Fic: Spn - What it's like to feel: Part 1/?
Title: What it's like to feel
Author: ravengrimm
Beta: fledge
Pairing/Characters: Castiel/Dean, some Sam.
Genre: Slash
Rating: R but mild
Word Count: 4561
Warnings: some bad language.
Spoiler: only if you don't know who Castiel is.
Summery: Castiel gets to experience something completely new to him, but best of all he shares it with Dean
Notes: Sorry if this isn't very good, it's my first fanfic ever :/
Comments much appreciated. I hope you like it.
When Castiel arrived in the barn, Dean wasn’t in a good mood; and calling it a bad mood would be a major understatement.
The barn, Dean seemed to think, was the best place for him to vent, even though Sam had driven off shortly after Dean had stormed out, leaving the motel empty; and even though any passers-by would hear him ranting anyway. Knowing Dean, he probably didn’t care.
Castiel has always got one ear listening out for Dean - that’s his job after all - although he thinks he might be overdoing it a bit. He always pays a little closer attention when he hears his name and that’s what had alerted him to Dean and Sam’s argument. Dean had dropped his name in amongst words like ‘angel’, ‘not a fucking demon’ and ‘going to get you killed’. The word that had come up the most was ‘Ruby’, and the whole sticking point of the argument. Dean’s not happy about Sam’s dating a demon, understandably.
It was a bit late for an intervention as they’d already gone separate ways but he hoped he could calm at least one of the brothers down. It worked, in a way, but he hadn’t expected Dean to be quite so surprised. Surprised that an angel could think a demon wasn’t quite so bad and that she might even do Sam some good.
The wind is rattling the barn, shaking dust loose from the rafters. The weather outside is turning bitter but Castiel doesn’t feel the cold like humans, and at present, Dean doesn’t appear to either.
Dean’s mouth had opened and closed a few times, his brow furrowed, but no words had escaped. He’s just staring now, his mouth slack, eyes wide, and shaking his head with confusion.
Castiel frowns, his eyes piercing. He takes a step toward Dean, his head tilted to one side.
“I told you, Dean,” his eyes narrow, “good things do happen.” Castiel’s human voice rumbles, low with intensity, every word slow and defined. The words he speaks remind him of the first time Dean had laid eyes on this human vessel, back in that other old barn, painted with demon traps and protective charms and filled with all manner of weapons. Where he had been trying to convince Dean of this same fact, and failing.
He can’t help remembering the hatred that had surged from Dean so willingly, aimed squarely at him. The moment Dean had plunged the knife into his chest grates the worst, but he reminds himself that Dean hadn’t known who or what he was back then; yet it offers Castiel little relief.
Dean holds the angel’s perceptive stare as long as he can before it bores too deeply and he has to look away. Castiel searches Dean’s face but finds it suddenly unreadable, and his thoughts are too messed up to comprehend. He gives up; apparently Dean isn’t having any of it and it pains Castiel to know that Dean can’t believe, or won’t.
“I should go,” Castiel murmurs, so quietly that he isn’t sure if Dean has heard him, and turns to leave.
Before he has a chance to disappear in a flutter of wings, he feels a light tug on the sleeve of his coat. He turns, his eyes drawn down to the two fingers holding limply onto the fabric, as though if they held on too tightly, they might rip it. Castiel stands stiffly a moment, his gaze on Dean’s strangely hesitant fingers - so unlike him - then raises his gaze level with Dean’s.
Castiel’s frown deepens, his most earnest expression of confusion, trying desperately to understand; and Dean groans irritably, turning his gaze aside. As usual, Dean's mind is a jumble and Castiel’s mouth slips open as he tries to put the thoughts, roaring around inside Dean’s head, into some kind of order.
Dean groans again.
“Fuck!”
Then he visibly steels himself and breathes deeply, his brows knitting together and his lips tight.
Dean releases the sleeve and grabs tightly at Castiel’s wrist, pulling it towards him and pinning it against his leg. His free hand grips tightly to the front of Castiel’s shirt and pulls him in close. Normally the angel would be unmovable to a human but he finds himself unable to resist Dean’s pull, and he’s more than interested to find out what Dean has need of him for. He hadn’t really wanted to leave, after all.
Dean’s breath is ragged and falls hotly over the angel’s open mouth as he leans further into Castiel’s personal space. He breathes heavily, his expression fierce, and probes the angel’s face, looking for something. Castiel isn’t sure what it is he’s hoping to find there.
The intensity radiating off Dean is enough to steal Castiel’s breath and freeze him in place. He fights to keep his powers in check but already the lights high above are flickering and swaying in a breeze that shouldn’t be there, a breeze that spreads from Castiel’s back as his wings, invisible to Dean, beat slowly in time with his vessel's heart.
“God damn it!” Dean curses, appearing not to find what he was searching for and seemingly unaware of the unusual air currents pulsing around them, nor of the intermittent lights. He gives Castiel no time to reprimand him for his blasphemy as he presses forward. Releasing the shirt, Dean tangles his fingers in Castiel’s hair and pulls him in.
Their lips lock.
Castiel’s eyes fall wide at the wonder of Dean’s touch and this completely new experience. This is the last thing he expected of Dean. It takes him completely by surprise and stirs something inside him that is indescribable, and enough to disrupt his vessel's heartbeat. He knows it’s wrong; that he shouldn’t be feeling at all, that he might well be punished for this. This isn’t something an angel should be doing.
He doesn’t care.
Dean’s tongue meets no resistance as it slips into Castiel’s warm, open mouth. Castiel gasps as an overwhelming tingling sensation runs like a current through his body, starting at his lips. He wonders if Dean can feel it too, seeping through his skin, through his mouth. Electricity buzzes in the lights that flare erratically as his powers strain against his control, almost as an overflow of the charge running through him.
This is more than he had dared to imagine when he had watched Dean in secret, glimpsing private moments that he promised himself he wouldn’t pry into; moments Dean had shared with females.
He felt wrong for spying at those times and made sure when he happened upon them that he left quickly. But he couldn’t help wondering what it felt like; and more than anything, he wanted to understand the feeling it had stimulated in him to see him with them.
It had made him feel, but more than that, it had made him feel wrong. He didn’t like it, and had been unable to put it into words until now. Now it makes sense, and the word comes readily to his vessel’s mind: envy. A sin.
And still he doesn’t care.
Dean still holds Castiel’s left wrist, pressing it tightly against his thigh. Castiel flexes the fingers of this hand then hesitantly slides them flat against Dean’s firm muscle beneath them.
Dean shudders under his light touch.
“I’m so going to hell for this,” he mutters into Castiel’s mouth before moving forward, releasing the angel’s wrist and pushing his kiss deeper.
Dean slides his empty hand into Castiel’s open coat and jacket, running it across the light fabric of his shirt and wrapping his arm around the small of his back. The lights rock violently on their cords, flaring, dying, flaring again and all the time crackling with built-up energy. The feel of Dean’s fingers, so close against Castiel’s skin, sends a shiver down his … what is it, spine, his vessel’s memory supplies. It’s a peculiar sensation and something that has never been there before. He’s not sure if this should worry him or not.
The sudden lack of space between them results in Castiel’s hand slipping further around Dean’s leg and his fingers hold rigged against his buttocks.
After a few indecisive moments, Castiel raises his right hand in imitation of Dean’s and tangles it through his gelled, brown hair. The feel of it through his fingers is something else entirely, it’s coarse and soft and stiff all at the same time and confers a separate sensation that his mind reels over.
Castiel relaxes his other hand a fraction and enjoys the feel of flesh beneath it, both soft and firm. This seems to spur Dean on.
A half-laugh escapes his lips and he presses even further forward, trying to force as much of himself against the angel as he can. Castiel doesn’t think to move his feet. Dean has removed all the space between them and Castiel has no room to move in order to keep his balance.
Dean jerks a foot forward to stop their fall and grips even more tightly to Castiel's back and head to support him. Castiel instinctively grips tighter as well but he isn’t used to controlling his vessel’s strength and his fingers bite into Dean’s buttocks.
“Son of a-” Dean yelps, finally breaking their kiss and standing them upright.
Castiel tilts his head as he tries to understand. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks, the lighting evening out as his backed-up energy ebbs away.
The bulbs sway their way into stillness and achingly, the moment is broken
Several expressions play across Dean’s face, each one more complicated than the last. Castiel wonders absently if he will ever begin to understand them without the need to rummage inside Dean's chaotic mind for the meaning behind them. Dean traces a line along Castiel’s left arm with his fingers and cups his hand around Castiel’s still rigid claw.
“Damn, Cas, ow!”
Castiel’s head droops as realization dawns and Dean eases his fingers free. Castiel lowers both his hands and holds them in front of himself, training his fierce gaze on them. He isn’t going to mention the fact that Dean had effectively damned him but his mind rolls over the way his shortened name sounds in Dean’s voice, liking the sound of it. Dean had called him it a few times before, to his face and when referring to him to Sam, in his absence, but somehow it means so much more this time and he can’t grasp why. Perhaps it’s because of the way his vessel’s body still hums with a warmth he’s never felt before, a warmth, he knows, is only there because of Dean.
“I’m sorry,” Castiel breathes in a low rumble, the verbal apology completely unnecessary; it’s written all over his face, his expression not of confusion, but of borrowed pain he perceives Dean is feeling. “I should be more careful, I’m so unused to this form.” He glares at his vessel’s hands, silently reproaching them.
Dean chuckles a throaty laugh and takes the offending hand in his. Castiel stares at this entirely human gesture that holds so much meaning, so much feeling.
There's that shivery sensation again, that forbidden thing, that feeling that is inexplicably becoming a part of him. It both excites and terrifies him at the same time.
“Are you gonna, uh, fall for that?” Dean murmurs, the smile no longer on his face.
“For causing you pain?” Castiel replies before applying more thought to the question.
“No dumb ass-” Dean cringes at his choice of words. “For, you know, the, uh-” he trails off but settles his gaze absentmindedly on Castiel’s full lips, his tongue slipping out to wet his own.
Castiel understands.
He closes his fingers around Dean’s hand. The angel’s expression is guarded as he lowers his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he sighs. And it’s the truth, nothing has happened yet but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen at some point. He hasn’t been called and doesn’t know if any of his brothers are aware of what he’s just done. They aren’t omniscient so there’s a glimmer of a chance that they are oblivious to it.
Dean lowers his voice to a mumble, sounding reluctant as he says, “Maybe you should go.”
“Is that what you want?” Castiel asks, staring intently into Dean’s eyes, turned aside, unable to look at him directly. And even Castiel, so confused by humans in all his angelic innocence, can tell that Dean does not, in fact, want him to go. He doesn’t even need to read his mind for that.
Dean doesn’t answer; he just squeezes Castiel’s hand.
A smile tugs at the corners of Castiel’s lips.
“Then I won’t.”
“I don’t want you to fall because of me, Cas. I don’t want you to fall at all.” Dean pulls his hand free and Castiel can see the pain it causes him to do so.
“Who’s to say I will?” Castiel hides his own uncertainty well behind his confident tone.
He reaches up with tentative fingers, touching them to Dean’s chin, and waits for him to turn and face him before he continues. “And if it means I will have more time to spend with you, maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all.”
The thoughts are warring within Castiel’s mind. On the one hand this is completely true, that he would do anything to stay with Dean; but to be human, never to see his brothers again or home, Heaven…
Dean’s expression is thoughtful but the only thing his mind is saying is the exact same thing that Castiel wants. And it rings out as clear as a bell.
“Dean,” he traces his fingers along his jaw, feeling the warmth rise there. “I would like to try again, if you’ll let me. I’ll be more careful this time.”
Dean narrows his eyes at him and swallows a lump in his throat.
“Were you just-” Dean stops and shifts his position, his eyes wandering as he bites his bottom lip, then he stares fixedly at Castiel before sighing heavily. “Uh, never mind,” he grumbles. He takes Castiel’s wrist again and drags him out of the barn and into the parking lot. “It’s damn cold out here,” he mutters under his breath, as if that explains everything.
“It’s winter, Dean. What do you expect?”
Castiel doesn’t need to see the rental car still missing to know that Sam hasn’t come back yet, but Dean grunts in approval when he sees the empty parking space. He’s clearly not through arguing yet.
Dean unlocks the room to the motel and Castiel slips in first.
After locking the door behind him, Dean pauses with the keys in his hands, tossing them in the air a few times before forcefully shoving them back in the lock and turning them halfway.
Castiel sits down on the bed he knows to be Dean’s, and finds his attention drawn through the window to the night sky, dark but with a bluish tinge.
“You’re a little eager, aren’t you?” Dean smirks from the bedroom door, slouching against the frame.
“I learned from the best,” Castiel says, looking sideways at Dean, the tiniest of smiles in his eyes.
Dean pauses mid-stride. “Dude, did you just make a joke?” His face is astonished but it doesn’t hide his warm grin.
Castiel’s smile creeps onto his lips as an almost imperceptible laugh escapes through his nose.
As quickly as it came, it disappears and his face turns grim.
“Dean, there's something nagging at me, it makes me feel a little, weird. I, I’ve not asked you this before and I’m beginning to think I should. Do you mind me spending so much time with you? I realize I’m a little awkward and that maybe I make you feel uncomfortable.” He exhales softly. “But however much I want to stay with you, it would be unfair of me to assume you want the same. If you don’t like me being around so much then I won’t, unless my job demands it.” Castiel’s eyes are tight, his hands flexing on his lap.
Dean crouches in front of him, laying his hands on Castiel’s knees.
“Cas, when have I ever called you awkward?” he asks, then sighs. “Look, I uh, like you being around, it’s nice to have an angel on my side; but it’s more than that, uh-”
Dean groans. “Dude, didn’t that kiss tell you anything?!”
Castiel thinks; it’s a slow process. Human actions and emotions can be so cryptic to him but he did feel something that, he thinks, is straightforward enough, and his vessel supplies the right word.
“I felt, hungry.”
Dean can’t help himself, his laughter is so loud Castiel is sure it can be heard from outside.
“Sorry - that’s - just so - so wrong!” Dean splutters between laughs. He manages to calm himself enough to continue without weeping with laughter. “This is just too weird. I can’t believe I’m corrupting an angel! I bet they’re setting aside a special kind of hell, just for me.” He wipes a rogue tear from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I won’t let you go back to Hell Dean,” Castiel says, his voice a stern rumble. He doesn’t quite understand why what he said was so funny or why that alone would be enough to send Dean to Hell, only that he would do anything to stop that from happening.
Dean’s eyes are soft when he raises them level with Castiel’s.
“I know,” he whispers, all humour removed from his voice to be replaced by something else, something that makes Castiel’s spine shiver again.
Dean stands and raises Castiel with him, holding firmly onto his shoulders. “Right,” he breathes. “I’m still not comfortable defiling an angel, so we’re gonna take this slow, ok?”
Castiel surprises them both when he presses up on his toes, rests their lips together and whispers “Slow,” into Dean’s mouth.
The light flickers.
Dean stifles a gasp as he closes the gap between them, pressing his body roughly against Castiel’s. He runs his hands over the angel’s shoulders, under his coat and jacket so that they slip to the floor. He’s pressing hard into Castiel, who has sense enough this time to walk with him until his knees connect with the bed and he falls flat on his back.
The TV buzzes into life, the screen a hum of static.
Dean frowns at it, but is too caught up in the moment to even ask. With practised ease he yanks his t-shirt free, discarding it over his shoulder, and leans in, pushing his knees up between Castiel’s thighs and forcing him further up the bed. He tugs Castiel’s tie free and tosses it aside, then takes hold of the angel’s bottom lip in his teeth and caresses it with his tongue.
There's a crackle of electricity and the portable radio in Sam’s room starts up, playing a distorted version of AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’. And even Castiel can see the irony in such a song being played at a time like this. Dean laughs against Castiel’s lip as his fingers unbutton the remaining fabric separating their heaving chests, popping some of the buttons off in his haste.
“I think God’s giving us a warning,” Dean mutters, sliding his lips along Castiel’s jaw, dragging them through the stubble there, making Castiel shudder and the light flicker more violently.
“And yet, you continue,” Castiel breathes; his voice is a very low murmur that rumbles from his chest under Dean’s caressing fingers. The touch makes Castiel pant; his mouth hangs open and his lips are dry as his heavy breath rushes over them.
Dean’s mouth finds his ear. He toys with it, licking at the soft flesh and rolling it in his teeth, biting, and caressing with his tongue.
There's a buzz, a flare and a pop as the bulb overhead bursts and tiny shards of glass sprinkle down. They slide off the invisible barrier of Castiel’s wings, wrapped protectively around Dean’s back.
“Dude, you’re awesome,” Dean says, glancing over his shoulder before continuing his trail of kisses from Castiel’s chin to his nipple.
His teeth bite softly.
Castiel clenches his fists around clumps of quilt and the TV dies with a pitiable fizzle while the radio tunes into Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’. His vessel’s heartbeat thumps in his ears, sounding one beat away from a heart failure that never seems to come.
How strong such a fragile thing can be.
An abrupt banging on the motel door startles both Dean and Castiel, causing the same heart to skip over at least five of those beats before jerking to a more normal rhythm. Dean seems more surprised by Castiel’s reaction than by the unexpected intrusion, and so is Castiel.
“Dean!” Sam yells. “Dean, open the door! I can’t get my key in the lock. It's late, it's cold and I want to go to sleep. Come on Dean, let me in, it’s freezing!”
Dean slumps his head against Castiel’s bare chest with a disgruntled moan.
“I think you should let him in, Dean,” Castiel murmurs between calming breaths, not because of Sam’s undetected approach but because of the burning desire to cast Sam far, far away for disturbing them.
“I can hear the radio, Dean, I know you’re in there. Open the damn door!” Sam continues.
Dean raises an eyebrow at Castiel. “I’m always one for fireworks Cas, but you need to keep that, whatever that is, under control, or it could get a little too dangerous even for me,” he says, gesturing with his head to the shell of the light bulb above them.
“Sorry Dean.”
Castiel takes a deep breath and the radio loses its unnatural charge and switches off without protest.
Dean groans. “Now he definitely knows I’m in here.”
“You should let him in. He’s worried you might be in danger and I think he’s considering kicking in the door.”
Castiel can feel the anxiety rising from the man with demon blood outside, his demonic side being one of the reasons why Castiel should have noticed his approach long before he reached the door.
“Why the hell would he think that?” Dean pushes up on his hands and stares down into Castiel’s eyes, which turn away shyly.
“I’m afraid my power went a little further than just this room.”
Dean casts an eye to the window to find the street strangely dark.
“You blew out the street lamps?! Dude you’re awesome, and fricken’ scary. Remind me never to get on your bad side; I don’t fancy the idea of being lit up like a Christmas tree and fried.”
“Right, I’m coming in Dean! If you can hear me, move away from the door!”
“Wait, Sam!” Dean barks, almost leaping from the bed. He pauses by the bedroom door and turns his head. “You gonna stay?”
“Yes, I would like to.” Castiel nods slightly. He reaches forward and awkwardly unties his office shoes. He’s never needed to remove them before and finds them to be fiddly with too much lacing.
Castiel hears the lock click and the door fall open only to be slammed shut again.
“What the hell, Dean!” Sam snaps. “Why’d you wait so long? I was beginning to think something had happened and it’s so cold, I nearly lost my fingers out there.”
There's a grunt in the sound of Dean’s voice, followed by a brief pause.
“You got a girl in there? Dean, do you ever stop?”
“Shut up Sam!”
The tone of Dean’s voice sounds unusually - resentful, his vessel’s memory throws up, and the word seems right.
“I’m going to bed. I wonder if you’ll be here when I get up.” Dean snipes.
And that’s one of the briefest arguments Castiel has ever heard them have. He wonders if it’s because he’s there and Dean doesn’t want him to overhear.
Dean slams the bedroom door behind him and there's a near echo of it from Sam’s room a second or so later.
Dean’s expression is surprise, that’s an easy one to read. “You're still here,” he says. It’s not a question. He slips off his shoes and climbs into the bed beside Castiel, who has found being under the covers just as interesting as being on top of them. Dean sits with his back to the headboard, his knees pulled against his chest.
“Was I mistaken? Did you mean for me to leave?” Castiel asks, his voice full of disappointment. He was sure he’d gotten that one right as well.
“Cas, you’re just too damn cute, you know that? And stop pouting; of course I want you to stay. It's… just that I'm always expecting you to get a call on angel radio and disappear somewhere. You just pop in and out without saying anything, it’s a bit-” he trails off, sinking down beneath the covers to rest his head on the pillow.
“I’m sorry. I’ll remember to tell you before I leave in future, but as to popping up out of nowhere…”
“You could use the door,” Dean suggests, his tone verging on mockery. He turns onto his side and rests his head on his arm, toying with a wisp of Castiel’s hair. “I mean. I know it’s a little weird but doors are there for a reason.” He chuckles and presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead.
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Castiel wriggles in close to Dean’s bare chest, warm against his vessel's skin, and buries his head against his shoulder. “Shall we sleep Dean? You did say to take it slow, but I believe you were getting a little… carried away,” he mumbles into Dean’s neck, a very faint chuckle in his voice.
“Easier said than done,” Dean scoffs. “You don’t have an extremely attractive, electrically charged, and above all enthusiastic angel in your bed.”
“No Dean, I have you, and that is so much more.” Castiel kisses the soft skin below Dean’s ear, finding the intimate gesture more and more natural.
“Somehow I doubt that. Anyway, I didn’t think angels needed sleep.”
“I may not sleep but I like to watch you do it. I enjoy the sound of your breathing; so smooth and even, when you’re not dreaming of Hell, and the way your face can looks so calm and free of pain. I wouldn’t want to miss that, Dean.”
“You’re something else Cas; I don’t know why I deserve you but I’ll damn well fight anyone who tries to take you away from me, even God, if I can work out how.”
Castiel’s laugh is soft but it’s there and it feels good, feels right. He brought Dean back from the Pit to battle Lucifer and now he’s planning to take on God Himself.
Hmm.
What a strange creature Dean is, but he wouldn’t have him any other way.
Part 2
And here's a pic of Castiel just because I can.
Oh and because he's gorgeous!