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.
This feels like freedom, even though to an outsider it might look like anything but — Dean’s hands bound, his face pressed against the cold floor, this legs wide open and bouncing in the air as Castiel grunts and thrusts between them. Castiel’s hand, like a star, radiates warmth through the center of Dean’s chest, and the feeling drives words out of Dean in a stream — “yeah, yeah, fuck me,” he mutters, “come on and fuck me real good, Cas, love to feel you slamming into my ass.”
He can curl his bound hands around his cock and jerk, bring himself off he wants to, but Dean just holds his cock loosely in his fingers and lets the contact stay incidental. He doesn’t need it to get off — Cas is hitting his prostate at that wow-magic angle, and Dean’s groaning and holding back just from the feather-light touches of his own fingers and the occasional cold metal of the cuffs. But more than that, he doesn’t even need to get off, period: this is what he wants, Castiel using him, his body a receptacle of pleasure, a vessel for something besides angelic intent and human pain.
Contours of the ruffles at the back of Dean’s panties showed through his jeans as he leaned into the trunk, putting away his shotgun and an impressive machete; someone as beautiful as Dean should be more fragile than this, and his strength made Cas proud to call him his. Cas’ hand settled possessively onto the curve of Dean’s ass, caressing him and imagining taking him just like this, over the spread of weapons, fingers slipping beneath the elastic of those panties so he could pull Dean onto his dick.
Dean’s eyes were round and startlingly blue when he leaned back into Cas with a purr. His long eyelashes fluttered as Cas pressed his erection against the denim seam, his hand reaching around to cup Dean’s chest, thumb rubbing across his nipple as Dean’s back arched.
“Did good,” Dean whispered, giving Cas access to his neck as he wound his fingers together with Cas’ over his breast; his words were a question, a search for approval, and Cas gave him what he needed.
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.
Cas reached down with fluttering fingers and slid his hand between Dean’s mouth and his skin; the pressure in his lungs built into something close to pain before he realized he was holding his breath.
Dean’s warm breath puffed over Cas’s knuckles in a soft chuckle before he spoke, “You know I wouldn’t hurt you, Cas. I’ve proved that to you about a million freakin’ times. Let me show you.”
Cas’ fingers curled into a loose fist, cupping his balls in a gesture of reluctance, but revealing his hole again to Dean’s searching tongue; the slick pressure of it made Cas’ face warm and hand tighten to tug restlessly at his sac, and he could feel his heartbeat everywhere from his toes to the tips of his reddening ears.
“Yeah,” Dean whispered when Cas groaned, his finger slipping inside Cas’ virgin ass easily just like he’d promised; an opening shiver ran through him, and Cas realized what he truly wanted was more.
On one end of the bed Dean is sprawled out over the pillow, humping his hips hard upward and grunting over and over; on the other, Sam drapes over the foot of the bed, head tipped back facing the ceiling. His cock swells in Castiel’s hand, but not once does the angel lose his grip or lessen the intensity of his strokes and tugs, not even as he leans toward Dean and fastens his mouth over Dean’s cock. His other hand is already between Dean’s legs, thrusting two fingers into him, and Dean’s desperate jerky motions are the result — he pushes into Castiel’s mouth, pushes the fingers deeper, keeps moving. When Castiel reduces his grip on Sam’s cock, slides a finger backward to tease him, the intensity never lets up, and Sam’s groaning even harder. In another moment they’ll both come, and Castiel will smile, kiss them both in turn, and hope they never say again that he’s no match for the two of them.
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.
