Fic: All The Way Down
Title: All The Way Down
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Warnings: slight magical influence, rimming, rough sex
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which there is magic...
AN: Written for dmlpacker I'm withholding plot because I'm evil. Mwahahahaha!
There's no running from sex magic, no running from that silver-bright trail of desperate urgent need in his veins.
But Dean's never believed in taking no for an answer.
He manages to get back to the hotel, jittery and restless and hard as hell inside the tight grip of his jeans.
Castiel, at his side, is soft and still and completely unaffected.
Until Dean crowds him back into the door, holds his fine wrists and watches his eyes widen, watches his mouth open, just a little.
The angel's not unaffected then.
"I need you," Dean hisses into his ear, half demand and half apology. Because there's no one, no one else and Dean is too fucking desperate to wait. Too stupid-drunk on the tail end of white hot magic to try and think or breathe.
Castiel doesn't need Dean to explain exactly how he needs him. He doesn't stare at him with curious eyes, doesn't even question, or protest. He simply nods. Like that's why he's there, for Dean's needs.
When Dean kisses him it's a breath away from violence, all teeth and tongue and angry desperation. Castiel's mouth is warm and sweet and heavy like a storm. When Dean tangles both hand in his hair, holds him there, Castiel opens, softens, and lets him.
Dean drags the angels' coat down his shoulders and tosses it away, pulls the jacket off from the inside and Castiel's breathing into his mouth, every exhale soft and half broken between the quick, almost angry, attention of Dean's mouth. Because Dean wants to wreck him, wants to break him open and leave him wet and gasping and needing this just as badly as him.
He pushes until they're both half stumbling and half falling onto the cheap motel bed, Dean hauling off his own jacket and t-shirt, while Castiel watches him with stunned eyes and wet half-open mouth.
Dean clenches his teeth against a flare of possessive want and pushes at Castiel's shoulder, rolling him over, undoing his belt one handed while the other shoves into Castiel's hair, holding him there or holding himself. He doesn't fucking know.
"Cas, I need -"
"I know," Castiel says quietly and it's permission, it's acceptance, low and fierce and so fucking strong.
Dean's pulling Castiel's slacks and boxer shorts down his thighs, shoving his shirt up his back and this - Castiel a curve in the dark, clothes shoved aside just enough to fuck - Dean can't breathe with how much he wants this.
He tugs at Castiel pants, jerks them all the way down and off, shiny shoes clattering to the floor too.
"Spread your legs." Dean's voice sounds raw, desperate. Castiel doesn't even question, his thighs slide open under the steady push of Dean's hands, and he's open, all the way open, for whatever Dean wants to do.
He's moving before he knows what he wants, sliding down the bed on his knees, quick needy dig of fingers into flesh and -oh God, oh Jesus, he knows what he wants.
Dean's groaning, teeth dragging over the smooth curve of Castiel's ass, biting down on the softness of it.
Dean spreads him open, thumbs dug into flesh. He leaves him vulnerable, leaves him trembling ever so faintly. Then he drags his tongue along the crease, one slow glide that passes slick-wet over his hole.
Castiel takes a shocked breath, body tensing in surprise.
He licks another long wet line, slows when he finds the heat of him, trails around and then presses just barely inside, the faintest pressure. Castiel shudders, makes a noise that's soft and obscene and so fucking good that Dean has to do it again, harder; not just a tease but all the way in. Until Castiel's pressing back into the quick wet pushes of his tongue. Dean can feel the reflexive twitches of his hips, the way he shoves into the bed and then sways back, tangled up between both sensations. He's making lost, stunned noises, trembling and breathless little edges of something needy and obscene. Dean thinks he wants, more than anything, to hear more of them.
Because he can feel the way Castiel's tumbling towards the edge, the way he's fighting and tensing under Dean's fingers.
Dean spreads him wider presses his tongue in as deep as he can, scrapes his teeth against delicate, sensitive flesh and the long high whine he gets for that leaves his fingers pressing into skin hard enough to hurt.
He pulls at Castiel's hips, tries for quick and rough, makes Castiel wet in a way that's graceless and shameless and he can barely control himself now. His own needy ache is almost sharp enough to be actual pain. His dick throbs a desperate demand against the hard line of his thigh and he wants, he wants so fucking badly-
"Please, Dean, please." Castiel's voice is a slow garbled mess. Like he's begging for something but he has no idea what it is; no idea whether he wants this to stop or go on forever.
Dean swears and pulls him up to his knees, sliding in behind. He snags the bottle from the edge of the bed, takes a shaky second to shove his jeans down and run a slippery hand once, twice, along his dick, and then he's lining up and pulling the angel back into him, onto him.
Castiel opens so fucking easily around the first push, thighs spreading round Dean's as he drags him back into his lap. Dean groans, desperate and wordless when he pushes in all the way, hands tight at the juncture between Castiel's hips and thighs, holding him right there, spread open and full of him. Castiel's pulling great shuddering breaths and murmuring Dean's name over and over.
"You have no idea," Dean hisses into his ear. "No fucking idea what you do to me."
Castiel curves back into his touch like he's liquid, every push strong, as if there's too much of him inside his skin. He's burning hot inside and tight in a way that feels - Jesus - brand new around his dick. Dean wants to take him, wants to really take him in a way he should be ashamed of. But instead it's just a bright flare of angry-hot want inside him.
"Hands on the wall," he says roughly and Cas shudders and obeys, leans forward, hands spread on the cold plaster, bracing himself there when Dean's hips turn quick and rough, and it's deeper and harder. Dean can shove into the angel from this angle, can watch his body jerk under every thrust. He can watch his own dick sliding up and in where Castiel is stretched open around him and it's fucking obscene.
"Cas, Jesus, Cas -" he loses his voice, pushing up, as deep as he can get, losing every breath, orgasm hanging just out of reach, until everything is sharp and hot and hovering just on the edge of pain.
But it's too good to stop, too good to ever fucking stop, the heavy-hard slam of flesh and the feel of muscle tightening and shaking under his fingers.
Castiel's hand slide on the wall and Dean knows he's going too hard and too rough, in a way that's he's going to feel in every muscle later. It's hard enough to be hurting anyone else but Castiel is just making one long noise that sounds nothing, absolutely nothing, like pain at all.
Castiel takes it all, takes it like he wants it just as much as Dean.
And Dean is gone, completely and totally gone, pushing in so hard it forces all the air out of him. Orgasm hits so fiercely it feels like he's burning, shaking out pleasure in brutal waves. And Castiel is gasping and twitching and falling to pieces, just like him.
Dean winds an arm around his waist and holds him all the way down.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Warnings: slight magical influence, rimming, rough sex
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which there is magic...
AN: Written for dmlpacker I'm withholding plot because I'm evil. Mwahahahaha!
There's no running from sex magic, no running from that silver-bright trail of desperate urgent need in his veins.
But Dean's never believed in taking no for an answer.
He manages to get back to the hotel, jittery and restless and hard as hell inside the tight grip of his jeans.
Castiel, at his side, is soft and still and completely unaffected.
Until Dean crowds him back into the door, holds his fine wrists and watches his eyes widen, watches his mouth open, just a little.
The angel's not unaffected then.
"I need you," Dean hisses into his ear, half demand and half apology. Because there's no one, no one else and Dean is too fucking desperate to wait. Too stupid-drunk on the tail end of white hot magic to try and think or breathe.
Castiel doesn't need Dean to explain exactly how he needs him. He doesn't stare at him with curious eyes, doesn't even question, or protest. He simply nods. Like that's why he's there, for Dean's needs.
When Dean kisses him it's a breath away from violence, all teeth and tongue and angry desperation. Castiel's mouth is warm and sweet and heavy like a storm. When Dean tangles both hand in his hair, holds him there, Castiel opens, softens, and lets him.
Dean drags the angels' coat down his shoulders and tosses it away, pulls the jacket off from the inside and Castiel's breathing into his mouth, every exhale soft and half broken between the quick, almost angry, attention of Dean's mouth. Because Dean wants to wreck him, wants to break him open and leave him wet and gasping and needing this just as badly as him.
He pushes until they're both half stumbling and half falling onto the cheap motel bed, Dean hauling off his own jacket and t-shirt, while Castiel watches him with stunned eyes and wet half-open mouth.
Dean clenches his teeth against a flare of possessive want and pushes at Castiel's shoulder, rolling him over, undoing his belt one handed while the other shoves into Castiel's hair, holding him there or holding himself. He doesn't fucking know.
"Cas, I need -"
"I know," Castiel says quietly and it's permission, it's acceptance, low and fierce and so fucking strong.
Dean's pulling Castiel's slacks and boxer shorts down his thighs, shoving his shirt up his back and this - Castiel a curve in the dark, clothes shoved aside just enough to fuck - Dean can't breathe with how much he wants this.
He tugs at Castiel pants, jerks them all the way down and off, shiny shoes clattering to the floor too.
"Spread your legs." Dean's voice sounds raw, desperate. Castiel doesn't even question, his thighs slide open under the steady push of Dean's hands, and he's open, all the way open, for whatever Dean wants to do.
He's moving before he knows what he wants, sliding down the bed on his knees, quick needy dig of fingers into flesh and -oh God, oh Jesus, he knows what he wants.
Dean's groaning, teeth dragging over the smooth curve of Castiel's ass, biting down on the softness of it.
Dean spreads him open, thumbs dug into flesh. He leaves him vulnerable, leaves him trembling ever so faintly. Then he drags his tongue along the crease, one slow glide that passes slick-wet over his hole.
Castiel takes a shocked breath, body tensing in surprise.
He licks another long wet line, slows when he finds the heat of him, trails around and then presses just barely inside, the faintest pressure. Castiel shudders, makes a noise that's soft and obscene and so fucking good that Dean has to do it again, harder; not just a tease but all the way in. Until Castiel's pressing back into the quick wet pushes of his tongue. Dean can feel the reflexive twitches of his hips, the way he shoves into the bed and then sways back, tangled up between both sensations. He's making lost, stunned noises, trembling and breathless little edges of something needy and obscene. Dean thinks he wants, more than anything, to hear more of them.
Because he can feel the way Castiel's tumbling towards the edge, the way he's fighting and tensing under Dean's fingers.
Dean spreads him wider presses his tongue in as deep as he can, scrapes his teeth against delicate, sensitive flesh and the long high whine he gets for that leaves his fingers pressing into skin hard enough to hurt.
He pulls at Castiel's hips, tries for quick and rough, makes Castiel wet in a way that's graceless and shameless and he can barely control himself now. His own needy ache is almost sharp enough to be actual pain. His dick throbs a desperate demand against the hard line of his thigh and he wants, he wants so fucking badly-
"Please, Dean, please." Castiel's voice is a slow garbled mess. Like he's begging for something but he has no idea what it is; no idea whether he wants this to stop or go on forever.
Dean swears and pulls him up to his knees, sliding in behind. He snags the bottle from the edge of the bed, takes a shaky second to shove his jeans down and run a slippery hand once, twice, along his dick, and then he's lining up and pulling the angel back into him, onto him.
Castiel opens so fucking easily around the first push, thighs spreading round Dean's as he drags him back into his lap. Dean groans, desperate and wordless when he pushes in all the way, hands tight at the juncture between Castiel's hips and thighs, holding him right there, spread open and full of him. Castiel's pulling great shuddering breaths and murmuring Dean's name over and over.
"You have no idea," Dean hisses into his ear. "No fucking idea what you do to me."
Castiel curves back into his touch like he's liquid, every push strong, as if there's too much of him inside his skin. He's burning hot inside and tight in a way that feels - Jesus - brand new around his dick. Dean wants to take him, wants to really take him in a way he should be ashamed of. But instead it's just a bright flare of angry-hot want inside him.
"Hands on the wall," he says roughly and Cas shudders and obeys, leans forward, hands spread on the cold plaster, bracing himself there when Dean's hips turn quick and rough, and it's deeper and harder. Dean can shove into the angel from this angle, can watch his body jerk under every thrust. He can watch his own dick sliding up and in where Castiel is stretched open around him and it's fucking obscene.
"Cas, Jesus, Cas -" he loses his voice, pushing up, as deep as he can get, losing every breath, orgasm hanging just out of reach, until everything is sharp and hot and hovering just on the edge of pain.
But it's too good to stop, too good to ever fucking stop, the heavy-hard slam of flesh and the feel of muscle tightening and shaking under his fingers.
Castiel's hand slide on the wall and Dean knows he's going too hard and too rough, in a way that's he's going to feel in every muscle later. It's hard enough to be hurting anyone else but Castiel is just making one long noise that sounds nothing, absolutely nothing, like pain at all.
Castiel takes it all, takes it like he wants it just as much as Dean.
And Dean is gone, completely and totally gone, pushing in so hard it forces all the air out of him. Orgasm hits so fiercely it feels like he's burning, shaking out pleasure in brutal waves. And Castiel is gasping and twitching and falling to pieces, just like him.
Dean winds an arm around his waist and holds him all the way down.