On Painted Wings of Glory
Title: On Painted Wings of Glory
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Warnings: AU/ angel!Dean, dominant!Castiel, wing!marking, wing!kink, submissive!Dean, halfbreed!Castiel, D/s
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
Summary: For Lilac. Happy belated birffday! 8D <3 <3 <3 <3
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The scent of heat stops every dominant angel within miles, as if someone has suddenly turned off time and frozen everything. It’s very rare that a submissive angel will go into heat, because usually they know who their mates are at birth, and are claimed by them. Every few thousand years, though, an angel will be born mateless. Apparently, this is the case here and now.
As one, all of the dominants turn towards the west, where the fertile angel is sunning himself. He looks like a young god-perfectly tanned, supple skin, and golden-brown hair that glows in the sunlight. He’s watching them all with narrowed green eyes, his pupils blown. Sunlight glints off of the sweat beading on his skin. Every dominant inhales, drawing in his scent before they begin to advance.
Shifting, the submissive stands and unfurls his wings with a graceful, careless roll of his broad, bare shoulders. He’s dressed only in a pair of low-hanging, baggy blue jeans. He must be too hot in his own skin, which is glowing with the light and power of his Grace. Behind him, his wings unfurl to their fullest extent. The underside is a light cream color, with splotches of brown. When he turns his back to them, smirking over his shoulder, he exposes the rest of his wings, which are a dark, forest-green color intermixed with browns and gold.
He’s a striking creature-a Grigori that none of them have noticed before. To some of them, it’s a mystery as to why they have never noticed such a clearly powerful, striking creature. Several of the Seraphim advance, low growls rumbling up from their chests. Any other time, they would be composed and serene. However, an angel’s heat turns all of them into wild beasts until they’ve claimed their mate and have them safely back in their homes, far away from the rest of Heaven.
“Come and get me, boys,” the submissive purrs. He’s cocky, and arrogant, and obviously self-assured. One of the Seraphim launches himself forward, but the Grigori is already gone, shot up into the sky on petite, light wings that make him faster than his heavier-winged consorts. A cry goes up amongst the dominants, and they all leap into the air. The chase is on.
Dean could fly all day. He’s spurred on by his natural instincts, which insist that he keep on flying, even after he’s exhausted, until one of the dominants behind him manages to catch him and lock with him. So far, that hasn’t happened, and it’s already been three hours. They’ve tried, and tried, but so far none of them have been lucky. A few have come close several times, but have had no luck. Balthazar is one of them, and Dean eyes him as he drops expertly to avoid the Seraph’s reaching wings. He’s a maybe. British and cocky, though, are not really Dean’s type. He doesn’t know what is, but he’s pretty sure that Balthazar’s only going to get him if he’s good enough to catch him. He almost did, once, coming so close that Dean had felt the brush of his primary feathers against his back, but he’d rolled out of the way and caught a gust of wind that had propelled him forward.
Raphael is an absolute no. He’s an ass, and so is Michael. So is Zachariah, for that matter. The archangels are not to his taste at all, and Zachariah is just a pompous asshole. Dean hisses at the gray-haired, black-winged angel as he finds a thermal and rises above the pack of rabid dominants. They can’t move as swiftly as he can, or turn as sharply as him. It makes the Grigori chuckle as he watches them struggle to make sharp, precise turns through the trees he’s led them into.
A roar echoes through the air. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he whirls around to see who made the sound. One of the dominants has hung back from flying through the trees. He’s watching Dean with dark blue eyes; his pupils are slit-shaped, and burning with red fire. His wings beat at the air, sending the smell of brimstone and heated rocks towards Dean. He eyes the potential’s wings, and his green eyes widen.
It’s Castiel. The only halfbreed angel allowed in Heaven. His mother, an unclaimed angel, mated with a dragon, and he was the only offspring born from the forbidden union. He’s got angelic wings, but the feathers are a mixture of ruby red and sapphire blue. Along the wing arches are large, thick talons that are perfect for gripping and ripping-or just gripping, and it makes the slickness between Dean’s legs increase as his heat floods through him in another wave of shuddering, burning need.
Mewling, the submissive angel immediately drops slightly, his wings reaching forward. He hasn’t seen Castiel this whole time, which makes him wonder where the dominant was hiding. Everyone in Heaven knows of Castiel, and many are friends with him. He’s quiet, and fierce when he fights, but he’s a good guy. He’s also incredibly attractive, and his scent is enough to make Dean melt.
He’s so distracted that he almost misses Raphael sneaking up on him. Hands grip his waist, and heavy wings begin to settle over his. He fights, snarling, and turns to try and bite the archangel, when suddenly the world erupts into flames. The dominant falls back, his wings and face burned, and plummets to the ground. Dean turns to watch, his wings raised in pride. He deliberately puts his back to Castiel, because he’s already made his choice. It’s no surprise to him when he feels talons hook around his wing arches and pull him back. Thighs slide between his legs, forcing them to part, and a hot cock presses up against his wet, loose entrance. He doesn’t even bother fighting, just goes limp against the halfbreed, and lets Castiel control the speed of their descent.
The ground rushes up at them as they fall, but Dean’s not paying attention to that. He’s more focused on the feel of Castiel’s hot, hard cock as the dominant slides into him with a few rough, powerful thrusts. They knot together immediately, slamming into the ground hard enough to create their own small crater. Dust settles in their feathers, clinging more to Dean’s because he’s completely soaked from his own natural oils.
Clawed fingers slide through his secondary feathers, gripping tightly as the halfbreed hauls himself up and rocks deep into Dean. He whimpers desperately, clawing at the ground, and spreads his legs for Castiel as he situates himself on his knees-displaying himself for his dominant mate and making it easier for the draconic angel to thrust even deeper and harder.
“Please,” Dean begs, mewling as he arches his wings up against the heavier ones that force his down against the ground. He must be bleeding from how tightly the talons are gripping him, digging into his feathers and keeping him from going anywhere just as surely as Castiel’s knot keeps them tied together. He feels it when the Seraph comes; the way he swells almost impossibly big and then spills out into the submissive’s receptive body. It sends a heated shiver through Dean, and makes him dig his nails even harder into the ground as his dick throbs and his body jerks as he comes all over the ground.
“Mine,” Castiel snarls as he mounts Dean again. Daylight faded a long time ago, and the stars twinkle around them now. Both of them are covered in dirt and sweat and cum, and Dean’s wing oil. Castiel used it several times, slicking his fingers and pressing them into Dean’s open, loosened body just to feel the way the submissive would clench around the wet digits and rock back.
“Yours,” Dean agrees readily, tucking his face into the crook of his elbow and whining long and low as he feels his mate press inside of him again. They’ve been at it for hours, neither one of them tiring. Dean knows that they can go like this for days, and by the end of it he’s going to be the one who needs to sleep for a month. Castiel’s stamina is more impressive than his, being a higher-ranked angel and also half dragon. He loves it, that wild possessiveness that none of the angels can ever hope to equal. He knows he made the right choice, picking Castiel out of all the other dominants. And the draconic angel hasn’t disappointed him, teasing at his oil glands as he fucks back into Dean with slow, small thrusts. The submissive rocks his whole body back, begging wordlessly for harder, faster, stronger. It’s unbearable, being pleasured in so many different spots. Castiel’s long, slender fingers are quick and sure, pushing against his glands before smearing it up into his feathers.
The dominant pulls out suddenly, drawing another pleading whine from Dean. He turns to look at the older angel, begging with his eyes for more. Castiel watches him, his pupils burning a dark ember color, and then he smirks crookedly and kneels to cup the submissive angel’s cheeks in his burning palms.
“Do you want to come, Dean?” he whispers. His voice is deep and rough, like his throat has just been fucked raw. Dean whimpers and nods, his cock throbbing painfully. “Do you?”
“Yes, please,” Dean gasps, arching his back and spreading his wings out along the ground in the perfect display of submissive behavior. He wants Castiel. He needs him. He needs to be filled with the halfbreed’s cock, his cum, his Grace. He wants everything, and more.
Castiel stands then, putting himself above his younger mate and crossing his arms. He looks him over, his blue eyes burning, and then he smiles. “Stay like that, Dean. I want to mark you.”
Wings trembling, the submissive does as he has been ordered and presses himself against the ground. There’s no denying the command in his mate’s tone, and as a submissive angel, he can only obey. He wants to obey, because Castiel is his mate and Master now. You never say no to your Master. His green eyes follow the halfbreed as he walks around his prostrate body, until he can’t see him anymore. It’s no surprise to him when weight settles on his lower back; strong thighs straddling his waist and knowing fingers combing through his sticky feathers to smear his oil around and help distribute it better. Castiel knows every one of his sensitive spots by now, and he stops to poke and press against them until Dean is a shuddering, shivering wreck.
“Please, Cas,” he moans, rubbing his cheek against the grass beneath him and rocking his hips as he tries to relieve some of the pressure that’s building in his groin. He needs to come, or he feels like he’s going to die. He can feel his mate’s cock against his spine, the tip leaking precum across his sweaty, filthy skin and making him even dirtier. Knuckles brush against his heated skin, and he can feel it when the other angel starts to stroke himself.
Immediately knowing what’s going to happen, Dean mewls and spreads his wings even better, until the primary feathers separate from one another and stretch out fully. His feathers bristle from arousal, muscles jumping and twitching like he’s a skittish horse. “Do it,” he begs. “Fuckin’ do it, Cas.” If Castiel comes on his wings, it’ll be the ultimate sign of dominance over the young Grigori. He will belong to the halfbreed indisputably. No one will be able to challenge Castiel’s claim over him, and Dean doesn’t want anyone to. He wants to belong to the Seraph.
Castiel’s thighs tighten, his hips bucking, and he comes with a low rumble, followed by the heat of fire and the scent of burning bark. His cum splatters over Dean’s wings, marking the green feathers and mixing with his oil until he smells like the draconic angel. The submissive moans, low and raw, and comes all over his stomach and the ground as he feels his mate’s fingers sink into his feathers and start properly spreading his claim. Later on, it’ll get sticky and disgusting, and he’ll have to groom Dean properly, but that scent will never fade.
Dean is his forever.
Morning finds the two angels curled around one another, Castiel’s body cocooning Dean’s while his enormous wings cover the both of them. The submissive can’t help but marvel at his mate, who is smaller than him, but who has such big wings. He certainly makes a statement with the colors, too, and Dean loves that. He loves how strong Castiel is, and how when he curls his lips back in a grin, he exposes sharp fangs instead of blunt teeth. Those fangs nip into the submissive’s lower lip when they kiss, drawing a single bead of blood that his mate licks away reverently.
“Mine,” he purrs, running his fingers through Dean’s hair and scratching at his scalp gently with his claws. “Mine forever.”
“Yours,” Dean sighs happily, nuzzling his face into the crook of the draconic angel’s neck. He’d spent most of his life feeling proud that he didn’t have a mate. Now he can’t imagine how he ever lived without Castiel. The halfbreed is strong, and beautiful, and he’s Dean’s. Dean is his, too, in a perfectly harmonious balance. They will grow and prosper together, and Dean will even some day bear Castiel’s children, if his body is equipped to. Heat is just the submissive angel’s way of renewing their dominant’s claim on them. Still, Dean hopes that this, right here, can be something different too.
For the first time in his entire existence, his life feels complete.