((Supernatural)) A Momentary Lapse In Self Control
I don't own Supernatural.
Title: A Momentary Lapse In Self Control
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sexual content and language
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: Destiel
Warnings: Sex
Spoilers: Castiel is a thing
Summary: Dean Winchester is not gay. But there's just something about that angel...Destiel. Wingfic oneshot. Kinda leaning toward PWP...sorta.
He'd slept with three men.
They had been nothing special. They had been experiences, and they had been few and far between, many years ago.
Dean wasn't gay.
There had been men, yes, but they had been nothing more than experiments, quick and dirty and usually drunken nights that ended fast and afterward he had snuck out the back way, shame creeping in as the alcohol had worn off. He had never kept their numbers. Maybe it wasn't exactly polite, but it was the way Dean operated. No use getting attached to anyone when he would undoubtedly be on the road again within days.
Especially since he wasn't gay. Seriously.
But god, there was something about this angel...
It was alien and probably blasphemous and likely illegal in certain states, and if asked, he was sure he wouldn't be able to explain what had finally caused him to lose it and give in (not that he would admit it) because it wasn't alcohol and it wasn't a spell or a curse. It wasn't anything he was familiar with.
If only it had been that simple.
It was just...those eyes.
Fuck, it sounded so ridiculous when he thought about it now. He felt like such a little girl. Oh, the big handsome angel had just gazed at him with those sparkling, beautiful eyes and he had swooned.
But now that same angel was moving and twisting above him and around him and fuck, fuck, fuck he just couldn't think straight anymore. Straight, gay, bi, whatever, he didn't care. He couldn't care. He just needed Cas to move a little more to the right , let him go just a little bit deeper like-Oh.
“Jesus, Cas...” And that must have put Cas off just a little because seriously, Cas probably knew the guy personally and it had to be weird, but the angel didn't acknowledge the faux pas if there had been one. He was breathing heavy now and Dean doubted that much of anything he said would get through to him in any meaningful way.
His name rumbled hot and rough from the back of Castiel's throat: “ Dean .” And god, if the look he gave him then through half-lidded eyes wasn't enough to drive Dean insane right then and there, he didn't know what would do it. Somewhere in the back of his reeling mind, Dean registered a sound: the soft, rustling sound of feathers fluttering around them. Must be hearing things, he figured, like this unbelievable pleasure coursing through him could scramble his brains like an overdose of LSD.
He felt drunk. He felt high .
As Castiel leaned forward, brow covered with a sheen of sweat, the scratchy motel sheets pooling around their hips as they moved at a frenzied pace, the angel put his hands firmly on Dean's shoulders, never breaking eye contact with him. His fingers pressed against the scar on Dean's skin, against the handprint that Cas had left when he'd gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition all that time ago, and it sent shock waves through Dean's body and mind. He stretched his neck back and groaned.
It was just as he reached out and grasped Castiel's length in his own hand, hearing the angel's strangled gasp, feeling him hot and slick and god, just perfect in his palm that Dean came, letting out a raspy, animalistic cry as he did.
Castiel arched his back, eyes open wide in surprise and mouth hanging ajar in a silent moan. And then suddenly it wasn't so silent anymore. The fluttering and rustling of wind and wings rose up to a fantastic crescendo around them until Dean wasn't so sure it was just in his imagination any longer, and a sound escaped the angel's throat, loud and feral and so unlike his normally reserved demeanor. He threw his head back, his body jerking wildly, muscles tightening, tightening, tightening until they shook.
The shadows burst out from behind him like twin predators ambushing their prey, curving and unfurling and fanning out above his head. They shimmered, solidifying in one short, glorious moment that seemed to last forever, and there they were, feathers silver and tipped with the darkest of black, quivering and taught like every other muscle in his body. Warm air, like a spring breeze, washed over them, swirled around them, and they were pure sensation: noise and light and the feeling of feathers brushing against over-sensitive skin.
And then it was over. They were undone.
Castiel went slack above him, slumping over Dean's shaking, breathless body and pressing his hands against his chest to hold himself up. Dean's fingers curled softly against the angel's shoulder. Finally, Castiel opened his eyes, impossibly blue and glazed over with cool contentment, and for a moment, their gazes locked. Dean had to smile.
Then Castiel looked away in...shame? He shifted, seeming embarrassed as his sense of mind returned to him, albeit sluggish and foggy.
“I seem to have experienced a...momentary lapse in self-control,” he said breathlessly. He glanced over at his wings, folding them against his body as if trying to hide them. Dean didn't want him to hide them away; they were magnificent and he wanted a better look.
“It's called an orgasm, Cas,” he said jokingly. “And apparently a pretty good one at that...” There was a smugness to his voice which he couldn't cover - he didn't want to really - and this stupid grin just wouldn't leave his face. He let his head fall back against the pillow, so absolutely sated that all he wanted to do was sleep forever.
Four, now, he thought to himself. Four men on his list of sexual conquests. Well, three men...and an angel. And this was not a conquest. This was...different, somehow. He wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but unlike the others, there was no shame here. He felt no regret, no embarrassment, no confliction. It felt glorious. It felt...right. Maybe that fact alone should have been enough to frighten him, but it didn't. Perhaps it was the fantastic haze that was covering his mind now, making his limbs feel like lead and his eyelids heavy.
He kept them open though, if only to get a better look at those incredible angel wings. There was no hiding them; they were huge. They shone silver in the moonlight, their midnight black tips disappearing into the shadows. Castiel still wouldn't meet his gaze, and it was only then that Dean began to feel regret, not for himself, but for the angel. Had he inadvertently pressured Cas into something that he hadn't wanted to do? Was this some kind of abomination that Castiel would be punished for on his account? Cas certainly hadn't seemed to want to stop him, but human experiences like this were hardly familiar for a heavenly being like himself. Perhaps he hadn't known how. Dean began to worry.
“Cas...you okay?” he asked, shifting beneath him. It struck him as odd that the only part of his body that Cas was trying to hide at this point were those wings. He was naked, curled over top of him, and the only thing he was making any effort to cover up were the shining silver feathers. Dean wanted to ask if he'd done something wrong, if Cas regretted doing what they'd just done, but he couldn't bring the words out.
“I am...fine,” Castiel said, his familiar, monotone growl returning to normal as his breathing regained its usual steady pattern.
“Does that usually happen, then?” Dean asked with a light chuckle, gesturing at Castiel's wings. Immediately he regretted bringing it up, because it only seemed to make the angel more uncomfortable.
“These human...experiences are foreign to me. This body's reactions to certain...” He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “...stimuli seem to have an unusual effect on my Grace.”
“Well, I'll take it as a compliment,” Dean said jokingly, smiling. It wasn't helping. “There's nothing...wrong with it, Cas.”
“I know,” said Castiel, but he seemed anything but convinced. “I apologize. I will-” He rolled his shoulders, as if preparing to conceal his wings again, but Dean stopped him.
“Don't!” he insisted, pressing his fingers into the flesh of Castiel's arm. He repeated the word, more softly, bringing his other hand up to the angel's chest: “Don't...”
He didn't want Cas to be ashamed of what they had done, or to be embarrassed about these stupendous, glossy wings. And most of all, he didn't want Castiel to feel like he needed to hide a part of himself like this. Somehow Dean could tell...he was the only person who had seen them like this, the only human to gaze upon these spectacular shimmering feathers. Slowly, gently, he reached up and ran his hand over the base of the left wing, tiny feathers soft beneath his fingertips. He was the first human, the only human to touch them, to stroke them. The realization filled him with pride.
Castiel closed his eyes and sighed, leaning into Dean's touch, his head lolling forward. Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him down, letting the angel rest his head on his chest as Dean continued to run his hand along Castiel's wing. Lightly, his fingers brushed against the point where the feathers met bare skin on his back, and Cas shuddered.
“That tickles,” Cas said after a moment, and Dean laughed. He looked down and saw the tiniest of smiles gracing Castiel's lips. Slowly, as the angel relaxed, he unfolded his wings, bringing them around their bodies so they were surrounded by silver feathers. Dean reached out and touched some of the long, sleeker ones near the end of the wing, tracing the indentation in the middle all the way to where it faded to black at the tip. Castiel hummed against his skin.
“Do you feel shame?” Castiel asked after a moment, hesitantly.
“All the time,” Dean replied darkly. Cas looked up at him.
“I mean...about this. About what we did.”
“No,” Dean said, so quickly it surprised even him. He wanted to send the question back, had to know if Cas regretted this, even if he was hiding it, but he didn't. He said nothing.
Cas looked away, wings shifting thoughtfully. When he finally met Dean's eyes again, he said, “But you felt shame with the others.” It was not a question, nor was it an accusation. But Castiel's gaze was intense none the less.
So he knew about them. For a moment Dean felt angry that Cas had invaded his privacy like that, probing his mind and his thoughts, but then that anger left him. He was too sated, too tired to be upset, and in a way, he was glad Castiel knew. He knew and he didn't care.
“Yeah, I did,” Dean admitted. “I guess I never wanted to be gay or anything...”
“Sexuality is not black and white, Dean,” said Cas. “What happened in your past does not dictate what is in your heart.” He paused a moment, letting the words sink in, and then he cocked his head to one side. “And for the record, my Father never cared one way or the other. And neither do I. Love is love.”
The words echoed in Dean's head. Love. He knew what Castiel meant: that whole “God is love” schtick that fans of the Bible used over and over again. But still, the thought of it was too much.
“That's a relief, I guess,” Dean said, looking away, focusing his gaze on the overlapping feathers of Castiel's right wing.
“I do not feel regret, Dean.” Castiel's voice broke the silence, and when Dean looked up in surprise the angel was still staring at him intently. “I am not ashamed of what we did.”
That was a relief.
“So it's not like an abomination or something?”
“How could it ever be-”
“Look, I don't know, okay? Just wasn't sure if there's anything against 'man lying with angel' or whatever.”
“There are...differing opinions among the angels. Some who look down on the human race would find it disgusting, but others...others are more...open-minded about such things.” He rolled his eyes a bit, mumbling, “Gabriel comes to mind.” A loud bark of laughter escaped from Dean's throat. Yeah, that guy definitely got around. Not exactly an image he wanted in his head while naked in bed with a winged angel of the Lord, though.
“Alright, so we're not gonna get smote or anything. That's something, I guess.” Thoughtfully, he continued to stroke Castiel's wings, up and down, the appendages rising up to meet his touch.
“Dean?”
“Hm?”
“That feels...quite nice...”
“Seriously?” Castiel looked away again, sheepishly.
“It is not often that I am able to have such contact. It feels...good.”
Dean felt something against his stomach, something pressing against him low on his abdomen. He glanced downward and raised his eyebrows, Castiel's face reddening ever so slightly in the dark.
“Very good,” Castiel added, humming softly as Dean's fingers stroked against his feathers with more energy.
“Apparently,” Dean quipped. Castiel met his eyes and leaned down. Dean's heart raced as he drew ever closer, and finally, Castiel pressed his lips against his. It took just a moment for Dean to reach up and run his fingers through the angel's dark hair, leaning into the kiss - the first real kiss they'd shared, even after all this - and deepening it. Castiel's wings fluttered happily.
He couldn't have cared less if this wasn't “right,” if this wasn't what he was”supposed” to be doing, whatever the hell that meant, because it sure felt like it was. And even if it wasn't, it didn't matter. Self control was overrated anyway.
Title: A Momentary Lapse In Self Control
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sexual content and language
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: Destiel
Warnings: Sex
Spoilers: Castiel is a thing
Summary: Dean Winchester is not gay. But there's just something about that angel...Destiel. Wingfic oneshot. Kinda leaning toward PWP...sorta.
He'd slept with three men.
They had been nothing special. They had been experiences, and they had been few and far between, many years ago.
Dean wasn't gay.
There had been men, yes, but they had been nothing more than experiments, quick and dirty and usually drunken nights that ended fast and afterward he had snuck out the back way, shame creeping in as the alcohol had worn off. He had never kept their numbers. Maybe it wasn't exactly polite, but it was the way Dean operated. No use getting attached to anyone when he would undoubtedly be on the road again within days.
Especially since he wasn't gay. Seriously.
But god, there was something about this angel...
It was alien and probably blasphemous and likely illegal in certain states, and if asked, he was sure he wouldn't be able to explain what had finally caused him to lose it and give in (not that he would admit it) because it wasn't alcohol and it wasn't a spell or a curse. It wasn't anything he was familiar with.
If only it had been that simple.
It was just...those eyes.
Fuck, it sounded so ridiculous when he thought about it now. He felt like such a little girl. Oh, the big handsome angel had just gazed at him with those sparkling, beautiful eyes and he had swooned.
But now that same angel was moving and twisting above him and around him and fuck, fuck, fuck he just couldn't think straight anymore. Straight, gay, bi, whatever, he didn't care. He couldn't care. He just needed Cas to move a little more to the right , let him go just a little bit deeper like-Oh.
“Jesus, Cas...” And that must have put Cas off just a little because seriously, Cas probably knew the guy personally and it had to be weird, but the angel didn't acknowledge the faux pas if there had been one. He was breathing heavy now and Dean doubted that much of anything he said would get through to him in any meaningful way.
His name rumbled hot and rough from the back of Castiel's throat: “ Dean .” And god, if the look he gave him then through half-lidded eyes wasn't enough to drive Dean insane right then and there, he didn't know what would do it. Somewhere in the back of his reeling mind, Dean registered a sound: the soft, rustling sound of feathers fluttering around them. Must be hearing things, he figured, like this unbelievable pleasure coursing through him could scramble his brains like an overdose of LSD.
He felt drunk. He felt high .
As Castiel leaned forward, brow covered with a sheen of sweat, the scratchy motel sheets pooling around their hips as they moved at a frenzied pace, the angel put his hands firmly on Dean's shoulders, never breaking eye contact with him. His fingers pressed against the scar on Dean's skin, against the handprint that Cas had left when he'd gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition all that time ago, and it sent shock waves through Dean's body and mind. He stretched his neck back and groaned.
It was just as he reached out and grasped Castiel's length in his own hand, hearing the angel's strangled gasp, feeling him hot and slick and god, just perfect in his palm that Dean came, letting out a raspy, animalistic cry as he did.
Castiel arched his back, eyes open wide in surprise and mouth hanging ajar in a silent moan. And then suddenly it wasn't so silent anymore. The fluttering and rustling of wind and wings rose up to a fantastic crescendo around them until Dean wasn't so sure it was just in his imagination any longer, and a sound escaped the angel's throat, loud and feral and so unlike his normally reserved demeanor. He threw his head back, his body jerking wildly, muscles tightening, tightening, tightening until they shook.
The shadows burst out from behind him like twin predators ambushing their prey, curving and unfurling and fanning out above his head. They shimmered, solidifying in one short, glorious moment that seemed to last forever, and there they were, feathers silver and tipped with the darkest of black, quivering and taught like every other muscle in his body. Warm air, like a spring breeze, washed over them, swirled around them, and they were pure sensation: noise and light and the feeling of feathers brushing against over-sensitive skin.
And then it was over. They were undone.
Castiel went slack above him, slumping over Dean's shaking, breathless body and pressing his hands against his chest to hold himself up. Dean's fingers curled softly against the angel's shoulder. Finally, Castiel opened his eyes, impossibly blue and glazed over with cool contentment, and for a moment, their gazes locked. Dean had to smile.
Then Castiel looked away in...shame? He shifted, seeming embarrassed as his sense of mind returned to him, albeit sluggish and foggy.
“I seem to have experienced a...momentary lapse in self-control,” he said breathlessly. He glanced over at his wings, folding them against his body as if trying to hide them. Dean didn't want him to hide them away; they were magnificent and he wanted a better look.
“It's called an orgasm, Cas,” he said jokingly. “And apparently a pretty good one at that...” There was a smugness to his voice which he couldn't cover - he didn't want to really - and this stupid grin just wouldn't leave his face. He let his head fall back against the pillow, so absolutely sated that all he wanted to do was sleep forever.
Four, now, he thought to himself. Four men on his list of sexual conquests. Well, three men...and an angel. And this was not a conquest. This was...different, somehow. He wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but unlike the others, there was no shame here. He felt no regret, no embarrassment, no confliction. It felt glorious. It felt...right. Maybe that fact alone should have been enough to frighten him, but it didn't. Perhaps it was the fantastic haze that was covering his mind now, making his limbs feel like lead and his eyelids heavy.
He kept them open though, if only to get a better look at those incredible angel wings. There was no hiding them; they were huge. They shone silver in the moonlight, their midnight black tips disappearing into the shadows. Castiel still wouldn't meet his gaze, and it was only then that Dean began to feel regret, not for himself, but for the angel. Had he inadvertently pressured Cas into something that he hadn't wanted to do? Was this some kind of abomination that Castiel would be punished for on his account? Cas certainly hadn't seemed to want to stop him, but human experiences like this were hardly familiar for a heavenly being like himself. Perhaps he hadn't known how. Dean began to worry.
“Cas...you okay?” he asked, shifting beneath him. It struck him as odd that the only part of his body that Cas was trying to hide at this point were those wings. He was naked, curled over top of him, and the only thing he was making any effort to cover up were the shining silver feathers. Dean wanted to ask if he'd done something wrong, if Cas regretted doing what they'd just done, but he couldn't bring the words out.
“I am...fine,” Castiel said, his familiar, monotone growl returning to normal as his breathing regained its usual steady pattern.
“Does that usually happen, then?” Dean asked with a light chuckle, gesturing at Castiel's wings. Immediately he regretted bringing it up, because it only seemed to make the angel more uncomfortable.
“These human...experiences are foreign to me. This body's reactions to certain...” He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “...stimuli seem to have an unusual effect on my Grace.”
“Well, I'll take it as a compliment,” Dean said jokingly, smiling. It wasn't helping. “There's nothing...wrong with it, Cas.”
“I know,” said Castiel, but he seemed anything but convinced. “I apologize. I will-” He rolled his shoulders, as if preparing to conceal his wings again, but Dean stopped him.
“Don't!” he insisted, pressing his fingers into the flesh of Castiel's arm. He repeated the word, more softly, bringing his other hand up to the angel's chest: “Don't...”
He didn't want Cas to be ashamed of what they had done, or to be embarrassed about these stupendous, glossy wings. And most of all, he didn't want Castiel to feel like he needed to hide a part of himself like this. Somehow Dean could tell...he was the only person who had seen them like this, the only human to gaze upon these spectacular shimmering feathers. Slowly, gently, he reached up and ran his hand over the base of the left wing, tiny feathers soft beneath his fingertips. He was the first human, the only human to touch them, to stroke them. The realization filled him with pride.
Castiel closed his eyes and sighed, leaning into Dean's touch, his head lolling forward. Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him down, letting the angel rest his head on his chest as Dean continued to run his hand along Castiel's wing. Lightly, his fingers brushed against the point where the feathers met bare skin on his back, and Cas shuddered.
“That tickles,” Cas said after a moment, and Dean laughed. He looked down and saw the tiniest of smiles gracing Castiel's lips. Slowly, as the angel relaxed, he unfolded his wings, bringing them around their bodies so they were surrounded by silver feathers. Dean reached out and touched some of the long, sleeker ones near the end of the wing, tracing the indentation in the middle all the way to where it faded to black at the tip. Castiel hummed against his skin.
“Do you feel shame?” Castiel asked after a moment, hesitantly.
“All the time,” Dean replied darkly. Cas looked up at him.
“I mean...about this. About what we did.”
“No,” Dean said, so quickly it surprised even him. He wanted to send the question back, had to know if Cas regretted this, even if he was hiding it, but he didn't. He said nothing.
Cas looked away, wings shifting thoughtfully. When he finally met Dean's eyes again, he said, “But you felt shame with the others.” It was not a question, nor was it an accusation. But Castiel's gaze was intense none the less.
So he knew about them. For a moment Dean felt angry that Cas had invaded his privacy like that, probing his mind and his thoughts, but then that anger left him. He was too sated, too tired to be upset, and in a way, he was glad Castiel knew. He knew and he didn't care.
“Yeah, I did,” Dean admitted. “I guess I never wanted to be gay or anything...”
“Sexuality is not black and white, Dean,” said Cas. “What happened in your past does not dictate what is in your heart.” He paused a moment, letting the words sink in, and then he cocked his head to one side. “And for the record, my Father never cared one way or the other. And neither do I. Love is love.”
The words echoed in Dean's head. Love. He knew what Castiel meant: that whole “God is love” schtick that fans of the Bible used over and over again. But still, the thought of it was too much.
“That's a relief, I guess,” Dean said, looking away, focusing his gaze on the overlapping feathers of Castiel's right wing.
“I do not feel regret, Dean.” Castiel's voice broke the silence, and when Dean looked up in surprise the angel was still staring at him intently. “I am not ashamed of what we did.”
That was a relief.
“So it's not like an abomination or something?”
“How could it ever be-”
“Look, I don't know, okay? Just wasn't sure if there's anything against 'man lying with angel' or whatever.”
“There are...differing opinions among the angels. Some who look down on the human race would find it disgusting, but others...others are more...open-minded about such things.” He rolled his eyes a bit, mumbling, “Gabriel comes to mind.” A loud bark of laughter escaped from Dean's throat. Yeah, that guy definitely got around. Not exactly an image he wanted in his head while naked in bed with a winged angel of the Lord, though.
“Alright, so we're not gonna get smote or anything. That's something, I guess.” Thoughtfully, he continued to stroke Castiel's wings, up and down, the appendages rising up to meet his touch.
“Dean?”
“Hm?”
“That feels...quite nice...”
“Seriously?” Castiel looked away again, sheepishly.
“It is not often that I am able to have such contact. It feels...good.”
Dean felt something against his stomach, something pressing against him low on his abdomen. He glanced downward and raised his eyebrows, Castiel's face reddening ever so slightly in the dark.
“Very good,” Castiel added, humming softly as Dean's fingers stroked against his feathers with more energy.
“Apparently,” Dean quipped. Castiel met his eyes and leaned down. Dean's heart raced as he drew ever closer, and finally, Castiel pressed his lips against his. It took just a moment for Dean to reach up and run his fingers through the angel's dark hair, leaning into the kiss - the first real kiss they'd shared, even after all this - and deepening it. Castiel's wings fluttered happily.
He couldn't have cared less if this wasn't “right,” if this wasn't what he was”supposed” to be doing, whatever the hell that meant, because it sure felt like it was. And even if it wasn't, it didn't matter. Self control was overrated anyway.