Chapter Text
They kiss for what feels like hours, until both their lips are red and raw, out in the fucking parking lot, and the thought that by now someone up in Heaven has surely found out about Cas’ degression makes something hot burn inside of Dean.
Oh he knows literal hell is waiting for him, in all its punishing glory, but right now, with Cas’ lips against his own, with the angel’s hands roaming all over him – up and down his sides, grabbing at his ass, teasing at the waistband of his jeans – he doesn’t give a single flying fuck.
“Dean,” Cas growls – growls – and Dean can’t hold back his shudder at the sound. “Think of a place.”
Dean feels like half his brain has been sucked out of him already, so he just stares at Cas for a few slow blinks. In retrospect, he should have known Cas, with his freaking wings and all, would have wanted him to think of a motel or something nearby, given that he seems to have understood that Dean comes topside a lot more often than he does.
Instead, Dean thinks of the only place he’s ever called home – the one thing he fought tooth and nail to keep from his human life, safely stored away beneath a dark blue tarp, waiting for him to come to earth and take her for a drive.
That’s how he finds himself pressed up against his car’s side door, parked behind the building so nobody would get a dent in her, metal digging uncomfortably into his back. Cas gracefully gives him a few seconds to catch his breath (and fight off his nausea – flying is much less gentle on your vessel than travelling as a cloud of black smoke, let Dean tell you that).
“Nice ride,” Cas says then, and it’s so obviously something he picked up in passing, human slang that sounds a bit wooden and unfamiliar rolling off his tongue. It makes Dean laugh hard enough to bend over, clutching at his stomach as he wipes stray tears out of the corner of his eyes.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Cas grumbles, and when Dean finally manages to clear his vision, he looks like a rumpled cat, which only sets him off again. Taking pity on the angel, he finally gets himself back under control and puts a hand on the angel’s shoulder.
“Sorry, buddy,” he wheezes, then clears his throat. “It’s been a while since I’ve laughed this hard.” Years, he realizes. Cas’ lips twitch upward, just slightly.
“But thanks. This is my baby. 67 Impala. Got her from my dad. After he totaled it – which, yeah, if you’re asking, is what sent me straight down - I basically did everything except suck Lucifer’s dick to let me keep her.”
Cas wrinkles his face in disgust, and yeah, Dean understands. “Don’t worry, I didn’t have to go that far.”
“Thank God,” Cas says, deadpan, but his lips give him away once more. Oh my. Dean has created a monster. “Now, where were we?”
Dean breathes in Cas’ ozone and slightly otherworldly scent when he leans in, muttering a heartfelt “fuck” when the angel presses hot kisses to his jaw, his throat, his collarbone peeking out above the too-tight shirt he’s wearing.
“Holy hell, Cas,” Dean groans, only realizing the irony in his words when he feels Cas smile against his jugular, and okay, they need to take this inside before Dean is creaming his pants in the middle of the parking lot in broad (okay, it’s almost sunset, but still) daylight.
His hands are shaking as he fumbles for the handle, though whether it’s from adrenaline or the angel now grinding him into his own car, he doesn’t know. Somehow, he gets the door open, and Cas all but shoves him inside.
The Impala rocks as Cas crawls in after him, and Dean knows that his wings aren’t really all in this plane of existence (that would have made for a fun Costco trip for sure), but he’s still amazed at how he manages to fold them enough to squeeze into the back seat. Dean barely has time to catch his breath before Cas is on him again, hands in his hair, grip bruising on his jaw, kissing him like he owns the air Dean’s breathing.
“God, Cas-
Cas growls against his mouth, and then he’s tugging Dean’s jacket off his shoulders, yanking his shirt above his head, palming down his chest like he’s memorizing every line. Dean’s never really thought about getting it on with an angel, but if he had, he’d certainly have figured they would be hesitant, all reverence and light, but Cas is rough, needy, grinding down against him with shocking purpose.
Dean tries for cocky, but it comes out as a whimper when Cas bites at his collarbone. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” he manages, voice breaking.
Cas pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes blazing, wings twitching against the car roof. “I pay attention.” His hand is already sliding low, cupping Dean through his jeans, squeezing just right, and Dean chokes on a curse. “And I know what I want.”
“Yeah?” Dean pants, trying for a smirk but it dies halfway. “What’s that?”
Cas’ lips brush his ear, his voice low, reverent and devastating all at once: “You.”
Dean’s cock twitches hard in his jeans at that single word, at the certainty in it. He’s barely got time to process before Cas is on him again, mouth crushing his, hand working open his belt with alarming skill.
“Fuck-Cas!” Dean gasps, but Cas swallows the sound, tugging his zipper down, humming when he realizes Dean is going commando. He’s dragging his palm over him like he’s been doing this for centuries. Maybe he has. Dean doesn’t want to think too hard about it, not when his head’s already spinning, hips jerking up into that grip.
Cas tears his own trench coat off like it’s nothing, wings pressing hard against the car roof, the fabric of reality itself bending under their weight. He’s feral with purpose, not sloppy but driven, every movement sharp, intentional. He yanks Dean’s jeans down around his thighs, not bothering to get them all the way off, and climbs over him, caging him in with body and wings alike.
Dean tries to make a joke, something about understanding why angels usually tell you not to be afraid, but it dies in his throat when Cas grinds down on him, hard, rolling their cocks together through layers of fabric. His vision goes white at the friction, even though his eyes turn black.
“Shit, Cas, slow down, fuck-”
“No,” Cas says simply, like a commandment. His voice vibrates through Dean’s bones, and then he’s kissing him again, biting at his lip until Dean opens for him. His hand fists Dean’s hair, pulling his head back to bare his throat, and Dean arches into it, breath ragged, cock aching.
Cas doesn’t waste time. He drags his mouth down over his chest, tongue flicking across one nipple before sucking it hard enough to leave Dean gasping. Then his hand is on Dean again, skin to skin this time, stroking him with maddening precision.
Those hands could kill him, he knows. He’s seen it – angels fighting against demons, white lights flashing all around as one by one the angels burned his kind to a crisp. But Cas’ hands are gentle, hot, and though he has no guarantee, Dean somehow knows Cas wouldn’t hurt him.
Dean’s brain shorts out. His legs kick uselessly against the seat, jeans tangled around his thighs, body arching into Cas’ hand like he’s starving for it. “Jesus! Oh fuck, Cas, I-”
“You like this,” Cas murmurs against his skin, not a question, all those burning eyes focused on him. His wings flex with the words, shuddering through the confined space. “You like giving in.”
Dean wants to deny it, make some smartass comment, but all that comes out is a broken sound as Cas fumbles with his own belt. He can only watch with half-lidded black eyes as Cas takes himself out, then spits in his hand, the image so filthy Dean fumbles to get a punishing grip around his cock to stop from finishing right then and there.
“Say it.” Cas’ voice is a growl, his hand unrelenting. “Say you want this.”
Dean doesn’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the beginning sings of madness – an angel, broken now that he’s lost his purpose, spiraling as he loses his faith. Maybe it’s the same temptation that damned Adam and Eve and started this whole charade. Perhaps it’s simply the sight of a demon – powerful and soulless and evil as can be – coming apart in the hands of someone holy.
Whatever it is, Dean’s too far gone to deny him – to deny them both this. “I, fuck, I want it, Cas, I want you, I, fuck!”
That’s all the permission Cas needs. Dean moans raggedly as Cas bats his hand away only to wrap his own around both of them, squeezing tightly, the friction – in lack of a better word – heavenly. Dean’s body betrays him, hips thrusting up helplessly, chasing more.
Dean bites down hard on his wrist to keep quiet but Cas growls and yanks his hand away, eyes flashing an unnatural blue that makes Dean whimper.
“Don’t hide from me, little demon.” His lips crash against Dean’s again, teeth clashing, and Dean’s moan echoes loud in the Impala, filthy and desperate.
Dean’s close, embarrassingly close, Cas working them both with merciless precision. He claws at Cas’ shoulders, babbling nonsense, begging without realizing it. Cas drinks it in, kissing him hard enough to bruise, wings flaring so violently the car rocks on its shocks.
In parts it’s the juxtaposition – an angel of the Lord getting down and dirty with a mere crossroads demon, but most of what’s so incredibly hot about all of this is just Cas. Dean’s always known he kind of sucks as a demon – he could never torture someone, for a start – but this is a new low even for him. He doesn’t regret a single second.
“That’s it,” Cas says, and if it wasn’t for the flashes of the hundreds of eyes and those ginormous wings Dean gets whenever he manages to open his eyes, no way in hell would he have ever believe it was an angel on top of him. “You’re doing so well, you’re so good.”
Dean shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, almost sobbing, but Cas’ hand finds his cheek, strokes it gently, a bizarre contest to his hand flying over their cocks, covered only in spit and precome.
“You are,” Cas says, voice low and rough, hot breath fanning across Dean’s cheek. “I can see inside of you, Dean. I see who you are, but I also see who you were. Who you still can be. And you’re, fuck, so very good.”
And Dean’s gone - back arching, vision going white as he spills over Cas’ hand, shameless and wrecked. Cas doesn’t let up, stroking him through it, kissing the sounds right out of his mouth until Dean’s boneless, gasping, utterly undone.
Dean reaches for him, weak and blissed out, and he knows all of Hell is probably laughing at him right now, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is Cas, tugging at his swollen cock, swearing under his breath. The angel that discovered free will, that somehow decided Dean was worth falling for. That told him he was good.
“C’mon, angel,” Dean half-slurs, locking eyes with Cas’ – black against over-bright blue. “Come for me.”
With a garble of his name, Cas follows him over the edge, groaning into Dean’s throat as he grinds down, spilling burning hot between them. His wings beat once, twice, shaking the whole car before settling, wrapping tight around them both like a shield. Somewhere in the distance, glass bursts and a woman shrieks.
There’s silence after, save for their ragged breaths. Dean’s brain is soup, every muscle limp, the smell of ozone and sex thick in the air. There’s a soft hand on his cheek, through his sweaty hair, and something else caressing him deeper, beyond his human body. Who knew angel feathers could tickle? Cas leans back just enough to look at him, eyes still bright but softer now, almost reverent.
Dean manages a hoarse laugh, head thunking against the seat. “...so much for junkless, huh?”
Cas just tilts his head, like he’s trying to memorize the sight of him. “I told you: You think you know everything.”
Dean chuckles, and when Cas crashes down on him, he holds him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead that’s probably too soft. He doesn’t know what this means.
There’s an imminent apocalypse, and neither of them can turn back to their homes after what they’ve just done. Not that Dean, for his part, particularly wants to.
“What do we do now?” He asks, voice raspy not only from the screaming.
Cas leans back and presses a kiss to his lips that lingers. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”