SPN; What Falls From The Sky Is Not The Rain (4/?)
Another installment~ I hope you're all enjoying it so far. :3 Chapter 5 is currently in beta and chapter 6 is being written as well as a few other Destiel things in the works -- maybe. Seems like I'm on a roll here lol. I hope it's as good on paper as it is in my head. Guess we'll see! Chapter 4 is also oddly enough the longest chapter thus far. :3 This chapter also has a bit of pron-ish so I hope you enjoy that as well. Feedback is wonderfully welcome. :3
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Title: What Falls From The Sky Is Not The Rain
Rating: Hard R for pron-y-ishness
Pairing: Eventual Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 5,959
Warning: Spoilers for S5 finale (5x22) & eventual S6, language, wing!kink/porn?
Disclaimer: Not mine, not ever ;A;
Summary: In a split-second, Dean makes a decision that drastically changes everything he knows -- including himself.
A/N: So, getting to a bit more of the story here. I’m sure you can all guess where I’m going with the whole thing, I hope this answers some questions. :3 Also enjoy the small bit of pron-ishness toward the end. :3
Falling Head First
'i fill my lungs with fear and i exhale'
CHAPTER 4
The thing is -- is that Cas is right and he knows it. He’s gotta learn what his powers are now and how to use them so he won’t accidentally charbroil his own little brother whenever he gets around to actually telling Sam about his new .. situation. Or hell, maybe he will wanna roast the sasquatch. But as it is he’s got some work cut out for him. Which is why two weeks later Cas has transported them to some empty field in the middle of who the fuck knows where.
And if you ask him this is the worst fucking idea Cas has ever come up with. He fucking hates flying -- right up there with witches .. fucking witches, always the witches. And then Castiel suggests that he show him his wings, because he does have wings Cas tells him (“All Angels have wings, Dean.”) because technically that’s what he is, what he became when whatever happened happened to make him Lucifer. So he’s technically sort of a fallen Angel and therefore should have wings. Even though he’s never seen them, or felt them for that matter, so he feels just a little disinclined to believe Cas right now.
Castiel sighs and mutters, “Even now you still refuse to do what I ask of you .. is it really so difficult?”
“It is when I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.” Seriously, can’t they start with something simpler? Like .. causing a plague of locusts or something?
“Relax and concentrate, Dean, your wings will manifest into physical form.” Effortlessly Castiel’s dark wings spread out behind him, wide and menacing, spanning at least twelve feet wide per wing on either side of him and Dean can’t help the way his eyes widen and darken simultaneously. He’s never seen anything so terrifyingly beautiful before and his fingers itch to touch them again.
Yeah, he’s definitely got a thing for Cas’ wings alright.
“Dean.” Castiel says, frowning when Dean doesn’t respond, so he says it again, “Dean.” Louder this time and it finally causes the man to blink and look back up to his face, his own pinking just a little.
“Yeah, right. Wings. Gotcha.” Dean rolls his eyes, which only makes Castiel smirk a little. He heaves a sigh and closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind and see the wings in his head, apparently it’ll help them manifest or something. When he pictures them they're large and feathery soft in his mind, black like Cas' simply because he likes how they look on the man. There's a slight uncomfortable pinching pressure against his back, along his shoulder blades, and then suddenly his eyes fly open.
"Jesus Christ!" Dean shouts, suddenly teetering backward as the weight of his wings knock him off balance. The sudden jerk of movement causes Castiel to lurch forward, hands grasping tightly into the front of Dean's leather jacket and shirt, hauling him forward and back onto his feet. The quick change in direction has Dean trying to stabilize himself, causing him to stumble forward and well into Castiel's personal space, leaving scant inches between them. His heart is thundering in his ears as he stares in surprise at Cas, blue eyes boring into his own and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s got a fist full of trenchcoat in his hands and neither seem ready to let go.
“Beautiful.” Castiel says quietly, his voice a breath against Dean’s face and though the Angel is looking right at him, caught up in the stunning green of Dean’s eyes, he can see the dark wings spread behind the man. “Your wings.”
Oh. Right. His wings. Though judging from the way Cas is still staring at him he’s pretty sure he’s not talking about just his wings, but doesn’t call the Angel out on it. Dean watches carefully as Cas’ eyes flicker over his shoulder, looking at his wings apparently and when the man reaches out he takes a step back. A flicker of hurt crosses Castiel’s face as he looks back to Dean in confusion.
It’s not that he doesn’t want Cas to touch them or anything, but .. hell, he’s seen how Cas reacted to him touching them the first time he saw ‘em and Dean’s not sure he’ll be able to behave himself if Cas’ got his fingers -- slender, soft fingers -- touching all over his new wings .. which are probably really sensitive.
“Sorry Cas, but I don’t put out on the first date.” Dean says, giving the other a cheeky grin. Which is a complete and total lie .. but whatever, the look on Cas’ face is totally worth it.
Castiel gives Dean a confused look, head tilting a little. “I don’t .. put what out?”
A snort of laughter and Dean’s shaking his head. “Nothin’ Cas, just .. let me get used to ‘em first, yeah? I mean shit, I don’t even wanna touch ‘em and they’re mine.” Hell he hasn’t even looked at them yet. Which .. he probably should do, yeah.
It takes some psyching himself up to look back at them, not knowing what to expect, but when he turns his head his eyes widen at the large black wings protruding from his back -- what he can see of them anyway. They’re nearly as large as Cas’ and inky black -- darker than Cas’ he thinks and it takes a moment before him to realize he can see the feathers too. They’re dark enough that even manifested they look as if they’re nothing but shadows spread out behind him. He hesitates a moment before reaching back and touching a wing. It surprises him to find the feathers are downy and soft, not at all as rough and scratchy and brittle as he’d expected them to be, given they’re the Devil’s wings. All in all they’re pretty bad ass.
There is one thing that’s been bothering him though, and he’s been wanting to ask for awhile now that he’s out and not doomed to fight that feathery jackass downstairs for all eternity. “Hey Cas?” He asks as he turns back to look at the Angel, who raises a brow in question.
“How am I .. you know .. me? I mean, this isn’t how it was supposed to happen right? The whole Lucifer thing? It’s been buggin’ me since I got back.” Dean asks, scratching the back of his neck, half fearing yet wanting the answer. “By all rights it should be Lucy in here, not me, but I’m still me though not me?” Ugh, this is giving him a headache.
“I understand what you are asking, Dean, and I’m not sure I can give you an answer. It is .. what has happened should be impossible.” Castiel replies seriously, and to be honest he has been questioning it since the beginning. “I can only come up with a theory; because you are -- were -- the Archangel Michael’s true vessel, you would be able to withstand his might and glory, that your will is as strong as the power he himself wields. It is in your blood, just as the demon blood is within Sam. Your will alone is stronger than his, it is perhaps that which enabled you to .. assimilate Lucifer. It is the only viable theory I have.”
“Assim-what now? So .. you’re saying I absorbed him or something?” He asks disbelievingly. “That I just soaked him up like a frigging sponge? Is that why I’m .. like this? Still me but different? He can’t come back and bite me in the ass or anything, right?”
“I believe so. When I looked into your soul, Dean -- it was bright and beautiful as it ever was, but I could see the taint of Lucifer’s hold on you. It was not all consuming as it should have been, and over time it seems to have settled and taken root. Your soul is in the same state as it was then -- it is .. difficult to explain. You are still yourself but you are Lucifer as well -- he is gone, taken over by your will. It is why you must be careful, Dean. You are now the embodiment of Lucifer and hold the same power over the damned as he did.” Castiel says seriously, then more quietly, “I am sorry Dean, that is all the knowledge I have to offer.”
“No, it’s fine Cas. I was just wonderin’.” It makes sense he supposes, explains why he’d felt different when he woke up in Stull the first time after he made the deal, why his conversation with Michael had felt wholly wrong yet right at the same time. He had figured this might’ve happened .. but it’s good to have it confirmed at the same time, even if it kinda scares the shit out of him, to be honest. Last thing he wants is a horde of demons following him around like the fucking pied piper. What’s even scarier and more fucked up is that the idea sounds rather appealing and it’s enough to make him sick to his stomach.
Dean shakes his head to rid himself of the treacherous thoughts and shifts his shoulders, his wings rustling behind him with the movement and, yeah, that feels really fucking weird. It’s like he’s got a million more bones in his body to move around and get used to -- he probably really does. And honestly he’d probably hate them if it wasn’t for the way Cas’ stunning blue eyes watch their every movement and he thinks Cas probably likes them more than he does and they’re his wings. He tests that theory and rustles his right wing, the feathers fanning out with the motion and sure enough, Cas’ eyes flicker to it, watching with rapt attention. It’s kind of ..
He clears his throat then, feeling his face warm, the wings folding against his back and he swears Cas makes a small noise of protest when he does. “’Kay, so what’re we gonna do here?”
“What?” Castiel asks as if he’s completely forgotten just what the point of this exercise was and his face seems to color just a little. “Right, yes, the lesson is flying.”
Without preamble Castiel’s black wings flare out behind him and in two swift beats he’s nearly five feet off the ground and Dean is already half hard. This is going to be a long, long flying lesson.
‡ ‡ ‡
One would say it’s almost like riding a bike with training wheels; get used to riding the bike and then after awhile off go the training wheels. Dean says it’s complete and utter bullshit.
A hundred feet in the air and Dean’s clinging to Castiel like a goddamn girl and pleading with the man to put him the fuck down please, right now, because he fucking hates heights. Hates them with the passion of a thousand burning suns and he swears to God (yes, God) if Cas drops him he’s going to smite the holy hell out of him. He also threatens disembowelment if Cas so much as breaths a word of this to anyone.
And it’s not like Castiel minds, terribly, that Dean is clinging to him. In fact he finds it rather endearing the way Dean trusts him not to let go, not to let him fall. His lips twitch just slightly as his grip loosens, and when it does Dean makes a small terrified noise -- a soft whine of protest that makes Castiel’s slacks rather uncomfortable -- and tightens his grip on his side and shoulder, wings flapping too fast to hold him up properly. Each time he does this Dean clings a little tighter and threatens smiting if he dares lets go.
It’s only after the tenth or so time that Dean realizes Cas’ doing it on purpose, can see the little amused twitch of his lips whenever Dean’s fingers flex around the trenchcoat. He’s not sure whether to be pissed off or .. no he’s pretty pissed off actually ‘cause here he is trusting Cas to keep him safe and the jackass thinks it’s funny. Well two can play at that game.
“Pretty cozy up here huh? Just the two of us.” Dean says after a moment, giving the other man a flirty grin, the hand on his shoulder moving back to touch the high arch of his nearest wing. The Angel gives him a warning look. “Dean ..”
This isn’t his intention and Dean touching his wings is distracting him from the purpose of this lesson. “Dean.” He tries again, and his stomach churns with how soft the name comes out when he speaks.
Dean just grins at him, teasing, “What’s the matter Cas, thought you liked me bein’ all touchy feely. Couldn’t seem to get enough of it before.”
Castiel’s once rapt and fond expression closes off instantly. He’s not ready for it, or even expecting it, when Castiel lets go. Suddenly Dean’s falling and he realizes belatedly he’s fucked up again. Apparently teasing Cas was not the way to go about this.
“Cas!” He screams but his voice sounds too quiet with the wind rushing up around him, the way the world spirals in his vision, the Angel moving farther away the further he falls and holy shit he’s going to die because he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.
Castiel watches him fall and it pains him like nothing else not to go after him when Dean calls for him, voice frightened and strained. But he knows Dean wouldn’t learn otherwise, never one to take the easy road, so this is the best he can do.
Shutting his eyes Dean wills his wings to work - just fucking work already! -- and suddenly he jerks to a halt. “Cas.” He breathes out and opens his eyes, expecting to see the man there in front of him, holding him up and is surprised when he’s not. Looking down he’s about thirty feet from the ground and it’s only then he can hear the soft beat of wings behind him. Casting a glance back Dean sees his inky black wings flapping behind him, keeping him afloat. Definitely not Cas.
“Huh.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Okay, so he’s a lying liar who lies. Dean fucking loves flying; loves going up as high as he can and just letting go, dropping down and spiralling out, wings folded up flat against his back. He falls and feels the rush of air and adrenaline, heart racing and it’s only when he feels a familiar rise in panic when he can make out the ground below that he spreads his wings and coasts.
The first couple times Dean does this, once he’s got the whole flying thing down, freaks the fuck out of Castiel. The man rushes down after him, wings splayed and arched to give him speed as he follows and it’s not until he’s got a hold of Dean and is pulling him to a stop that he realizes Dean’s done it on purpose. Perhaps not to purposefully scare the shit out of him, and Dean says as much. Tells Cas how he never in a million years thought it would be so freeing. Castiel just smiles and lets go.
The next few dozen times he doesn’t worry and just watches the magnificence of it, the way Dean soars across the wide open blue sky like he was meant for it. Like it was meant for him.
On impulse Castiel decides to fly with him, and if it bothers the other man it doesn’t show. Dean takes to his presence in flight like a fish to water and more than once their wings touch, a soft brush of feathers - and sometimes it’s deliberate. Castiel can’t find it in himself to care. In flight their paths cross more often that not, flying around one another in an intricate dance, and every so often feathers touch their skin.
The landing is a little rough for Dean, but it doesn’t hurt and his wings flare out once and kick up dust around his feet before folding in against his back. Castiel lands gracefully a moment later at his side. His dark hair is slightly ruffled, as is his clothes and there’s a soft flush to his face from the wind rushing around them while in flight, his blue eyes are bright and full of mirth and Dean thinks it’s probably the first time he’s ever seen Cas happy. It’s a really, really good look for him.
‘Fuckable too.’ Dean thinks suddenly to himself though the way Cas is looking at him he thinks he just might’ve said that out loud. Shit.
“What did you say, Dean?” He asks, head tilting curiously and Dean thanks God Cas didn’t hear that, or didn’t understand it if he did.
“Nothin’, hey you hungry? Cuz I am. I’m fucking starving, let’s go get something to eat.” He rambles, hoping the change in conversation will keep his mind from where it was heading. “How the hell do I put these things away anyway?” Dean asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of his wings.
“You don’t need to eat Dean ..” He says with a sigh, “You “put them away” in the same manner you manifested them.” Castiel adds helpfully.
“Huh, that’s it?” Dean shrugs and gives it a try, closing his eyes and willing them away the way he had willed them to appear. The suddenly weightlessness has him taking a step or two forward in surprise and looking back he grins as he sees they are indeed no longer there. “Sweet.”
“It will get easier, I assure you, to .. bring them out and put them away, as you would say it.”
“Perfect, now lets go. Just ‘cause I don’t need to eat doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” He reasons and Castiel supposes he can’t really object to that.
“Very well.” He concedes, “Any particular establishment you have in mind?”
Dean shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets, “Nah, same place we ate at last time is fine, plus they’ve got great burgers and this time you’re trying pie. You’ve missed out and it’s time to fix it.”
Before Castiel can even fathom a reply to that Dean’s gone in a blink and yeah, Castiel can understand now why Dean found it so annoying when he disappeared without another word.
This time when Castiel arrives Dean is already eating, but there is a slice of cherry pie on his side of the table. Dean greets him with a small greasy grin. “Go on, try it. Eat up.” Dean urges the Angel.
Letting out a suffering sigh, Castiel cuts off a piece of the pie and takes a bite. Dean watches carefully as Castiel stiffens slightly and looks down at the pie in surprise, like he thought it would taste of ash and sulfur.
“It’s very good.” Castiel says after a moment, then cuts off a larger bite for himself, glancing up briefly to take in the others pleased grin. “You’re trying to tempt me with gluttony.” The way he says it sounds more fond than accusing.
Dean snorts amusedly and says without thinking, “If I wanted to tempt you it wouldn’t be with gluttony.”
Castiel makes a small choked noise and then coughs and it takes all his Father’s will for him not to reply that Dean doesn’t need to tempt him.
Dean on the other hand has to remind himself that Angels -- Cas specifically -- are off limits and he should stop trying to flirt with him. Liking Cas wasn’t a conclusion he’d just stumbled upon .. well it was, but he’d had a long time to think about it -- a hundred and twenty hell years worth to mull over his attraction and affection for the angel Castiel and the results were surprising. To him at least. He never thought it would be difficult not to flirt with the person -- angel -- you’re pretty much in love with.
The ensuing silence is thick and tense after that.
It’s nearly an hour later when they leave the diner, food and pie devoured and sitting well in their stomachs, that Dean brings up taking in a motel for the night. Castiel reminds him (again) that he has no need for sleep any longer, and Dean argues that while he may not need sleep he’s fucking exhausted and his back and shoulders are killing him, so can they please get a motel so he can fuckin’ relax?
Castiel relents and with a touch to Dean’s arm they’re in front of a motel, vacancy light flickering beneath the sign. For the third time since Dean’s been back he thanks whatever pulled him out that his wallet remained in tact. Walking into the front office of the motel, Castiel gives a slight nod and Dean smiles at the old man before requesting a room.
A minute or two passes before the old man plops down a key. “Keep it down. I don’ want people complainin’ cuz your boy here can’t keep his mouth shut.”
“Yeah, sure, you bet.” Dean says, quickly paying for the room and grabbing the key before scurrying out of the office and decidedly not looking at Cas. The man is right beside him and equally as quiet. When he chances a glance in the others direction he finds Castiel looking away from him but he can see the tips of his ears have gone red in embarrassment.
At least he’s not the only one then. ‘Course it isn’t helping him not think about it either. Damn that old man!
And damn him again Dean thinks to himself when he keys open the door and realizes there’s only a single king size bed. Really not helping here. It’s like God decided it would be fun to tease him. Oh well, it’s not like he’s going to actually sleep. Dean doesn’t say anything as he enters and heads over to the bed before throwing himself down onto it, face first and groaning into the pillows. He hears the door shut and lock a moment later.
Castiel stands there quietly by the door, unsure of the protocol now that it’s just them. Should he stay? It’s not as if he’ll have trouble finding Dean if the need arose. Should he leave? Dean hasn’t told him to yet .. and even though he doesn’t need sleep Dean had said he wants to relax. His mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to think of something to say. It’s strange that now of all times he doesn’t know what to say or do. It’s not as if he’s never been alone with Dean before, but it feels different somehow. Perhaps it’s due to his .. feelings for the human-turned-devil. And that makes him want to laugh with the absurdity of it all, because by all definitions it means he’s got feelings for the devil. It’s a wonder Father hasn’t struck him down by now.
When he looks over to Dean he’s stilled by the sight of the man watching him and wonders how long he’s been doing it. Dean doesn’t say anything but instead crooks his finger and Castiel goes like a moth to a flame.
“Yes, Dean?” He asks, and his voice is softer, lower than normal.
“Can you use your angel mojo stuff and make my back stop hurting?” Dean asks, pointing to his back and shoulders. “Don’t know how to do it myself just yet.”
Now that he’s closer Castiel can see the way Dean’s green eyes glow faintly in the dim motel lighting and it’s a rather captivating sight, especially when they’re directed at him. It makes him feel things he shouldn’t be feeling. Or wanting. He hesitates, Dean still watching him, and instead when he presses his hands to Dean’s back he begins to push along the muscles of his back in a light massage.
Dean’s eyes flutter shut as he turns his head and buries his face into the pillow again, a soft sound escaping him. This is definitely not what he expected Cas to do, but god does it feel good and he just can’t bring himself to tell Cas to stop, not even when the Angel moves to sit astride the backs of his thighs for a better reach. Dean groans when Cas hits a particularly hard knot of muscle and works to loosen it, fingers kneading surely against his back and even with his shirt and jacket on he can feel their heat.
Then Castiel stops and Dean’s turning his head slightly in confusion, but then his jacket is being tugged and he gets it. Dean pushes himself up a little as Castiel helps remove the leather jacket, which he folds neatly and sets it on the floor in front of the nightstand as Dean lays back down and waits for Castiel to continue.
“Bring them out.” He says quietly, voice gravelly and low in a way that makes his stomach knot up and yeah, for a minute there he totally doesn’t think he’s talking about his wings. But then Cas lightly taps his back between his shoulders and Dean sighs. He’s been avoiding letting Cas actually touch them, but fair’s fair right? Castiel sits back in anticipation of him bringing them out, and he does. Large black wings unfurl from his back, the weight of them only seems to make his back ache even more and it’s almost like they’re swallowing up the light in the room.
“They’re beautiful you know.” Castiel says softly as he lays his hands upon them, almost reverently and begins massaging at the base of them, where the black of the wing meets and melds into the man’s tanned back beneath his shirt and is the sorest. It makes Dean press his face into the pillow as he bites back a moan. It really, really shouldn’t turn him on this much.
But it does, god it does. It’s like Cas’ got his hands on his dick not his wings. What really gets him is that Cas’ gotta know what this is doing to him and fucking he keeps going. It wouldn’t even be so bad if Cas wasn’t so damn gentle about it. The way his fingers slide slow along the base of each wing, massaging against the skin through the material of his shirt; pushing, rubbing, kneading and fuck if it’s not driving him nuts. But it’s working, and he can feel the tension melt away and the pain ebb.
“How does it feel?” Castiel asks and Dean knows it’s meant to sound innocent, just an inquiry but what comes out of his mouth is anything but.
“Feels so fuckin’ good Cas. Magic fingers ain’t got nothin’ on you, just don’t stop.” Dean mumbles, muffled by the pillow he’s got under his head, and when Cas’ hands move again he’s arching back into them in the same moment he’s pressing into the mattress, grinding his dick into the firm surface and the pressure plus the friction from the cotton and denim makes him moan.
Castiel watches the movement, the shift of his hips, from his position atop Dean’s thighs and feels his own slacks constrict, hands still moving across Dean’s back and the base of his wings. He knows he should stop, that he’s crossing a line into territory he should not be allowed in -- but he doesn’t, he can’t. He’s helping Dean, making him feel good. And that’s all that matters - not his growing attraction to Dean, his lust and desire for him, the way Dean’s smile makes his heart stutter or the way his soft moans make him wantwantwant.
So his hands grow bolder, fingers kneading a little harder along his back, down the knobs of his spine and along his sides. He can feel as well as hear Dean’s breath hitch and the way his hips jerk down minutely. His touch ascends as he presses a line up Dean’s back to his shoulders where he kneads as well, feeling the tension there ease, his forearms moving lightly along the arching ridge of Dean’s wings. He can see them tremble, the feathers as they twitch and flutter and he knows for certain Dean is enjoying this. Really, really, enjoying this.
Dean can feel Cas’ weight shift when he moves down his back, and up again and it’s the only thing stopping him from mindlessly rutting against the mattress -- not that he wouldn’t save for the fact it would shamefully embarrass him. He makes a small pleased noise when Cas moves to his shoulders and his wings twitch with the sensation of Cas against them, and even touches as small as that send little tendrils of pleasure through him. It’s like his wings have a direct line to his dick or something. Not that he’s exactly complaining right now.
“C’mon Cas, m’not gonna break.” Dean slurs roughly as he lifts his head to speak. While the gentle slow touches are nice, really they are, he wouldn’t mind a little more force behind the massaging, to get the deep seeded kinks out of his back.
Castiel nods, though Dean can’t see it, and obliges the man as he presses the heels of his hands into the man’s shoulders and rubs in a hard circle. Dean melts beneath his hand and groans appreciatively and Castiel smiles to himself knowing he’s done the right thing.
“Yeah, like that Cas, s’good .. lil lower.” Dean instructs and Castiel moves, heels digging in just below his shoulders but when they get too close to the base of his wings Dean jerks his hips down and moans aloud. “Fuck, Cas.” And the sound is not at all as pained as he thinks it should be.
That seems to break something inside of Castiel, like he can’t not touchcaressstroke Dean’s wings, like he just can’t resist the temptation any longer. Leaning forward Castiel presses his forehead against the back of Dean’s neck as his fingers scrape lightly along the base of the man’s wings, making him moan and arch beneath him. The wings flare and tremble when he does it again, slender fingers moving up the soft downy arch, pinching and massaging as they move.
“Jesus, Cas .. fuck.” Dean pants out and suddenly behaving flies right out the window just like he was afraid it would. But goddamn Cas’ touching his wings, the rigid bony structure that is way more sensitive than it has any right to be and he can’t help the way his hips stutter against the mattress, pressing down in a dirty grind as Cas’ nails scrape across them.
“Fuck, Cas .. don’t ..” He chokes out a moan as he bucks into the mattress, back and wings arcing, “Don’ stop .. Cas.” And as if he couldn’t get any more turned on he can feel the soft, hot puffs of Cas’ breath against his back, can feel his face pressing into his skin and all he can do is moan Cas’ name and thrust against the mattress.
Castiel almost wishes he could see the pleasured expression on Dean’s face as he glides his fingers along the full length of the wings -- what he can reach anyway, but thinks it might be better this way. Thinks Dean would likely stop him if he were in a different position than he is now. Feeling the man moving steadily beneath him sends heat racing through his body, pooling low in his stomach, making him hard in his slacks. And he wants, wants so badly, but doesn’t give in. This is about Dean, not him. Always about Dean.
Tipping his head Castiel presses his lips feather-light to the back of Dean’s neck as his nails rake across the downy, inky dark feathers, groaning softly against his skin. “Dean.”
That one single spoken word, his name, coming from those chapped lips is what does him in. “OhgodCas.” Dean exclaims loudly into the pillow, thrusting hard and fast against the stiff mattress as it rips his orgasm from him, pulled out of him so sharp it leaves him panting breathlessly in a shaking heap on the bed. Cas’ fingers stroke him through his climax, easing up until he stops completely, until the only thing he can feel is the Angels short breath against the back of his neck.
‘Holy shit ..’ Dean says to himself and thinks he must’ve said it aloud judging by the sudden intake of breath coming from Castiel.
“I have to go.” Castiel says, voice shaky and a little breathless as he moves suddenly from the bed, standing and smoothing out his clothes, adjusting his slacks discreetly.
“Wha .. Cas?” Dean mutters as he turns slightly to look back at Castiel, his green eyes glazed with ebbing pleasure.
“I am being called back.” He says, and it’s not a lie but he’s glad for it. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he shouldn’t have let it go this far. Reaching out, Castiel presses two fingers to the middle of Dean’s back, not only cleaning him of his .. mess, but removing the pain as well as retracting the man’s wings.
“Oh, alright ..” Yeah, he totally didn’t just sound like a disappointed teenage girl right then. Dean can’t help but watch as Cas touches him again, the pain instantly gone as were his wings. “Hey, thanks Ca--” When he looks back the Angel is gone and Dean scowls.
“Dammit, Cas! You know I hate that!” This time though, he doesn’t think he can fault him for it. Dean sighs and sits up, belatedly realizing Cas has cleaned him up too and yeah, that’s not embarrassing at all. Still, this went way farther than he ever imagined it would and he’s not really sure what to do now. He’s been behaving himself and now he’s not sure what the hell he should do, and what this will change between them. And on top of this he can’t even sleep. Now that is fucked up.
“Fuck. My life!” Dean shouts as he falls back onto the bed and sighs at the ceiling. He swears God’s gotta be doing this on purpose, the sadistic bastard.
‡ ‡ ‡
As it turns out Dean is actually able to fall asleep and slumbers through most of the night, waking sometime around four in the morning as he apparently doesn’t need a lot of it. He heads out and finds a local twenty-four hour diner, has breakfast and roots through the papers for a hunt, something small to test out his abilities on. Or just something to keep his mind off of other things.
He finds a local haunting that looks easy enough and jots down a few things on a square of paper and a pencil he nabs from the waitress as he devours his pancakes and coffee. He tips the waitress before heading out.
The case turns out to be a simple salt and burn, and while there’s a lot of things he’s learning he can do, he doesn’t think digging a corpse is one of them so he has to do that one by hand. Once he’s found the bones, he tosses out the shovel and climbs out of the hole he’s dug himself into and brushes himself off -- he really needs to learn the whole cleaning trick sometime soon. He goes for his lighter but stops, hesitating a moment as he looks thoughtfully at the bones laid out in the grave at his feet.
“Might as well give it a try.” He says to himself and looking down at the bones he snaps his fingers, a grin splits wide across his face as the bones light up like a bonfire.
“Hah! I don’t need matches to light you up, bitch!” Dean exclaims proudly, pointing down at the flaming corpse.
Man, he can’t wait to tell Cas!
« Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 »
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Title: What Falls From The Sky Is Not The Rain
Rating: Hard R for pron-y-ishness
Pairing: Eventual Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 5,959
Warning: Spoilers for S5 finale (5x22) & eventual S6, language, wing!kink/porn?
Disclaimer: Not mine, not ever ;A;
Summary: In a split-second, Dean makes a decision that drastically changes everything he knows -- including himself.
A/N: So, getting to a bit more of the story here. I’m sure you can all guess where I’m going with the whole thing, I hope this answers some questions. :3 Also enjoy the small bit of pron-ishness toward the end. :3
Falling Head First
'i fill my lungs with fear and i exhale'
CHAPTER 4
The thing is -- is that Cas is right and he knows it. He’s gotta learn what his powers are now and how to use them so he won’t accidentally charbroil his own little brother whenever he gets around to actually telling Sam about his new .. situation. Or hell, maybe he will wanna roast the sasquatch. But as it is he’s got some work cut out for him. Which is why two weeks later Cas has transported them to some empty field in the middle of who the fuck knows where.
And if you ask him this is the worst fucking idea Cas has ever come up with. He fucking hates flying -- right up there with witches .. fucking witches, always the witches. And then Castiel suggests that he show him his wings, because he does have wings Cas tells him (“All Angels have wings, Dean.”) because technically that’s what he is, what he became when whatever happened happened to make him Lucifer. So he’s technically sort of a fallen Angel and therefore should have wings. Even though he’s never seen them, or felt them for that matter, so he feels just a little disinclined to believe Cas right now.
Castiel sighs and mutters, “Even now you still refuse to do what I ask of you .. is it really so difficult?”
“It is when I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.” Seriously, can’t they start with something simpler? Like .. causing a plague of locusts or something?
“Relax and concentrate, Dean, your wings will manifest into physical form.” Effortlessly Castiel’s dark wings spread out behind him, wide and menacing, spanning at least twelve feet wide per wing on either side of him and Dean can’t help the way his eyes widen and darken simultaneously. He’s never seen anything so terrifyingly beautiful before and his fingers itch to touch them again.
Yeah, he’s definitely got a thing for Cas’ wings alright.
“Dean.” Castiel says, frowning when Dean doesn’t respond, so he says it again, “Dean.” Louder this time and it finally causes the man to blink and look back up to his face, his own pinking just a little.
“Yeah, right. Wings. Gotcha.” Dean rolls his eyes, which only makes Castiel smirk a little. He heaves a sigh and closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind and see the wings in his head, apparently it’ll help them manifest or something. When he pictures them they're large and feathery soft in his mind, black like Cas' simply because he likes how they look on the man. There's a slight uncomfortable pinching pressure against his back, along his shoulder blades, and then suddenly his eyes fly open.
"Jesus Christ!" Dean shouts, suddenly teetering backward as the weight of his wings knock him off balance. The sudden jerk of movement causes Castiel to lurch forward, hands grasping tightly into the front of Dean's leather jacket and shirt, hauling him forward and back onto his feet. The quick change in direction has Dean trying to stabilize himself, causing him to stumble forward and well into Castiel's personal space, leaving scant inches between them. His heart is thundering in his ears as he stares in surprise at Cas, blue eyes boring into his own and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s got a fist full of trenchcoat in his hands and neither seem ready to let go.
“Beautiful.” Castiel says quietly, his voice a breath against Dean’s face and though the Angel is looking right at him, caught up in the stunning green of Dean’s eyes, he can see the dark wings spread behind the man. “Your wings.”
Oh. Right. His wings. Though judging from the way Cas is still staring at him he’s pretty sure he’s not talking about just his wings, but doesn’t call the Angel out on it. Dean watches carefully as Cas’ eyes flicker over his shoulder, looking at his wings apparently and when the man reaches out he takes a step back. A flicker of hurt crosses Castiel’s face as he looks back to Dean in confusion.
It’s not that he doesn’t want Cas to touch them or anything, but .. hell, he’s seen how Cas reacted to him touching them the first time he saw ‘em and Dean’s not sure he’ll be able to behave himself if Cas’ got his fingers -- slender, soft fingers -- touching all over his new wings .. which are probably really sensitive.
“Sorry Cas, but I don’t put out on the first date.” Dean says, giving the other a cheeky grin. Which is a complete and total lie .. but whatever, the look on Cas’ face is totally worth it.
Castiel gives Dean a confused look, head tilting a little. “I don’t .. put what out?”
A snort of laughter and Dean’s shaking his head. “Nothin’ Cas, just .. let me get used to ‘em first, yeah? I mean shit, I don’t even wanna touch ‘em and they’re mine.” Hell he hasn’t even looked at them yet. Which .. he probably should do, yeah.
It takes some psyching himself up to look back at them, not knowing what to expect, but when he turns his head his eyes widen at the large black wings protruding from his back -- what he can see of them anyway. They’re nearly as large as Cas’ and inky black -- darker than Cas’ he thinks and it takes a moment before him to realize he can see the feathers too. They’re dark enough that even manifested they look as if they’re nothing but shadows spread out behind him. He hesitates a moment before reaching back and touching a wing. It surprises him to find the feathers are downy and soft, not at all as rough and scratchy and brittle as he’d expected them to be, given they’re the Devil’s wings. All in all they’re pretty bad ass.
There is one thing that’s been bothering him though, and he’s been wanting to ask for awhile now that he’s out and not doomed to fight that feathery jackass downstairs for all eternity. “Hey Cas?” He asks as he turns back to look at the Angel, who raises a brow in question.
“How am I .. you know .. me? I mean, this isn’t how it was supposed to happen right? The whole Lucifer thing? It’s been buggin’ me since I got back.” Dean asks, scratching the back of his neck, half fearing yet wanting the answer. “By all rights it should be Lucy in here, not me, but I’m still me though not me?” Ugh, this is giving him a headache.
“I understand what you are asking, Dean, and I’m not sure I can give you an answer. It is .. what has happened should be impossible.” Castiel replies seriously, and to be honest he has been questioning it since the beginning. “I can only come up with a theory; because you are -- were -- the Archangel Michael’s true vessel, you would be able to withstand his might and glory, that your will is as strong as the power he himself wields. It is in your blood, just as the demon blood is within Sam. Your will alone is stronger than his, it is perhaps that which enabled you to .. assimilate Lucifer. It is the only viable theory I have.”
“Assim-what now? So .. you’re saying I absorbed him or something?” He asks disbelievingly. “That I just soaked him up like a frigging sponge? Is that why I’m .. like this? Still me but different? He can’t come back and bite me in the ass or anything, right?”
“I believe so. When I looked into your soul, Dean -- it was bright and beautiful as it ever was, but I could see the taint of Lucifer’s hold on you. It was not all consuming as it should have been, and over time it seems to have settled and taken root. Your soul is in the same state as it was then -- it is .. difficult to explain. You are still yourself but you are Lucifer as well -- he is gone, taken over by your will. It is why you must be careful, Dean. You are now the embodiment of Lucifer and hold the same power over the damned as he did.” Castiel says seriously, then more quietly, “I am sorry Dean, that is all the knowledge I have to offer.”
“No, it’s fine Cas. I was just wonderin’.” It makes sense he supposes, explains why he’d felt different when he woke up in Stull the first time after he made the deal, why his conversation with Michael had felt wholly wrong yet right at the same time. He had figured this might’ve happened .. but it’s good to have it confirmed at the same time, even if it kinda scares the shit out of him, to be honest. Last thing he wants is a horde of demons following him around like the fucking pied piper. What’s even scarier and more fucked up is that the idea sounds rather appealing and it’s enough to make him sick to his stomach.
Dean shakes his head to rid himself of the treacherous thoughts and shifts his shoulders, his wings rustling behind him with the movement and, yeah, that feels really fucking weird. It’s like he’s got a million more bones in his body to move around and get used to -- he probably really does. And honestly he’d probably hate them if it wasn’t for the way Cas’ stunning blue eyes watch their every movement and he thinks Cas probably likes them more than he does and they’re his wings. He tests that theory and rustles his right wing, the feathers fanning out with the motion and sure enough, Cas’ eyes flicker to it, watching with rapt attention. It’s kind of ..
He clears his throat then, feeling his face warm, the wings folding against his back and he swears Cas makes a small noise of protest when he does. “’Kay, so what’re we gonna do here?”
“What?” Castiel asks as if he’s completely forgotten just what the point of this exercise was and his face seems to color just a little. “Right, yes, the lesson is flying.”
Without preamble Castiel’s black wings flare out behind him and in two swift beats he’s nearly five feet off the ground and Dean is already half hard. This is going to be a long, long flying lesson.
‡ ‡ ‡
One would say it’s almost like riding a bike with training wheels; get used to riding the bike and then after awhile off go the training wheels. Dean says it’s complete and utter bullshit.
A hundred feet in the air and Dean’s clinging to Castiel like a goddamn girl and pleading with the man to put him the fuck down please, right now, because he fucking hates heights. Hates them with the passion of a thousand burning suns and he swears to God (yes, God) if Cas drops him he’s going to smite the holy hell out of him. He also threatens disembowelment if Cas so much as breaths a word of this to anyone.
And it’s not like Castiel minds, terribly, that Dean is clinging to him. In fact he finds it rather endearing the way Dean trusts him not to let go, not to let him fall. His lips twitch just slightly as his grip loosens, and when it does Dean makes a small terrified noise -- a soft whine of protest that makes Castiel’s slacks rather uncomfortable -- and tightens his grip on his side and shoulder, wings flapping too fast to hold him up properly. Each time he does this Dean clings a little tighter and threatens smiting if he dares lets go.
It’s only after the tenth or so time that Dean realizes Cas’ doing it on purpose, can see the little amused twitch of his lips whenever Dean’s fingers flex around the trenchcoat. He’s not sure whether to be pissed off or .. no he’s pretty pissed off actually ‘cause here he is trusting Cas to keep him safe and the jackass thinks it’s funny. Well two can play at that game.
“Pretty cozy up here huh? Just the two of us.” Dean says after a moment, giving the other man a flirty grin, the hand on his shoulder moving back to touch the high arch of his nearest wing. The Angel gives him a warning look. “Dean ..”
This isn’t his intention and Dean touching his wings is distracting him from the purpose of this lesson. “Dean.” He tries again, and his stomach churns with how soft the name comes out when he speaks.
Dean just grins at him, teasing, “What’s the matter Cas, thought you liked me bein’ all touchy feely. Couldn’t seem to get enough of it before.”
Castiel’s once rapt and fond expression closes off instantly. He’s not ready for it, or even expecting it, when Castiel lets go. Suddenly Dean’s falling and he realizes belatedly he’s fucked up again. Apparently teasing Cas was not the way to go about this.
“Cas!” He screams but his voice sounds too quiet with the wind rushing up around him, the way the world spirals in his vision, the Angel moving farther away the further he falls and holy shit he’s going to die because he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.
Castiel watches him fall and it pains him like nothing else not to go after him when Dean calls for him, voice frightened and strained. But he knows Dean wouldn’t learn otherwise, never one to take the easy road, so this is the best he can do.
Shutting his eyes Dean wills his wings to work - just fucking work already! -- and suddenly he jerks to a halt. “Cas.” He breathes out and opens his eyes, expecting to see the man there in front of him, holding him up and is surprised when he’s not. Looking down he’s about thirty feet from the ground and it’s only then he can hear the soft beat of wings behind him. Casting a glance back Dean sees his inky black wings flapping behind him, keeping him afloat. Definitely not Cas.
“Huh.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Okay, so he’s a lying liar who lies. Dean fucking loves flying; loves going up as high as he can and just letting go, dropping down and spiralling out, wings folded up flat against his back. He falls and feels the rush of air and adrenaline, heart racing and it’s only when he feels a familiar rise in panic when he can make out the ground below that he spreads his wings and coasts.
The first couple times Dean does this, once he’s got the whole flying thing down, freaks the fuck out of Castiel. The man rushes down after him, wings splayed and arched to give him speed as he follows and it’s not until he’s got a hold of Dean and is pulling him to a stop that he realizes Dean’s done it on purpose. Perhaps not to purposefully scare the shit out of him, and Dean says as much. Tells Cas how he never in a million years thought it would be so freeing. Castiel just smiles and lets go.
The next few dozen times he doesn’t worry and just watches the magnificence of it, the way Dean soars across the wide open blue sky like he was meant for it. Like it was meant for him.
On impulse Castiel decides to fly with him, and if it bothers the other man it doesn’t show. Dean takes to his presence in flight like a fish to water and more than once their wings touch, a soft brush of feathers - and sometimes it’s deliberate. Castiel can’t find it in himself to care. In flight their paths cross more often that not, flying around one another in an intricate dance, and every so often feathers touch their skin.
The landing is a little rough for Dean, but it doesn’t hurt and his wings flare out once and kick up dust around his feet before folding in against his back. Castiel lands gracefully a moment later at his side. His dark hair is slightly ruffled, as is his clothes and there’s a soft flush to his face from the wind rushing around them while in flight, his blue eyes are bright and full of mirth and Dean thinks it’s probably the first time he’s ever seen Cas happy. It’s a really, really good look for him.
‘Fuckable too.’ Dean thinks suddenly to himself though the way Cas is looking at him he thinks he just might’ve said that out loud. Shit.
“What did you say, Dean?” He asks, head tilting curiously and Dean thanks God Cas didn’t hear that, or didn’t understand it if he did.
“Nothin’, hey you hungry? Cuz I am. I’m fucking starving, let’s go get something to eat.” He rambles, hoping the change in conversation will keep his mind from where it was heading. “How the hell do I put these things away anyway?” Dean asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of his wings.
“You don’t need to eat Dean ..” He says with a sigh, “You “put them away” in the same manner you manifested them.” Castiel adds helpfully.
“Huh, that’s it?” Dean shrugs and gives it a try, closing his eyes and willing them away the way he had willed them to appear. The suddenly weightlessness has him taking a step or two forward in surprise and looking back he grins as he sees they are indeed no longer there. “Sweet.”
“It will get easier, I assure you, to .. bring them out and put them away, as you would say it.”
“Perfect, now lets go. Just ‘cause I don’t need to eat doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” He reasons and Castiel supposes he can’t really object to that.
“Very well.” He concedes, “Any particular establishment you have in mind?”
Dean shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets, “Nah, same place we ate at last time is fine, plus they’ve got great burgers and this time you’re trying pie. You’ve missed out and it’s time to fix it.”
Before Castiel can even fathom a reply to that Dean’s gone in a blink and yeah, Castiel can understand now why Dean found it so annoying when he disappeared without another word.
This time when Castiel arrives Dean is already eating, but there is a slice of cherry pie on his side of the table. Dean greets him with a small greasy grin. “Go on, try it. Eat up.” Dean urges the Angel.
Letting out a suffering sigh, Castiel cuts off a piece of the pie and takes a bite. Dean watches carefully as Castiel stiffens slightly and looks down at the pie in surprise, like he thought it would taste of ash and sulfur.
“It’s very good.” Castiel says after a moment, then cuts off a larger bite for himself, glancing up briefly to take in the others pleased grin. “You’re trying to tempt me with gluttony.” The way he says it sounds more fond than accusing.
Dean snorts amusedly and says without thinking, “If I wanted to tempt you it wouldn’t be with gluttony.”
Castiel makes a small choked noise and then coughs and it takes all his Father’s will for him not to reply that Dean doesn’t need to tempt him.
Dean on the other hand has to remind himself that Angels -- Cas specifically -- are off limits and he should stop trying to flirt with him. Liking Cas wasn’t a conclusion he’d just stumbled upon .. well it was, but he’d had a long time to think about it -- a hundred and twenty hell years worth to mull over his attraction and affection for the angel Castiel and the results were surprising. To him at least. He never thought it would be difficult not to flirt with the person -- angel -- you’re pretty much in love with.
The ensuing silence is thick and tense after that.
It’s nearly an hour later when they leave the diner, food and pie devoured and sitting well in their stomachs, that Dean brings up taking in a motel for the night. Castiel reminds him (again) that he has no need for sleep any longer, and Dean argues that while he may not need sleep he’s fucking exhausted and his back and shoulders are killing him, so can they please get a motel so he can fuckin’ relax?
Castiel relents and with a touch to Dean’s arm they’re in front of a motel, vacancy light flickering beneath the sign. For the third time since Dean’s been back he thanks whatever pulled him out that his wallet remained in tact. Walking into the front office of the motel, Castiel gives a slight nod and Dean smiles at the old man before requesting a room.
A minute or two passes before the old man plops down a key. “Keep it down. I don’ want people complainin’ cuz your boy here can’t keep his mouth shut.”
“Yeah, sure, you bet.” Dean says, quickly paying for the room and grabbing the key before scurrying out of the office and decidedly not looking at Cas. The man is right beside him and equally as quiet. When he chances a glance in the others direction he finds Castiel looking away from him but he can see the tips of his ears have gone red in embarrassment.
At least he’s not the only one then. ‘Course it isn’t helping him not think about it either. Damn that old man!
And damn him again Dean thinks to himself when he keys open the door and realizes there’s only a single king size bed. Really not helping here. It’s like God decided it would be fun to tease him. Oh well, it’s not like he’s going to actually sleep. Dean doesn’t say anything as he enters and heads over to the bed before throwing himself down onto it, face first and groaning into the pillows. He hears the door shut and lock a moment later.
Castiel stands there quietly by the door, unsure of the protocol now that it’s just them. Should he stay? It’s not as if he’ll have trouble finding Dean if the need arose. Should he leave? Dean hasn’t told him to yet .. and even though he doesn’t need sleep Dean had said he wants to relax. His mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to think of something to say. It’s strange that now of all times he doesn’t know what to say or do. It’s not as if he’s never been alone with Dean before, but it feels different somehow. Perhaps it’s due to his .. feelings for the human-turned-devil. And that makes him want to laugh with the absurdity of it all, because by all definitions it means he’s got feelings for the devil. It’s a wonder Father hasn’t struck him down by now.
When he looks over to Dean he’s stilled by the sight of the man watching him and wonders how long he’s been doing it. Dean doesn’t say anything but instead crooks his finger and Castiel goes like a moth to a flame.
“Yes, Dean?” He asks, and his voice is softer, lower than normal.
“Can you use your angel mojo stuff and make my back stop hurting?” Dean asks, pointing to his back and shoulders. “Don’t know how to do it myself just yet.”
Now that he’s closer Castiel can see the way Dean’s green eyes glow faintly in the dim motel lighting and it’s a rather captivating sight, especially when they’re directed at him. It makes him feel things he shouldn’t be feeling. Or wanting. He hesitates, Dean still watching him, and instead when he presses his hands to Dean’s back he begins to push along the muscles of his back in a light massage.
Dean’s eyes flutter shut as he turns his head and buries his face into the pillow again, a soft sound escaping him. This is definitely not what he expected Cas to do, but god does it feel good and he just can’t bring himself to tell Cas to stop, not even when the Angel moves to sit astride the backs of his thighs for a better reach. Dean groans when Cas hits a particularly hard knot of muscle and works to loosen it, fingers kneading surely against his back and even with his shirt and jacket on he can feel their heat.
Then Castiel stops and Dean’s turning his head slightly in confusion, but then his jacket is being tugged and he gets it. Dean pushes himself up a little as Castiel helps remove the leather jacket, which he folds neatly and sets it on the floor in front of the nightstand as Dean lays back down and waits for Castiel to continue.
“Bring them out.” He says quietly, voice gravelly and low in a way that makes his stomach knot up and yeah, for a minute there he totally doesn’t think he’s talking about his wings. But then Cas lightly taps his back between his shoulders and Dean sighs. He’s been avoiding letting Cas actually touch them, but fair’s fair right? Castiel sits back in anticipation of him bringing them out, and he does. Large black wings unfurl from his back, the weight of them only seems to make his back ache even more and it’s almost like they’re swallowing up the light in the room.
“They’re beautiful you know.” Castiel says softly as he lays his hands upon them, almost reverently and begins massaging at the base of them, where the black of the wing meets and melds into the man’s tanned back beneath his shirt and is the sorest. It makes Dean press his face into the pillow as he bites back a moan. It really, really shouldn’t turn him on this much.
But it does, god it does. It’s like Cas’ got his hands on his dick not his wings. What really gets him is that Cas’ gotta know what this is doing to him and fucking he keeps going. It wouldn’t even be so bad if Cas wasn’t so damn gentle about it. The way his fingers slide slow along the base of each wing, massaging against the skin through the material of his shirt; pushing, rubbing, kneading and fuck if it’s not driving him nuts. But it’s working, and he can feel the tension melt away and the pain ebb.
“How does it feel?” Castiel asks and Dean knows it’s meant to sound innocent, just an inquiry but what comes out of his mouth is anything but.
“Feels so fuckin’ good Cas. Magic fingers ain’t got nothin’ on you, just don’t stop.” Dean mumbles, muffled by the pillow he’s got under his head, and when Cas’ hands move again he’s arching back into them in the same moment he’s pressing into the mattress, grinding his dick into the firm surface and the pressure plus the friction from the cotton and denim makes him moan.
Castiel watches the movement, the shift of his hips, from his position atop Dean’s thighs and feels his own slacks constrict, hands still moving across Dean’s back and the base of his wings. He knows he should stop, that he’s crossing a line into territory he should not be allowed in -- but he doesn’t, he can’t. He’s helping Dean, making him feel good. And that’s all that matters - not his growing attraction to Dean, his lust and desire for him, the way Dean’s smile makes his heart stutter or the way his soft moans make him wantwantwant.
So his hands grow bolder, fingers kneading a little harder along his back, down the knobs of his spine and along his sides. He can feel as well as hear Dean’s breath hitch and the way his hips jerk down minutely. His touch ascends as he presses a line up Dean’s back to his shoulders where he kneads as well, feeling the tension there ease, his forearms moving lightly along the arching ridge of Dean’s wings. He can see them tremble, the feathers as they twitch and flutter and he knows for certain Dean is enjoying this. Really, really, enjoying this.
Dean can feel Cas’ weight shift when he moves down his back, and up again and it’s the only thing stopping him from mindlessly rutting against the mattress -- not that he wouldn’t save for the fact it would shamefully embarrass him. He makes a small pleased noise when Cas moves to his shoulders and his wings twitch with the sensation of Cas against them, and even touches as small as that send little tendrils of pleasure through him. It’s like his wings have a direct line to his dick or something. Not that he’s exactly complaining right now.
“C’mon Cas, m’not gonna break.” Dean slurs roughly as he lifts his head to speak. While the gentle slow touches are nice, really they are, he wouldn’t mind a little more force behind the massaging, to get the deep seeded kinks out of his back.
Castiel nods, though Dean can’t see it, and obliges the man as he presses the heels of his hands into the man’s shoulders and rubs in a hard circle. Dean melts beneath his hand and groans appreciatively and Castiel smiles to himself knowing he’s done the right thing.
“Yeah, like that Cas, s’good .. lil lower.” Dean instructs and Castiel moves, heels digging in just below his shoulders but when they get too close to the base of his wings Dean jerks his hips down and moans aloud. “Fuck, Cas.” And the sound is not at all as pained as he thinks it should be.
That seems to break something inside of Castiel, like he can’t not touchcaressstroke Dean’s wings, like he just can’t resist the temptation any longer. Leaning forward Castiel presses his forehead against the back of Dean’s neck as his fingers scrape lightly along the base of the man’s wings, making him moan and arch beneath him. The wings flare and tremble when he does it again, slender fingers moving up the soft downy arch, pinching and massaging as they move.
“Jesus, Cas .. fuck.” Dean pants out and suddenly behaving flies right out the window just like he was afraid it would. But goddamn Cas’ touching his wings, the rigid bony structure that is way more sensitive than it has any right to be and he can’t help the way his hips stutter against the mattress, pressing down in a dirty grind as Cas’ nails scrape across them.
“Fuck, Cas .. don’t ..” He chokes out a moan as he bucks into the mattress, back and wings arcing, “Don’ stop .. Cas.” And as if he couldn’t get any more turned on he can feel the soft, hot puffs of Cas’ breath against his back, can feel his face pressing into his skin and all he can do is moan Cas’ name and thrust against the mattress.
Castiel almost wishes he could see the pleasured expression on Dean’s face as he glides his fingers along the full length of the wings -- what he can reach anyway, but thinks it might be better this way. Thinks Dean would likely stop him if he were in a different position than he is now. Feeling the man moving steadily beneath him sends heat racing through his body, pooling low in his stomach, making him hard in his slacks. And he wants, wants so badly, but doesn’t give in. This is about Dean, not him. Always about Dean.
Tipping his head Castiel presses his lips feather-light to the back of Dean’s neck as his nails rake across the downy, inky dark feathers, groaning softly against his skin. “Dean.”
That one single spoken word, his name, coming from those chapped lips is what does him in. “OhgodCas.” Dean exclaims loudly into the pillow, thrusting hard and fast against the stiff mattress as it rips his orgasm from him, pulled out of him so sharp it leaves him panting breathlessly in a shaking heap on the bed. Cas’ fingers stroke him through his climax, easing up until he stops completely, until the only thing he can feel is the Angels short breath against the back of his neck.
‘Holy shit ..’ Dean says to himself and thinks he must’ve said it aloud judging by the sudden intake of breath coming from Castiel.
“I have to go.” Castiel says, voice shaky and a little breathless as he moves suddenly from the bed, standing and smoothing out his clothes, adjusting his slacks discreetly.
“Wha .. Cas?” Dean mutters as he turns slightly to look back at Castiel, his green eyes glazed with ebbing pleasure.
“I am being called back.” He says, and it’s not a lie but he’s glad for it. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he shouldn’t have let it go this far. Reaching out, Castiel presses two fingers to the middle of Dean’s back, not only cleaning him of his .. mess, but removing the pain as well as retracting the man’s wings.
“Oh, alright ..” Yeah, he totally didn’t just sound like a disappointed teenage girl right then. Dean can’t help but watch as Cas touches him again, the pain instantly gone as were his wings. “Hey, thanks Ca--” When he looks back the Angel is gone and Dean scowls.
“Dammit, Cas! You know I hate that!” This time though, he doesn’t think he can fault him for it. Dean sighs and sits up, belatedly realizing Cas has cleaned him up too and yeah, that’s not embarrassing at all. Still, this went way farther than he ever imagined it would and he’s not really sure what to do now. He’s been behaving himself and now he’s not sure what the hell he should do, and what this will change between them. And on top of this he can’t even sleep. Now that is fucked up.
“Fuck. My life!” Dean shouts as he falls back onto the bed and sighs at the ceiling. He swears God’s gotta be doing this on purpose, the sadistic bastard.
‡ ‡ ‡
As it turns out Dean is actually able to fall asleep and slumbers through most of the night, waking sometime around four in the morning as he apparently doesn’t need a lot of it. He heads out and finds a local twenty-four hour diner, has breakfast and roots through the papers for a hunt, something small to test out his abilities on. Or just something to keep his mind off of other things.
He finds a local haunting that looks easy enough and jots down a few things on a square of paper and a pencil he nabs from the waitress as he devours his pancakes and coffee. He tips the waitress before heading out.
The case turns out to be a simple salt and burn, and while there’s a lot of things he’s learning he can do, he doesn’t think digging a corpse is one of them so he has to do that one by hand. Once he’s found the bones, he tosses out the shovel and climbs out of the hole he’s dug himself into and brushes himself off -- he really needs to learn the whole cleaning trick sometime soon. He goes for his lighter but stops, hesitating a moment as he looks thoughtfully at the bones laid out in the grave at his feet.
“Might as well give it a try.” He says to himself and looking down at the bones he snaps his fingers, a grin splits wide across his face as the bones light up like a bonfire.
“Hah! I don’t need matches to light you up, bitch!” Dean exclaims proudly, pointing down at the flaming corpse.
Man, he can’t wait to tell Cas!
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