Five Times Castiel Went Down on a Woman and One Time He Didn’t (NC-17)
Oops, I've been forgetting to update LJ with my new fics for a while! I'm writing less these days (school is intense right now) but I'm still writing. I'm more active on Tumblr and AO3, but I'll still try to crosspost here.
Summary: When Castiel told Dean that he was a virgin, that wasn't strictly true. (Cas/Anna, Cas/Pam, Cas/Jo, Cas/Daphne, Cas/Meg, Cas/Dean) WC~2000
Anna
Their bodies are made of light, and star-metal, and intent. Their intimacy is intensely cerebral, but somehow Anna manages to make it sexual, too. “Imagine that we’re humans,” she tells him.
“Why?”
“What must it feel like for them, with their bodies made of dirt? Everything is so immediate for them, so grounded in corporeal form. They are embedded in these shapes, these objects, and everything is filtered through them. They touch each other with their bodies because they can’t touch each other with their souls.”
Castiel feels her fascination pulse through him where their graces are connected. “That sounds sad,” he says.
“I don’t think so.” She plunges her grace into him, reading him from the inside out, the ecstasy of their closeness burning them both. “I know you, now. Every inch of you.” She pulls back and they become two separate beings again. “Humans can never get that close. Imagine that you wanted to touch my grace, but the closest you could get was fucking me with your tongue.”
“I don’t have a tongue.” But he tries to imagine. Instead of entwining their graces in effortless communion, he holds back, barely brushing her grace at the edges. He imagines being held back not by his own restraint, but by human physiology - wanting to know her more deeply and having no comprehension of how to do so, no way to even put it into words. And the yearning is so heart-wrenchingly poignant that for a moment he can understand how being separated by human bodies might be more meaningful than being able to know a person effortlessly, with a touch.
“That’s it,” Anna breathes, her grace crackling with sensation where Castiel touches her, and nowhere else. “That’s it.”
Pamela
He goes to the psychic, Pamela Barnes, to apologize for what he did to her. When she realizes who he is, her face contorts in fury, her glass eyes flashing in the light of her digital alarm clock. But then her expression relaxes into a sleepy calm, and she falls back onto her pillows with a sigh. “Well, I can’t say you didn’t warn me.” She reaches under her bed, pulls out a six-pack of beer, and offers Castiel a bottle.
A drink or two later, she’s laughing, and Castiel is marveling at humans’ immense capacity for forgiveness. He burned her eyes out of her head, and she’s waving her beer in his face and telling him jokes. When she kicks the covers off herself and opens her legs, revealing her naked body as casually as if she had done nothing more than cross her arms, Castiel can’t help but stare. Her labia are long and dark, her clitoris prominent where it pokes out from beneath its hood. “Never been with an angel before,” she says.
Castiel can’t think of anything to say except, “I’ve never been with a human before.”
“Hey, first times all around. Wanna?”
He does. But he hesitates, faced with Pamela’s unashamed certainty, her legs spread and inviting, propped up on her elbows to keep her face pointed toward him as if she can still see the confusion in his eyes. “Don’t be scared, kid, it’s not rocket science,” she says as she gently pulls his face down between her legs.
He doesn’t have time to wonder what to do, because she’s directing him constantly and clearly. “Harder. Harder - don’t be shy about it. Yeah, that’s good. Okay, don’t just stay in one place. Move around, use your tongue. Oh, hey, that’s nice! Keep doing that. Now suck on my clit. Gentle, gentle… yeah, just like that. Don’t stop.”
He satisfies her lust as she satisfies his curiosity. Humans are so new to him, and her guileless invitation into this most private aspect of humanity is a sweet gift. The object she inhabits is beautiful, every inch of it, and he worships the inches of it that she offers to him.
After she comes, she drags him up by his hair to suck her own wetness off of his lower lip. “I’d say you’ve got a natural talent,” she says as she flops backwards and falls asleep.
Jo
Jo invites Castiel into her bed on the night that will eventually prove to be her last night on Earth. “I can’t sleep,” she says.
“I can help you with that,” he says, reaching two fingers out to her head.
She slaps his hand away. “That’s not what I want.” Her gaze is so pointed and her voice so sure that not even Castiel can mistake her meaning.
“I heard you speaking to Dean,” he says. “Won’t this compromise your self-respect?”
She snorts softly - almost a laugh. “I’ve got plenty of self-respect. Enough that I can choose who I want to be with.”
“You want to be with Dean.”
“Well, yeah. Kinda.” Then, with a grimace, “But don’t tell him that.”
“Then why me?”
She sighs and looks away. Her eyes narrow. Then she turns back toward Castiel and holds his gaze as she explains, “This is an itch I need to scratch, not a promise I plan on making to anyone. You won’t expect anything of me. Dean would.”
Castiel can’t say that he fully understands, but he lets her roll him onto his back and straddle his face, grinding down against his mouth. He tries to participate, to kiss her flesh, to bring her hands up to touch her rolling hips, but she crushes his lips against his teeth and overwhelms him with her frantic, hungry movements.
She will die tomorrow. She doesn’t know it yet, but already she feels the press of danger on her skin, seeping in through the cracks. She fucks Castiel’s mouth, rocking her way toward orgasm, and soaks up how alive she feels in this moment.
Castiel has been drifting away from being an angel. The longer he spends in his vessel, the more trapped he feels inside this fleshy object. But looking up at Jo, her body twisting in pleasure, her hair flashing, her eyes desperate and brave, he finally sees that humans can also be made of light.
Daphne
Daphne loves him. He’s not sure what to do with that.
It would be easier if she didn’t love so hard, looking at him with stars in her eyes as if he were her own personal savior. It’s impossible to know if he truly loves her in return, or if his love is just a reflection of her devotion. He thinks it would be easier to tease out his feelings from hers if she would just love him in the normal way, but then he supposes that there is no normal way to be in love with someone.
She lies back and lets him take control. At first he doesn’t know what to do with the authority she grants him, but eventually he becomes accustomed to her trust. He’s gentle with her, so gentle. He takes his time tracing every line and fold of her with his tongue, tugging her slick labia between his lips, breathing into the fluff of her hair. She’s silent, but the shiver of her thighs against his cheeks tells him that he should keep going.
When he turns his head sideways, opens his mouth wide, and kisses her hard, she raises one hand and rests it lightly on his head, a breathy whimper escaping her mouth. He keeps kissing and sucking and dipping his tongue out to taste the tangy sweetness that’s pouring out of her, until she arches and cries out as she comes.
And when they’re lying together after, dozing off in each other’s arms, it occurs to Emmanuel that maybe Daphne wasn’t put on this Earth for the sole purpose of finding him on that lake shore, as she seems to believe. Maybe he was put on this Earth for the sole purpose of being found by Daphne.
He loves her, whatever that means. And he decides that, whatever happened in his past to get him to her, he’s with her now, and he’s never going to leave.
Meg
They move some furniture around.
Fucking Meg is an exercise in self-hatred. They are two broken things cutting each other on their jagged edges. But the pain is worth it to be that close to someone who understands how easy it is to fall through the cracks, and won’t judge him for it.
She sits on the couch, legs spread unconcernedly, and beckons to him. He falls to his knees in front of her. He almost approaches her slowly, but she grabs his head with both hands and presses his mouth against her vulva hard enough to hurt them both.
But it doesn’t matter that it’s too much, too fast, because nothing could ever be enough now that they’ve gotten a taste. Meg digs her fingers into Castiel’s scalp and twists at his hair. Castiel sets his knees against the floor for leverage as he rocks harder against her. Meg hooks her legs around his shoulders and drags him forward with her heels against his shoulder blades, and he answers by taking two handfuls of her ass. They tangle all their limbs together, pushing into each other as if each of their sins could cancel out the other’s, and they could find absolution that way.
After, Meg lies back and smiles at the ceiling as she mutters, “Fuck. I feel like I should be smoking a cigarette, just on principle.”
“Why?” Castiel asks, hugging her bent knee to his body.
“Never mind.” Then, “Do you think we saved each other?”
Castiel furrows his brow as he tries to understand. “From what?”
Meg closes her eyes. “Never mind.”
Dean
Even now, with all their secrets laid bare and Castiel kneeling at his feet, fumbling with the zipper on the front of his pants, Dean doesn’t look happy. “How many?” he asks.
“Five.”
“I thought you said you were a virgin!”
“Based on your adherence to archaic notions about sexuality, I deduced that you wouldn’t consider my past experiences to qualify as a loss of virginity. Besides, it was only two back then.” Castiel finally manages to open the zipper, but he hesitates before pulling down Dean’s pants. He looks up and says, “Do you want me less, knowing that I’ve been with others?”
“No,” says Dean quickly. Then his eyebrows twitch as he thinks about it some more, and he goes on, “Fuck, no! What? No!” He shimmies out of his pants and kicks them aside, just in case Castiel has any lingering doubts.
“Good.” Dean’s cock is inches from Castiel’s face, hanging half-hard. Castiel does nothing more than stare at it for a few seconds, breathing softly, and he watches it nudge upwards and grow. The head pokes out from beneath its foreskin, and Castiel leans forward to give its glistening surface an experimental lick.
Dean’s hand jerks as if it wants to grab the back of Castiel’s head and force it forward, but instead the hand closes in a fist and slams frustratedly against the wall. “Fuck…” Dean whispers, his eyes half-lidded as he looks down at Castiel laying little kitten-licks on the tip of his cock. When Castiel starts nuzzling the soft skin at the hollow of his hip, working his way across to mouth softly at the base of his cock, Dean raises his voice just a little, “Fuck, Cas, please…”
Castiel closes his lips around the head of Dean’s cock and slides slowly down its length, taking it into his mouth and then back into his throat, as Dean groans loudly and leans against the wall to keep his knees from buckling. Castiel presses forward until the short hairs over Dean’s pubis are tickling his nose, and then he draws back and sinks forward again.
It’s a different sensation, and a different taste, and different set of emotions compared to any kind of sexual intimacy he’s ever experienced before. They’re not exploring each other’s bodies, or offering themselves up to each other, or drowning in each other, or scratching an itch. Neither of them was made for the other. But somehow they found each other, and kept finding each other, and this - this sex that they’re finally fucking having - simply feels right. As preposterous as it seems, kneeling on the floor here with Dean’s cock slamming in and out of his mouth, Castiel feels as though he is exactly where he belongs.
Dean comes hot and bitter onto Castiel’s tongue. Castiel gives his cock two more long, slow sucks, making Dean whine in protest, before he slips his lips free and swallows.
“Fuck,” Dean groans, his limbs still shaking.
“I believe we just did,” says Castiel.
Dean stares at him incredulously for a moment before saying with a smirk, “Smartass.” He regains his footing remarkably fast, and tackles Castiel backwards onto the bed. When Castiel props himself up on his elbows, he finds Dean kneeling on the floor between his legs.
Dean yanks down the zipper on Castiel’s pants. “Your turn.”
Summary: When Castiel told Dean that he was a virgin, that wasn't strictly true. (Cas/Anna, Cas/Pam, Cas/Jo, Cas/Daphne, Cas/Meg, Cas/Dean) WC~2000
Anna
Their bodies are made of light, and star-metal, and intent. Their intimacy is intensely cerebral, but somehow Anna manages to make it sexual, too. “Imagine that we’re humans,” she tells him.
“Why?”
“What must it feel like for them, with their bodies made of dirt? Everything is so immediate for them, so grounded in corporeal form. They are embedded in these shapes, these objects, and everything is filtered through them. They touch each other with their bodies because they can’t touch each other with their souls.”
Castiel feels her fascination pulse through him where their graces are connected. “That sounds sad,” he says.
“I don’t think so.” She plunges her grace into him, reading him from the inside out, the ecstasy of their closeness burning them both. “I know you, now. Every inch of you.” She pulls back and they become two separate beings again. “Humans can never get that close. Imagine that you wanted to touch my grace, but the closest you could get was fucking me with your tongue.”
“I don’t have a tongue.” But he tries to imagine. Instead of entwining their graces in effortless communion, he holds back, barely brushing her grace at the edges. He imagines being held back not by his own restraint, but by human physiology - wanting to know her more deeply and having no comprehension of how to do so, no way to even put it into words. And the yearning is so heart-wrenchingly poignant that for a moment he can understand how being separated by human bodies might be more meaningful than being able to know a person effortlessly, with a touch.
“That’s it,” Anna breathes, her grace crackling with sensation where Castiel touches her, and nowhere else. “That’s it.”
Pamela
He goes to the psychic, Pamela Barnes, to apologize for what he did to her. When she realizes who he is, her face contorts in fury, her glass eyes flashing in the light of her digital alarm clock. But then her expression relaxes into a sleepy calm, and she falls back onto her pillows with a sigh. “Well, I can’t say you didn’t warn me.” She reaches under her bed, pulls out a six-pack of beer, and offers Castiel a bottle.
A drink or two later, she’s laughing, and Castiel is marveling at humans’ immense capacity for forgiveness. He burned her eyes out of her head, and she’s waving her beer in his face and telling him jokes. When she kicks the covers off herself and opens her legs, revealing her naked body as casually as if she had done nothing more than cross her arms, Castiel can’t help but stare. Her labia are long and dark, her clitoris prominent where it pokes out from beneath its hood. “Never been with an angel before,” she says.
Castiel can’t think of anything to say except, “I’ve never been with a human before.”
“Hey, first times all around. Wanna?”
He does. But he hesitates, faced with Pamela’s unashamed certainty, her legs spread and inviting, propped up on her elbows to keep her face pointed toward him as if she can still see the confusion in his eyes. “Don’t be scared, kid, it’s not rocket science,” she says as she gently pulls his face down between her legs.
He doesn’t have time to wonder what to do, because she’s directing him constantly and clearly. “Harder. Harder - don’t be shy about it. Yeah, that’s good. Okay, don’t just stay in one place. Move around, use your tongue. Oh, hey, that’s nice! Keep doing that. Now suck on my clit. Gentle, gentle… yeah, just like that. Don’t stop.”
He satisfies her lust as she satisfies his curiosity. Humans are so new to him, and her guileless invitation into this most private aspect of humanity is a sweet gift. The object she inhabits is beautiful, every inch of it, and he worships the inches of it that she offers to him.
After she comes, she drags him up by his hair to suck her own wetness off of his lower lip. “I’d say you’ve got a natural talent,” she says as she flops backwards and falls asleep.
Jo
Jo invites Castiel into her bed on the night that will eventually prove to be her last night on Earth. “I can’t sleep,” she says.
“I can help you with that,” he says, reaching two fingers out to her head.
She slaps his hand away. “That’s not what I want.” Her gaze is so pointed and her voice so sure that not even Castiel can mistake her meaning.
“I heard you speaking to Dean,” he says. “Won’t this compromise your self-respect?”
She snorts softly - almost a laugh. “I’ve got plenty of self-respect. Enough that I can choose who I want to be with.”
“You want to be with Dean.”
“Well, yeah. Kinda.” Then, with a grimace, “But don’t tell him that.”
“Then why me?”
She sighs and looks away. Her eyes narrow. Then she turns back toward Castiel and holds his gaze as she explains, “This is an itch I need to scratch, not a promise I plan on making to anyone. You won’t expect anything of me. Dean would.”
Castiel can’t say that he fully understands, but he lets her roll him onto his back and straddle his face, grinding down against his mouth. He tries to participate, to kiss her flesh, to bring her hands up to touch her rolling hips, but she crushes his lips against his teeth and overwhelms him with her frantic, hungry movements.
She will die tomorrow. She doesn’t know it yet, but already she feels the press of danger on her skin, seeping in through the cracks. She fucks Castiel’s mouth, rocking her way toward orgasm, and soaks up how alive she feels in this moment.
Castiel has been drifting away from being an angel. The longer he spends in his vessel, the more trapped he feels inside this fleshy object. But looking up at Jo, her body twisting in pleasure, her hair flashing, her eyes desperate and brave, he finally sees that humans can also be made of light.
Daphne
Daphne loves him. He’s not sure what to do with that.
It would be easier if she didn’t love so hard, looking at him with stars in her eyes as if he were her own personal savior. It’s impossible to know if he truly loves her in return, or if his love is just a reflection of her devotion. He thinks it would be easier to tease out his feelings from hers if she would just love him in the normal way, but then he supposes that there is no normal way to be in love with someone.
She lies back and lets him take control. At first he doesn’t know what to do with the authority she grants him, but eventually he becomes accustomed to her trust. He’s gentle with her, so gentle. He takes his time tracing every line and fold of her with his tongue, tugging her slick labia between his lips, breathing into the fluff of her hair. She’s silent, but the shiver of her thighs against his cheeks tells him that he should keep going.
When he turns his head sideways, opens his mouth wide, and kisses her hard, she raises one hand and rests it lightly on his head, a breathy whimper escaping her mouth. He keeps kissing and sucking and dipping his tongue out to taste the tangy sweetness that’s pouring out of her, until she arches and cries out as she comes.
And when they’re lying together after, dozing off in each other’s arms, it occurs to Emmanuel that maybe Daphne wasn’t put on this Earth for the sole purpose of finding him on that lake shore, as she seems to believe. Maybe he was put on this Earth for the sole purpose of being found by Daphne.
He loves her, whatever that means. And he decides that, whatever happened in his past to get him to her, he’s with her now, and he’s never going to leave.
Meg
They move some furniture around.
Fucking Meg is an exercise in self-hatred. They are two broken things cutting each other on their jagged edges. But the pain is worth it to be that close to someone who understands how easy it is to fall through the cracks, and won’t judge him for it.
She sits on the couch, legs spread unconcernedly, and beckons to him. He falls to his knees in front of her. He almost approaches her slowly, but she grabs his head with both hands and presses his mouth against her vulva hard enough to hurt them both.
But it doesn’t matter that it’s too much, too fast, because nothing could ever be enough now that they’ve gotten a taste. Meg digs her fingers into Castiel’s scalp and twists at his hair. Castiel sets his knees against the floor for leverage as he rocks harder against her. Meg hooks her legs around his shoulders and drags him forward with her heels against his shoulder blades, and he answers by taking two handfuls of her ass. They tangle all their limbs together, pushing into each other as if each of their sins could cancel out the other’s, and they could find absolution that way.
After, Meg lies back and smiles at the ceiling as she mutters, “Fuck. I feel like I should be smoking a cigarette, just on principle.”
“Why?” Castiel asks, hugging her bent knee to his body.
“Never mind.” Then, “Do you think we saved each other?”
Castiel furrows his brow as he tries to understand. “From what?”
Meg closes her eyes. “Never mind.”
Dean
Even now, with all their secrets laid bare and Castiel kneeling at his feet, fumbling with the zipper on the front of his pants, Dean doesn’t look happy. “How many?” he asks.
“Five.”
“I thought you said you were a virgin!”
“Based on your adherence to archaic notions about sexuality, I deduced that you wouldn’t consider my past experiences to qualify as a loss of virginity. Besides, it was only two back then.” Castiel finally manages to open the zipper, but he hesitates before pulling down Dean’s pants. He looks up and says, “Do you want me less, knowing that I’ve been with others?”
“No,” says Dean quickly. Then his eyebrows twitch as he thinks about it some more, and he goes on, “Fuck, no! What? No!” He shimmies out of his pants and kicks them aside, just in case Castiel has any lingering doubts.
“Good.” Dean’s cock is inches from Castiel’s face, hanging half-hard. Castiel does nothing more than stare at it for a few seconds, breathing softly, and he watches it nudge upwards and grow. The head pokes out from beneath its foreskin, and Castiel leans forward to give its glistening surface an experimental lick.
Dean’s hand jerks as if it wants to grab the back of Castiel’s head and force it forward, but instead the hand closes in a fist and slams frustratedly against the wall. “Fuck…” Dean whispers, his eyes half-lidded as he looks down at Castiel laying little kitten-licks on the tip of his cock. When Castiel starts nuzzling the soft skin at the hollow of his hip, working his way across to mouth softly at the base of his cock, Dean raises his voice just a little, “Fuck, Cas, please…”
Castiel closes his lips around the head of Dean’s cock and slides slowly down its length, taking it into his mouth and then back into his throat, as Dean groans loudly and leans against the wall to keep his knees from buckling. Castiel presses forward until the short hairs over Dean’s pubis are tickling his nose, and then he draws back and sinks forward again.
It’s a different sensation, and a different taste, and different set of emotions compared to any kind of sexual intimacy he’s ever experienced before. They’re not exploring each other’s bodies, or offering themselves up to each other, or drowning in each other, or scratching an itch. Neither of them was made for the other. But somehow they found each other, and kept finding each other, and this - this sex that they’re finally fucking having - simply feels right. As preposterous as it seems, kneeling on the floor here with Dean’s cock slamming in and out of his mouth, Castiel feels as though he is exactly where he belongs.
Dean comes hot and bitter onto Castiel’s tongue. Castiel gives his cock two more long, slow sucks, making Dean whine in protest, before he slips his lips free and swallows.
“Fuck,” Dean groans, his limbs still shaking.
“I believe we just did,” says Castiel.
Dean stares at him incredulously for a moment before saying with a smirk, “Smartass.” He regains his footing remarkably fast, and tackles Castiel backwards onto the bed. When Castiel props himself up on his elbows, he finds Dean kneeling on the floor between his legs.
Dean yanks down the zipper on Castiel’s pants. “Your turn.”