Fic: All That Is And Used To Be 4/9 (Supernatural; Dean/Castiel, NC-17)
Title: All That Is And Used To Be
Author: misachan
Artist: ifyouask
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural (Romance/Drama)
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2090
Warnings: Descriptions of violence, explicit sex, shameless wingkink. Brief allusions to events through S8.
Summary: Dean never even knew anyone was living in the old estate outside of town until its mysterious occupant contracts his shop for a very specific job: a custom piano bench with grooves cut into the back. He finds Castiel and his terms to be eccentric with a capital E but the money is too good to turn down and anyway, Dean can't help indulging his curiosity about the guy and his secretive, isolated life.
There are secrets that will not stay hidden and stories that refuse to be forgotten. Especially when they happen to involve Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel.
*
Construction was done, the sanding, the trim, all of it; all Dean needed to do was lacquer the bench to make it match the glossy black of the piano but there was one last step before Dean put on any finishing touches. “What do you think?” he said, hanging back as Castiel prowled around it, his wings held high on his back as he went through a pretty lengthy inspection by Dean's standards. The wings were never hidden anymore and Dean couldn't imagine what a relief that must be for him. They did make Dean hope Cas never took up poker because those wings were the biggest tells he'd ever seen, practically every thought he had flitting across them. It must have been like someone who talked with their hands going around with them bound behind their back.
And Dean could tell by the way Cas was holding those wings up high and tight that he wasn't too happy about what he was seeing. “It's gonna be lacquered the same black to match, so make sure you're looking at it that way.”
“I'm aware,” he said and Dean wondered if he was just messing with him. Finally he sighed, blue eyes looking up at Dean as he crouched beside it. “It's better than I could have expected.”
“People are usually a little happier when they say things like that.”
Castiel's lips thinned for a moment as he traced his fingers along the trim on the legs. “The artifice was useful,” he admitted.
Things had been a little uncertain since that first night, more than Dean had expected. He'd wondered if that had been a little too much, too soon but they'd both been too swept up for second thoughts. He guessed he could understand someone as walled off as Cas getting freaked but the frustration was starting to get to him. “You know you don't have to come up with excuses for me to come here anymore.”
“You're misunderstanding my concern,” Cas said, and Dean waited for him to elaborate but he stayed quiet.
Dean supposed expecting the cryptic as hell thing to go away overnight had been wishful thinking. “You should actually try it out,” he said. “Make sure the height's right before I do anything else to it.”
Cas pushed himself back to his feet and arranged himself on the bench, his wings slotting right into the indentations. “That is much better,” he said, rolling his shoulders to adjust his wings a little more. He set his hands on the keyboard and paused, running his tongue over his lips. “Playing when I know someone is listening is more difficult than I expected,” he admitted.
“Dude, trust me, I'm an entirely appreciative audience.” Castiel shot him a skeptical look, like he thought Dean was patronizing him, but after a quick warm up he settled into something slow and a little sad to Dean's ears. “Who's this by?”
“Chopin.”
Dean thought he knew who that was. He listened quietly for a few minutes, although focusing more on watching Castiel's hands on the keys than on the music. “Don't know why you're so hard on yourself. Being able to play like that is at least as impressive as me nailing some boards together.”
“It's reflecting beauty, not creating it,” he said with a little shake of his head. “Creation imprints a fragment of the artist's soul in the work and you can see it if you train yourself to look. I can learn all the music theory I like but I don't know how to do that.”
“That's dumb. I've been to enough concerts to be able to tell when someone's putting their soul into that guitar solo.”
“There you are. You can see it.” His lips curled up. “And you shouldn't be so impressed, this composition sounds more complicated than it is. You could learn to play this passably well within a few months.”
“Were you trying to impress me?” Cas glanced up at him before returning his focus to the keyboard, as if trying to shut Dean out entirely now and Dean grinned. He moved to stand behind Castiel and kissed the back of his neck, right where it joined with his back. He felt Castiel sigh and his grin widened; Dean slowly trailed his tongue up the back of Castiel's neck.
“Dean,” he whispered, leaning back even as he kept playing.
“Culture's kind of lost on me sometimes,” Dean said, sliding his hands through the slits cut in Cas' dress shirt to massage the bases of his wings. Cas missed a note but recovered, his breathing going ragged for a second. Cas had backed off before things went too far when they'd messed around that one time and Dean suspected that night had just moved too fast. He resolved going to make sure he took his sweet time now; he moved his way up each wing inch by very slow inch, massaging his fingertips into each tense muscle and not moving on until Cas was loose and relaxed. Every missed note was like a point on his mental scorecard; little moans kept catching on each of Castiel's breaths, very soft at first and then louder with each moment of excruciating attention Dean poured into him. Dean licked along the edge of Castiel's ear and felt him shiver; Dean could see his lips were parted and wet from where he'd licked his lips to try to hold onto his composure. He kept playing, even though he was missing almost as many chords as he made, a ratio that kept getting worse the longer Dean kept his hands on his wings. It was like an endurance test, Castiel's self-control against Dean's determination to see who would blink first.
A few minutes later Castiel slammed both hands on the keyboard as Dean found a spot up by the joint that made his whole body shake. The discordant chord faded until the only sound in the room was Castiel's ragged breathing. “Dean,” he whispered again, sounding like he could barely gather enough breath to say even that.
“Turn around,” Dean said, whispering right in Castiel's ear and Cas followed the direction, closing the lid over the keyboard as he moved to face Dean. Dean knelt over him, straddling across Cas' lap as he kissed him. Cas leaned back against the piano as Dean started to unbutton his shirt, taking as much time with that as he had with the wings, trailing his hands down each inch of exposed skin. Cas tilted his head back and Dean took the hint, licking up Castiel's throat and then kissing his way back down, feeling the vibration through his lips when Cas moaned. “You want me to back off just say the word, Cas.”
“Don't you dare.”
There could never be better music to Dean's ears. He trailed his hands down Castiel's chest, leaving the shirt loose and open as he worked his way down Castiel's body. He moved back from the bench and just took in Castiel draped across the piano, the black finish making the white of his wings pop, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Dean went down to his knees as he undid Cas' belt, sliding it out with the same deliberate slowness as when he'd started and keeping eye contact the whole time. Cas closed his eyes as Dean slipped his dress pants down over his hips and then off, taking an extra second to slide the silk of his boxer through his fingers before pulling those off too. Running his hands over Castiel's thighs felt like touching a living secret.
Dean kissed his inner thigh, finally wrapping one hand around Cas' shaft, drawing out another moan. “You ever do this before, Cas?”
“Long ago.”
“Sounds like I have something to live up to.”
Castiel smiled at that, and Dean so rarely saw him smile. “I've wanted you to do this from the moment you walked through my door.”
Hearing that got Dean light-headed. He'd never done this before but nothing seemed to matter less than that now; he licked up Castiel's shaft and the sound that dragged out of Cas brought Dean back to that dream he'd had so early on, Cas' hands clenching into his leather seats, Dean's name on his lips as he shook with climax. He'd never had that dream again but he'd almost managed to touch it a few times, faint impressions of rushed adrenaline and need, Cas' nails digging into his skin. Dean wanted to undo Castiel the way he'd been able to in that dream, make him sweat and shake until all he could say was Dean's name. When Dean started sucking it was almost like he'd done it hundreds of times, the way Cas' head snapped back sinking into his bones. Cas started to writhe, urging Dean faster, his hands in Dean's hair, already so close it took less than a minute more for Dean to bring him over all the way. He looked right in Dean's eyes as he came and Dean felt something deep inside him shift. Cas sagged against the piano and Dean pushed himself up to kneel back over him, Cas' eyes thin circles of dark blue.
Dean felt like he'd been standing still his whole life waiting for this second. He wanted to tell Cas that but couldn't find the right words, instead just kissing him again long and slow and deep, hoping that would be enough for Castiel to feel him promise to make up for so much lost time.
***
“I didn't take your advice.”
Sam leaned against the sofa; Dean had been calling him every hour on the hour while he was in class and Sam was just relieved it didn't sound like bad news. “I'm shocked.”
“Shut up.”
“Hey, you called me.” He grinned down at Jess, who'd stopped even pretending to watch her show in favor of eavesdropping shamelessly. “I'm guessing this is more bragging than a disaster report, and that is not me asking for the gory details.”
“Feel like I've been standing still all this time, Sam. Don't know how to describe it.”
“I'd say it's about time. You can only date so many Hooters waitresses before people start talking.”
“I don't know why I called you in the first place.”
“'Cause you wanted to brag.”
“Got every right to.”
Sam shook his head. “So when do I get to meet your mystery guy?”
“Come here and meet him yourself.” He heard some noise in the background. “Easy, man, I'm coming back.”
“Dean, we've talked about you calling in the middle of your conquests.”
“Not a conquest, Sam. This is serious. I don't think I've ever been this serious about anything. It's...I don't know. Kind of freaking me out a little.”
Sam glanced down at Jess. “Yeah. It does that.” There was more background murmuring and Dean said a hasty goodbye, leaving the undeniable understanding of what Dean was about to.
Sam stared at Dean's name blinking on his phone, not even realizing he was doing it until Jess nudged him. “Take it that was your brother?”
“Definitely was.”
“And I take it you owe me ten bucks now?”
Sam pulled the money out of his pocket with an exaggerated sigh. “Still weird to think about Dean with a guy. I can't even count all the times I had to cover for him back after he'd snuck out with some girl when we were kids.”
“The heart wants what it wants.” She looped one arm through his. “He sounded happy, right?”
Sam shook his head. “I've never heard him sound that happy. It was weird.”
“Then why don't you sound thrilled for him?”
Sam let out a breath. “I don't know. I mean, I'm happy for him, I am.” He drummed his fingers against the sofa. “I feel like something bad's about to happen.”
“You always think something bad's about to happen,” Jess said with a sigh. “What is it with you Winchesters? Why can't either of you just be happy?”
All Sam could do was shake his head again. “I wish I knew.”
*
- On To Chapter 5 -
- Back To Masterpost -
- Back To Chapter 3 -
Author: misachan
Artist: ifyouask
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural (Romance/Drama)
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2090
Warnings: Descriptions of violence, explicit sex, shameless wingkink. Brief allusions to events through S8.
Summary: Dean never even knew anyone was living in the old estate outside of town until its mysterious occupant contracts his shop for a very specific job: a custom piano bench with grooves cut into the back. He finds Castiel and his terms to be eccentric with a capital E but the money is too good to turn down and anyway, Dean can't help indulging his curiosity about the guy and his secretive, isolated life.
There are secrets that will not stay hidden and stories that refuse to be forgotten. Especially when they happen to involve Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel.
*
Construction was done, the sanding, the trim, all of it; all Dean needed to do was lacquer the bench to make it match the glossy black of the piano but there was one last step before Dean put on any finishing touches. “What do you think?” he said, hanging back as Castiel prowled around it, his wings held high on his back as he went through a pretty lengthy inspection by Dean's standards. The wings were never hidden anymore and Dean couldn't imagine what a relief that must be for him. They did make Dean hope Cas never took up poker because those wings were the biggest tells he'd ever seen, practically every thought he had flitting across them. It must have been like someone who talked with their hands going around with them bound behind their back.
And Dean could tell by the way Cas was holding those wings up high and tight that he wasn't too happy about what he was seeing. “It's gonna be lacquered the same black to match, so make sure you're looking at it that way.”
“I'm aware,” he said and Dean wondered if he was just messing with him. Finally he sighed, blue eyes looking up at Dean as he crouched beside it. “It's better than I could have expected.”
“People are usually a little happier when they say things like that.”
Castiel's lips thinned for a moment as he traced his fingers along the trim on the legs. “The artifice was useful,” he admitted.
Things had been a little uncertain since that first night, more than Dean had expected. He'd wondered if that had been a little too much, too soon but they'd both been too swept up for second thoughts. He guessed he could understand someone as walled off as Cas getting freaked but the frustration was starting to get to him. “You know you don't have to come up with excuses for me to come here anymore.”
“You're misunderstanding my concern,” Cas said, and Dean waited for him to elaborate but he stayed quiet.
Dean supposed expecting the cryptic as hell thing to go away overnight had been wishful thinking. “You should actually try it out,” he said. “Make sure the height's right before I do anything else to it.”
Cas pushed himself back to his feet and arranged himself on the bench, his wings slotting right into the indentations. “That is much better,” he said, rolling his shoulders to adjust his wings a little more. He set his hands on the keyboard and paused, running his tongue over his lips. “Playing when I know someone is listening is more difficult than I expected,” he admitted.
“Dude, trust me, I'm an entirely appreciative audience.” Castiel shot him a skeptical look, like he thought Dean was patronizing him, but after a quick warm up he settled into something slow and a little sad to Dean's ears. “Who's this by?”
“Chopin.”
Dean thought he knew who that was. He listened quietly for a few minutes, although focusing more on watching Castiel's hands on the keys than on the music. “Don't know why you're so hard on yourself. Being able to play like that is at least as impressive as me nailing some boards together.”
“It's reflecting beauty, not creating it,” he said with a little shake of his head. “Creation imprints a fragment of the artist's soul in the work and you can see it if you train yourself to look. I can learn all the music theory I like but I don't know how to do that.”
“That's dumb. I've been to enough concerts to be able to tell when someone's putting their soul into that guitar solo.”
“There you are. You can see it.” His lips curled up. “And you shouldn't be so impressed, this composition sounds more complicated than it is. You could learn to play this passably well within a few months.”
“Were you trying to impress me?” Cas glanced up at him before returning his focus to the keyboard, as if trying to shut Dean out entirely now and Dean grinned. He moved to stand behind Castiel and kissed the back of his neck, right where it joined with his back. He felt Castiel sigh and his grin widened; Dean slowly trailed his tongue up the back of Castiel's neck.
“Dean,” he whispered, leaning back even as he kept playing.
“Culture's kind of lost on me sometimes,” Dean said, sliding his hands through the slits cut in Cas' dress shirt to massage the bases of his wings. Cas missed a note but recovered, his breathing going ragged for a second. Cas had backed off before things went too far when they'd messed around that one time and Dean suspected that night had just moved too fast. He resolved going to make sure he took his sweet time now; he moved his way up each wing inch by very slow inch, massaging his fingertips into each tense muscle and not moving on until Cas was loose and relaxed. Every missed note was like a point on his mental scorecard; little moans kept catching on each of Castiel's breaths, very soft at first and then louder with each moment of excruciating attention Dean poured into him. Dean licked along the edge of Castiel's ear and felt him shiver; Dean could see his lips were parted and wet from where he'd licked his lips to try to hold onto his composure. He kept playing, even though he was missing almost as many chords as he made, a ratio that kept getting worse the longer Dean kept his hands on his wings. It was like an endurance test, Castiel's self-control against Dean's determination to see who would blink first.
A few minutes later Castiel slammed both hands on the keyboard as Dean found a spot up by the joint that made his whole body shake. The discordant chord faded until the only sound in the room was Castiel's ragged breathing. “Dean,” he whispered again, sounding like he could barely gather enough breath to say even that.
“Turn around,” Dean said, whispering right in Castiel's ear and Cas followed the direction, closing the lid over the keyboard as he moved to face Dean. Dean knelt over him, straddling across Cas' lap as he kissed him. Cas leaned back against the piano as Dean started to unbutton his shirt, taking as much time with that as he had with the wings, trailing his hands down each inch of exposed skin. Cas tilted his head back and Dean took the hint, licking up Castiel's throat and then kissing his way back down, feeling the vibration through his lips when Cas moaned. “You want me to back off just say the word, Cas.”
“Don't you dare.”
There could never be better music to Dean's ears. He trailed his hands down Castiel's chest, leaving the shirt loose and open as he worked his way down Castiel's body. He moved back from the bench and just took in Castiel draped across the piano, the black finish making the white of his wings pop, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Dean went down to his knees as he undid Cas' belt, sliding it out with the same deliberate slowness as when he'd started and keeping eye contact the whole time. Cas closed his eyes as Dean slipped his dress pants down over his hips and then off, taking an extra second to slide the silk of his boxer through his fingers before pulling those off too. Running his hands over Castiel's thighs felt like touching a living secret.
Dean kissed his inner thigh, finally wrapping one hand around Cas' shaft, drawing out another moan. “You ever do this before, Cas?”
“Long ago.”
“Sounds like I have something to live up to.”
Castiel smiled at that, and Dean so rarely saw him smile. “I've wanted you to do this from the moment you walked through my door.”
Hearing that got Dean light-headed. He'd never done this before but nothing seemed to matter less than that now; he licked up Castiel's shaft and the sound that dragged out of Cas brought Dean back to that dream he'd had so early on, Cas' hands clenching into his leather seats, Dean's name on his lips as he shook with climax. He'd never had that dream again but he'd almost managed to touch it a few times, faint impressions of rushed adrenaline and need, Cas' nails digging into his skin. Dean wanted to undo Castiel the way he'd been able to in that dream, make him sweat and shake until all he could say was Dean's name. When Dean started sucking it was almost like he'd done it hundreds of times, the way Cas' head snapped back sinking into his bones. Cas started to writhe, urging Dean faster, his hands in Dean's hair, already so close it took less than a minute more for Dean to bring him over all the way. He looked right in Dean's eyes as he came and Dean felt something deep inside him shift. Cas sagged against the piano and Dean pushed himself up to kneel back over him, Cas' eyes thin circles of dark blue.
Dean felt like he'd been standing still his whole life waiting for this second. He wanted to tell Cas that but couldn't find the right words, instead just kissing him again long and slow and deep, hoping that would be enough for Castiel to feel him promise to make up for so much lost time.
***
“I didn't take your advice.”
Sam leaned against the sofa; Dean had been calling him every hour on the hour while he was in class and Sam was just relieved it didn't sound like bad news. “I'm shocked.”
“Shut up.”
“Hey, you called me.” He grinned down at Jess, who'd stopped even pretending to watch her show in favor of eavesdropping shamelessly. “I'm guessing this is more bragging than a disaster report, and that is not me asking for the gory details.”
“Feel like I've been standing still all this time, Sam. Don't know how to describe it.”
“I'd say it's about time. You can only date so many Hooters waitresses before people start talking.”
“I don't know why I called you in the first place.”
“'Cause you wanted to brag.”
“Got every right to.”
Sam shook his head. “So when do I get to meet your mystery guy?”
“Come here and meet him yourself.” He heard some noise in the background. “Easy, man, I'm coming back.”
“Dean, we've talked about you calling in the middle of your conquests.”
“Not a conquest, Sam. This is serious. I don't think I've ever been this serious about anything. It's...I don't know. Kind of freaking me out a little.”
Sam glanced down at Jess. “Yeah. It does that.” There was more background murmuring and Dean said a hasty goodbye, leaving the undeniable understanding of what Dean was about to.
Sam stared at Dean's name blinking on his phone, not even realizing he was doing it until Jess nudged him. “Take it that was your brother?”
“Definitely was.”
“And I take it you owe me ten bucks now?”
Sam pulled the money out of his pocket with an exaggerated sigh. “Still weird to think about Dean with a guy. I can't even count all the times I had to cover for him back after he'd snuck out with some girl when we were kids.”
“The heart wants what it wants.” She looped one arm through his. “He sounded happy, right?”
Sam shook his head. “I've never heard him sound that happy. It was weird.”
“Then why don't you sound thrilled for him?”
Sam let out a breath. “I don't know. I mean, I'm happy for him, I am.” He drummed his fingers against the sofa. “I feel like something bad's about to happen.”
“You always think something bad's about to happen,” Jess said with a sigh. “What is it with you Winchesters? Why can't either of you just be happy?”
All Sam could do was shake his head again. “I wish I knew.”
*
- On To Chapter 5 -
- Back To Masterpost -
- Back To Chapter 3 -