By the time Dean slides into him for the first time, Castiel is already lost — he’s never imagined simple physical touch could be like this, never dreamed in his thousands of years of wonderings that Dean’s mouth on his skin would affect him the way it has. It’s not a touch to the skin so much as to the soul, and Dean’s so endlessly patient, waiting for Castiel to reach the moment of breathlessness and then pulling him back, letting him breathe just long enough to be overwhelmed by what comes next.
“Dean,” he hears himself say a million times, as though Dean would somehow relent, but not wanting him to — not wanting the patient mouth teasing up his nipple or the hands skimming over his ass for teasing touches to his hole to let up, even for a moment. But they do, just long enough for Dean himself to say “I know, Cas… I’m goin’ crazy too,”
And now Dean’s inside him, and they’re both crazy — Castiel wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist to pull him in, Dean sealing his mouth over Castiel’s in one of a thousand hungry, sucking kisses — but Dean knows what he’s doing, and Castiel is still so in over his head that he forgets himself too soon, coming with a broken shout and clutching Dean so close that he thinks he may never be able to let go.
He watched the tail lights of Dean’s car disappear down the long road outside the motel and thought about chasing him, flying to his car and forcing him to pull over; but there was no way he could take from Dean what he wanted, because that was a thing that had to be given willingly.
Gabriel fluttered into the space next to Castiel, looking across the empty expanse of dark and wet pavement before bumping his shoulder into his friend’s and inclining his head back toward their room.
“C’mon,” Gabriel said simply, not saying out loud that he and Sam could help him forget for a few moments, that maybe he should keep on forgetting after his skin had cooled.
But it didn’t work that way. Castiel couldn’t forget the soft and then laughing and then ferocious look in Dean’s hazel eyes when the same look was gazing up at Gabriel from Sam, and he couldn’t let the thought of Dean arching beneath him be, not when he gripped Sam’s shoulder and felt as though he’d been burned with the first, painfully beautiful sight of Dean in the pit. They helped him come to a release, but they could never be Dean Winchester.
Dean’s knees, rough and covered with callused skin from too many falls and scrapes untreated — Dean’s arms, cut too many times to prove he bleeds red — Dean’s mouth, too easy to allow slow poison in, too hard to let the words out — Castiel touches each in turn with his own too-used fingertips, watches Dean watch him, nods and keeps going.
And Dean’s lost, not understanding the significance of the nod or the touching, feeling as though he’s under a microscope, all of his flaws explored in painful detail, and any minute Castiel will turn his head in disgust and look away.
But Castiel’s gaze is steady, even as he lowers his mouth to Dean’s palm and presses a kiss into it, and Dean can feel the bobbing of Castiel’s cock against his leg, hard (why?) and wanting (whom, when it couldn’t be him?), and he pushes the words out — “Cas, what are—”
“Because you’re beautiful,” Castiel says, and the question was a what, not a why, but it’s answered just the same.
“I am?” and Castiel kisses the spot between thigh and cock, nods, and Dean finds he wants to believe it.
He’s alive, Cas is alive, and so is Dean and all he can do is touch Cas, make sure he’s still there and not about to be pulled away from him again like he was earlier, when Dean was shouting after him and watching as Castiel came this close to being crunched between the jaws of a creature neither of them had ever seen before.
But no, thank God, Cas is here now with him, and Dean kisses him with everything he’s got, all the love and frustration and fear and violence in his soul, pushing him down onto the dirt floor of the tiny cabin they’ve been sheltered in as the’ve hunted the thing. Its body is ashes now, and Castiel’s body beneath him is so real and solid that Dean can push it down, bite it everywhere and still Castiel goes on living, goes on pushing back and breathing shallowly and begging Dean for more.
“More, yes, God, I’ll give you more,” Dean says, “you’re so goddamn sexy, so fucking perfect,” and Castiel just says “darling” back and it sounds like the greatest word Dean’s ever heard. Their bodies grind together, slick with sweat, and their desperate kisses fill the air with smacking sounds that are only outdone by the slap of their bodies and the rising sound of their groans in the small room.
Dean loved to card his fingers through Cas’ feathers, not only because they felt like touching air, they were so soft, but because of the way Cas responded to it—he’d stretch his wings wide and let Dean get closer, moaning low in his throat and arching his back. Dean would shower kisses on them, rubbing his cheek and lips against them, and Cas would lay his head back on Dean’s shoulder, gasping and clutching at the sheets beneath them.
“Ahh…D-Dean, I need you to…” Dean would run his hand lower, cupping Castiel’s ass, wrapping around him to stroke his cock.
“You like this, huh?” He’d ask everytime, but both Dean and Cas would know the answer before it left his lips. Castiel would whimper helpelessly beneath Dean’s touch, one hand on his wing, the other stroking him lazily until he would come apart; but Dean wouldn’t stop, not until Cas fell asleep against his chest.
He was still breathing heavily, muscles weak and nerves buzzing from the orgasm that had flashed through him like a literal slice of heaven. Heaven incarnate was how he got this way, and it was who was looking down at him with a huge smile of satisfaction.
“I like making you feel this way,” Cas whispered, punctuating every word with a brush of his lips to Dean’s skin, picking out a path through his freckles; his cheekbone, along the line of his clavicle, his hip. “It makes me…” Cas paused to lift Dean’s knee and kiss the inside. “…happy.”
Dean threw his arm across his eyes, hiding the attempt at an eyeroll that was more out of habit than a true reflection of how he felt about Cas; but those full lips pressed to the bend of his thigh and groin, his tongue tracing the taste of them that had spilled across Dean’s skin, and Dean pressed his arm harder harder against his eyes, seeing spots of bright, white light as Cas’ mouth gently took him.
“Yes,” Cas said, “About that. It’s simply a physical manifestation of my battle-worthiness.”
“Remind me to come watch one of these heavenly cage matches sometime,” Dean said, squinting like he was attempting to figure out a plan of attack. “Looks like you have a different set of weapons than we mere mortals use.”
“Dean, we don’t use—” Cas’ words were lost as Dean licked a wet stripe along the long length of his cock, every tastebud rasping across the head and dragging a guttural moan from Cas’ lips.
“Here goes nothing,” Dean mumbled, and then his lips stretched wide around Cas’ girth; his tongue pressed hard against the underside and his teeth barely brushed along the top as he took as much as he could, his fist holding the rest at the base. His hum of satisfaction as he came up for air made Cas’ toes curl in pleasure.
It’s not like either of them thought it would be when they started down this road, but it works for them, so damn well, and they can hardly wait until they’re naked and together — they can hardly wait for the spanking to begin.
The flesh of Castiel’s palms against Dean’s ass are a bright spot of color, and he hisses and begs, “Yes, yes, more, harder, Cas, please.” By the time they’re done, he can’t stop grinning, and when he climbs into Castiel’s lap to kiss him, the itching sore redness makes him want to laugh.
“You’re so good,” Castiel whispers hotly, “you take your spankings so well,” and when his fingers whisper against Dean’s hole, Dean squirms and grins even harder, burying his head in Castiel’s shoulder to hide his smile. Castiel chuckles warmly, repeats “Good boy,” and takes the nipping kisses Dean leaves there as they both start to move together, grinding until they’re both groaning too hard to keep smiling or laughing — but there will be more laughter afterward.
Behind a dubcon cut because in this scenario, while Cas might be willing, he cannot legally give consent.
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Castiel’s body is the most remarkable thing Dean’s ever seen; head to toe, long limbs and flat stomach, he’s spectacular, and Dean hungers for every inch of him. So every inch is what he takes, starting sometimes at the tip of a finger, sometimes at the tender fold of a wrist, and making his way up one arm with quick nips that suck and linger before they’re let go. Other times he starts at the bottom, grazing his teeth over each toe, sucking on the soles of his feet, then making his way up to the underside of one knee, leaving soft white-red welts along the inside of his thigh.
But he never passes over one of Castiel’s hipbones without taking it between his teeth, pulling, watching Castiel twitch with want, hips shifting as though to pull Dean to the center, then falling back to the mattress as Castiel lets out a piteous groan as Dean travels up to the tender nubs of his nipples instead. And he never passes over Castiel’s mouth without leaving bites on each corner, tooth marks on his lower lip and heated growls in his mouth, not leaving to taste elsewhere until Castiel’s cried out his name in an explosion of sound muffled by the fury of Dean’s bites.
