn’t be ordering him around, and normally Dean would fight back, challenge Sam, but right now he’s scrambling to his feet and bounding towards the basement on his own. He takes the stairs down two at a time, and thinks he hears something about heat before the door closes and he’s left in the musty, musky darkness of the basement. Seeing isn’t a problem, his eyes glowing in the murky light. He wouldn’t even need his wolf-sight to make his way through Bobby’s basement, his feet carrying him confidently to the panic room by memory alone.
The room is small, and cold, but it does nothing to relieve the heat that’s building inside of him. Dean strips down to his boxers barely five minutes after he shuts the door. After five more minutes he begins pacing restlessly, his feet slapping softly against the cold cement-and-iron ground and his labored pants growing more frantic as the minutes tick by. The clock is too loud, it’s driving him insane, and he rips it from the wall-leaves gouges from half-grown claws behind. Wood and plastic splinter and shatter when he throws it at the wall.
His howl echoes in the tiny space, wiggling its way through the cracks and the slats of the rotating fan and filling the entire house. It extends beyond Bobby’s home, leaking out of the walls and wiggling under the cracks of the doors to roll into the surrounding territory-Dean’s territory. It’s a mating call, meant to attract any other unclaimed males to let them know he’s fertile and unmated. Dean has no idea what it means, no clue what’s going on, but the air seems to shimmer and vibrate in response to his call, and the Heavens themselves appear to rumble in response.
Dean’s two days into his cycle when the lock thuds back and the door slowly opens. He strains against his restraints with a desperate whine and looks up at Sam-Sam, who told him exactly what was going on, after Dean’s heat-riddled wolf brain had already pieced together the answer. He’s in heat, searching for a mate, and the only reason they can come up with is the fact that he was bitten by the Alpha and left on his own. They’ve never heard of any cases like Dean’s before of werewolves going into heat. Yet again, he seems to be the exception to every rule.
“Move aside, Sam,” he hears, and Sam does. Blue eyes stare at him, and Dean’s eyes dart rapidly over the angel’s face-dark scruff, dark, messy hair, strong jaw and chin, those blue, blue eyes. He inhales deeply and Castiel’s scent hits him like a punch in the gut. He actually doubles over, clutching at his stomach with fingers that are slick and shining with natural lubrication. His skin glows when the light hits it, sweaty and flushed, and he hears a soft sound from Castiel before the door closes and the angel steps into the room alone.
Immediately Dean lunges forward, ropes pulling taught until the braided material digs into his biceps and keeps him from going anywhere. He’s tied down to keep him from getting loose, to keep him from getting to Sam or Bobby when they come into the room. Castiel looks at the ropes, his blue eyes unfathomable, and Dean whines; strains to get closer to such a strong, powerful scent. Sam is big, and aggressive looking, but he has nowhere near the kind of strength that Castiel houses in his smaller body. Dean wants that strength, his heat demands it, and he struggles fitfully until Castiel frowns.
“Dean, what happened to you?” He looks genuinely confused, like he can’t understand what’s going on. If Dean still had the capacity of speech, he knows he’d be making sarcastic quips and rolling his eyes at the angel’s uncanny knack for having the obvious go right over his head. As it is, all he can do is whine and strain to be closer. Castiel approaches him, and his heat-saturated brain fairly weeps for joy. He’s on Castiel as soon as the angel gets close enough, snuffling the creature’s neck and rubbing against him eagerly.
“You’re in heat.” It’s said suddenly, with clarity, and Dean squirms closer, thrusting his hard cock against the scratchy material of the angel’s slacks and moaning in relief when he comes in a powerful rush of need. His fingers curl into the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat, tugging pitifully to try and get him closer. “Dean, how long have you been like this?”
Does that even matter? Dean doesn’t think it matters. He just tugs, trying to pull Castiel closer, and when the restraints suddenly fall away he moans in excitement and instead shoves forward until Castiel falls back and he can straddle the angel’s lap and grind down against him. His pheromones fill the air around them, enticing the creature, and he watches in delight and triumph as Castiel’s eyes go from wide to narrowed-bright blue to smoldering navy. Strong hands grip his hips and shove him back.
“Get off, Dean. Roll over.” The orders are exactly that: orders. Dean scrambles to obey, rolling over and exposing himself to the angel with a low, excited whine. Fingers smear through the slick on his thighs and ass, spreading it around, and then his cheeks are being pulled apart and a hot tongue is lapping at his loose, clenching hole. Dean mewls, a choked-off sound, and rubs back against the tongue that’s fucking inside of him; curling to catch his rim on the way out. He cries out and shoves back harder, his senses going haywire. Castiel’s fingers curl over his hip and grip down, keeping him in place while the angel breathes teasingly against his entrance until Dean is sobbing and digging at the floor with nails that are growing into claws.
Castiel pulls away suddenly and he whines, trying to turn his head to see where the angel went. Fingers grip his scruff and force his head back down until his forehead is pressing into the cold ground. He’s mounted-there’s really no other word for it-and then something thick and hot is fucking into him with no resistance. Dean howls, knowing that Castiel’s cock is inside of him, and arches back to try and force the angel deeper even though it’s impossible. He feels the cock inside of him, the way it splits him open and fills him in a way his fingers couldn’t. He’d spent hours fucking himself with his fingers, trying to make himself come, and Castiel’s barely thrust once before Dean is coming all over the floor, his cock throbbing and twitching with each pulse.
“Such a good bitch,” Castiel whispers. Dean doesn’t soften at all, he knows he won’t, and he whines when the angel’s fingers curl around the base of his dick. “You won’t come again until I say so. Do you understand?” The creature’s voice is full of command, he’s in total control, and Dean nods frantically; arches his hips and spreads his legs for Castiel so that the dominant male can thrust harder and faster, and plunge even deeper than should be possible with every slam of his hips.
Dean wishes he could say he never expected something like this. Well, considering these circumstances, he can. He never expected to be turned into a werewolf, or go into heat. Having Castiel inside of him, though, the angel’s cock dragging over his prostate with each slow push-and-pull-that, he expected to happen some day. It’s what makes him so agreeable to it, baring the back of his neck and bowing his spine in submission. Each slam back into him draws a wanton little yelp from the hunter, his mouth open and wet as he pants and his green eyes hazy with lust and need.
He’s so hard that he hurts, his cock drooling pre-cum and more cum splattered over his thighs and stomach. Castiel’s fingers are locked around him, though, holding his orgasm at bay, so all he can do his buck his hips forward to try and get some relief, then shove them back into every thrust with gasping little mewls. He needs it harder, wants it faster, and Castiel’s pace adjusts immediately. It’s like he’s read Dean’s mind, and knowing the angel, he probably has.
The fingers at the back of his neck are gone suddenly. Before Dean can look around to see what happened, Castiel’s blunt teeth are digging into the soft, fragile skin; drawing blood and making him groan in painful ecstasy as he’s claimed by the angel. It’s a mating mark, his instincts are telling him, and if Castiel’s fingers didn’t tighten around his cock to the point of pain, he would be coming just from that thought alone. All he can do is mewl, begging with his body; scream when Castiel’s nails dig into his ribs and rake down to his hips.
Dean howls then, in pain and pleasure. One side burns, from where Castiel’s free hand had marked him, and his cock is turning purple because he’s been denied his release for so long. If he cared enough to look, he’d see that his knees are bloody from being scraped across the ground by every thrust of Castiel’s cock into his gripping, clenching body.
“Do you want to come, Dean?” Castiel growls, his teeth scraping over the bloody indentations in the back of Dean’s neck. He whines and nods, his forehead bumping roughly against the concrete beneath him. “Do you think you deserve it? I could smell you all over Sam and Bobby. You tried to get them to mate with you, didn’t you? Oh, baby, you should have known better than that.”
He’s sorry, so sorry, and he whines when Castiel suddenly stops, his cock so deep inside of the hunter that Dean can feel it in his chest and throat. Castiel twists his hips and bucks, and suddenly he’s even deeper, the base of his cock swelling until Dean’s scratching at the ground and whining in pain. He didn’t know angels knotted with their mates-then again, he never had any reason to ask. It’s so primal, so animalistic, that when Castiel’s fingers loosen and the tip of one pad teases the sensitive vein that runs up the underside of his cock, Dean comes with a scream that tears his throat apart and makes blood leak from the corners of his mouth.
Castiel’s knot swells to the point that it hurts, but at the same time, Dean’s never felt anything more filling, more complete. The way the angel grinds into him, hips bucking with every pulse of his cock, stimulates the hunter’s prostate until he’s panting and clawing at the floor again; simultaneously trying to get away and force himself closer. He’s exhausted, strung out after days of heat and need. His body is one enormous ache, his sides burning from the scratching and the back of his neck still leaking blood. Ribbons of red trail down his chin from his mouth, and every breath cuts down his damaged throat and makes him wince until warm fingers bury themselves in his hair and the aches bleed away into the most pleasant sensations.
“Cas,” he whispers, rasping out the first word he’s been able to say in nearly three days. Of course it would be the angel’s name, and he looks back over his shoulder to stare into the navy blue eyes. Dean can’t hold his mate’s gaze for long and drops it quickly, submissive and showing it. The first time he looked into the angel’s eyes, standing in a cold barn with blown lightbulbs sparking around them, he knew he was Castiel’s. He just thought that something like this would never happen-that the angel would never claim him in such a way.
“How do you feel, Dean?” Castiel asks quietly, and his fingers are warm against Dean’s skin, running down his spine to skirt close to the place where they’re still knotted together. “Was I too rough?”
“In all the best ways.” The hunter presses back against Castiel, squirming at the uncomfortable pleasure-pain of what he knows is the knot. Months ago, he never would have guessed or even suspected such a thing, but months ago he didn’t have a wolf’s brain telling him things he never would have known otherwise. “How in the hell did you knot with me, anyway?”
“I’m an angel, Dean.” He sounds amused, his breath hot on Dean’s neck when the hunter feels him lean forward. A hot tongue drags over the sore bite and he whines softly, but tilts his head forward in submission. “We mate while in flight, and in order to make sure that we actually stay connected, the dominant partner will knot with the submissive angel.” The angel is licking the back of his neck, making soft sounds of contentment with every drag of his wet tongue across the mark he left. Dean knows it will scar-Castiel wants it to scar, and in many ways so does he.
“Oh. So how’d you find out about me?”
“I heard the howling. I didn’t know what it meant at first, but then I checked my phone and saw that you and Sam and Bobby have been trying to call me. I apologize; I was out of minutes and I hadn’t gotten more.” There’s a note of apology in his voice, but when Dean turns his neck to look up at his mate he sees how dark Castiel’s eyes are. They’re trained on him, laser-focused, and he whines softly before trying to lick at the angel’s throat and chin. “You tried to mate with others, Dean, when you should know better than that. You have carried my claim since before we properly met. I told you we have a profound bond. And yet, you would try to give yourself to someone else.”
“I didn’t know what was going on!” Dean protests, but he’s already pressing himself closer to the floor in response to Castiel’s dark, deeper rumble. He’s read a lot about wolf packs in the past few months, and he knows that Castiel is asserting his dominance, as both Dean’s alpha and his mate. It’s that thought that makes him bare his throat, and he mewls softly when Castiel leans forward, shifting his body so his cock grinds deeper, the knot still a thick, hard presence inside of him. Hard, blunt teeth drag over his skin for a moment before biting down, and he jolts in response to the flare of pain.
“I own you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel growls when he finally pulls back. Blue eyes catch green before Dean looks away, eyelids fluttering, and rubs up against his alpha. Castiel presses down against him, his hips rocking as the knot slowly begins to shrink. Dean whines and spreads his legs, feeling a trickle of heat down his spine. “I’ve owned you from the second I looked into your eyes, and it’s best you remember that from now on.”
“I will,” the hunter gasps-mewls when fingers curl around his cock and start to stroke. He’s not finished with his heat cycle yet, and he can already tell that. He can also tell that Castiel’s not going to let him go anywhere until his heat is completely gone; just like any alpha with its mate. And he knows, a moan shuddering through him and curling out into the air when Castiel lifts his hips and grinds forward harshly, that he’s never going to need anything but this again.