Not A Question Of Deserving (Supernatural, Castiel/Dean)
Title: Not A Question Of Deserving
Author: emerald_embers
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Bad language and slash.
Pairings: Castiel/Dean
Wordcount: 2137
Summary: As if Dean didn't have enough to worry about, now private time is a thing of the past.
Prompt: November 15th - Supernatural, Castiel/Dean: forced submission - Gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.
Notes: Spoilers up to episode 4x03; crossposted to spn_castiel and deancastiel.
Dean didn't notice at first. It wasn't the sort of thing most people would notice anyway, except a few weirdos back in school who used to keep count. Normally he'd just drop a hand under the bedsheets and be done with everything in a few minutes; didn't even have to do it often if he'd got laid recently. Didn't want to do it often half the time - sharing a room with your brother was one heck of a buzz kill.
So, all in all, he hadn't had any reason to notice - not until he had ten minutes to himself while Sam grabbed food, and a copy of Busty Asian Beauties to share those ten minutes with. Ten very, very uncomfortable minutes.
Or rather, he could touch himself - scratching, adjusting, aiming while having a piss - but he couldn't jerk off.
The first few times he actively noticed weren't too odd; those he could just chalk down to some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder even if he didn't remember Hell, but after a while? Getting very old, very fast, and it wasn't as if the no masturbation thing meant no erections. Blue balls were no fun at the best of times, and these were pretty damn far from the best of times.
And as if he didn't have enough on his mind already, those ten minutes one day after a particularly unpleasant exorcism turned into thirty minutes, then an hour, then a panicky phone call and Sam telling Dean not to follow him this time before throwing the mobile out of whatever he'd been driving.
Thank fuck for small miracles that it wasn't the Impala he'd taken, but further offers of help from Castiel's God would be welcomed any time soon.
Castiel's habit of turning up at the worst of times was only further proof of God's weird sense of humour, and therefore it shouldn't have been all that surprising when Dean woke up later that week sweating and aching from a pretty damn intense should-have-been-wet dream to find Castiel perched on the chair next to the bed. One more minute in the dream and he would have been able to come over mystery-girl's tits and be done with it. Now he was stuck with... this.
"Oh what the -"
"Language, Dean," Castiel interrupted preemptively. "Samuel is in Michigan. Move now and you can catch up in two days."
"Could've waited five minutes," Dean grouched, not bothering to lift his head from the pillow, miserable about the erection pressing against his jeans that he couldn't bring himself to do anything about.
"You've already slept nine hours."
"You're giving me wake-up calls now?"
Castiel narrowed his eyes a little, tossed Dean the keys to the Impala, and disappeared.
Two days Dean's ass. Maybe two days as the crow (or angel) flies without sleep, but he wasn't getting anywhere fast and at this point anything would be welcomed as a distraction from the fact that hey, his brother had hauled tail without any post-it as to where he'd gone or - and this was the bit tying Dean's stomach in knots and making him drive a lot more erratically than he'd've liked - why.
Erratic driving meant attention from one of those sources he really, really could have done without, and Dean pretty much felt ready to give up around the time he was getting splayed across the Impala's front by dumb lug one, his rights getting read by dumb lug two. Yeah; smart, getting caught for dangerous driving with a car full of weapons, false IDs, and the small matter of a track record that included breaking and entering, grave desecration, and serial murder.
God's chosen warrior. All he had to do now was get accused of rape and he'd pretty much have the full checklist of evil.
"That was foolish," Castiel announced from the seat next to Dean, causing the police to drive only a little less erratically than Dean had been doing earlier before grinding to a halt. Good job too, given Castiel's next move was to send them both to sleep before they could cause any harm.
"Thanks for the angel-fu," Dean said, wincing instinctively when Castiel frowned at him, expression as unceasingly intense as ever.
"This could have been avoided if you used the skills your father gave you. I'm not here to be a babysitter."
Dean opened his mouth, forgot what he'd been going to ask, then had to go with the one question he knew wouldn't get a straight answer. "What's Sam doing?"
"Lilith can't break all the seals on her own."
So much for indirect answers. Fuck. Fuck. He'd figured that out ages ago, all the signs had pointed to it, but he'd hoped and prayed he was wrong. No such luck, not for a Winchester. "Does he know what he's doing?"
"I can't say." Castiel's expression softened slightly. "I hope not. If he does know, he might not listen to reason. Even from you."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
Castiel's expression turned to something familiar, stern, and terrifying. "We -"
"He can't die. He can't." Dean cut Castiel off before the angel let him know exactly what Heaven had planned for his brother. "I'd rather go back to Hell than that."
Castiel pursed his lips slightly before replying, "My brothers are dying in the fields. We might be stronger, but courtesy of additions from your race, demons outnumber us. I understand wanting to be your brother's keeper. Blind panic will not protect him."
"What can I do? Worst case scenario, and it always is for me, what do I do?"
"There are other ways to stop a man." Castiel placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, over healed blisters, the still distinctive scarring. "Anything can be changed if your faith is strong enough."
"I don't think I have any faith."
"You do. And we have no time to argue." Castiel opened the car door; Dean didn't dare ask how they had ended up back by the Impala, or where his handcuffs had gone. "Get in the car. You still have driving to do. And two hours before Joe and Lincoln wake up."
Dean hadn't driven like that since... well, the last time Sam had gone AWOL, come to think of it, and the worst thing was, despite the conversation with Castiel, he still had no clue what he was supposed to do when he got there. Yes, knowing the angel was at least sympathetic to his side if not exactly on it was a plus, but it would make sleeping one heck of a lot easier if he thought he could wake up with some idea of how to stop Sam. He'd never stopped Sam before - Sam was like a force of nature when he wanted to do something and it had always been easier to give in and let Sam do what he wanted.
Hell, in a way this was all his fault; where dad would say no, Dean would cave, to the point where Sam often just assumed Dean would give something the OK, or give in after being badgered often enough.
Dean was sorry for it and sick of being sorry, closing his eyes but feeling the urge to keep them open despite it - the urge to stay awake, stay alert, keep his phone handy because maybe - just maybe - Sam would change his mind of his own accord, save Dean the road trip from Hell.
After what felt like hours of tossing and turning Dean wished he'd been standing up purely because it would allow him to collapse; given he was already lying down he couldn't even manage that. Any distraction would have been welcome but, same as usual, when his hands drifted south he simply froze, as if his body was outright rebelling against the idea.
A steady voice in his ear as both his wrists were grabbed, or rather, taken because no real force was involved, and Dean was scarcely conscious, scarcely registering the words, "Some monks were chaste through their entire lives."
"Probably had no pay per view," Dean complained in turn, opening his eyes to Castiel's gaze and feeling himself pinned by it. Maybe he should have been startled; maybe he was too tired to know how being startled was supposed to work.
He was fairly sure Castiel's thumbs shouldn't have been pressing into the centre of his sweating palms; fairly sure it wasn't an angelic thing to do. But Castiel never did have much of a concept of personal space, although Dean found himself realising quickly that there might have been a reason for that as Castiel used the grip he had on Dean's hands to pull both above his head, pinning them in place gently. "All you had to do was ask," Castiel said before pressing his lips to Dean's forehead.
Dean froze for a moment, trying to work out what was going on, and felt consciousness tugging at the back of his mind when he gave it too much consideration. Yeah, he was going to Hell for this one too, but he deserved a lucid dream once in a while.
"Wanting me to beg for it? Kinky," Dean replied, smart assed as ever but stilling as that hypnotic blue gaze bored into him, opening him up from the inside as surely as the hand Castiel had freed from holding him was opening his clothes, spreading his shirt and slipping beneath his boxers.
He couldn't help hissing as a strong hand gripped him, strong but not callused because it had never been used for hunting - or for driving for hours at a time, or digging graves, or holding its own in a fight for that matter.
Dean felt himself caving in under Castiel's touch and gaze, felt something more than arousal, something more like desire - the desire for anything solid Castiel could give him, anything Castiel could point to and call a reason Dean had been saved. He was so damn tired of defining his life by other people.
Castiel's hand had slowed to the point of torture, deliberate slow touches, finally stilling altogether and just providing a constant pressure against the base of his cock.
"Please," Dean gasped.
"I don't want you to beg," Castiel soothed, freeing Dean's wrists to brush sweat-slicked hair from Dean's eyes. "Just to forgive yourself."
"I don't deserve it," Dean replied, uncertain whether he was turning his head to expose his neck or to avoid Castiel's kiss.
"Anyone who has knelt before God deserves forgiveness. And I've seen you on your knees. Ask for forgiveness, and you shall receive it."
He couldn't ask, couldn't, but the apologies were crawling all over each other inches from his lips, a constant parade of I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I didn't mean to, I -
"We know," Castiel replied, tightening his grip again and rubbing his thumb in slow circles over the head of Dean's cock until at last he came, grabbing Castiel's shoulders tight and soaking the already rumpled shirt as much as his own skin, as uncontrolled and messy as if he'd been a teenager, and Castiel's hand on his forehead guided him gently back into unconsciousness.
Dean didn't grumble at the wake-up call this time despite the definite need for a change of pants and the hope that 'God sees everything' didn't mean 'angels see everything too' because otherwise? Awkward.
"Morning, Cass."
Castiel cocked his head slightly, faint confusion showing. "Castiel. You have work to do."
"Uh huh." Dean shifted back up the bed so the headboard could prop him as he sat up. "So. Hey, does that dude - uh, the vessel - mind you waltzing around in him?"
"David is resting," Castiel replied, technically responding to the question but not giving much of an answer. "Why do you ask now? You were keen to dispose of this body before."
"Didn't know about the perks," Dean replied in turn, unsurprised when Castiel's confused expression returned, even less surprised when one blink and sound of ruffled feathers later the angel had disappeared.
Picking the Impala's keys up from the bedside table, Dean chewed the inside of his cheek before grunting and getting up. Another day's drive to catch up with Sam, and now he got to share it with the thought that he had a thing for his heavenly host's vessel. Moreover, a thing for his heavenly host's vessel while said heavenly host was inside it.
Good job the angel was on his side, more or less. Because otherwise, between finding out his mom was a babe and knocking one out over Castiel, even discounting what he'd been up to before he died, he had a return ticket to Hell signed, sealed and delivered.
Author: emerald_embers
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Bad language and slash.
Pairings: Castiel/Dean
Wordcount: 2137
Summary: As if Dean didn't have enough to worry about, now private time is a thing of the past.
Prompt: November 15th - Supernatural, Castiel/Dean: forced submission - Gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.
Notes: Spoilers up to episode 4x03; crossposted to spn_castiel and deancastiel.
Dean didn't notice at first. It wasn't the sort of thing most people would notice anyway, except a few weirdos back in school who used to keep count. Normally he'd just drop a hand under the bedsheets and be done with everything in a few minutes; didn't even have to do it often if he'd got laid recently. Didn't want to do it often half the time - sharing a room with your brother was one heck of a buzz kill.
So, all in all, he hadn't had any reason to notice - not until he had ten minutes to himself while Sam grabbed food, and a copy of Busty Asian Beauties to share those ten minutes with. Ten very, very uncomfortable minutes.
Or rather, he could touch himself - scratching, adjusting, aiming while having a piss - but he couldn't jerk off.
The first few times he actively noticed weren't too odd; those he could just chalk down to some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder even if he didn't remember Hell, but after a while? Getting very old, very fast, and it wasn't as if the no masturbation thing meant no erections. Blue balls were no fun at the best of times, and these were pretty damn far from the best of times.
And as if he didn't have enough on his mind already, those ten minutes one day after a particularly unpleasant exorcism turned into thirty minutes, then an hour, then a panicky phone call and Sam telling Dean not to follow him this time before throwing the mobile out of whatever he'd been driving.
Thank fuck for small miracles that it wasn't the Impala he'd taken, but further offers of help from Castiel's God would be welcomed any time soon.
Castiel's habit of turning up at the worst of times was only further proof of God's weird sense of humour, and therefore it shouldn't have been all that surprising when Dean woke up later that week sweating and aching from a pretty damn intense should-have-been-wet dream to find Castiel perched on the chair next to the bed. One more minute in the dream and he would have been able to come over mystery-girl's tits and be done with it. Now he was stuck with... this.
"Oh what the -"
"Language, Dean," Castiel interrupted preemptively. "Samuel is in Michigan. Move now and you can catch up in two days."
"Could've waited five minutes," Dean grouched, not bothering to lift his head from the pillow, miserable about the erection pressing against his jeans that he couldn't bring himself to do anything about.
"You've already slept nine hours."
"You're giving me wake-up calls now?"
Castiel narrowed his eyes a little, tossed Dean the keys to the Impala, and disappeared.
Two days Dean's ass. Maybe two days as the crow (or angel) flies without sleep, but he wasn't getting anywhere fast and at this point anything would be welcomed as a distraction from the fact that hey, his brother had hauled tail without any post-it as to where he'd gone or - and this was the bit tying Dean's stomach in knots and making him drive a lot more erratically than he'd've liked - why.
Erratic driving meant attention from one of those sources he really, really could have done without, and Dean pretty much felt ready to give up around the time he was getting splayed across the Impala's front by dumb lug one, his rights getting read by dumb lug two. Yeah; smart, getting caught for dangerous driving with a car full of weapons, false IDs, and the small matter of a track record that included breaking and entering, grave desecration, and serial murder.
God's chosen warrior. All he had to do now was get accused of rape and he'd pretty much have the full checklist of evil.
"That was foolish," Castiel announced from the seat next to Dean, causing the police to drive only a little less erratically than Dean had been doing earlier before grinding to a halt. Good job too, given Castiel's next move was to send them both to sleep before they could cause any harm.
"Thanks for the angel-fu," Dean said, wincing instinctively when Castiel frowned at him, expression as unceasingly intense as ever.
"This could have been avoided if you used the skills your father gave you. I'm not here to be a babysitter."
Dean opened his mouth, forgot what he'd been going to ask, then had to go with the one question he knew wouldn't get a straight answer. "What's Sam doing?"
"Lilith can't break all the seals on her own."
So much for indirect answers. Fuck. Fuck. He'd figured that out ages ago, all the signs had pointed to it, but he'd hoped and prayed he was wrong. No such luck, not for a Winchester. "Does he know what he's doing?"
"I can't say." Castiel's expression softened slightly. "I hope not. If he does know, he might not listen to reason. Even from you."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
Castiel's expression turned to something familiar, stern, and terrifying. "We -"
"He can't die. He can't." Dean cut Castiel off before the angel let him know exactly what Heaven had planned for his brother. "I'd rather go back to Hell than that."
Castiel pursed his lips slightly before replying, "My brothers are dying in the fields. We might be stronger, but courtesy of additions from your race, demons outnumber us. I understand wanting to be your brother's keeper. Blind panic will not protect him."
"What can I do? Worst case scenario, and it always is for me, what do I do?"
"There are other ways to stop a man." Castiel placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, over healed blisters, the still distinctive scarring. "Anything can be changed if your faith is strong enough."
"I don't think I have any faith."
"You do. And we have no time to argue." Castiel opened the car door; Dean didn't dare ask how they had ended up back by the Impala, or where his handcuffs had gone. "Get in the car. You still have driving to do. And two hours before Joe and Lincoln wake up."
Dean hadn't driven like that since... well, the last time Sam had gone AWOL, come to think of it, and the worst thing was, despite the conversation with Castiel, he still had no clue what he was supposed to do when he got there. Yes, knowing the angel was at least sympathetic to his side if not exactly on it was a plus, but it would make sleeping one heck of a lot easier if he thought he could wake up with some idea of how to stop Sam. He'd never stopped Sam before - Sam was like a force of nature when he wanted to do something and it had always been easier to give in and let Sam do what he wanted.
Hell, in a way this was all his fault; where dad would say no, Dean would cave, to the point where Sam often just assumed Dean would give something the OK, or give in after being badgered often enough.
Dean was sorry for it and sick of being sorry, closing his eyes but feeling the urge to keep them open despite it - the urge to stay awake, stay alert, keep his phone handy because maybe - just maybe - Sam would change his mind of his own accord, save Dean the road trip from Hell.
After what felt like hours of tossing and turning Dean wished he'd been standing up purely because it would allow him to collapse; given he was already lying down he couldn't even manage that. Any distraction would have been welcome but, same as usual, when his hands drifted south he simply froze, as if his body was outright rebelling against the idea.
A steady voice in his ear as both his wrists were grabbed, or rather, taken because no real force was involved, and Dean was scarcely conscious, scarcely registering the words, "Some monks were chaste through their entire lives."
"Probably had no pay per view," Dean complained in turn, opening his eyes to Castiel's gaze and feeling himself pinned by it. Maybe he should have been startled; maybe he was too tired to know how being startled was supposed to work.
He was fairly sure Castiel's thumbs shouldn't have been pressing into the centre of his sweating palms; fairly sure it wasn't an angelic thing to do. But Castiel never did have much of a concept of personal space, although Dean found himself realising quickly that there might have been a reason for that as Castiel used the grip he had on Dean's hands to pull both above his head, pinning them in place gently. "All you had to do was ask," Castiel said before pressing his lips to Dean's forehead.
Dean froze for a moment, trying to work out what was going on, and felt consciousness tugging at the back of his mind when he gave it too much consideration. Yeah, he was going to Hell for this one too, but he deserved a lucid dream once in a while.
"Wanting me to beg for it? Kinky," Dean replied, smart assed as ever but stilling as that hypnotic blue gaze bored into him, opening him up from the inside as surely as the hand Castiel had freed from holding him was opening his clothes, spreading his shirt and slipping beneath his boxers.
He couldn't help hissing as a strong hand gripped him, strong but not callused because it had never been used for hunting - or for driving for hours at a time, or digging graves, or holding its own in a fight for that matter.
Dean felt himself caving in under Castiel's touch and gaze, felt something more than arousal, something more like desire - the desire for anything solid Castiel could give him, anything Castiel could point to and call a reason Dean had been saved. He was so damn tired of defining his life by other people.
Castiel's hand had slowed to the point of torture, deliberate slow touches, finally stilling altogether and just providing a constant pressure against the base of his cock.
"Please," Dean gasped.
"I don't want you to beg," Castiel soothed, freeing Dean's wrists to brush sweat-slicked hair from Dean's eyes. "Just to forgive yourself."
"I don't deserve it," Dean replied, uncertain whether he was turning his head to expose his neck or to avoid Castiel's kiss.
"Anyone who has knelt before God deserves forgiveness. And I've seen you on your knees. Ask for forgiveness, and you shall receive it."
He couldn't ask, couldn't, but the apologies were crawling all over each other inches from his lips, a constant parade of I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I didn't mean to, I -
"We know," Castiel replied, tightening his grip again and rubbing his thumb in slow circles over the head of Dean's cock until at last he came, grabbing Castiel's shoulders tight and soaking the already rumpled shirt as much as his own skin, as uncontrolled and messy as if he'd been a teenager, and Castiel's hand on his forehead guided him gently back into unconsciousness.
Dean didn't grumble at the wake-up call this time despite the definite need for a change of pants and the hope that 'God sees everything' didn't mean 'angels see everything too' because otherwise? Awkward.
"Morning, Cass."
Castiel cocked his head slightly, faint confusion showing. "Castiel. You have work to do."
"Uh huh." Dean shifted back up the bed so the headboard could prop him as he sat up. "So. Hey, does that dude - uh, the vessel - mind you waltzing around in him?"
"David is resting," Castiel replied, technically responding to the question but not giving much of an answer. "Why do you ask now? You were keen to dispose of this body before."
"Didn't know about the perks," Dean replied in turn, unsurprised when Castiel's confused expression returned, even less surprised when one blink and sound of ruffled feathers later the angel had disappeared.
Picking the Impala's keys up from the bedside table, Dean chewed the inside of his cheek before grunting and getting up. Another day's drive to catch up with Sam, and now he got to share it with the thought that he had a thing for his heavenly host's vessel. Moreover, a thing for his heavenly host's vessel while said heavenly host was inside it.
Good job the angel was on his side, more or less. Because otherwise, between finding out his mom was a babe and knocking one out over Castiel, even discounting what he'd been up to before he died, he had a return ticket to Hell signed, sealed and delivered.