Fic: All Acts of Love and Pleasure | Supernatural | Dean/Michael!John | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: All Acts of Love and Pleasure
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Michael (as young John), side Sam/Dean & Michael/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,222
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: seduce, dream, host, want, deal, truth, past, fantasy, family, brothers
Summary: Michael appears to Dean in a dream. Wearing his dad's face. Things go downhill from there.
Disclaimer: Kripke and WB own everything. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: The last of my previously unfinished PB fics. I don't even know which battle I'd started writing this for. :p Warning for several flavors of Wincest and angelcest. AU for the end of S5, in which Michael isn't so much of an ass, but still plays dirty pool. Posted here at PB XII.
All Acts of Love and Pleasure
Something about the body snuggled up close to his didn't quite compute. Too large, too much muscle. Not Lisa, or anybody else he'd have any reason to be in bed with.
No, it had to be another dream. Sam....
“Not Sam, Dean.”
A shot of panic jolted Dean awake, his eyes popping open as he pushed against the firm shoulder and arm draped over his chest. “What-?”
Meeting young John Winchester's gaze brought everything into focus, and he shoved the unwelcome vision away from him further, trying not to notice how little the bedsheets covered. “Would you stop wearing my dad's face already!?” he shouted at Michael.
Michael only smiled with John's face, propping himself up on an elbow as Dean slid out from under the covers and wrapped the nearest blanket around himself. “You keep saying that, but you don't mean it. You like this face. I saw the way you lit up like a Christmas tree that first time you saw John in that diner in seventy-three. And the way you couldn't quite kick yourself for not freaking out after you realized who he was.”
“Shut up,” Dean growled, pushing a hand through his hair as he felt his face go hot. “And get the hell out of my dreams. I'm sick and tired of this shit.” Frustration taking over, he turned to start pacing back and forth.
“Look, Dean,” Michael said, his smile slipping when he sat up then, letting the covers pool in his lap, “would you rather it was Lucifer? Or Azazel?” At Dean's involuntary flinch-damn him for getting so far inside his head-he went on, “There's a reason I keep coming back. Are you gonna let me finally tell you, or what?”
“No. Dammit, I don't want to know. Just... just get out.”
But Michael-John, for fuck's sake-just shook his head and pushed the covers back completely, and Jesus fucking Christ, he was naked.
No, Dean did not need to see his dad's junk. He-
“You can cool it with all the denial, Dean,” Michael said, sliding up close to him gripping his shoulder with one hand and his chin with the other, forcing him to look up and catch his gaze. “I'm not here to judge you.” Laughing then, he added, “I probably have the least business judging you.”
And that caught Dean's attention real quick, alarm bells going off in his head. “Wh-what?”
When Michael leaned in close and kissed him hard, Dean managed not to flinch, but just barely, his hands dropping the blanket and coming up to shove away the angel wearing his dad's face. But. But instead of shoving, his palms slid up and over broad shoulders, finding a grip of their own, and he realized he was returning the kiss, deepening it himself, tasting Archangel and purity and-
A gasp, and he pulled back from the kiss, feeling himself rooted to the spot and unable to extricate himself from Michael's embrace. “What the fuck are you doing to my head?”
Smiling softly with kiss-swollen lips, Michael answered in a low voice, “I told you I didn't have any business judging you. Just a little demonstration.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” If his voice had gone hoarse with the lust curling low in his belly, Dean would never admit it.
“It means I need you to see what I'm fighting for, here. Lucifer already has Sam. He has his soul. They really are two of a kind, you know? The little brothers with so much ambition that they can't see how their rebellion has torn apart their families, even as their love for their families is so great, and so deep, that even God can't understand the luminous perfection of it.”
“So, what, you want to ride me into town and face off with Lucifer, with the hope of taking him home to Daddy Dearest and showing him that love conquers all?” Dean scoffed, still close enough to Michael to feel his breath ghosting over his lips, intoxicating.
Michael actually had the audacity to shrug slightly. “That's part of it, anyway. The point is, you and Sam have what Michael and I had, as sure as you have passionate impulses toward this body from so long ago, and I only want to spare you that pain, the agony of being torn apart from each other. If I can save Lucifer, stop him from destroying the world, from shedding another single drop of blood, then I can save the two of you as well. And maybe God will see that He was wrong, for once, that all acts of love and pleasure are His. Or Hers,” he amended, laughing almost to himself and shaking his head. “God has no gender, so that's neither here nor there.”
At that, Dean could only gape at Michael, turning everything over in his head. It... it was ludicrous, was what it was. That Michael and Lucifer... and he and Sam...
“I don't hear you denying it out loud this time,” Michael said, and fuck if he wasn't right.
“You're a bastard,” Dean shot back, defensive to the end.
“Guilty. Will you help me?”
His brain on fire with the implications, Dean took a deep breath. “You think you can seriously just talk Lucifer down from the ledge? 'Cuz that's a pretty arrogant assumption.”
Smiling again, his eyes lighting up with a faint glow of his grace, Michael nodded. “I do. I have faith. My brother isn't so hardened that he can't be saved, and neither is yours.”
And that settled it. Dean was so damn tired of running, of pretending that all this was in his head, that he couldn't save Sam because of the way he felt about him, of thinking himself a sicko for imagining his own father this way, that there was really only one thing left to do.
Surging forward, he caught Michael's lips in another kiss, this one deeper and harder and longer, and tasting so much of Heaven that it made Dean's head swim. But he wasn't done, oh no. If Michael wanted a deal, Dean was gonna give him one. Walking him back to the bed, Dean shoved him down, following after to pin him to the mattress, aligning their bodies so that Dean could feel every line, every muscle, every inch of skin. And that was enough to get Dean moving, his hips stuttering, dragging his erection against Michael's to send sparks straight to his core and all the way to his toes.
Quickly, they rocked together, hips rolling against each other, their kisses hot, Dean unable to stop himself from caressing Michael's face, learning every inch, because even if he did feel this way, it was an angel wearing a mask, and that made it okay, dammit. His skin was on fire with pleasure, and it wasn't long before all of that want and, and, and need finally overwhelmed him, Dean's orgasm washing over him in waves, a crash of what sounded like thunder to his ears following as Michael opened his mouth and shouted his own release.
Dean's ears rang in the near-silence afterward, only their breaths filling the space as they recovered, bodies sweat-slicked and heavy and crowded together.
“Yes,” he whispered after a long moment, his voice used and rough. “God help me, yes.”
And with a start, Dean awoke. Alone in a hotel somewhere in Michigan, with a brand upon his soul.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Michael (as young John), side Sam/Dean & Michael/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,222
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: seduce, dream, host, want, deal, truth, past, fantasy, family, brothers
Summary: Michael appears to Dean in a dream. Wearing his dad's face. Things go downhill from there.
Disclaimer: Kripke and WB own everything. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: The last of my previously unfinished PB fics. I don't even know which battle I'd started writing this for. :p Warning for several flavors of Wincest and angelcest. AU for the end of S5, in which Michael isn't so much of an ass, but still plays dirty pool. Posted here at PB XII.
All Acts of Love and Pleasure
Something about the body snuggled up close to his didn't quite compute. Too large, too much muscle. Not Lisa, or anybody else he'd have any reason to be in bed with.
No, it had to be another dream. Sam....
“Not Sam, Dean.”
A shot of panic jolted Dean awake, his eyes popping open as he pushed against the firm shoulder and arm draped over his chest. “What-?”
Meeting young John Winchester's gaze brought everything into focus, and he shoved the unwelcome vision away from him further, trying not to notice how little the bedsheets covered. “Would you stop wearing my dad's face already!?” he shouted at Michael.
Michael only smiled with John's face, propping himself up on an elbow as Dean slid out from under the covers and wrapped the nearest blanket around himself. “You keep saying that, but you don't mean it. You like this face. I saw the way you lit up like a Christmas tree that first time you saw John in that diner in seventy-three. And the way you couldn't quite kick yourself for not freaking out after you realized who he was.”
“Shut up,” Dean growled, pushing a hand through his hair as he felt his face go hot. “And get the hell out of my dreams. I'm sick and tired of this shit.” Frustration taking over, he turned to start pacing back and forth.
“Look, Dean,” Michael said, his smile slipping when he sat up then, letting the covers pool in his lap, “would you rather it was Lucifer? Or Azazel?” At Dean's involuntary flinch-damn him for getting so far inside his head-he went on, “There's a reason I keep coming back. Are you gonna let me finally tell you, or what?”
“No. Dammit, I don't want to know. Just... just get out.”
But Michael-John, for fuck's sake-just shook his head and pushed the covers back completely, and Jesus fucking Christ, he was naked.
No, Dean did not need to see his dad's junk. He-
“You can cool it with all the denial, Dean,” Michael said, sliding up close to him gripping his shoulder with one hand and his chin with the other, forcing him to look up and catch his gaze. “I'm not here to judge you.” Laughing then, he added, “I probably have the least business judging you.”
And that caught Dean's attention real quick, alarm bells going off in his head. “Wh-what?”
When Michael leaned in close and kissed him hard, Dean managed not to flinch, but just barely, his hands dropping the blanket and coming up to shove away the angel wearing his dad's face. But. But instead of shoving, his palms slid up and over broad shoulders, finding a grip of their own, and he realized he was returning the kiss, deepening it himself, tasting Archangel and purity and-
A gasp, and he pulled back from the kiss, feeling himself rooted to the spot and unable to extricate himself from Michael's embrace. “What the fuck are you doing to my head?”
Smiling softly with kiss-swollen lips, Michael answered in a low voice, “I told you I didn't have any business judging you. Just a little demonstration.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” If his voice had gone hoarse with the lust curling low in his belly, Dean would never admit it.
“It means I need you to see what I'm fighting for, here. Lucifer already has Sam. He has his soul. They really are two of a kind, you know? The little brothers with so much ambition that they can't see how their rebellion has torn apart their families, even as their love for their families is so great, and so deep, that even God can't understand the luminous perfection of it.”
“So, what, you want to ride me into town and face off with Lucifer, with the hope of taking him home to Daddy Dearest and showing him that love conquers all?” Dean scoffed, still close enough to Michael to feel his breath ghosting over his lips, intoxicating.
Michael actually had the audacity to shrug slightly. “That's part of it, anyway. The point is, you and Sam have what Michael and I had, as sure as you have passionate impulses toward this body from so long ago, and I only want to spare you that pain, the agony of being torn apart from each other. If I can save Lucifer, stop him from destroying the world, from shedding another single drop of blood, then I can save the two of you as well. And maybe God will see that He was wrong, for once, that all acts of love and pleasure are His. Or Hers,” he amended, laughing almost to himself and shaking his head. “God has no gender, so that's neither here nor there.”
At that, Dean could only gape at Michael, turning everything over in his head. It... it was ludicrous, was what it was. That Michael and Lucifer... and he and Sam...
“I don't hear you denying it out loud this time,” Michael said, and fuck if he wasn't right.
“You're a bastard,” Dean shot back, defensive to the end.
“Guilty. Will you help me?”
His brain on fire with the implications, Dean took a deep breath. “You think you can seriously just talk Lucifer down from the ledge? 'Cuz that's a pretty arrogant assumption.”
Smiling again, his eyes lighting up with a faint glow of his grace, Michael nodded. “I do. I have faith. My brother isn't so hardened that he can't be saved, and neither is yours.”
And that settled it. Dean was so damn tired of running, of pretending that all this was in his head, that he couldn't save Sam because of the way he felt about him, of thinking himself a sicko for imagining his own father this way, that there was really only one thing left to do.
Surging forward, he caught Michael's lips in another kiss, this one deeper and harder and longer, and tasting so much of Heaven that it made Dean's head swim. But he wasn't done, oh no. If Michael wanted a deal, Dean was gonna give him one. Walking him back to the bed, Dean shoved him down, following after to pin him to the mattress, aligning their bodies so that Dean could feel every line, every muscle, every inch of skin. And that was enough to get Dean moving, his hips stuttering, dragging his erection against Michael's to send sparks straight to his core and all the way to his toes.
Quickly, they rocked together, hips rolling against each other, their kisses hot, Dean unable to stop himself from caressing Michael's face, learning every inch, because even if he did feel this way, it was an angel wearing a mask, and that made it okay, dammit. His skin was on fire with pleasure, and it wasn't long before all of that want and, and, and need finally overwhelmed him, Dean's orgasm washing over him in waves, a crash of what sounded like thunder to his ears following as Michael opened his mouth and shouted his own release.
Dean's ears rang in the near-silence afterward, only their breaths filling the space as they recovered, bodies sweat-slicked and heavy and crowded together.
“Yes,” he whispered after a long moment, his voice used and rough. “God help me, yes.”
And with a start, Dean awoke. Alone in a hotel somewhere in Michigan, with a brand upon his soul.
~*~*~*~