Fiction: Tangled Up Inside - Supernatural - Dean/Castiel - R
Title: Tangled Up Inside
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Category: Angst, first time
Notes: Thanks to L and Alee for the beta help. All remaining errors are mine. This story was written a month ago, but I felt the final paragraph wasn't quite right. Since the right words don't seem to be forthcoming, I decided to set it free. Word count: 2,100
Warnings: Spoilers for 513 Song Remains the Same.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. No infringement intended.
Summary: Dean watches over unconscious Castiel.
After the Jack Daniels ran out, Dean switched to Wild Turkey. He sat down on the edge of the bed and tossed back a shot, lost in thought about what had happened, grateful that Castiel was back from the past. He turned and stared down at Castiel's sprawled form. The angel hadn't woken since he'd passed out a few hours ago. Sam lay in the other bed just as comatose, arms and legs spread out across the bed, after too much to drink.
Dean lifted his glass in the air.
"To us," he mumbled before gulping down the contents. He sat hunched for a moment then set the empty glass down before standing. Dean turned and stared down at Castiel again. Dean would have to reposition him or Dean would end up sleeping on the floor, and that was not an option.
"Okay, big boy," Dean said. He only meant to drag Castiel over to one side of the bed, but recalled the bone-deep ache that always accompanied a night spent fully clothed, twisted into an awkward position by sheer exhaustion, he reconsidered. Castiel might be immune to the morning-after effects of strained muscles, but there was no reason to take the chance, so Dean propped Castiel up and, with some fumbling and a few false starts, removed the ever-present trench coat. Dean was puffing a little after he finished his task, but then realized that Castiel still had his suit jacket on. With a deep breath, Dean grabbed a sleeve and yanked, this time rolling Castiel onto his front to make it easier to remove the jacket. Castiel remained unconscious through all the jostling. Dean finished and positioned Castiel on the left side of the bed, leaving Dean plenty of room to lie down.
"I hope you appreciate all that," Dean muttered, sitting at the foot of the bed. He stared down at Castiel's shoes and sighed, thinking those should to go as well. Dean stood and picked up the half-empty bottle, drinking straight from the lip. He was almost finished and already regretting not buying more. If he could, he'd walk to a store and get something else. He set the bottle down on the nightstand and sat to remove his own boots, eyeing Castiel's shoes as he set his boots down. It was bugging him that Castiel still had his shoes on, and Dean slid across the bed far enough so that he could reach over and take the irritating shoes off. He lay across Castiel's legs for a while contemplating Castiel's socks, and whether he should remove those as well.
Castiel didn't stir.
"Are you comfortable now?" Dean slurred the words. There was no response. Dean started to drift to sleep. His body floated and he hummed the tune of the last song he'd heard, Zeppelin's 'Ramble On.' Suddenly, he sat up, certain he'd missed something, and then he realized that he was still in the motel and not back in the past with Michael inside his father, telling him he'd make sure Dean lived through the apocalypse.
Dean set to the task of removing Castiel's socks and tossed them over his shoulder. He rubbed one of Castiel's feet, staring down at the toes. They looked like normal toes. Why wouldn't they be? Jimmy was human, even if Castiel was not. Dean leaned in and sniffed, unsure why. They smelled like ordinary feet, not that Dean went around smelling people's feet. He'd expected them to stink, because wearing leather shoes all day every day and never taking them off should have left an odor, but there wasn't.
"You're weirder than I thought," Dean said, sitting up and removing his own shirt. He lay back, head resting against Castiel's legs and wriggled out of his jeans. Wearing only black boxers and a t-shirt, Dean shoved aside the bedcovers and slid up to the headboard, collapsing beside Castiel.
He swallowed down the last of the alcohol and set the empty bottle down, relaxing for the first time since this whole ordeal had started.
"Except I can't ever relax," Dean mumbled. "What am I supposed to do now, Cas?" He really wished there was more booze. The thought of what had happened swam in his head. "Anna, I just can't believe she wanted to kill Sam. I can't believe Dad said yes. I know why he did it." Dean paused because the lump forming in his throat made it impossible to go on talking. He swallowed hard and bit back the tears that threatened. There was no time for tears anymore. There had never really been time for them. "Cas," Dean managed, almost choking on the word. "So help me, I know why he said yes."
Castiel stirred beside him. Dean leaned toward him, his heart suddenly fluttering in his chest, worried that he'd heard Dean's words. "Cas." Dean leaned closer to Castiel, staring down at him, his vision blurred. When Castiel's eyes opened, relief flooded through Dean.
"Dean," Castiel said. His voice was rough, barely audible. Dean leaned in closer with his ear closer to Castiel's mouth.
"I'm here, Cas," Dean slurred. He gripped Castiel by his shoulders.
"Where am I?" Castiel asked, attempting and failing to lift his head. Dean relaxed, rested his head on Castiel's chest, and sighed with relief.
"You're alive," Dean mumbled. His head spun and he had to admit that maybe he'd had too much to drink. Maybe he should have stopped at the bottle he'd shared with Sam. He realized that he was petting Castiel's arm, but it felt so good to lay there, Castiel solid beneath him.
"I am resilient," Castiel said.
The words vibrated through Dean, from his head down to his toes. Dean nodded.
"I will bounce back. I just need..." Castiel said trailing off. After a long silence, Dean lifted his head to look at Castiel. His eyes had shut again, and his head had fallen to the left, features slack.
"Cas." Dean shook him gently, and Castiel's eyes fluttered open.
"...a few hours, days, weeks perhaps to recover..." he said as though he'd never stopped.
Dean pulled himself up until he lay right beside Castiel, their heads side by side. With their shoulders pressed together, Dean turned his head, and groaned when he felt the room spin. He should have stopped drinking half a bottle sooner, and the fact that he wasn't already in a comatose state frankly stunned Dean.
Dean reached up to pet Castiel on the chest, smoothing the fabric of his dress shirt. The texture under his over-sensitized fingers felt softer than he thought it would, and when he lifted his head enough to see, he understood why. Castiel's shirt was wide open, having been unbuttoned at some point. Dean studied the bare skin beneath his fingers and wondered when he'd unbuttoned the shirt. He must have dozed off when that was happening.
He propped himself up on one elbow and watched the gooseflesh rise as he nudged the shirt open enough to expose more pale flesh. Castiel closed his eyes and a low rumble of what seemed to be pleasure vibrated through his chest. His belly quivered almost imperceptibly when Dean slid his hand down then up to cover one side of his chest, nipple peaking at the touch. Dean squeezed the nipple between two fingers, tugging at it. Castiel shifted beneath his touch, leg bending at the knee to slide between Dean's thighs and press into his hardening cock.
Dean quirked one brow and watched as Castiel shifted his head from left to right and licked his lips.
"Cas," Dean whispered afraid he'd wake the angel, although not too sure he wasn't already awake.
Castiel hummed what Dean accepted as acknowledgement, and turned his head toward Dean, their foreheads pressed together, and something shifted in Dean's universe, something Dean could neither name nor define.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Castiel's parted lips. They were cool and dry, not like parchment at all, as Dean suspected. Dean licked his mouth, wetting the lips, moaned when Castiel's leg ground against his cock, pressing it to him. Dean caressed down to the waistband of Castiel's pants, fumbling with the belt, button, and zipper as they kissed. The moans grew louder and Dean bit down on Castiel's bottom lip, pulled away, pressing his fingers against Castiel's lips to silence him. They wouldn't want to wake Sammy. He wouldn't grasp what was going on, but Dean understood. It was suddenly all so clear, lying in the motel bed with Castiel spread out like an offering, as if he was Dean's to do with as he pleased.
The thought to slow down or stop crossed Dean's mind only once, but then Castiel opened his deep blue eyes and the plea in them was clear.
Castiel's pants went next with a swish of fabric and a clank of the belt as they fell over the edge of the bed. Dean cupped Castiel's generous handful of cock and balls and squeezed. He'd never touched any other man's dick in his life other than his own; it was different. He paused with the weight of that simple yet complicated thought filling the silent room. The beating of his own heart and the pulse in Castiel's cock, thrummed through Dean.
Dean slid on top of Castiel, pinning him to the bed, covering him, their legs sliding together, and stubble scraping against Dean's face when he pressed his cheek to Castiel's jowl. He humped against Castiel, their cloth-covered cocks rubbing together. It wasn't enough. Dean could feel the wetness from precome sticky against his leg even through their jockeys. He fumbled to get their briefs off, tugging at his first. His cock popped out and slapped against Castiel's bare thigh, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through Dean. His breath coming in pants, Dean risked one glance at the other bed, knowing the threat of Sam waking up and seeing them was half the reason he was so hard.
Dean turned his attention back to his task, and slowly lifted Castiel's briefs to hook them under Castiel's hot smooth balls. His cock was thick, shorter than Dean's was. Dean took it in his hand, stroking the length, feeling the weight of the warm pulsing flesh against his palm. He looked up into Castiel's eyes and watched as he stroked once then twice, brushing his thumb across the wet head, a smirk on his mouth as Castiel's breath hitched in his throat. Dean twisted and bent, managed to wrap his mouth around the thick head, sucking on it once. The flavor exploded on his tongue, and Dean pulled off, watching as Castiel writhed beneath his touch. The taste trapped in his mouth, Dean decided that was enough experimenting for one night. He relaxed against Castiel and lazily stroked the thick length with one hand as he rubbed his own hard cock against Castiel's leg. Thoughts of long fuck sessions filled his mind. The sound of shifting sheets in the next bed drew Dean's attention away. Through a lazy gaze, Dean thought he saw Sam lift his head and look over at them, but he couldn't be sure. He could have dreamed it all.
Dean nuzzled Castiel's cheek, taking a deep breath, inhaling Castiel's musk.
"This good?" he mumbled against his face, stubble burning his lips.
Castiel's slow nod was the only response and as their foreheads pressed together, Dean stroked Castiel to climax, watching him as his eyes seemed to darken and his lips moved with soundless words. Desperate to reach his own climax, Dean jerked himself fast and hard, pressing his balls tight against Castiel, his body hot with excitement and shame. He shot across Castiel's belly and thighs, biting back the moans.
He used his t-shirt to clean them both, removing it to toss it aside. Shirtless, Dean lay staring up at the dark ceiling wondering when the room would stop spinning and when he would fall asleep, so that he could pretend this was nothing more than some drunken nightmare cooked up by his fucked up mind.
Even angels seemed susceptible to post-orgasmic lethargy. Dean watched as Castiel drifted to sleep.
Even as Dean started to drift, he felt a craving deep inside to do more. He should have felt guilt for lusting after an angel, but a part of Dean didn't. A part of him wanted to fondle, and fuck, and fracture, and hold Castiel down until there was no difference between them. Castiel would end and begin with Dean.
End
Feedback is much appreciated.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Category: Angst, first time
Notes: Thanks to L and Alee for the beta help. All remaining errors are mine. This story was written a month ago, but I felt the final paragraph wasn't quite right. Since the right words don't seem to be forthcoming, I decided to set it free. Word count: 2,100
Warnings: Spoilers for 513 Song Remains the Same.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. No infringement intended.
Summary: Dean watches over unconscious Castiel.
After the Jack Daniels ran out, Dean switched to Wild Turkey. He sat down on the edge of the bed and tossed back a shot, lost in thought about what had happened, grateful that Castiel was back from the past. He turned and stared down at Castiel's sprawled form. The angel hadn't woken since he'd passed out a few hours ago. Sam lay in the other bed just as comatose, arms and legs spread out across the bed, after too much to drink.
Dean lifted his glass in the air.
"To us," he mumbled before gulping down the contents. He sat hunched for a moment then set the empty glass down before standing. Dean turned and stared down at Castiel again. Dean would have to reposition him or Dean would end up sleeping on the floor, and that was not an option.
"Okay, big boy," Dean said. He only meant to drag Castiel over to one side of the bed, but recalled the bone-deep ache that always accompanied a night spent fully clothed, twisted into an awkward position by sheer exhaustion, he reconsidered. Castiel might be immune to the morning-after effects of strained muscles, but there was no reason to take the chance, so Dean propped Castiel up and, with some fumbling and a few false starts, removed the ever-present trench coat. Dean was puffing a little after he finished his task, but then realized that Castiel still had his suit jacket on. With a deep breath, Dean grabbed a sleeve and yanked, this time rolling Castiel onto his front to make it easier to remove the jacket. Castiel remained unconscious through all the jostling. Dean finished and positioned Castiel on the left side of the bed, leaving Dean plenty of room to lie down.
"I hope you appreciate all that," Dean muttered, sitting at the foot of the bed. He stared down at Castiel's shoes and sighed, thinking those should to go as well. Dean stood and picked up the half-empty bottle, drinking straight from the lip. He was almost finished and already regretting not buying more. If he could, he'd walk to a store and get something else. He set the bottle down on the nightstand and sat to remove his own boots, eyeing Castiel's shoes as he set his boots down. It was bugging him that Castiel still had his shoes on, and Dean slid across the bed far enough so that he could reach over and take the irritating shoes off. He lay across Castiel's legs for a while contemplating Castiel's socks, and whether he should remove those as well.
Castiel didn't stir.
"Are you comfortable now?" Dean slurred the words. There was no response. Dean started to drift to sleep. His body floated and he hummed the tune of the last song he'd heard, Zeppelin's 'Ramble On.' Suddenly, he sat up, certain he'd missed something, and then he realized that he was still in the motel and not back in the past with Michael inside his father, telling him he'd make sure Dean lived through the apocalypse.
Dean set to the task of removing Castiel's socks and tossed them over his shoulder. He rubbed one of Castiel's feet, staring down at the toes. They looked like normal toes. Why wouldn't they be? Jimmy was human, even if Castiel was not. Dean leaned in and sniffed, unsure why. They smelled like ordinary feet, not that Dean went around smelling people's feet. He'd expected them to stink, because wearing leather shoes all day every day and never taking them off should have left an odor, but there wasn't.
"You're weirder than I thought," Dean said, sitting up and removing his own shirt. He lay back, head resting against Castiel's legs and wriggled out of his jeans. Wearing only black boxers and a t-shirt, Dean shoved aside the bedcovers and slid up to the headboard, collapsing beside Castiel.
He swallowed down the last of the alcohol and set the empty bottle down, relaxing for the first time since this whole ordeal had started.
"Except I can't ever relax," Dean mumbled. "What am I supposed to do now, Cas?" He really wished there was more booze. The thought of what had happened swam in his head. "Anna, I just can't believe she wanted to kill Sam. I can't believe Dad said yes. I know why he did it." Dean paused because the lump forming in his throat made it impossible to go on talking. He swallowed hard and bit back the tears that threatened. There was no time for tears anymore. There had never really been time for them. "Cas," Dean managed, almost choking on the word. "So help me, I know why he said yes."
Castiel stirred beside him. Dean leaned toward him, his heart suddenly fluttering in his chest, worried that he'd heard Dean's words. "Cas." Dean leaned closer to Castiel, staring down at him, his vision blurred. When Castiel's eyes opened, relief flooded through Dean.
"Dean," Castiel said. His voice was rough, barely audible. Dean leaned in closer with his ear closer to Castiel's mouth.
"I'm here, Cas," Dean slurred. He gripped Castiel by his shoulders.
"Where am I?" Castiel asked, attempting and failing to lift his head. Dean relaxed, rested his head on Castiel's chest, and sighed with relief.
"You're alive," Dean mumbled. His head spun and he had to admit that maybe he'd had too much to drink. Maybe he should have stopped at the bottle he'd shared with Sam. He realized that he was petting Castiel's arm, but it felt so good to lay there, Castiel solid beneath him.
"I am resilient," Castiel said.
The words vibrated through Dean, from his head down to his toes. Dean nodded.
"I will bounce back. I just need..." Castiel said trailing off. After a long silence, Dean lifted his head to look at Castiel. His eyes had shut again, and his head had fallen to the left, features slack.
"Cas." Dean shook him gently, and Castiel's eyes fluttered open.
"...a few hours, days, weeks perhaps to recover..." he said as though he'd never stopped.
Dean pulled himself up until he lay right beside Castiel, their heads side by side. With their shoulders pressed together, Dean turned his head, and groaned when he felt the room spin. He should have stopped drinking half a bottle sooner, and the fact that he wasn't already in a comatose state frankly stunned Dean.
Dean reached up to pet Castiel on the chest, smoothing the fabric of his dress shirt. The texture under his over-sensitized fingers felt softer than he thought it would, and when he lifted his head enough to see, he understood why. Castiel's shirt was wide open, having been unbuttoned at some point. Dean studied the bare skin beneath his fingers and wondered when he'd unbuttoned the shirt. He must have dozed off when that was happening.
He propped himself up on one elbow and watched the gooseflesh rise as he nudged the shirt open enough to expose more pale flesh. Castiel closed his eyes and a low rumble of what seemed to be pleasure vibrated through his chest. His belly quivered almost imperceptibly when Dean slid his hand down then up to cover one side of his chest, nipple peaking at the touch. Dean squeezed the nipple between two fingers, tugging at it. Castiel shifted beneath his touch, leg bending at the knee to slide between Dean's thighs and press into his hardening cock.
Dean quirked one brow and watched as Castiel shifted his head from left to right and licked his lips.
"Cas," Dean whispered afraid he'd wake the angel, although not too sure he wasn't already awake.
Castiel hummed what Dean accepted as acknowledgement, and turned his head toward Dean, their foreheads pressed together, and something shifted in Dean's universe, something Dean could neither name nor define.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Castiel's parted lips. They were cool and dry, not like parchment at all, as Dean suspected. Dean licked his mouth, wetting the lips, moaned when Castiel's leg ground against his cock, pressing it to him. Dean caressed down to the waistband of Castiel's pants, fumbling with the belt, button, and zipper as they kissed. The moans grew louder and Dean bit down on Castiel's bottom lip, pulled away, pressing his fingers against Castiel's lips to silence him. They wouldn't want to wake Sammy. He wouldn't grasp what was going on, but Dean understood. It was suddenly all so clear, lying in the motel bed with Castiel spread out like an offering, as if he was Dean's to do with as he pleased.
The thought to slow down or stop crossed Dean's mind only once, but then Castiel opened his deep blue eyes and the plea in them was clear.
Castiel's pants went next with a swish of fabric and a clank of the belt as they fell over the edge of the bed. Dean cupped Castiel's generous handful of cock and balls and squeezed. He'd never touched any other man's dick in his life other than his own; it was different. He paused with the weight of that simple yet complicated thought filling the silent room. The beating of his own heart and the pulse in Castiel's cock, thrummed through Dean.
Dean slid on top of Castiel, pinning him to the bed, covering him, their legs sliding together, and stubble scraping against Dean's face when he pressed his cheek to Castiel's jowl. He humped against Castiel, their cloth-covered cocks rubbing together. It wasn't enough. Dean could feel the wetness from precome sticky against his leg even through their jockeys. He fumbled to get their briefs off, tugging at his first. His cock popped out and slapped against Castiel's bare thigh, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through Dean. His breath coming in pants, Dean risked one glance at the other bed, knowing the threat of Sam waking up and seeing them was half the reason he was so hard.
Dean turned his attention back to his task, and slowly lifted Castiel's briefs to hook them under Castiel's hot smooth balls. His cock was thick, shorter than Dean's was. Dean took it in his hand, stroking the length, feeling the weight of the warm pulsing flesh against his palm. He looked up into Castiel's eyes and watched as he stroked once then twice, brushing his thumb across the wet head, a smirk on his mouth as Castiel's breath hitched in his throat. Dean twisted and bent, managed to wrap his mouth around the thick head, sucking on it once. The flavor exploded on his tongue, and Dean pulled off, watching as Castiel writhed beneath his touch. The taste trapped in his mouth, Dean decided that was enough experimenting for one night. He relaxed against Castiel and lazily stroked the thick length with one hand as he rubbed his own hard cock against Castiel's leg. Thoughts of long fuck sessions filled his mind. The sound of shifting sheets in the next bed drew Dean's attention away. Through a lazy gaze, Dean thought he saw Sam lift his head and look over at them, but he couldn't be sure. He could have dreamed it all.
Dean nuzzled Castiel's cheek, taking a deep breath, inhaling Castiel's musk.
"This good?" he mumbled against his face, stubble burning his lips.
Castiel's slow nod was the only response and as their foreheads pressed together, Dean stroked Castiel to climax, watching him as his eyes seemed to darken and his lips moved with soundless words. Desperate to reach his own climax, Dean jerked himself fast and hard, pressing his balls tight against Castiel, his body hot with excitement and shame. He shot across Castiel's belly and thighs, biting back the moans.
He used his t-shirt to clean them both, removing it to toss it aside. Shirtless, Dean lay staring up at the dark ceiling wondering when the room would stop spinning and when he would fall asleep, so that he could pretend this was nothing more than some drunken nightmare cooked up by his fucked up mind.
Even angels seemed susceptible to post-orgasmic lethargy. Dean watched as Castiel drifted to sleep.
Even as Dean started to drift, he felt a craving deep inside to do more. He should have felt guilt for lusting after an angel, but a part of Dean didn't. A part of him wanted to fondle, and fuck, and fracture, and hold Castiel down until there was no difference between them. Castiel would end and begin with Dean.
End
Feedback is much appreciated.