The Nature and Kynde of a Lyon (4/6)
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Part Four.
Gabriel landed in the shallows of the river in a flurry of silver and gold droplets, and Dean’s blood snap-boiled. He was halfway across the beach to Gabriel before he knew, wings flaring wide in challenge, snarl rising in his throat.
But then Gabriel grinned.
It looked too white and sharp in his face, sharp as claws. Something in the glitter of his eyes, the nonchalant arch of his wings, made Dean’s stomach clench up weirdly.
He stumbled to a stop and growled, toes and fingers digging into sand, shingly river sand. Gabriel was… was. Was right there, so very much more than the trees and water. More than Castiel was, and Castiel had filled all of Dean’s senses up until now. But Gabriel bent the world around him until there was nothing more real than him.
And he smelled good. Like belonging and home, like steak to an empty belly. Like a promise to fill the empty ache inside Dean’s body and heart that had been nagging there all day.
Dean wanted to devour him. Be devoured. Unfamiliar and queasy urge.
He growled again into the knowing glint of those amber eyes: he couldn’t. There was a reason why he couldn’t. Gabriel was dangerous somehow. Dean couldn’t let Gabriel touch him. That must be the difference about him, that must be what it all meant. Not to be trusted. Not with Castiel. Dean’s body felt all wrong. His heartbeat was gone from where it should be, shifted right down into the pounding heat between his legs so that he couldn’t even feel it in his chest anymore.
“Afternoon, handsome,” Gabriel drawled, voice different, rich and dark as wine. “Good to see you’re all in one piece. Poor Sammy was all of a flutter.”
Sam.
Dean had just flown off and left him. Sam had been worried about something. Dean remembered now, that sharp edge of panic in his voice. Dean had left him, made Castiel leave him, all alone in the sand.
“Hey.”
Gabriel was closer now, reaching out to touch. Dean jerked back because Gabriel’s hands looked safe and delicious and glowed in the sunlight and would feel so damned good on his skin. He couldn’t. Bad idea. Bad idea, it meant Castiel would get hurt.
Gabriel stopped, hands retreating, curled halfway, holding something Dean couldn’t see. Dean watched them, licked his lips. Gabriel was speaking again, his voice a low ripple of - something strong, soft enough to lean on comfortably. “Hey. Sam’s fine, big guy. Safe at home with Ellen. Probably being bored silly by Viv’s stories by now. How’s your head?”
Dean frowned at him. A lion, a lion with his wings crooked around him gold and bright and soft like a mane, making him look so much bigger than he was, and eyes hungry and wary and tempting as a cat’s. The question made no sense. Was there something wrong with Dean’s head? He touched it gingerly, then looked at his fingertips. No blood. That was good, right?
Gabriel made a noise that sounded like he approved. Dean basked in it. “That’s it, tiger. Your head. Does it hurt?”
He narrowed his eyes at Gabriel, and frowned. There were more important things here than Dean’s head. Gabriel wasn’t moving. He was meant to be moving, coming toward Dean to cover Dean in his hands and mouth and scent and touch or backing away to leave him and Castiel safe. He wasn’t moving. His feet were on dry sand, and the legs of his trousers were wet, clinging to his knees and shins and ankles, little trickles of bright water running down over the arches of his feet and between his toes and curling into dark damp patches underneath.
… Dean wanted to chase those little paths with his tongue, all the way up Gabriel’s legs. Shit.
“He hasn’t been rubbing at it,” said Castiel behind him, and Dean glared a warning at Gabriel. Castiel was his.
“Good,” Gabriel purred. “Then we still have time.”
“Gabriel,” said Castiel, too heavy with confessions. Dean bristled up. “I think you should know that -”
Dean snarled and shot to his feet, wings flaring as wide and tall as he could make them to protect Castiel from Gabriel’s eyes.
“Castiel,” Gabriel said at the same time, not a growl or a shout but with something in it that hooked into Dean’s gut and settled there, made Castiel’s voice cut off in the middle of a word. Dean could feel them both, one in front and one behind, like he was poised between them. He couldn’t tell which was pulling and which was pushing.
“Go home, would you, gorgeous?” Gabriel said softly, without taking his eyes off Dean’s face.
“Gabriel.”
“Castiel,” and the claws were there now, sharper and plainer, under the velveted paws. Hooking into Dean’s belly so he wanted to spread his legs and arch his back and purr. “I need you to go home, into the chambers, by the back way. Feed yourself from the table and go hang about in the quiet room, because you’re all kinds of wound up, okay? Don’t let anyone see you. Just wait for us there.”
Castiel shifted a little behind Dean, the scrape and crunch of feet on pebbles. He was very quiet, the quiet Dean didn’t like in him, that meant he wasn’t happy. Castiel was never happy when his plans had to change.
Gabriel’s eyebrows made an ironic little quirk.
“And you?” Castiel asked gruffly, stubborn.
Gabriel’s mouth went indolent and sweet, eyes grave, too grave for the lightness of his voice. “I’ll get him home, Castiel. No one’s screwing anyone without a proper bed.”
“I would prefer that you hear this from me rather than by -”
“No.” Dean’s voice felt rough in his own throat, too loud, and not loud enough to drown out Castiel’s words. Gabriel’s rapped out too, sharp and raw, dragging Castiel’s to a halt.
“I’m not blind, Castiel.” Then, more softly and still a command, “But I can choose to be deaf. If you’ll let me.”
… Gabriel was sending Castiel home.
Castiel wouldn’t be here. Castiel would be safe where Gabriel wasn’t. Gabriel didn’t want to hurt Castiel. He was always gentle with Castiel. He was looking at Castiel now over Dean’s shoulder, asking him with his eyes to do something.
Castiel’s hand settled on Dean’s back, high up between the wings, and Dean arched his back into the startled pleasure of it.
“Dean,” Castiel said. His breath was cool against the back of Dean’s ear. Dean turned his head to nuzzle in against Castiel’s cheek. Castiel sounded like he was all tied up in knots inside and he shouldn’t.
Castiel’s mouth pressed soft against the line of Dean’s jaw for a moment. Then he stepped back, and Dean heard the stretch and snap of his wings as he took to the air.
He watched Gabriel carefully, in case he tried to follow him. Gabriel wasn’t looking after Castiel. He was strolling away, towards a broad flat tongue of sand that slid shallowly into the water. He was opening a packet that had been clipped to his belt, a roll of waxed cloth, unwrapping it to produce…
Dean’s nose twitched. Bread, and cold meat, and boiled eggs, and cheese. Good smells.
The muscles in Gabriel’s back and shoulders rolled a little. He was lowering himself to the ground. Dean knew that back, a familiar expanse of skin and strength and feathers that had never been so interesting before. There were darker trickles of sweat dampening some of the feathers between his shoulders, long golden trails like honey where it had collected preening oil and slid down the valley of his spine, pooling in his lower back as he’d flown, trickled further down after he’d landed to slide into the crevice where his belt and pants slung low across his hips…
Gabriel chirruped an inviting little sound, not quite an instruction. Dean stared at him, mouth panting. It was a good suggestion. Join Gabriel. There was food on the ground where Gabriel was lounging, all spread out on the cloth.
Dean took two quick steps forward, and stopped. Castiel was gone. Dean shouldn’t… he still couldn’t…
Gabriel rolled onto his back and grinned wide as a lion, a lazy lion, gold and red and cream and copper and gleaming skin sprawled out on the sand. Deep gold velvet you could sink your fingers into, if you had the balls.
“I double dare you, Winchester,” Gabriel murmured, all throaty, like he could see what Dean was thinking.
Dean sneered and flashed his teeth. He strode forward to sink to his knees on the sand beside the food.
The sand was hot under his knees and shins. The food was good, so good, to his nose and in his mouth. The feel of it in his hands was rich and delicious, the slick judder of the egg and the sharp tang of the cheese, hard and crumbly and white. The crust of the bread cracked under his fingers and tore. The feather-soft flesh underneath was light and beautiful, smelling fresh and home-like and satisfying between his teeth. Gabriel lay, fingers tucked behind his head, and watched every mouthful. Dean preened under the attention, grinned at the alpha who smelled so good and hadn’t even touched him yet, because if he wanted Dean he’d have to earn it.
And he did want Dean. Dean could smell it on him. He could see the want in the alpha black staining Gabriel’s eyes, and that was power.
“So tell me, champ,” Gabriel tossed out conversationally to the thrumming insects low overhead. “D’you know what’s going on right now? You know why everything looks strange and smells too strong?”
Dean did know. Castiel had told him. It hadn’t seemed very important, because of everything else. Thoughts that clung to that idea: what he couldn’t let Gabriel do even if Castiel was being a stubborn son of a bitch.
“Priming,” he acknowledged shortly, and licked the last of the egg off one finger. The curl of his tongue around the pad of it felt good. He did it again, slower. Gabriel watched, and made that approving rumble again that meant Dean was right, and Dean was wanted.
“Priming,” he said again, enjoying the feel of the vowels between his tongue and palate, drawing the word out and watching the way Gabriel’s mouth curved, the little pink flicker of his tongue at the corner of dried lips. “Been waiting for it. Waiting for Cas. He has to fuck me first ‘cos if you do you’ll notice that Cas and I -”
There was a flurry of feathers and skin and Gabriel’s hand clamped down over his mouth. Alpha,right there, on his knees in front of Dean leaning in over the food, holding the words in, eyes hot and dark with promise. Touching Dean.
“Brain to mouth filter, kiddo. Let’s not go blabbing things we don’t want to say to people who don’t want to hear, yeah?”
Dean groaned and rocked back on his heels, against the sharp hungry ache inside him. His mind was a bit clearer now, but his body still demanded. Sex. That was what he wanted. That was why his ass felt tender and empty, and there was wetness drying in the warm air all down the backs of his thighs. That was what it meant, the hot full throb in his dick and its refusal to lie down and be normal, and why he wanted to open his thighs and his mouth and slick Gabriel’s fingers with his tongue and suck them in.
“Dean. Do you understand?”
Gabriel’s skin was tingling against Dean’s and it was hot and rough against his lips. Castiel had been cool, cool as if Dean was running a fever. Gabriel felt like he’d soaked up the light of the sun. And his voice was sharp and urgent, like there was something he desperately needed Dean to do for him.
Something.
Cas. Castiel. Not talking about - not letting Gabriel know what he and Castiel had done, after that son of a bitch who’d killed Dad had raped Castiel, and forced him into heat way before he should have primed, and Dean had tried to kill him, and the fucker had laughed and just beat him down and told him how it was Dean’s turn next, just for that, and all the details he’d poured like poison into Dean’s ear, and then he’d walked away. Like Dean wasn’t anything.
Only Dean and Castiel had put one over on him. Castiel had got there first, terrified and gentle, so the alpha wouldn’t hurt Dean so badly if he did it. And then Sam had had his idea, and they’d run away to find Gabriel, and Azazel had never had the chance to touch Dean again after that. Or Sam either.
Dean nudged the tip of his tongue out between his lips and probed experimentally at Gabriel’s palm. It tasted of salt, and venison, and alpha. Of right alpha. Alpha they’d chosen and sought out. Alpha Dean wanted. Castiel’s brother, who kept him and Sammy safe.
Gabriel huffed out a breath.
Dean smirked against his hand, and did it again, wetter, digging his tongue in between the fingers.
Gabriel pulled a face at him, exasperated in the middle and warm at the edges where his eyes crinkled up. “You got it, yes or no?”
Dean rolled his eyes and nodded, mouthing up with his lips to try to catch Gabriel’s smallest finger.
Gabriel took his hand away and purred at him, smug and pleased, even though Dean made a completely reasonable noise of protest at the loss. He wanted.
One of Gabriel’s wings knocked into his knee as the alpha lay back on the sand again and stretched lazily, all show, arms and legs straining out and wings fanning out around him and the muscles in his stomach flexing tastily.
“You want it, sweetheart,” he drawled, eyes dancing now, dancing and black, “it’s right here.”
Dean leaned forward and touched his arm, just inside his elbow. It was soft there under Dean’s fingertips.
Gabriel looked almost like he hadn’t expected that. Dean decided, carefully, that he liked that look on him.
He leaned in, nudging the first of Gabriel’s wings aside so that he could settle his other hand in the sand above Gabriel’s shoulder, and shifted his weight forward.
Gabriel’s chest was rising and falling soft and quick. Dean could see the blood pumping in the soft part of his neck too, matching the slow hot pound of it beneath Dean’s fingers.
He could catch that in his teeth. Taste it, latch onto it, keep it hot and alive in his mouth and feel that pulse against his tongue. Slide his teeth in there and taste alpha blood. Leave the kinds of marks he’d seen on Gabriel’s skin so many mornings, and on Balthazar’s, and sometimes on Castiel’s when someone else had stolen him away from Dean in the night.
Gabriel’s head shifted against the sand, chin tilting up. Making his neck longer, and more open. More tempting.
Dean snarled at himself, and pressed his mouth into Gabriel’s shoulder instead.
The soft tickle of Gabriel’s fingers ghosting up his ribs caught at his breath and twisted it.
“Dean.”
He could feel Gabriel’s voice under his mouth, the rumble of it inside him, like Sam’s or Castiel’s when he was draped all over them in the morning but nothing like that at all.
“Dean. Trust me, yeah? For one minute.”
There was a touch on his cheek. Dean turned his face into it blindly, then opened his eyes.
“Yeah.”
Gabriel’s breath fell out of him in a shocked little noise, like that was a surprise, for whatever weird reason he had knocking around inside his head. The touch shivered, then got firmer, three fingers on his cheek and a thumb nudging in warm and sure under his jaw, coaxing his head up.
“Should last,” and Gabriel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, “long enough to get you home.”
Dean found the corner of Gabriel’s mouth first, fumbling and hungry, and tried to figure out how to latch onto that for a moment before Gabriel angled his head and opened to let him in. The taste of him went straight to Dean’s gut. Straight to his heart. Just like with Castiel but wilder, less sweet, setting his blood racing and his fingers clenching in the sand. Possibilities there, possibilities that Dean didn’t know how to name.
He groaned into it, tasting the hot sweep of Gabriel’s tongue against him, the weirdest sensations rippling all down his body in echo. Hot beat of the sun on the back of his neck and his ass and between his wings, hot sand scraping under his knee as it shoved forward to get closer (hitching one of Gabriel’s wings up out of the way), hot tight knot of wrongwantinglost unravelling in his chest and the hot luscious coil of delight winding tighter in his belly, making his skin tingle to be touched.
Dean grabbed for the side of Gabriel’s head, jaw, face, whatever, lurched with the sudden shift of weight, but there was a hand splayed against his chest holding him steady, so that was alright, and he got what he wanted. The scruff over Gabriel’s jaw was scratchy-bright sensation against his palm. Dean could feel him laughing in the curve of his cheek under Dean’s thumb, the way there was suddenly less lip and more teeth to his mouth. Dean took advantage of it and lapped in against it, wet and messy and full, and Gabriel made another of those stunned little sounds that shook Dean to the core.
“Hell,” he muttered into Dean’s mouth, shoved a hand up into Dean’s hair, and bit at his lower lip for one sharp, sweet sting.
Dean’s belly was aching he wanted so badly. It would be so easy to wriggle just a little bit closer, just like this, hitch one leg up over Gabriel’s and press in against his body, and -
Gabriel’s hand was suddenly right there, being all immovable on Dean’s hip.
“Uh-uh, tiger,” he hissed against the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Minute’s up.”
Huh?
The hand in Dean’s hair tugged a bit, lifting his head just far enough that he had to focus on Gabriel’s eyes, the sly crinkles at the corners and the weird softness hiding behind the smirk. And the wet shine of his mouth.
“… Dammit, Gabriel. Now I’m…” Dean’s traitorous mess of a body raged at him, and he dropped his forehead back onto Gabriel’s shoulder to wrestle the beast back down.
“Hornier, yeah?” The hand disappeared from his hair and combed down through the primary coverts over Dean’s shoulder, where they were too stiff to be sensitive but soft enough to be soothed by it. “But less frantic. Call it a kind of a tether. Come on, sweetheart, what’d you do with your pants?”
Backward. Forward.