FIC: Wrecked, for the deancaskinkmeme.
Title: Wrecked
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby
Note: The CAPS are supposed to be italics, but I'm too buggered to fix it all now. This is crap, I wrote it in one night, and I've slept 3 hours in the past 48. But I'm thinking quantity over quality, right now.
Edit: Cannot believe I posted this last night. Jesus. At 5:03 a.m., no less. I'm just gonna... Clean this up... Oh, my god. My first porn attempt.
Kill me,
Witches, man.
They suck.
On some level, Dean knew this. Part of him was screaming, “Gank the witch! Gank her!” but Dean couldn't. He couldn’t and it’s absolutely frustrating because he wanted to kill the blonde, busty bitch so he could go back to the motel and sulk about Lisa and his life in general, but something was stopping him.
It’s like being in pudding, Dean decided, and yes, that’s a good enough analogy because the jailbait stepped up right next to him and he was moving in slow-motion and the air is tight and moist and damn he hated witches, especially pretty witches.
Her lips press against his ear, and she whispered, “Obey.”
And that’s when Sam broke the door down and shot her twice in the chest.
**
“Sammy,” Dean whined.
Sam grimaced and continued to drive.
“Sam,” said Dean, slouched in the passenger seat. “I’m fine, I could drive. And I wanted to kill her myself.”
“Dean, you were covered in glowing goop and she had been spellcasting before I got there, so, no, I don’t think you’re fine. So, driver picks the music, kills the witch, and picks dinner. Shotgun shuts his cakehole.”
Dean wanted to protest. But the tight, moist feeling was collapsing down on him and his mouth felt sewn shut and fuck, he felt like he was going to vomit.
With a glance, Sam saw Dean’s frantic motions and pulled over, shouting, “What the hell is wrong with you? Use your words, Dean, words!”
And just like that, Dean could breathe and his mouth opened with a huge gasp of air being sucked into his starving lungs. “What… The fuck. Sammy. What the fuck.”
Sam looked hesitant, before answering, “I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know.”
**
They got all the way to Bobby’s without another incident. Dean had tried to describe, graphically, what the feeling had been- even going so far as to describe it as being mouth-and-nostril-fucked by a sock full of heated oatmeal, which Dean thought was pretty damn accurate but Sam did not want to hear about it.
Sam kept apologizing, which was the worst part, because Dean knew guilt was a fine application of a newly acquired soul, but damn it if Dean didn’t miss the get-shit-done, whine-about-it-later soulless Sammy. This Sam was nearly useless until they reached Singer Salvage Yard, at which point he was very, very serious business.
Bobby took one look at Sam’s stricken face and Dean’s stormy expression, and said, “Get your asses in the house.”
The tight feeling was back and at least Dean could breathe this time but there was a fire in his pants, and it wasn’t in the awesome, sexy-time-induced way. Dean screamed in what was probably a very girlish way, jumping up and down frantically.
“It’s too close! Too close!”
Dean took off, racing to get in the house without knowing why. The fire was intense, and Dean rushed for the sink to douse it, but the second he entered the house, the fire was out.
Dean peeked out the front door sheepishly. Sam and Bobby were standing stock-still, staring at Dean with incredulous looks on their faces.
“Dean?” asked Sam, slowly. “What was too close?”
“The fire, Sam!” barked Dean, aware that Sam was dangerously close to bursting out laughing. Bobby’s eyes were crinkling, but not with humor. Instead, he looked thoughtful, like he was making connections the boys couldn’t.
“What was it too close to, Dean?” Sam continued, innocently. “Because it looked like you were grabbing your ass.”
Dean glared. “So, yeah, I may have though there was a fire about to burn my dangly bits off. So sue me. Mistakes happen.”
If it wasn’t for the way Sam laughed, like he was really enjoying the joke, not just being polite, well, Dean would have been a lot more insulted. But instead, he just grinned a little himself and waited for Bobby to have some answers.
**
It took twenty minutes for Bobby to have answers.
“It’s a obedience curse,” he stated, slamming a dusty tome in front of Dean. Dean had been enjoying a cold beer, but the book had pictures and they were naked pictures, so he set the beer down and leaned forward eagerly.
“That looks…” Dean started, inspecting one woodcut in particular. “Bendy. Very… No, extremely bendy.”
Bobby glared, and Sam cut in. “It was originally intended to make prostitutes more… Desirable. They’d do anything a john said. Witches would sell the charm and spellcasting needed at a huge price, but of course, the brothels always made it back.”
Yawning, Dean leaned back in his kitchen chair. “Interesting history lesson, boys, but can we get on to the part where you fix me?”
The glare from Sam matched Bobby’s, eye for eye. “Would you please take this seriously, for once? Someone could tell you to kill me, and you’d do it!”
That tight feeling, the one Dean was really stating dread, settled over him. No fire, this time, or mouth-fucking, but it was like a wet blanket that draped over Dean from head to toe. It felt like sadness and solid hopelessness that Dean choked out a sob, and Sam looked on in horror as Dean collapsed under the sheer weight of it.
“Dean! Snap out of it!” Sammy shouted, and Dean woke up like he had been drowning. It had felt like drowning, sure enough.
Dean met Sam’s gaze worriedly. “Serious enough for ya?” he quipped, but Sam just shook his head.
“This isn’t good. Every little joke, or stupid order, you’ll take really literally. That’s not good.”
“Alright. Alright…” Dean muttered, running a hand over his face tiredly. Between the witch, and now the spell, he felt like he hadn’t slept in ages. “Just figure out the cure. I’ll help, just, I need some sleep…”
Sam nodded slowly, but his eyes were sad. “Dean, there is no cure. Not a quick one, at least.”
Tired as he was, Dean’s eyes snapped upwards. “I don’t care, Sammy. I don’t like taking orders. It’s stupid and you’re stupid and witches are stupid.”
Sam muttered, “You took orders from Dad just fine…” But Dean pretended he didn’t hear it, because resentment was another sign of a healthy, suffering soul (Suffering is good, Sammy! Really!) and he couldn’t help the flare of hope that surfaced whenever Sam acted like, well, Sam. The old Sam.
Dean was seriously getting tired now. But Sam wasn’t finished.
“I think we should get Cas down here, dude. He’ll know what’s up.” Dean sighed.
“Call him, then. Or pray for him, or whatever.” Sam looked a little hurt, and Dean remembered.
“Right. Profound bond. Got it.”
Dean sat cross-legged in Bobby’s kitchen, not bothering to get up from where he had fallen during his bout of utter seriousness. Cas, he thought, feeling just as silly as he had every other time he had done this. Cas, I’m in deep shit down here, and we could use some angel mojo to back us up.
Dean hadn’t even finished his sentence before wing beats filled the tiny kitchen. Castiel stood behind the brothers, and he didn’t look pleased.
“Cas!” said Sam, relieved, and Dean didn’t like the brooding silence that answered.
“I have been away, in Heaven, for two days, Dean. Can you not avoid being harmed physically or mentally in that short span of time?”
Dean frowned, his exhaustion forgotten. He thrust himself up from the floor.
“Dude, tell that to the witches. Or the werewolves. Or, you know, all those damn Alphas we keep getting thrown in the middle of. Seriously! Not my fault!”
Castiel contemplated for a second, and Dean watched the angel’s head cock from side to side, twice, and this was not the explosion he had been expecting. Things were so… touchy, these days. Dean had almost been itching for a fight.
But that worrisome, inhuman smile was spreading across Castiel’s face, and Dean was suddenly very, very afraid.
**
“Dean,” began Castiel, a few minutes later, enunciating very clearly. “Do not speak again, unless I give explicit permission. Sam and Bobby’s orders may contradict mine. Those orders are not to be followed. You will remain absolutely quiet.”
Dean wants to shout, Hell no, angel-ass, but the mouth-fucking is back. At least his nostrils were spared this time, and Dean can breathe- he doesn’t know why Castiel’s order is so much more controlled than Sam’s, but it’s not actually physically terrifying this time, just damp and confining.
Castiel watches Dean struggle without words for a moment, and then turns to Sam.
“I know the spell he is suffering. It will wear off in a few days. The witch was not the original creator, and mistranslated a few key elements. You are lucky. The original would have kept Dean bound to obedience for the rest of his mortal life.”
Dean’s eyes bugged out, but he didn’t struggle, because then he would have made noise. He wants to stomp off, but he’s stuck to the spot- even a footstep would have made a sound on Bobby’s creaky floorboards.
Looking worried, Sam pleads with Castiel to change his order.
“I think it’s an improvement,” muttered Bobby from door, and Castiel nods.
“Most certainly an improvement.”
Even Sam nods a little, grinning. Dean is mad, no, furious, and he just wants to go and hide in the Impala, when he remembered prayer and oh thank God this was going to be great-
CASTIEL YOU SON OF A BITCH LET ME SPEAK RIGHT NOW OR I WILL FLOOD YOUR HEAVENLY INBOX WITH SO MANY PRAYERS THEY’LL BE LEAKING OUT YOUR EARS CAN’T CONTROL MY THOUGHTS CAN YOU LA LA LA LA LA LA
And Castiel winced, physically pained, and Dean’s almost insulted that his voice is that grating, but Castiel shook his head and sighs.
“Dean Winchester, you may speak and otherwise create noise with that infernal thing you call a body.”
Sam looked disappointed and Bobby hustled out of there, but Dean grinned. He was tempted to fart, just to be disgusting and prove he didn’t need his mouth to make noise, but the temptation to be gross faded after a second.
The thoughtful look that had bloomed on Sam’s face after Castiel’s order was back, and Dean knew he should be as scared of that as he was of Castiel’s spooky lawyer-talk.
“I think Castiel should take care of Dean until he’s fixed up,” said Sam carefully, eyeing the angel carefully.
“Sam, I am in the middle of a civil war. I cannot babysit Dean-“
“Hey!” shouted Dean. “I don’t need to be babysat. Leave me alone. I’ll be fine until this wears off.”
A bitchface appeared, and Sam poked Dean in the chest like he wanted to make a point. Which he then proceeded to do, just to be an ass about it.
“Dean, go fuck yourself.”
And the hot feeling was back but it was over his groin and it was insatiable and he had to touch himself right then and-
Castiel was frowning. “Dean, do not fornicate with yourself.”
Dean sighed, the heat dissipating quickly. “What, you want to do the honors, then?”
Sam laughed and, turning his back on the angel and Dean, grabbed a beer from the kitchen. “Just kiss him already, why don’t you?”
Oh, fuck.
Without warning for either parties, Dean’s hands thrust themselves into Castiel’s (surprisingly soft) hair and yanked him forward, completely of their own accord. There was no tight heat, no compelling force, but he had no real control, and his lips crashed into Castiel’s with a strength that left his teeth rattling. He heard Sam making pathetic choking noises behind him but he couldn’t be bothered, the kiss was deepening and feeling so hot, it was practically a sin-
And with that, it was over. Good thing, too. Making out with an angel probably was a sin.
Castiel looked a little debauched, his eyes unfocused and tie askew. Dean didn’t even remembered pulling at it, but it added to the pretty picture the angel made.
The kiss had left tremors of sensation thrumming through his chest, down his arms and curling in his stomach. It was pleasant but uncomfortable and totally weird, and Dean really did need a good jerk off this time.
Sam looked like he was about to go all guilty and apologetic again, but a slight smile won out. Dean wanted to smack it off for him.
Sam shook his head and interrupted Dean’s thoughts. “Cas, I know you’re in a war, but last I hear, you’re winning. I have a soul now, but that mostly just means I’m not immune to Dean’s jackassery. I can’t be sure I won’t give him a stupid order like that again. And Bobby’s too busy. Just take care of him.”
And with that, Sam left the kitchen. Castiel looked utterly wrecked. Dean knew he was a great kisser, but hell, he wasn’t that good…
“Cas? You okay?” Dean asked, prodding the angel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. About, you know. That.”
Castiel shook his head. He seemed to pull himself together a little.
“Dean, you are not safe around other people. Even in passing, the spell may compel you to follow an order not intended for you, or not intended to be taken seriously.”
“Dude, I think we figured that one out already,” said Dean, smirking. Castiel shook his head, but quirked a smile.
“Let us leave the house and give Bobby some peace.”
**
That was how Dean found himself in the Impala with an angel. Not for the first time, or probably the last, but this time, his heart was beating so fast it seemed unhealthy, and his palms were seating like a teenager’s.
He was still feeling aftershocks of the kiss. He knew, deep down, the spell had something to do with it- the electric feeling that skimmed over his skin, the delicious heat that was still curled in his gut -but he really didn’t want to do anything about it except kiss Castiel some more.
“Dean.”
Dean was staring at those full lips, and he hardly registered them moving, he was fascinated by what they had felt like, tastedlike…
And then he was being shaken back to reality by a very irate angel.
“Dean. I have been trying to speak with you for several minutes. Pay attention.”
A command. Dean figured even an angel could slip up and give an order, but the good thing was, Castiel hadn’t specified what exactly Dean had to pay attention to…
Castiel’s messy hair seemed like a good place to start. Dean could see the spikes where his hands had pushed it back, then forward again, forming a cloud of dark, soft hair that Dean knew felt great under his fingertips.
“Dean!” And this time Castiel looked really pissed. Oops. “Dean, I am trying to warn you of the side effects of these particular spells. Listen to me.”
And suddenly Dean was hanging on every word. Didn’t mean he couldn’t interrupt frequently.
“It was designed for prostitutes, and therefore may sexual in nature-“
“Oh yeah? Doesn’t seem that bad.”
“You may misinterpret innocent orders to be sexual in nature.”
“Like what?” Dean was probing now, pushing the angel, trying to make something happen.
“For example…” Castiel paused to think, his brow furrowing. Dean just wanted to kiss it smooth, hold Castiel until he was sleeping and peaceful for once, and what the fuck was wrong with him.
This wasn’t normal, and it was girly as shit, and suddenly Castiel practical demonstration of an order-gone-wrong seemed like a very, very bad idea.
“Cas, I was kidding, you don’t have to-“
“Dean, kiss my ass.” Castiel looked proud of his vernacular, but Dean was horrified. The heat was back, pressing into him, and the damp feeling returned, too, making his skin almost clammy.
Dean gripped Castiel by the shoulders and threw him over his knees. Castiel’s head was now under the steering wheel, and his ass was still covered by that damn trench coat.
Dean prayed this would be a clothed ass-kissing, but prayers went unanswered and he felt his hands pulling off the coat hurriedly and yanking down the dress pants, belt and all.
Castiel’s surprisingly slim hips allowed the belt to slide down, and Dean planted a wet, mortifying kiss right smack above the cleft of Castiel’s ass. Castiel made a small protesting sound, and just as the heat and damp was leaving him in control again, the sound struck a chord in Dean that made him feel just absolutely fucking terrible.
“I just kissed angel ass,” he said, disbelievingly. Cas resurfaced, pulling his pants up. His face was flushed, and Dean didn't know if it was the kiss, the strange angle he had been hanging, or something else that caused it. Maybe a combination of fuckery that Dean couldn't even begin to comprehend.
“Yes, you did. I am sorry. I should not have allowed that to happen.”
Dean was shell shocked, but he had the grace to say, “No worries, man. Better you than Sam.”
Castiel looked apprehensive, but nodded.
“Plus, you have a really pretty ass.” Dean let Castiel see his smirk before he hid it behind a totally serious face. Dean was also pretty sure Castiel let him see the angel’s own small smile.
It was growing dark, and the car grew cool. Dean shivered, and looked up at the house.
“You think it’s safe if I go inside?”
Castiel nodded. “We will have to go straight upstairs. I can bring you food. I…” But he drifted off.
With a poke to the shoulder, Dean said, “Nuh-uh. You can’t just drift off like that. What’s up?”
“I do not trust Sam and Bobby around you while you are vulnerable like this.”
Gobsmacked, Dean’s first instinct is to laugh, so he went for it. Castiel looked hurt, and Dean threw an arm around his shoulders.
“You, acting all protective of little ol’ me? Never thought I’d see the day.”
They exited the Impala and trudged across the salvage yard. The trip to the spare bedroom was uneventful, and if Dean brushes up against Castiel more than necessary in the stairwell, that’s nobody’s business but his own. And maybe Castiel’s.
**
Dean could still feel tingles of that something, left over from the kiss, and that’s what he blamed his next move on. Pretty much the only thing he could blame it on, at this point. Certainly it wasn't because of Castiel's chapped lips, just begging for it, or the way Castiel's gaze was always focused so intently on him...
Dean drove his head forward the second they entered the bedroom, catching Castiel by surprise and capturing his lips in the process. Castiel didn't even shy away; in fact, he seemed to come alive under Dean’s touch, his hands flying up, one curling behind his neck and the other slotting over the handprint on Dean's shoulder, which was barely covered by Dean’s thin t shirt.
Dean paused only for a moment, to catch his breath. Castiel had that wrecked look again, and Dean is reminded savagely that Castiel was a virgin, had been a virgin for millennia, and his first kiss had only been weeks ago, with that demon skank Meg-
And then Castiel pulled Dean down, down, onto the bed, and the tremors from the kiss previously were back and worse, but better, and Dean moaned with want.
He couldn’t tell if it was the spell. He couldn’t tell if some old prostitute-compelling witchcraft was making him half-hard already, and he definitely couldn’t tell if was really wanted Castiel to be licking his neck like that. But it felt so damn good, and Dean just let it go.
Castiel was writhing underneath Dean, the impassive angelic features giving way to need, and Dean couldn’t help but give as good as he got.
Dean kissed Castiel fiercely, but he wanted to make Castiel moan, wanted to hear him shout, and so he moved down, further, until Castiel was sitting up on the bed and Dean was kneeling in front of him.
Some strange impatient sound was coming from between Castiel’s lips, and Dean knew this was going to be great. He unbuttoned Castiel’s pants hurriedly and drew out his cock without ceremony, already damp and hot and heavy. Dean was at a loss for a moment, but Castiel moaned again…
“Dean.”
It was simple as that, and Dean took Castiel into his mouth as far as he could. Dean hated this, he hated it more than any other sex act, he hated how much he liked it when it was being done to him even when the other person was choking on him. But the pleasure curled in his gut seemed to explode the second his lips surrounded Castiel, and Dean stopped thinking. He bobbed, sucked and licked, and Castiel was making little mewling sounds He had curled forward until he hung over Dean, and he steadied himself by putting his hands on Dean’s shoulders.
Dean didn’t mind the weight, didn’t mind the pressure, in fact, it made it a little more hot, and suddenly Castiel’s fingers were curling into his collar and dragging upward with inhuman strength. Dean liked to think that he allowed Castiel to pull him up, but there really was no argument against angelic willpower.
Dean’s lips were bruised and slicked with spit when Castiel crashed their mouths together, a mirror of what Dean had done earlier under the influence of the spell. But this, this wasn’t part of the spell, and that made it ten time as hot, no, a million, because it was all Castiel, all Dean.
Dean shucked his jeans and boxers easily. He knew, really, that he should prepare Castiel, make him ready, but in his rush he just tore the dress pants down and scooted Castiel back onto the bed so Dean could join him, kneeling between Castiel’s legs.
Castiel didn’t seem to mind, and damn, if there was a benefit to fucking an angel, Dean thought it might be having his dick magically lubed up in seconds. It sent shivers through him, and Dean had close his eyes and gather himself before letting his hips cant forward and rubbing his dick against Castiel's.
Dean paused, panting, just to ask, “How did you know to...?”
Castiel laughed, his voice deep and hoarse with lust. “I’ve been watching the adult entertainment channels. They are educational.”
Dean leaned down between Castiel’s legs, letting Castiel’s spit-and-precome-covered cock slide against his belly before he kissed Castiel again, deeply and completely.
“I need to rent me some of those videos, man,” Dean panted when he pulled away, grinning deliriously.
“I have watched enough to know that this is when you penetrate me, Dean,” said Castiel, and even if he looked totally sexed up, and his voice was as rough as Dean had ever heard it, Castiel sounded more like a manual than someone out of his mind with pleasure and arousal.
Dean decided to fix that.
His lubed up dick pressed against Castiel, and Castiel jumped. If Dean hadn’t been so eager, or driven so insane by the feel of Castiel’s hole resisting his dick, he would have tried to be soothing, tried to relax Castiel.
But instead, he thrust hard, one long, smooth entrance that left them fused at the hips, Castiel’s hard cock jutting against Dean’s navel.
Castiel whined, took a panting breath, and then moaned as Dean slowly drew himself back out and then drove back in again. Dean knew it must hurt Castiel, it had to, but Castiel's noises were all pleasure. It felt hot, and good, and Dean knew he wouldn’t last long- fuck, it was like he had been rehymenated again, no stamina at all -but even if he had lost all other manners during this, Dean knew better than to leave his partner unfinished.
And so Dean settled into a rhythm that was hot and intense but didn't send him over the edge, and he reached a hand between himself and Castiel, the other propping him up so he could stare down at the angel beneath him.
Castiel was so thin. If Dean hadn’t known the angelic powers that resided within the slim frame, he would’ve sworn the guy was probably a total wuss. He had that look to him, if you took his appearance out of context of the whole blowing-out-windows, blinding-and-maiming thing. He was small, and dressed like a tax accountant, and now he was spread beneath Dean, being fucked so thoroughly Dean didn’t think Castiel remembered how to talk.
Dean had a firm grip on Castiel’s cock and he stroked in time with his rhythm, speeding up when he heard Castiel’s moans reach a fevered pitch.
They both came with a shout, Castiel first, and then Dean, who had prided himself on his self control up until the moment he collapsed all his weight on top of the smaller man.
Castiel voiced his indignation, and pushed Dean off easily. That inhuman strength, again.
Looking lost, and very naked, and probably really sticky, Castiel turned to stare at Dean. The crazy, powerful, and stern angel that had been resurrected at Stull’s Cemetery was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Dean saw a lost, naked, and sticky guy who had no idea what came next.
“What happens next?” Castiel asked uncertainly, and Dean liked that he knew Castiel
so well.
“Well, you could order me to kiss you,” Dean said, grinning like a dope.
“Do I really have to order you?” said Castiel, and Dean caught a glimpse of a devilish grin before Dean tackled Castiel back into the messy sheets.
And if Sam and Bobby thought they were merely hiding out until the spell wore off, well, what they didn’t know about gay-angel-hunter sex didn’t hurt them.
[End]