Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            “It’s a simple salt and burn, Sammy, just go do it, quit complaining. Don’t- no, that’s bullshit. No. Yeah, it’s- seriously! Just go do it! By the time you drive way the hell back here, pick me up, and drive back, it’ll be morning and you could’ve already had it done. Man, c’mon. Don’t be stupid. Yeah. Yep. Good luck, call me if anything comes up. ‘Kay.”

            Dean ended the call and rolled his eyes. Friggin lazy-ass brother. He’d driven an hour and a half to speak to a mortician, leaving Dean behind to talk to some family, and had found out the cemetery was another hour and a half away from their motel room, and wanted to come back and get Dean to help dig up the grave. It was more reasonable for him to go on his own.

            Plus that meant Dean had the evening to himself, rather than spending it covered in grave dirt in the chill of northern Michigan. A side bonus to go hand-in-hand with the convenient logic.

            And a night off for the elder Winchester meant a trip to the liquor store.

            On returning, he unwrapped a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a finger, throwing it back, then poured a larger glass that he drank more slowly. He grabbed the motel binder to scope out the area- bars, or if he was really lucky, strip clubs.

            A flutter of feathers behind him interrupted his thoughts, and he sighed, taking another drink without turning around.

            “Dean,” the angel said by way of greeting.

            “Cas,” he said, folding the corner of the page with a few bar names listed on it and turning around. “What’s happening?”

            “Have you seen an 11-foot-long, silver and gold painted, shining lance?” he asked.

            “I- what? No,” Dean snorted.

            “Are you certain?”

            “An 11-foot glowing lance? I’m fairly sure I would notice and remember something like that.”

            “It’s less of a ‘glow’ and more of a leaking internal brilliance,” Cas clarified, as if that would help.

            “Oh, right, see, I hadn’t seen any glowing lances, but a lance with leaking internal brilliance, that changes things,” Dean said, oozing sarcasm so much that even the naïve and literalist angel noticed, and understood that he wasn’t being serious.

            Cas sat on the foot of one of the beds with a scowl. “I was hoping you had,” he huffed, dejected.

            “Sorry. You want me to ask around?” Dean suggested, getting up to refill his glass. On a whim, he poured Cas one as well. The nerdy little celestial being looked like he needed it.

            “No, I’ve got some other leads that are being looked into. Now I just have to wait for results,” he sighed.

            Dean passing the second glass to the angel. He knew how much he hated waiting. “You can chill with me, if you want. Maybe we could hit up a sketchy ‘den of vice’, like good old times? You remember that?”

            “Of course I remember that, I have a perfect memory. Nothing is ever forgotten,” Cas replied stonily. “And that was especially memorable- it was humiliating and immoral. Though… I suppose, in retrospect, it was mildly amusing,” he added reluctantly.

            “See? It was hilarious. I’ve done a lot of things, but that still remains the first and only time I’ve been chased out of one of those places by pissed off hookers.”

            “They were surprisingly emotionally sensitive and extremely protective of each other. I fear I’ve developed a slight phobia of them now. Chastity said some alarming threats, and she slapped hard.”

            Dean practically howled- phobic of hookers, that was hilarious.

            “She slapped you? I didn’t see her do that!”

            “You weren’t with me. I returned a few nights later to ask for her forgiveness… and I was still curious. About… the intimate acts that humans enjoy performing. I wished to experience it,” he said haltingly.

            “Really? Good for you, man! How did it go?” Dean laughed, punching him lightly in the arm.

            Cas downed his drink in one go and scowled. “She slapped me and I left unsated.”

            “Ahh, don’t worry about it. You don’t even need a prostitute, you could pick up a chick at a bar for free, I bet. You’ve got that… that, I don’t know, innocent puppy look going. When you aren’t squinting,” Dean said carelessly, refilling their glasses. He was feeling a pleasant lightness in his head. “You’re an attractive guy, Cas. You just gotta learn to play the game right.”

            “What game?”

            “The game of… I don’t know, the game. The game of being- or at least acting like you are- a great catch and getting girls interested. Flirting.”

            “I don’t know how to flirt,” Cas said quickly, throwing back his glass nervously and refilling it.

            “You’ve got to be less serious. I guess it’s one of those social things that you just get used to over time, like joking, and personal space. That stuff.”

            He nodded sagely. “Ah. I am not good at those either.”

            “No. You’ve just got to practice up or something. Monkey-see, monkey-do. Watch what others do, how they interact, notice what you think is funny and what makes you like someone, and try to kind of follow their lead. Combine traits that you like, have some personality, man!”

            “I have personality,” he defended.

            “Emotions. Whatever.”

            “I have emotions as well, just not on the scale that humans experience them. They are more muffled.”

            Dean thought about that for a second as Cas, for the third time, downed the contents of his glass and he topped him off again. “Do you muffle them, or are they naturally just weaker?”

            “A decade ago I would’ve been prepared to answer that question without hesitation, but now I’m uncertain.”

            “Well, emotions make for personality, you’ve just got to use them right.”

            “I see.”

            Dean took one look at his perpetually serious face and snorted. “No you don’t. But that’s okay.” Dean went to pour himself another, but frowned at the empty bottle. “Damn. Cas, you’re making me cut back, drinking all my booze.”

            There was the flutter that Dean associated with approaching angels, silence, then more ruffling, and Cas was back, holding two new, full bottles of amber liquid.

            “Here.”

            “Cas, did you steal that?!”

            “Yes. The shopkeeper’s profit in illegal methamphetamines will more than cover the absence of this, though.”

            “Alright, Robin Hood. Thanks,” he said, uncapping one and resuming drinking himself into a pleasant stupor. He was actually mostly there and had slowed down a lot. Cas had made short work of a whole bottle and was almost done the second. “How come there’s always that… that whooshing noise when you or angels do your teleport-y thing?”

            “It isn’t teleportation, it’s flying. That’s the sound of our wings.”

            “Really? That’s some quick flying. Through walls and stuff, too?”

            “It’s… there’s flying, with wings. Like birds, you flap and you go up. But then there’s flying that requires wings and grace- you become ethereal for an instant, and in that instant, you can re-manifest yourself anywhere . Our wings are like rudders in this state, and they allow us to soften our reformation. Landing gently, so we don’t damage ourselves from the force of instantaneous travel,” he explained. “That’s the closest I can get to describing it.”

            “Wait, so you’ve got actual bird wings? Like, real feathers and bones and stuff?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why haven’t I ever seen them??” Dean cried.

            “You saw shadows of them when we first met. I don’t normally bother with them-they’re large and cumbersome. Angels very rarely manifest our wings, only for rare occasions, when we really need to prove ourselves to be angels. It was a fairly common thing two millennia ago, but with the development of science and the loss of religious power, it’s become very rare. Anyways, showing your wings is… it’s become ‘out of fashion’, I guess. Very… two-thousand-years-ago. I’ve only done it a handful of times. Balthazar used to do it nearly every visit.”

            “Can… can you ‘manifest’ them now?”

            “I suppose I could. You… really want to see them?” Cas asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “Uh, yeahhh,” Dean scoffed. “Bigass angel wings. Kind of awesome.”

            “Alright. Stand back,” the angel instructed. He looked around the room, mentally measuring it, and stepped between the two beds, the center of the room where he would have the most space to stretch them out. “You might want to close your eyes. Actually, you really should close them- I don’t want to burn them out accidentally. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

            Dean obediently closed his eyes, and was glad he did- immediately, his lids were bathed in a piercing white light. He could see the veins in his own eyelids, it was bright even through them, so he put his hands over them as well, which helped a surprisingly small amount.

            The light went out as quickly as it had come.

            “It’s safe to look now,” Cas said, and Dean heard the sound of rubbing feathers and looked eagerly.

            They were massive. He knew they’d been large at the warehouse, but he’d only caught a glimpse, and that was quite a while ago. He’d forgotten how huge they were. They stretched from one side of the room to the other, fully flared, and arced up to the ceiling, fitting through cuts that Cas had angel-mojo’d into the back of his clothes.

            “Whoa.”

            They were glossy and pearlescent, like gasoline, shimmering with a thousand different hues. It was hard to capture what color they were- black, silvery translucent, beetle green, a hundred shades of blue. Many of his feathers were tangled and mangy-looking, but it didn’t detract from the overall beauty. Dean wanted to straighten them and preen them- they looked sadly neglected.

            Cas frowned slightly at them. “The coloring has changed slightly- there was less blue last time I saw them. I’ve changed more than I’d expected.”

            “Changed?” Dean repeated absentmindedly, standing and walking closer to inspect them.

            “Wings are deeply linked to an angel’s soul. They are as close as souls can get to existing on the visible plane. They represent me in the most basic way. Every angel begins with white wings, but they change. For many, many centuries, I was a background player, I worked behind the scenes, not taking a major part in anything. I remained neutral and ambivalent. Black is the most neutral color, as it’s a blend of every color so perfectly that none are more visible than the others.” He pulled them in a little so he could move to sit at the foot of the bed.

            “So… what you’re saying is you have rainbow wings?” Dean sniggered, moving his hand over Cas’s feathers, but not touching them.

            “Of- of course you would interpret it that way. Other colors have… others have emerged. Green is a color of loyalty and decisiveness, sticking to the natural order of things. Silver is a representation of b-boldness… Dean, that’s very distracting,” he said. He’d stuttered a small breath whenever Dean’s hand made the tiniest contact with his feathers. It was like static, almost, tiny shocks that didn’t really hurt, but were still startling. He didn’t have a word for it.

            “Sorry. Can I touch them?”

            Cas thought. Nobody had ever touched his wings. Sometimes, angels groomed each other’s wings, but that was on the celestial plane, in their true forms. When his fellows in the garrison had groomed each other’s wings, Cas had never experienced the odd sensations he was noticing now when Dean had barely touched a feather. He wasn’t sure what to think of it.

            “I- I’m not sure. It’s… odd. Nobody has ever touched my wings,” he said hesitantly.

            Dean pouted exaggeratedly, sticking his lower lip out and widening his eyes. He needed to know what they felt like. Angel’s wings, man! This was one hell of an experience.

            “Fine. Just… don’t tangle any feathers, or yank on anything. And don’t touch my oil glands. Or my flight feathers,” he said sternly. Dean had reached immediately when he said ‘fine’, but pulled back when he added the terms.

            “I don’t know where any of those are.”

            Cas sighed. “My oil glands are where they join with my shoulders. My flight feathers are the very long ones on bottom.”

            Dean nodded, kneeled on the bed beside him, facing his wings, then reached out, lips slightly pursed with concentration, and brushed a hand over the top ridge of his wings.

            They weren’t what he’d expected. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, though, to be honest- clouds or cotton candy or fluid? Something angelic, something fitting and shocking and so not earthly. But they just felt like… feathers. Soft as hell, that was for sure, even the outer feathers were silky soft. They were dry and oily at once, warm and dusty, just like a bird. He brushed over them again, and slid his hand down to the middle of his wing, above the flight feathers, and carefully burrowed his fingers in slightly, wanting to feel the layers of down beneath the outer feathers. He looked over at Cas as he gently sifted through to get to the down, to make sure he wasn’t hurting him or any-

            Cas’s face was tight and shining with perspiration, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched and lips pulled back to bare his teeth, head tilted back, his neck tensed. His lips were pale and cheeks looked flushed.

            Dean pulled his hand away immediately and shuffled across the bed to Cas, concern and fear sobering him up hard. “Hey, Cas, you okay?! I’m sorry, was I hurting you? Jeezum, it’s okay, deep breaths,” he advised quickly, gently touching his cheek to find it was feverishly hot. His head had sunk down on his chest the second Dean had stopped touching his wings and he’d unclenched his jaw, but he was breathing heavily in short breaths, like he’d just run sprints. His hands were gripping the edge of the bed, white-knuckled.

            “Cas, say something, you’re scaring me. You okay? Is there anything I can do?” Dean pressured, getting up and grabbing a cloth from the table (he’d intended to use it to clean his guns later, if he was still sober) and returning to his side, wiping gently at the sweat on his brow.

            “I’m… that was… unexpected,” Cas panted. “I’m not sure what happened. I’m okay, I think. I feel strange. But not in pain.” He fluttered his wings thoughtfully, shaking them out a bit, trying to get rid of the shivers in them. The sensation had been powerful, one he couldn’t put a word to, but as soon as Dean had stopped, something had risen up in him. Something…. He wanted… He wasn’t sure what he wanted. “I think… I think you should do that again. I want to understand what just occurred.”

            “You sure? It looked like I was hurting you, and you look like you just ran a marathon. I think that’s a bad idea to do that again.”

            “No, do it, Dean. It’s fine. Really,” he reassured him when the hunter looked apprehensive. “Here.” He touched the lapel of his trench coat, and that, along with his sports coat beneath it, were suddenly neatly folded over the back of a chair, leaving him just in the white button-up dress shirt and skewed tie. He folded his wings so he could move without breaking things and moved to the side of the bed, laying on his back across the foot of it so he could spread one wing up it.

            “I don’t know, man…” Dean hesitated.

            “I can’t reach to preen them myself, and straightening my feathers one by one with my grace is time-consuming and boring. Please, Dean,” he said firmly.

            Dean looked at the wing he’d lay across the bed, looking at how pretty it was, recalling how soft they were, and feeling sad about the patches of bent and fraying feathers. He looked at the angel’s face- ah, mistake, he was doing that damn big-eyed expectant puppy look. Shit.

            “Alright, fine. Just… if I hurt you or if you need me to stop, please please please say something. Understand?”

            “Yes.”

Chapter Text

            Dean sat cross-legged on the bed again, and Cas lifted his wing so he could sit, then rested it in his lap. He reached out and carefully touched the feathers again, watching Cas’s face for a reaction.

            Cas kept his face carefully composed and relaxed, but he could feel a zinging kind of feeling at his touch. When Dean burrowed his fingers in the feathers, he clenched his jaw but kept his face blank. It was at once relaxing and energizing, just so… intense. Dean, seeing Cas looked okay, turned back to focus on the feathers, carefully sliding them between his fingers, combing them out and brushing down the frayed edges.

He pushed through and touched the downy layer and began to relax, smiling at how soft and relaxing it was. The methodical preening reminded him of cleaning his guns, automatic and soothing. He worked his way to his wingtip and began working back toward his shoulderblade, focused on the task, letting himself sink into kind of a busywork trance.

             Cas bit back an unexpected moan as Dean worked his way back toward the base of his wings. It was all he could do to keep from squirming, but he didn’t want Dean to stop, no, he couldn’t stop, he needed him to keep going, he needed more… what? He wasn’t sure what he needed. But Dean couldn’t stop. His body felt hot and full of pressure, but oddly empty and needful at the same time. The overall effect was extremely pleasurable.

            Dean teased out a knot near the upper ridge of his wing, pushing his fingers through to brush the down for more of the natural oil in his wings that helped fix the feathers.

            Cas couldn’t contain himself any longer. He actually did moan, long and loud, startling Dean, and his hand clenched around the ridge of his wing, deep in the feathers. The sudden grip and tug on his feathers made Cas gasp and arch up off the bed. His eyes, previously tight shut, opened wide, and his mouth fell open in a soundless keen, a bead of sweat beside his ear sliding down his jaw.

            The lamp and ceiling lights exploded, sparks and bits of glass flying.

            Dean let go of his wing quickly and Cas sank back into the bed, panting, head thrown back, adam’s apple bobbing  and the hollow of his throat glistening.

            He looked at Dean.

            Dean looked at him.

            And the angel’s expression morphed to horror, his blown pupils shrinking to pinpricks, and then-

            The room was empty except for Dean.

            “What the hell?!” he shouted at the empty air, jumping up off the bed and stomping around the room, though he knew it was useless. “Cas, get your ass back here!”

Of course he didn’t reappear, and Dean didn’t really expect him to.

He shook his head. He couldn’t get the image of Castiel, the angel, his best friend, the one who’d pulled him from Hell and saved his ass more times than he could count, righteous and carefully controlled yet radiating power and emotion, the angel with too much heart, self-sacrificing, naïve, the soldier-king who just wanted peace-

-in the throes of an orgasm.

“What the hell,” he said again, grumbling it and putting a hand over his eyes with a  groan. There was so much wrong with this whole situation. Had he just… ‘wing-jacked’ his best friend off? His best friend who was a man? And, to top it off, the memory of it left him with a raging boner.

Cas didn’t know that was going to happen, it was clear from his reaction and his curiosity when they first started it. So they were both innocent of blame, right? They didn’t know that was going to happen. They just didn’t know. It was okay. He wasn’t gay.

I’m not gay, he silently told the bulge in his jeans, but it ignored him and throbbed offensively. He was so not turned on by a guy getting off. No no no.

            Back in his late teens, on a hunt with his father in the countryside of northern NY, he’d met a tattooed, pierced, flamboyant yet cold guy a year younger than him named Victor. His mother had been a victim of the wendigo they were hunting and he’d seen it. He’d insisted on helping, so they’d given the 18-year-old a gun and a knife and lessons on the way the world really was, and the kid had killed the wendigo himself.

            Dean had a sort of awe for the boy, despite being a year older than him. He lived exactly the way he wanted, without anyone telling him what to do. No orders, no rules, even when his mother was around. He didn’t just live, he seized his life and bridled it and rode it into the world, trampling anyone who wanted to stop him, taking what he wanted but still giving to charity and such. He was an anomaly- a very attractive anomaly.

            “I don’t get any gay vibes from you, Dean, I’m sad to say. You could be bi, if you wanted, though. You ever kiss a guy?” Victor asked. They were at Victor’s empty house- his uncle and John had gone out for drinks, and they were sitting on the roof of the garage (having shimmied out the window and walked across the porch roof to jump the small gap) sharing a cigarette.

            “What? No,” Dean snorted. They had just been sitting in silence and Victor had suddenly spoke this odd bit.

            “You wanna try? You never know until you do it,” he said, waggling his brows, the studs in them catching the red light from the cigarette.

            “I, uh…”

            “C’mon, you’ve gotta try everything once. Don’t you want to know?”

            “You just want to kiss me,” he snorted.

            “Hell yeah I do, you’re a freaking stud. But I also want you to experience it, just once. C’mon, man,” he pressured.

            Dean took one last drag off the cigarette and flicked it off the roof, into the darkness. “Fine.”

            A hand (inked over so the pattern of his bones showed up in glossy black lines on his skin) caught his chin and turned his head, and their lips met.

            It had been an experiment. They’d kissed, rutted a little, but Dean wasn’t a huge fan. It was strange. So he knew for sure that he wasn’t gay or bisexual. There was no denial or anything, he knew because he’d tried it and hadn’t taken to it.

            So why was he rock hard from watching a man-angel jizz in his own pants from him preening his feathers?

            The answer wasn’t in the bottom of the large glass of whiskey he threw back, nor the next two. Nor was it in the bathroom, in a lotion-covered hand and the slick slide of his palm. It wasn’t in the cold shower following or clean clothes or his pillow, but by that point, he’d just shoved it to the back of his mind.

            It was, however, in his subconscious, in the strange realms of REM sleep.

            Cas was on the bed again, writhing and covered in sweat, this time shirtless, wings flared.

            “Dean. I need you. Please,” he rasped, his growly voice more hoarse than ever.

            Dean fell to his knees at the foot of the bed without hesitation, pulling off his shoes, tugging at his trousers and they melted away at his touch. He nosed the inside of his knees, breathing the smell of him, and suddenly he was on the bed, wearing only his briefs, and it made perfect dream sense that he went from kneeling to lying down, undressed.

            Cas leaned over him, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down his jawline, down his neck, nibbling at his throat. His wings fell around them, caressing Dean’s sides and arms and legs, and Dean could do nothing but gasp and blindly move his hips, searching for some friction, but Cas didn’t give him what he needed- instead, he just slipped a knee between his legs. Dean rutted on his thigh desperately. It felt so, so good, but he needed more.

            “Cas, please,” he cried, trying to move his hands, but they were paralyzed and he couldn’t reach up or take control, he was invisibly pinned to the bed.

            Cas’s mouth skimmed between his pecs, down his stomach, and he could feel the angel smiling against him, damn him.

            Then suddenly, finally, there were hips against his, the unfamiliar feeling of an erection pressed against his own but it felt so good he didn’t care. It was a man, but that wasn’t what was important, that wasn’t what he needed. This was something he’d needed for a long time now. He didn’t need a man, he needed-

            He woke up, gasping. “Cas,” he mouthed silently, his body still aching for him.

            A quick glance around revealed Sam still totally out, back facing him, and Dean quietly got up and went to the bathroom to take care of what his dreams had left him with.

            And he understood. He wasn’t gay, he wasn’t bisexual, it was just Cas. It was always just Cas. He was straight, he didn’t need to worry about an identity crisis or gender reevaluation. Castiel was just the exception. This revelation was like a great weight lifted from his shoulders. He felt inspired and productive, as if, now freed, he needed to do something about it.

            He could do nothing with this sudden knowledge for a full two weeks.

            They continued to work cases, mostly small ones, working their way south until a small hoard of demons had them trapped in a parking garage maintenance room. It was small and they were both hurt- Dean had long scratches down his arm from one demon who really needed to trim her nails, and a possibly dislocated ankle, and Sam had taken a hard enough blow to the head that he was having trouble focusing his eyes on things, along with a multitude of little cuts all over his arms and face from going through a window.

            Castiel hadn’t answered any of Dean’s prayers or calls (and he’d spent almost all three of the days after the wing incident praying nonstop) nor had he made any other appearances, but now, with both Sam and Dean praying for him to get off his high horse and save their asses, he finally came back.

            The door to the maintenance room unlocked itself and opened, revealing their angel friend standing outside, the demon’s meat-suits collapsed around the garage, the demons exorcised. He looked composed as ever, and wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

            “Cas! Thanks so much, man, I thought we were done for sure. We weren’t expecting so many- we trapped one, but she had friends, about eight of them. Looks like we owe you one. Again,” Sam said, clapping the angel on the shoulder unsteadily and laughing with relief. Dean hopped out of the room after him, holding on the doorframe and barely able to walk. He could already feel his ankle swelling in his boot, hot and painful. The majority of the battle adrenaline was draining away, and he wondered if his ankle was broken.

            “You’re both injured. Here,” Cas said emotionlessly, touching them both on the forehead and transporting them back to their motel room. He brushed a hand carelessly across Sam’s cheek, and he let out a sigh of relief. The cuts were gone, along with the concussion. He turned to Dean but still wasn’t meeting his eyes, just looked down at his foot. “Take off your boot,” he sighed, kneeling at his feet.

            Dean struggled with the knots and Sam dropped his gun on the table. “That healing thing always leaves me starving. I’m gonna go grab us some take-out. Cas, you want anything?”

            “Sure. I trust your judgment to find something appealing.” They all knew he didn’t need to eat, but it was polite to offer, and sometimes he did just to enjoy the tastes.

            “Alright. I’ll be back soon.” The door closed and Cas touched Deans now-bared ankle, healing it, and stood, but the hunter caught his elbow in a tight grip.

            “No way are you taking off again, you’re gonna sit down, you aren’t flying off anywhere. We’re gonna have a talk,” Dean told him. Castiel’s face tightened and his eyes burned darkly.

            “I don’t take orders from you, Dean,” he snapped. “Unhand me. Now.”

            “No. You’re gonna have to take me with you if you vanish, or else you’re gonna sit and talk about what happened in Michigan.”

            Cas was suddenly in Dean’s face. Despite being the taller one, Dean still cringed back slightly. “Do not presume to tell me what to do,” he said in a low voice full of menace.

            “Do you know me at all?” Dean snorted, raising an eyebrow. “What are you going to do, hit me? You wou-,”

            Cas punched him, catching him perfectly under the chin, a powerful left-handed uppercut chased with a right hook, the force of it sending him staggering into the nightstand, following up by grabbing the collar of his jacket and tossing him against the other side of the room, not giving him a moment to recover. When Dean stumbled a step forward, bent over slightly, he took advantage of the position to grab him by the back of his neck and push him onto the ground, every motion full of derision and rage.

            The hunter coughed a few times, rolling over onto his back, blinking slowly. His skin had split along his cheekbone, he’d bit his lip spectacularly and his mouth was full of blood, his knees ached from being smashed into the nightstand, his back was battered and his wrist hurt from crashing into the hotel carpet. Nerdy little angel sure packed a punch. “’M s’rry,” he mumbled through a mouthful of blood.

            Cas kneeled (one knee pressing on his stomach, pinning him and showing he should absolutely not fight back) and leaned closer.

            “What?” he said carefully, face still cold.

            “I’m sorry,” he rasped, letting his head fall back against the carpet. “I shouldn’t have ordered you around. And I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in Michigan. But you shouldn’t have run away, and I still think you should stay and we should talk about what the hell happened.”

            Cas sighed and leaned back on his heels thoughtfully. “Fine.” He stood and sat on one bed, indicating for Dean to sit on the other, facing each other. He did not offer to help him up or to heal him, just watched him impassively as he struggled to his feet and staggered over to the bed.

            “Cas-,” he started, but the angel cut him off.

            “I didn’t know that would happen, with my wings. I’ve never permitted anyone to touch my wings- I’d never really thought about it- except in heaven. And that’s different. We are in our true celestial forms, and feelings as potent as these do not exist there. It’s a friendly bonding gesture between siblings and friends. That was the most I had expected. That’s all there is to talk about.”

            “Bullshit, that’s all there is. I touched your wings and you were a… a freaking hot mess or something, you knew what was going on, and you told me to keep going.”

            “I didn’t recognize the sensation. I’ve never experienced it before,” he mumbled, blushing slightly. Dean blinked, surprised.

            “That was your first ever-… really? Oh… kay. But- you had to know. On some level, you knew what we were doing, it- it was… intimate. It was angel sex,” he said bluntly. “And if it was no big deal, then why did you run and why did you not come back until we were about to get killed, and then try to run again?”

            “I…” he trailed off, looking at the floor between his knees. When he spoke again, his voice was monotone, pulling his emotionless demeanor around himself like a safety blanket. “It was a very intimate moment for me. I was very much overwhelmed. I’ve never experienced an orgasm before. Maybe I did know it was going to happen, on some level. I… In the moment after, when I was still very… I thought to myself, I was glad it was you, and I wanted to do it again, and I wanted to do it to you. And then I looked in your eyes and I realized that it was you, Dean Winchester, the righteous man who loves women and was my friend, at best.

“I have no right to you- a renegade angel with little to no understanding of emotions and romantic notions, and you are interested only in the opposite gender, and would find the idea of being with this vessel distasteful. I thought you would be embarrassed or ashamed as I felt, and so I avoided answering you for fear of seeing what damage I’d done to our relationship. I apologize for that damage, as well as the harm resulting from my absence,” he sighed, reaching out and touching his forehead to heal his wounds, a gesture to accompany his apology.

Dean stared at him, taking it all in, trying to make sense of the angel’s formal speech.

“Wait. So you have… ‘romantic notions’ toward me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. The angel seemed to shrink, shoulders hunching slightly.

“Yes. I’ll… just bury them again, I guess…”

Dean stood, and Cas’s eyes flicked up toward his, lips pursed, hands clasped in front of him, head downcast and slightly tilted. He looked terribly apologetic and sad and pathetic and afraid. So Dean did what any comforting friend in that situation would do.

Chapter Text

He grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back on the bed, flattening him on it, straddled his waist, and mashed his lips against his in one smooth movement.

And suddenly, wings. With a terrific ripping sound that startled both of them, they manifested themselves, spread wide across the bed, shredding the back of Castiel’s shirt, suit, and coat.

“What-,” he began, confused, but the hunter just smiled and pushed him back down, kissing him forcefully again. The smaller man was overwhelmed- there was too much. His wings had appeared without his intentions, Dean had taken his apology and threw him on the bed and was kissing him, his hips pressing into his, and his tongue was in his mouth, he tasted like blood still, and his beloved jacket would need repairing again. There was too much to think about.

Dean, as if sensing Cas being overwhelmed, bit his lip, buried a hand in his hair, and tugged his head back. “Stop thinking,” he commanded. And, despite his earlier anger at being told what to do, he obeyed immediately, clearing his head and biting Dean back, earning a low rumbling groan in reward.

Dean pushed his tongue in Cas’s mouth and they fought for dominance, but Cas was clearly the less experienced one, and Dean was fighting on multiple fronts, not just with his mouth- he was erratically snapping his hips against his rapidly growing hard-on, the motion unpredictable and all the more arousing because of it. He was mussing a hand in his hair, tugging it and massaging the back of his neck, his other hand was making quick work of his tie and shirt, and his mouth was moving in a soft, intoxicatingly pleasurable way against his.

His lips moved from the angel’s mouth to his ear, and he laved at his earlobe with his tongue, startling a little gasp-whine from him- the pleasure was unexpected. Why was an ear such an erotic area? Biologically, it had no business being part of the mating process-

His musings ceased when he licked the spot behind and below his ear, on his neck, and began kissing his way down, his breath hot and startling. It was all Cas could do to suck in air like a fish.

Dean paused in his ministrations to lean back slightly and open Cas’s shirt, his eyes bright with appreciation and arousal as they roved over the exposed skin. He went to tug it off Cas’s arms, but stopped.

“How do I get this off with your wings?” he growled.

“I- uh,” the angel managed, brain still overloaded. He touched the shirt and coats and they vanished, appearing in a torn and slightly burned heap on the floor. He was so needful for Dean that he couldn’t muster the effort to use his grace to fold them or repair them. All he cared was that they were off.

Dean wasted no time. He bent low over the smaller man’s body and put his tongue just above his navel, hot and wet, and licked his way up to his neck.

“Ah, ah! D-D-Dean!” Cas gasped, his voice high and human-sounding, rather than the low, powerful rumble he normally spoke in. Dean almost groaned at the sound- he was doing this to him, he was unraveling him, and it was the most powerful, erotic thing. This formidable angelic being was begging for him. He decided to see what other sounds he could wring out of him.

The next sound was a sort of a jerking intake of breath, so hard it was almost like a scream, when Dean dragged his tongue straight across his nipple.

“Dean, I… I’m…”

“Shh,” he breathed, careful to aim his breath over the pert, moist nub. He was rewarded with a shiver and a desperate thrash of hips that accomplished nothing but making Dean slide almost off the bed.

“Position change. Vertical,” he ordered, sliding himself and the angel deftly around so they lay the right way on the bed rather than across it sideways, giving himself more room. Cas jerked his hips again, but he pinned them down by sitting on the tops of his thighs. He leaned over and ran his tongue in a slow circle around his nipple.

“Dean-,” but he cut him off again by nipping at it, rolling it between his teeth  and breathing hotly on it, and Cas arched unexpectedly, letting out a hoarse wail of a cry. Across the room, the mirror spiderwebbed and the lights flickered.

For the second time, Dean watched the angel orgasm with almost no below-the-belt stimulation.

He wasn’t the virgin in the situation- he prided himself in great holding power and self-control, but the sight and feel of the angel (his angel, he thought possessively) climaxing and writhing in pleasure almost sent him over the edge. He held him, though, putting a hand on his jaw and holding his face toward him so he could watch his lips part and brows clench and eyes open wide, pupils flaring.

Dean was slightly surprised- the angel was so unbelievably sensitive. He’d thought he would be, but not on this level. The first time, he’d blamed it on the wings- he didn’t have wings, he didn’t know how sensitive they were. Maybe rubbing his wings was the same as actual sexual stimulation. As the angel came down, panting and sinking into the bed, he realized he had a big time virgin on his hands. Or rather, between his thighs, still clenched around his hips.

“I… I, Dean, I’m sorr-,” Cas panted, slightly upset that he’d come so quickly, but Dean silenced him by slotting his mouth over his and kissing him sweetly, more gently than before.

“It’s okay, I should’ve expected this. Don’t you dare go anywhere. That was… God, Cas, that was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Holy shit,” he breathed, trying to get his own arousal back under control. The angel slid over and rolled onto his side, letting his wings hang off the side of the bed so Dean could lay beside him, face-to-face.

“Still, I understand that stamina is valued in sexual situations like this… I’ll need to get more,” he said guiltily, pursing his lips. He cleaned the mess from his pants with a flick of his grace.

“I can help with that. Cause you know where stamina comes from? Practice,” Dean said with a sly grin.

Cas smiled hesitantly, and it was so adorable and arousing, his lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed, skin glistening with damp sweat, still shirtless. Dean groaned and tucked his face into the angel’s shoulder, trying to still the small tremors that shook him as his body raged to be sated. He wasn’t used to finding the male body so sexy. He’d appreciated the asthetics of other men before, but this was the first time he’d found one so damn hot.

“You are still in need,” Cas observed, absently raising a hand and stroking the back of Dean’s head, ruffling his hair. It felt like a natural gesture, and he was very much enjoying the after-sex cuddling.

“Yeah,” Dean snorted.

“Shall I assist with achieving your ejaculation?” Cas offered. The idea of sex, fundamentally, had seemed repulsive and unclean in theory. All those fluids, sweat, skin on skin. But in experiencing it himself, with a very much erect man in his arms, he found himself wanting Dean’s orgasm almost as much as he’d wanted his own. Pleasuring him seemed, in itself, pleasurable.

Dean snorted again. “You don’t… your bed talk needs work. You don’t say ‘achieving your ejaculation’, Cas, jeezum. This isn’t science class. You say ‘orgasm’ or ‘come’ or ‘getting off’, ‘jizz’, ‘skeet’, ‘fuck’, ‘sex’… there’s a lot better ways to say it than ‘ejaculation’,” he told him.

“Okay then. Do you want me to get you off?” he said, trying the words. They did sound a bit dirtier, a bit more sexy than ‘ejaculate’. For added effect, he put his mouth right on the shell of Dean’s ear and breathed them, back to his normal raspy voice.

Dean shivered hard, gripping his sides. “Please yes,” he groaned, and Cas smiled deviously.

A single touch had Dean laid completely bare, his clothes on the pile with Cas’s upper layers, and then the angel vanished his wings for easier motion and more concentration. He aggressively rolled them so Dean was beneath him and dragged his teeth down Dean’s body roughly.

Despite his inexperience, he’d spied on more than a few of Dean’s dreams. He knew what he liked, so he was unsurprised but pleased to hear Dean groan loudly. On his way down, he stopped to lick each nipple hard, flicking them with his tongue, grasping Dean’s hips hard enough to bruise. He brought to mind one particular dream of Dean’s, one where the woman had been clad in black leather (for a short while, anyway) and had been fierce. He had very much liked that dream, so he went to work emulating it.

Black silk scarves appeared attached to the headboard and lashed out like snakes, catching Dean’s wrists and yanking his arms up, knotting and tying him down. A similar pair appeared at the bottom of the bed and snared his ankles, binding him in a spread-eagle, arms out and up, legs parted.

“Oh, God, Cas,” Dean moaned, the vulnerable position stroking his arousal, and then suddenly he couldn’t speak- a leather bit pressed on his lips and pushed back through his teeth, holding his tongue down and preventing him from speaking. Cas ceased biting and licking at his hips to slide up his body, careful to keep his flush against the hunter’s.

“If you continue to say my father’s name during this, this is what’s going to happen,” Cas hissed, biting his lower lip and making the hunter thrash with need. Cas smiled and put a knee between his legs, allowing him to rut against his thigh for a moment. He smiled again and slid back down his body, and without warning, slid his mouth around Dean’s erection.

Dean’s eyes almost rolled back. Cas was obviously inexperienced, but he put on a good front and clearly wasn’t as naïve as he’d thought. The angel kept his cheeks hollowed and his mouth tight around his prick as he swirled his tongue around it and bobbed his head a few times.

He went deeper, and when his tip hit the back of Cas’s throat, he couldn’t keep from bucking his hips slightly.

Immediately, a scarf lashed around his hips, pinning him to the bed tightly, and Cas released his mouthful and raised an eyebrow at the hunter.

“Don’t do that again,” he said mildly. He gestured, and the gag was gone. Dean spoke immediately. His words were bold and husky and filthy.

“Shut up and put your mouth back where it belongs.”

Cas raised both his brows in surprise, but obediently bent back over and swallowed Dean’s dick over and over again. The angel most definitely had zero gag reflex- probably used his grace to kill it. He was a bit clumsy, sometimes losing the rhythm, sometimes going too fast, occasionally scraping gently with teeth. Regardless, it was so intense and unexpected that Dean could feel his climax approaching like a freight train.

“Cas. Cas, I’m… I’m gonna… ahhHHHH,” Dean cried, jerking against his bonds. His eyes snapped shut and he saw bursts of light behind his lids as he rode out the pleasure, orgasming hard into Cas’s mouth.

Cas tried to swallow it all- he knew that was the goal of this exercise- but knowing about was different from knowing how to. Dean had emptied the pipes enough lately that it wasn’t a large load, but a bit still ran down his chin as he swallowed hard and fast. The taste wasn’t very pleasant and it felt like it wanted to come back up, but he willed it not to.

As Dean relaxed and his bonds vanished, he reached down and gently palmed the back of Cas’s head, guiding his mouth off his sated cock and pulling him up to lie beside him. His eyes were half-mast from after battle fatigue and post orgasm drowsiness, but he still chuckled at the small trail of come on Castiel’s chin.

He kissed it away gently, something that he’d never imagined himself doing- using his mouth to clean his own spunk off a man’s chin, but everything seemed to fall away when he was with Cas. He’d just foreplayed a virgin man into jizzing his pants, and said man had followed up with a bit of bondage and an aggressive, if amateur, blow job. Scratch that- not man. Angel.

And he was totally cool with it.

Chapter Text

“C’mere,” Dean murmured, gently guiding him to turn around and press his back flush with Dean’s front. “Lose the pants,” he said sleepily, nuzzling the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The pants and underpants (if he was wearing any- Dean had wondered it before. Jimmy seemed like the type to wear boxers, but he imagined Cas would find them unnecessary and would cease wearing them.) were gone with a touch, and Dean smiled, leaning over and curling partly around to press a gentle kiss on Cas’s lips.

The kiss was broken when two things happened nearly simultaneously. First, Cas’s wings snapped back into existence, nearly shoving Dean off the bed. Second, Cas cried out, body going into spasms, as Dean’s bare chest was pressed right up against the hypersensitive base and joint of his wings and shoulderblades.

Dean scrambled backwards and actually did fall off the bed in a tangle of sheets and cursing.

“What the hell?! Cas, you okay?” Dean shouted.

As if they needed more madness, the door opened and Sam came in carrying a few paper bags and the scent of thai food. He casually shut the door with his foot and dropped the bags on the table, talking cheerfully.

“We always get burgers and fries or burritos, there was this really nice take-out Thai restaurant down the street, and I figured, when did we last have anything interest- uh…” he stopped upon seeing the room. Cas on the bed, struggling to sit up, wings seemingly everywhere, knocking into everything, and Dean flailing to untangle himself from a knot of sheets around his legs on the floor.

Oh, and they were both stark naked. And the room smelled like sex. And, yep, that was their clothes on a slightly smoking pile on the floor.

“Oh God. What the-,” Sam moaned, clapping a hand over his eyes. “What the hell!? I did NOT need or want to see this!”

“Calm the hell down, Sammy, go eat somewhere else and give us a freakin’ minute!” Dean growled, covering himself with his hands. Cas paid neither the brothers nor his nudity any mind, twisting to look at his wings and knocking a lamp over.

Sam needed no more than that. He seized one of the bags and was out the door again like a shot, grumbling something about rabbits.

“Shit,” Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Cas, you okay?”

“I believe I’m fine. I’m sated enough from earlier that I’m not physically aroused again. I don’t understand why my wings keep manifesting, though,” he complained, willing them away again and leaning over the edge of the bed to peer down at Dean. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, finally getting himself untangled and climbing back up on the bed, pulling the sheet up with him. He eyed the angel warily.

“What?” Cas asked irritably, shifting under his calculating gaze.

“Sit up for a sec. I think I’ve got a theory.” The angel did as he said, and Dean slowly leaned in, keeping his eyes open, and pressed his lips against the angel’s.

His wings appeared again. Cas jumped slightly, pulling back from the kiss to look at him with surprised eyes. Dean began to snicker.

“This is great! It’s like the frog prince or something- when I kiss you, you turn into an angel! Holy shit, this is gonna be great,” he laughed.

“Yes. ‘Great’,” Cas grumbled, vanishing his wings, only to have Dean lean in and kiss him on the lips again. They reappeared.

“Dammit, Dean!” he snapped, not bothering to get rid of his wings. “This is no joke, this is a serious problem!”

“Yeah, sure it is. I’ve got a freaking adorable lover with grace superpowers and wings that appear when I kiss his perfect little mouth. I’m very okay with this.” He put his hands on either side of Cas’s head and tilted it down slightly to kiss his forehead, and then got up to dig through the clothes and find some fresh briefs and sweats and shirt. “Get dressed, Sammy will be back in a minute and he’ll be pissed.”

Cas frowned at his clothes. They were shredded and slightly burned where his wings had formed. And, to be honest, post-sexual-acts, he wasn’t feeling in the mood to wear dress clothes in so many layers.

“May I borrow some of your clothes, Dean?” he presented, looking hopefully at his duffel bag.

“Sure. Catch,” Dean said, tossing him some gray cotton sweatpants and a dark blue shirt. Cas pulled the pants on (no underwear, Dean noticed triumphantly) and frowned at the shirt for a moment. He grabbed a knife from the table and cut two slits in the back and willed his wings away for just long enough to pull the shirt on, before allowing them to manifest again through the slits.

Dean turned to start eating his supper and eyed the angel appreciatively. The pants were a bit too long, but they fit in all the right places. The shirt was a bit large, the collar wide enough on him to expose his collarbones and make him appear very young. Top that all off with crazy sex hair. The result was adorable as hell, and Dean couldn’t help but admire the look on him, watching the motion of his hips as he went over and sat at the table across from Dean.

There was a hesitant tapping on the door, and Dean leaned his chair back on two legs to pull it open, revealing a hesitant looking Sam.

“Oh hey,” the elder Winchester said sheepishly, and Cas looked anywhere but at the brothers.

“I knew you two were going to shack up eventually, but I thought you’d at least get your own room, or something,” he complained, coming in and sitting down gingerly on the bed that wasn’t a tangled mess.

“Yeah, well, it was- wait, you expected this?” Dean cried.

“Well… yeah. C’mon, you guys have been making bedroom eyes at each other for ages. And all that ‘not understanding personal space’ bullshit you’ve been pulling, Cas- you only do that with Dean. Dean, you’re always looking at his lips, and you’ve got that whole ‘I pulled you from perdition’ and ‘profound bond’ thing, and whenever something happens to one of you, the other is a wreck. Bobby and I had been putting bets on how long it would be,” Sam said, rolling his eyes and doing poor impressions of Cas’s voice.

“My attempts at subtlety were that unsuccessful?” Cas grumbled.

“Either that or not subtle enough, Dean had no idea.”

“Who asked you?” Dean snorted.

“Should I get a different room for tonight?” Sam sighed as Dean grumpily opened his thai.

“Yes,” Dean answered, at the same time Cas said, “No.”

They looked at each other.

“You aren’t going to stay?” Dean asked, sounding disappointed.

“Of course I’m staying. But why does Sam have to get a separate room? You’ve already purchased this one, and there are two large beds. There’s plenty of room,” he reasoned.

“Are you going to be doing anything else?” Sam asked.

“That is a broad question,” Cas replied, brow furrowing.

“Are we gonna do any more sex stuff is what he’s asking,” Dean clarified bluntly, and Sam grimaced.

“Oh. I should hope so. But why would our sexual acts force you to get a separate room? Neither Dean nor I are screamers, it would seem. We can be quiet and not interrupt your rest.”

“Cas! Come on! Rule number one about sex stuff- not in front of other people,” Dean exclaimed.

“But he will be asleep. And it won’t be in front of him,” Cas huffed, confused again.

“By ‘in front of people’ I mean ‘in the same room as people’. Brothers especially. You just don’t do that.”

“Yeah, I’ll get another room,” Sam snorted, blushing slightly as he grabbed his duffel. “One not near this one. I’ll keep my phone turned up.” He departed quickly, looking embarrassed and eager to get out.

“The concept of embarrassment in this context confuses me,” Cas mused. “Seeing another naked human body brings on feelings of anxiety, but he’s seen his own naked body. It’s nothing he’s never seen before. I don’t really understand why nudity is so upsetting.”

“Because it’s intimate, like your wings, I guess. Eve ate the apple and they made leaf-clothes and shit. I don’t know, that’s just the way it is,” Dean sighed, digging into his supper with post-sex gusto.

Cas squinted thoughtfully. “I see,” he said uncertainly, deftly operating his chopsticks. They ate in silence for a few moments.

“Ugh. Sam always forgets that I hate celery,” Dean huffed, picking up a piece of the offending vegetable with his chopsticks. He’d finished everything else, picking around the celery. “You want it?”

“Sure. I find the texture appealing,” Cas said with a small smile.

“Here.” Dean brought his chopsticks up to Cas’s mouth, holding a hand under it in case it dripped sauce. Cas delicately took it with his teeth and made eye contact with Dean for a split second, and they both smiled.

The hunter continued to feed Cas the celery chunks, watching his mouth with fascination. After the last piece vanished, he stared at his lips for a few seconds longer as Cas chewed and swallowed.

“Do I have sauce on my face?” Cas asked, wiping at his lips with his fingers, feeling an odd nervousness that took him a moment to name. Self-consciousness.

“No. Just my oral fixation,” Dean laughed, wiggling his eyebrows.

Cas frowned, knowing that the gesture with his eyebrows meant there was an underlying meaning to his words, but he wasn’t sure what an obsession with teeth could relate to… oh. Not teeth, mouth. Ah. His own eyes dropped to Dean’s lips. They were red from the spice of their supper. Carefully, he reached out and traced a finger over his philtrum, an absentmindedly curious gesture.

He blinked when Dean tilted his face up slightly so his finger fell to the cleft of his lips and caught the tip of it between them, sucking it slightly into his mouth and giving it a playful nibble before releasing it, careful to caress it as he pulled away.

Cas sucked in a deep breath, startled at the reaction that caused. A shiver rippled down his spine and he curled his toes thoughtfully.

“I think I understand what you mean by ‘oral fixation’,” Cas said shakily. Dean laughed again and stood, collecting their empty boxes and tossing them in the trash.

“C’mon, let’s go get ice cream. Then we’ll come back and I’ll make sure you really understand what I mean,” he said with a wink, grabbing a room key. He thought about changing into jeans but dismissed it carelessly. He was comfortable enough, and Cas’s clothes were still wrecked. “I saw a little stand down the road when we checked in yesterday. We can walk.”

Cas found that agreeable- he enjoyed walking more than he did driving. Dean’s loud music was alarming (and the lyrics were startling as well- many of them were so inappropriate that he was surprised they were allowed on the internet) and he loathed the feel of seatbelts. He put his wings away and they left the motel.

“What are you getting?” Dean asked conversationally as they studied the boards above the order windows, reading the options and specialties.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never had ice cream, and many of these are unfamiliar to me. The ‘dish of dirt’, is that actually dirt?” Cas admitted.

“What? You haven’t? Holy shit, man, you’ve gotta spend less time upstairs. Never had ice cream. Jeez. And no, it’s not real dirt. And the fish food isn’t actually fish food, I think it’s just fruity pebbles,” Dean replied with a snort.

“Ah. The past few generations of humans use misnomers too liberally, in my opinion,” he said seriously. “Do you have any recommendations?”

“Well… what are you thinking? Something vanilla, fruity, chocolatey? You should do a design-your-own sundae thing. You could handle that. See, you start with your ice cream flavor, then pick whatever you want on bottom, then your toppings, and any syrups if you want those,” he said, pointing to the make-your-own lists.

Cas finally decided on a sundae with blackberry ice cream on top of a chocolate chip cookie, topped with coconut, walnuts, and a butterscotch shell. (Dean shook his head- the guy had weird tastes.) When the woman asked if he wanted sprinkleswhippedcreamandacherry, he blinked and Dean simply answered yes for him.

“You’ve gotta have the whole experience, man,” Dean insisted and Cas nodded sagely. They got their ice creams and began walking back.

“The pink hue of yours looks very appealing, Dean,” Cas observed.

“It’s not pink, it’s… light red,” Dean defended through a mouthful of strawberry and vanilla ice cream. “Try yours. Try to get a little bit of everything in each bite.”

Cas carefully gathered some cookie, ice cream, shell, toppings, and whipped cream on his spoon and ate the spoonful in one massive bite. His eyes closed and he groaned, making Dean’s eyes go wide.

“Why do you not eat this for every meal?” Cas asked incredulously, muffled around his packed mouth.

“Cause it’s not healthy, and you get sick of sugar eventually. I’m guessing you like it?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” Cas said, smiling as widely as he had when he’d been addicted to hamburgers. He began eating without hesitation, savoring each bite.

“That weird combo is that good? Lemme try some,” Dean said, pausing in their walk to swipe his spoon in Cas’s dish and sample it. “Mmm. That’s not half bad for a Frankenstein sundae. Wanna try mine?”

Cas took a bite of his and smiled. “Yours isn’t as good as mine,” he declared.

“No way, mine is way better. Yours is weird.”

“Dean, I am a millennia-old angel, I have wisdom that your human mind cannot fathom, in my natural form I am made of celestial wavelengths of decisiveness and knowledge. And I say mine is superior,” he insisted, lifting his chin and frowning impressively. Dean just raised an eyebrow at him and crammed a huge bite in his mouth, making a silly face that broke Cas’s straight face and made him smile again.

By the time they got back, Cas’s was mostly gone (his had been smaller than Dean’s) and he scooped up the last mouthful of blackberry cream-soaked coconut and melted butterscotch and sprinkles, moaning again when he put it in his mouth.

Dean choked a little bit on his ice cream, the sound going straight to his dick. It inspired him to gather the last bit of whipped cream on his finger as the angel turned to the door.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, holding up his finger just for the angel to turn his head and crash his cheek into it, smearing whipped cream across his face.

“Dean!” he cried, looking baffled. He looked so surprised and alarmed that Dean started laughing. Cas shook his head at his companion’s foolish antics and wiped the cream off with his hand, then licked it off his fingers.

Dean’s laughter ceased at that and he watched, hypnotized, as the angel stuck his creamy digits in his mouth and sucked on them, his mouth making a slight popping sound as he removed them, looking content as a cat.

Aw, hell.

Chapter Text

Aw, hell.

He dropped the dregs of his ice cream in the garbage on the sidewalk and took two long strides forward to press his body against the angels, slanting his mouth over his, backing him into the door with a thump. His eyes were closed but he smelled the smoke when his wings tore and burned through his clothes. And he didn’t even care if someone came around the corner and saw two men making out aggressively, one with wings.

“You. Fucking. Tease,” he growled around biting kisses. Cas’s hand slipped nimbly into his pocket (his own hands were occupied, sliding up Cas’s hips to his waist and back down again) and drew out his room key, blindly unlocked the door behind them, and they practically fell through it and tumbled the few steps, barely making it across the room to the bed, Dean turning them so he landed on his back with Cas across his chest, their legs tangled. Cas’s looming black wings fluttered instinctively as they fell, flapping with faint alarm.

The angel sat up for a second to glance at the door and wave a hand- it slammed shut, shaking the lamp slightly but neither of them noticed, they were back at each other’s mouths.

Dean groaned low in his throat when their tongues slid across each other, instinctively battling for dominance. Dean won the battle when one hand stroked one of Cas’s wings, which might’ve been cheating but neither of them particularly cared.

Dean worked his way down to the column of Cas’s neck, the stubble across his jaw prickling his lips in an oddly pleasant manner, and he moved to kiss down to his clavicle, making Cas’s breathing hiccup and his hips jerk instinctively.

Cas took advantage of the moment where he wasn’t focused on kissing and Dean was doing the work to think for a second. He knew all of Dean’s fantasies and the last one had been a major success. There was one that he’d found appealing and arousing, and it had looked fairly simple. And they were in the right position for it. Good.

He sat up slightly to adjust the position of his legs, biting his lip as he moved to crouch over Dean, straddling him up on his knees so their hips didn’t quite touch. He leaned forward on his hands, arcing his back down and flaring his wings, tilting his hips so his ass was up in the air and hovering over him, catlike, so Dean could let his eyes rove over him.

The hunter reached up to catch him by the tie and pull him down for a burning kiss, before letting his hands move down to start working the buttons of his shirt. Unexpectedly, Cas slapped his hands away and sat up to begin unbuttoning it himself, keeping eye contact with Dean and spreading his wings.

Dean trembled slightly and slowly smiled. It looked like he was going to get a little strip teasing. He let his hands rest on Cas’s thighs, watching as the tie was tossed aside and Cas’s chest was slowly revealed.

The angel finished with the last button and looked down at himself, slowly trailing his fingers over his own neck, down his chest, over his taunt stomach. He dragged his hand just above the waistline of his pants, slipping his fingers teasingly beneath them once or twice, but only for a moment. Each time he did that, Dean’s hands tightened on his legs, and he looked up slightly to meet Dean’s eyes with a small smile. Rather than fuss with his wings, he simply touched the shirt and jacket and they were gone, leaving him bare-chested.

He wasn’t sure how to go about this next part (Dean’s fantasies mainly involved women and Cas wasn’t sure how certain parts would apply) but he could feel Dean’s boner, hot and hard, between his legs and it made him bold.

Dean watched with blown pupils and a look of fascination bordering on worship as Cas’s long fingers moved down his own thighs, slid between them, then moved back up to the very obvious tenting in the front of his thin cotton pants. He traced them over his arousal, outlining his cock through his pants, and his head fell back to expose his neck as he let out a breathy moan. He tilted his head back down to look Dean in the eyes as he pressed harder on his erection, palming himself firmly.

Dean bucked up slightly, unable to control himself, but Cas squeezed his hips with his thighs and forced him still. The angel had moved forward slightly and Dean’s cock pressed against him from behind. The motion of gripping Dean with his thighs had adjusted him again, just enough that he was now pressed comfortably against the cleft of his ass. That gave Cas an idea.

He knew, in theory, how sex worked. He knew all the sexual acts that could happen between a man and a woman, a woman and a woman, and a man and a man. And he knew that, in theory, and in most and not all cases, anal penetration was pleasurable but still required stimulation of the penis to reach orgasm. And, sure, he’d orgasmed twice already with no stimulation there, but he’d come hard enough and recently enough that he felt more of a semblance of control over his need. Touching his erection was still going to put him over the edge rapidly, but perhaps a different kind of touch could keep him.

It could also serve the dual purpose of preparing him for the actual act. He really wanted to get that far- coming in his pants with barely any touch was a poor comparison to actual sex. With Dean, Dean Winchester, his Dean.

So when he set his mouth in determination and reached behind himself to massage his fingers into his feathers, Dean furrowed his brow with confusion. Was he touching his wings- was that like masturbating for angels? But the pleasure didn’t seem to work that way, that didn’t make sense- Cas was familiar with touching his own wings and yet hadn’t expected the intensity of Dean’s touch. It was probably like the kissing- if he kissed Cas, his wings appeared. If Cas kissed him, no wings. And it made sense that, if Cas touched his wings, nothing, but when Dean touched his wings, it was game time.

He understood when Cas brought his hand back around and it was slick with a transparent fluid substance that he rubbed between his fingers. He recalled Cas mentioning oil glands and his hands fluttered on Cas’s thighs, expecting him to use the convenient, natural oil to stroke himself.

When Cas leaned forward slightly, bracing himself with a hand on Dean’s chest, he became more confused, until the oiled hand disappeared behind Cas again.

And went… down the back of Cas’s pants.

And Cas bucked… bucked- forward slightly, with a… with a gasp.

Dean could only watch with huge eyes and his mouth slightly open as Cas leaned forward more, tilting his hips up again, and let his head fall forward slightly. The angel’s arm moved and his eyes fluttered shut, lips parting slightly. Dean couldn’t think. He could barely breathe. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Holy shit, Castiel!” Dean breathed, feeling like he was about to come in his pants from watching the angel finger himself above him.

“D-D-D-Dean,” he stuttered hard around a little moan. “This is… ohhhhohohoh.”

“Fuck, Cas. Let me help you, please. Please. I’ll make it so good. Better than anything, Cas. Ride me, Cas,” Dean gasped, pushing himself up enough to bite fiercely at Cas’s collarbone.

“Yes. Yes, yes, please! Dean, I-, I need- uhhhuhh,” Cas mewled as Dean’s mouth licked a stripe up his neck. Dean needed no more than that- he grabbed Cas’s waistband and pulled his pants down until he could push them the rest of the way off with his feet, the angel reluctantly removing his fingers from himself to shift enough so he could shuffle out of them. He grabbed Dean’s pants and yanked them off quickly, taking his boxers with them, while Dean shed his shirt. Dean hesitated, hand reaching for his wing but not wanting to send him over the edge before the main event.

“I need more of that oil stuff,” he said quickly, and Cas twisted slightly to massage a point on his wing near where they connected to his shoulderblades, digging his fingers beneath the outer feathers to press on his oil gland and rub out the slick substance.

“Now I need to-,” Dean started, but Cas cut him off.

“Let me,” he breathed, pressing his lips to his chest before beginning to lube up Dean with leisurely strokes, leaving the hunter groaning for more. “I think we’re ready.”

Dean held his cock while Cas reached down to spread himself open, aligning himself above Dean. They met eyes as Dean bumped lightly against his entrance and Cas shivered at the hot, blunt touch, before abruptly thrusting himself down, burying Dean in the tight, slick heat.

“Holyfuckinghell,” Dean breathed. Cas was so tight around him that it almost hurt and he held Cas’s hips in place to allow them both a minute to adjust. For him, the tightness almost immediately morphed into pleasure and a need so fierce he thought he would come right there, barely a single stroke in.

Cas adjusted quickly, having prepped himself fairly well (and being more than human) and put his hands over Dean’s on his hips. He slowly lifted himself up, then back down, sighing with pleasure at the motion. He repeated it a bit faster. And a bit faster, beginning to bounce on Dean’s hips, both of them panting.

Dean allowed Cas to ride him, controlling the speed and motion, but he subtly adjusted the angle, holding back his own pleasure to try and focus on getting the right spot. He wasn’t a virgin like Cas (though he supposed he technically wasn’t anymore) but he’d never had sex with a man. He knew the spot was there somewhere, Cas’s prostate, and he hoped it would be obvious when he found it.

It was extremely obvious.

Cas suddenly shouted, wings flaring and beating hard once, when Dean got just the right angle and he drove himself down onto his prick, and it pushed that spot. Suddenly he wasn’t purposefully sliding up and down anymore, he was rocking and circling his hips in a frenzy, slamming that spot again and again, it wasn’t a careful ride but a needful fucking. And he clenched with pleasure around Dean, bringing him with him right up to the edge as he wailed, pushing his chest out and arcing his back, head thrown back and eyes tight shut, overcome.

The bed was creaking and bouncing and Dean was gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, meeting each motion with a thrust of his own, fucking up into Cas’s perfect, slick heat. The angel’s hands were on Dean’s chest, and everything was heat and motion and wet and slick, one of Dean’s hands sliding over to pump his cock-

Cas’s eyes snapped open and he had just enough time to hoarsely shout, “Deancloseyoureyes!” and Dean snapped his eyes shut as Cas came undone.

Light blasted through his lids and the tightness around him grew so hot that he shouted as well, adding his voice to Cas’s as he exploded within him, riding out their combined orgasms as hard as he could until the light was gone and everything was over.

Cas fell forward onto him, gasping, and Dean carefully opened his eyes, blinking at the room with shock, hardly even noticing Cas sliding off his dick and settling in on the bed beside him, cuddling up under his arm and laying a wing over them both.

There were rings of char on the ceiling, starting where Cas had been and radiating out in a smear of an explosion. The window was intact but cracked badly, the mirror was in pieces on the floor, all the lightbulbs, glasses, and the glass coffee pot had exploded, and the TV was in similar condition as the mirror. He had a hard time focusing his eyes- he was seeing spots and his eyes felt dry and sore. They burned slightly.

“Holy shit, Cas. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled into the sleepy angel’s ear. “But what the hell happened to the room?”

Cas lifted his head and blinked owlishly, glancing around and looking unimpressed. “Oh. I, uh… I reverted almost completely back to my true form for a moment. That’s why you had to close your eyes. Eyelids aren’t much protection, though- we’ll blindfold you until I can contain myself, or we’ll figure something out. You have many broken blood vessels in your eyes. I’ll just- there,” he said, touching the corner of one of his eyes and healing them, making them feel much better. “I’ll clean all this up in the morning.”

Dean laughed slightly, a low rumble that vibrated his chest and made Cas smile. “Alright. Just… can I get up to clean myself up a bit?” He could feel the sticky mess of his come mixed with Cas’s drying on his stomach.

“No. Stay,” Cas commanded, waving a hand lazily. The mess vanished and he wrapped his arm over Dean’s chest, laying his head on his shoulders and tangling his legs around Dean’s. That was a nice bonus of sleeping with an angel.  He gave Cas an affectionate squeeze, and the angel wrapped the wing around them more tightly.

Chapter Text

“No. Stay,” Cas commanded, waving a hand lazily. The mess vanished and he wrapped his arm over Dean’s chest, laying his head on his shoulders and tangling his legs around Dean’s. That was a nice bonus of sleeping with an angel.  He gave Cas an affectionate squeeze, and the angel wrapped the wing around them more tightly.

“You gonna fall asleep? I thought angels didn’t sleep,” he said drowsily.

“I don’t require sleep. But sometimes I d-d-do enjoy it,” he said, stammering through a yawn.

“Yeah, that yawn totally says you don’t need sleep.”

“Dean, I just lost my virginity. I’m allowed a brief respite,” he grumbled. “Now be silent.”

Dean sighed happily and allowed Cas to bury his face in his shoulder and they slept.

Turned out Dean had awakened something fierce in Cas. He seemed insatiable. He woke him up in the night for another round- Dean was suddenly slingshotted into consciousness when Cas wrapped his legs around him and flipped them hard, pulling Dean over himself and putting his feet flat on the bed, knees apart, hips tilted up, whispering filthily in Dean’s ear, begging him to fuck him into oblivion. Dean complied blindly- literally, Cas produced his tie from god-knows-where and bound his eyes- and without hesitation, his words enough to get him almost completely hard, and the clever tongue that arced up and swiped across a nipple finished the job. He pounded into him violently, knees and feet flying, skin slippery with sweat and feather oil and precome, Cas’s short nails digging into his back hard enough to leave angry red stripes.

They came nearly at the same time again, crying out in harmony, falling back gasping and panting and finally back to sleep, ignoring the smoking headboard and cracks in the plaster on the walls.

In the morning, Dean woke up to a loud, tinny sound- his phone going off. He glanced at the screen before answering, noting that it was Sam, and it was past 11.

“’Lo?” he said hoarsely, rubbing his eyes fuzzily. Cas made a small sound of protest and kissed his shoulder.

“You’re seriously just waking up?” Sam snorted on the other end of the line.

“Screw you, I need my beauty sleep,” he grumbled, huffing a little breath as Cas’s mouth moved toward his neck and began nibbling his collarbone.

“It’s noon!”

“This much beauty isn’t cheap-,” he gasped again, turning the phone away from his mouth. “Cas, I’m on the phone. Jeez.” The angel scowled at him and burrowed under the sheets, covering himself completely.

“-done the hunt, sure, but Garth says he’s got something a few towns south of here that could use some looking into, he thinks it might be a werewolf and the full moon is tomorrow night, so the sooner we start on it, the better,” Sam was saying, not having heard Dean speaking to Cas.

“Alright, fine. But we’re getting breakfast first,” he said firmly.

“After sex,” a rough, muffled voice added from under the sheets.

“Yeah, and after- what?” Dean said, looking down at the lump in the bed that was Cas. Something wet and rough suddenly stroked up the inside his leg, from knee to groin, and he gasped hard.

“What? After what?” Sam asked irritably.

“I was talking t-t-to Cas,” Dean panted as nearly every erotic part of his body was suddenly attacked- a hard cock was rutted against his, clever fingers teased his nipples, and a mouth sucked at his collarbone.

                “Dean, seriously-,”

                Cas threw the sheets back, looking annoyed, and snatched the phone, still grinding slow and filthy against Dean.

                “Sam, Dean is going to meet you at the diner for brunch in approximately one hour,” he said breathlessly, letting out a loud groan as Dean bucked up to meet his hips, large hands grabbing his ass and squeezing. The hunter was grinding out a stream of swearing that he was sure was audible on the phone- fuckinghell Cas, ffffirst thing in the fu-uu-fucking morning, hhhhohmygodCas, you’re on the fucking, mmmmmm, phone. “I’m going to have sex with him now. See you in an hou- ah! AhhhHH! An hour!” he cried as Dean reached up to rub the joints of his wings, pleasuring him and getting another handfull of oil. Cas threw the phone on the other bed, not bothering to hang up, and wailed as Dean inserted a finger into him.

                On the other end of the motel, Sam quickly hung up and threw his phone too, but in disgust and horror, as if he’d just found himself holding a spider.

                True to his word, Cas and Dean showed up at the diner an hour later, perfectly presentable, and slid into the booth across from Sam. The brothers met eyes for a moment, both blushed furiously, and immediately looked away- Dean becoming very interested in the ceiling, Sam captivated by the tabletop. Cas smiled at both of them obliviously, reaching for a menu.

                “I’m feeling like eating again. I was thinking an omelette sounds nice,” he stated, opening the menu and flipping through casually.

Chapter Text

The sad truth of hunting was that they didn’t get a whole lot of time to themselves. Most of Dean’s time was spent either mucking around in little town, flashing fake identities and playing dress-up, fighting for his and Sam’s lives, and driving. The bits between were spent catching up on sleep- during a case, they slept maybe four hours a night. After, he ritualistically ate massive portions of food (he tried to make it not fast food), stood in a hot shower for at least half an hour, and crashed, completely unconscious, for a minimum of ten hours. So it wasn’t like he had no time to himself, but the little time he had was spent trying to catch up.  And Cas was an angel- he had duties. Responsibilities for big things in the universe, wars and disputes in the heavenly plane, responsibilities that were a bit more important than Dean’s orgasm. (Dean disagreed, but only mostly teasingly.)

So it was a lot like a long-distance relationship, until Cas realized an obvious answer- well, not really an answer. More like a temporary, somewhat satisfactory pseudo-solution. It was multitasking.

As in, Dean catches up on sleep while they have their dates.

Their first dream-date is a complete fiasco, as one would expect when a hunter and an angel float around in a shared state of mostly unconsciousness.

Castiel showed up, unannounced, in Dean’s dream, feeling rather proud that he’d come up with a good compromise on how to spend time together. But he’s caught off guard- of course, it was Dean’s dream, so the setting would be up to him. The last visits to dreams had been peaceful- a small house, fishing on a dock, relaxing dreams like that. This was not one of those.

He was sitting in the back of some sort of open-top military-like vehicle. Dean was driving at a breakneck speed, and an unassuming figure with blurry features sat in the passenger seat, shouting at Dean, something about something coming. Castiel leaned forward into the front to interrupt their conversation.

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted, and Dean nearly sent the vehicle into the forest.

“Cas! Thank god! Dude, you’ve gotta help us- they weren’t supposed to eat meat, they were supposed to be veggibivores-,”

“Herbivores,” Cas corrected mildly.

“Yeah, but they tasted blood and now they’re carnivores! We’ve gotta get out of here!”

Cas turned in his seat and looked behind them carefully. There was the sound of crashing and rumbling- something extremely large in pursuit and close behind- but he sensed nothing actually chasing them. Just the idea of something chasing them.

“Dean, there’s nothing there,” he pointed out. “It’s okay to stop the vehicle- your driving is worrying me. I came because I knew we didn’t get to see each other often, and thought that meeting in this subconscious limbo would be a fine idea.”

“… what?”

It occurred to Cas that Dean might think he was awake. “Dean, you’re dreaming. None of this is real.”

“What?!”

“Look at that man. He has no features. He isn’t a person, he’s just a figure that your imagination did a poor job constructing.”

Dean squinted at the guy beside him, trying to understand-

The vehicle flew into the trees and crashed, hard, into a trunk the size of the car.

The contents of the vehicle were slingshotted into the air, forwards and up, flying into the woods at breakneck speeds. The figure was gone- it was just Dean and Cas. They soared and landed heavily in a sandpit. When Dean landed, everything flickered black for a second as his imagination reconstructed the scene.

They were both waist-deep in sand and sinking rapidly. And Cas’s wings were out, except they were a bit different- he had three coming from each shoulder, layered slightly, like a seraph’s.

“Dean, I am not a seraph. I’m flattered that you think so highly of me, but I’ve never had any desire to be part of their ranks. And it might be blasphemous to imply that I am one of them,” he said disprovingly.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said. “You wanna fly us out now, before we drown?”

“This is your dreamscape, Dean, make it something nicer. I was hoping for a ‘date’ or some kind of ‘romance’, followed by either slow and gentle lovemaking or violent fucking, your choice,” Cas stated.

“Dreamscape? Cas, can’t you just get us out of here?”

“I can’t do anything here, Dean,” Cas grumbled. “This is not going as I’d planned.”

They were sinking faster- now it was midway up Cas’s chest, and seemed to be accelerating.

“Cas! No!” Dean cried. He reached and there was a vine within arm’s reach that the hunter caught. He managed to pull himself out and reached for Cas- they were barely out of arm’s reach, and then they weren’t in quicksand, Dean was in the purgatory portal and Cas was sliding away, down the cliff side.

“Dean!” Cas cried with surprise as the environment abruptly changed and he was falling. He beat his wings, but the ground rushed up at him-

And then he was expelled from Dean’s subconscious, opening his eyes from the trance he’d entered, scowling. He immediately rose and teleport-flew to Dean’s motel room.

“Dean wake up,” he said sharply, shaking his shoulder.

Green eyes snapped open and caught on Cas’s eyes, before suddenly strong arms grabbed his jacket and were grabbing everywhere, pulling him down onto the bed. Cas didn’t fight him, just allowed him to pull him close and cling to him like a child. He noted he was shaking slightly.

“Cas, god, I just had an awful dream,” he said, hoarse with sleep, tucking his face in his shoulder and drawing deep, shuddering breaths. The hot, moist puffs of air tickled the sensitive area of the base of his neck, and Cas wiggled closer.

“I know, that was me there. I thought that, since we don’t get to see each other as often as either of us would like, having dream-meetings would help both of us. Apparently I was wrong. The last few times I’d entered your dreams, they’d been either peaceful or of a sexual nature,” Cas mused. “Bad timing, I suppose.”

“No. Good timing. I’m… glad you’re here,” Dean whispered, and Cas could feel his smile against his skin. Dean’s hands had begun to slowly stroke up and down Cas’s back and he’d tangled his legs with the angel’s.

“Oh. I’m glad as well,” Cas said gently, his own lips tilting upwards. They were quiet, and the silence was restful.

“Hey Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Was that a booty call?”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s, ah…. It’s like a visit that’s just for sex. Like, if someone is horny and they have someone they know likes them or would have sex with them, they’d call or show up and get some quick tail, then leave.”

                “Oh. No, it wasn’t. Though I confess, I was hoping there would be sex.”

                “You said… you said ‘gentle lovemaking or violent sex’.”

                “… Yes, I… Yes, I did.”

                “Good,” Dean said, rolling slightly so Cas was on top and gently canting his hips against his. “I pick the first. Make love to me,” he said with a crooked grin.

Chapter Text

                “Good,” Dean said, rolling slightly so Cas was on top and gently canting his hips against his. “I pick the first. Make love to me,” he said with a crooked grin.

                Cas let out a short, surprised laugh before slipping off the bed. “Just a moment.” He walked over to Sam’s bed and put a hand on his shoulder. The younger Winchester’s eyes shot open and he reached beside his bed for a gun instinctively, then squinted up.

                “Wha- Cas?” he said blearily.

                “I’m sending you to the bunker. I’ll fetch you after. Sorry to wake you,” Cas intoned, and then Sam was gone.

                “Good thinking,” Dean laughed. “Get rid of that coat and get back over here.”

                “Contrary to what you may believe, Dean, I do listen. You told me that sex in the same room as a close relative is frowned upon. Now we can have sex without any frowning.”

                Dean chuckled heartily as Cas climbed back on top of him, sans the layers.

                He still laughed lightly as he leaned up and cupped the back of Cas’s head, pulling him gently down so their lips could meet. Cas tasted of clover honey and ash, and he always smelled clean and almost void- like snow, so absent of smell that the absence almost had a scent of its own. And then he smelled slightly like ash, from the burned, torn back of his shirt (oops). Dean kept the kiss paced slow but passionate, bending his knees up on either side of Cas’s hips instinctively, and Cas’s wings arced high over both of them.

                He worked slowly at the buttons of Cas’s shirt and slipped the tie off to set on the pillow beside him, in case they needed to blindfold him. Each extra few inches of flesh he exposed, he ducked his head down to brush light kisses against, making the angel’s flesh tighten and flex. Cas pulled Dean’s shirt over his head and Dean laughed lightly when he got it caught on his nose and couldn’t really get it off.

                Soon Dean was only in his boxer briefs and Cas in his slacks. Dean pulled him down so they could press their chests against each other and relish the feel of heat and skin and unity, and kissed him a bit harder. Cas ran a thumb over the hem of Dean’s briefs, and Dean’s breath stuttered a little.

                “Off,” he breathed, lifting his hips so Cas could slide them off. He did, gracefully, and ran his hands back up the hunter’s long, powerful legs, dipping behind to brush against the back of his knees, then in to stroke his inner thighs, making Dean hum with pleasure.

                “You’re gonna have to prep me,” Dean said between nibbling at his lips. “I haven’t… I’ve never done it this way. You’ll need a lot of that oil. And you’ll have to go slow.”

                “Will you tell me what exactly to do?” Cas said nervously, moving from his half-laying half-crouching position to kneel between Dean’s legs, which were already up and apart and bent at the knees.

                “Yeah, but probably not with words,” Dean chuckled.

                “What if I hurt you?” Cas said seriously, pursing his lips.

                Dean lifted himself up on an elbow to kiss him sweetly. “You won’t,” he said confidently, lying back.

                Cas rubbed his wings carefully, milking the oil from his glands, and rubbed it into his fingers. Dean rubbed his hands up and down Cas’s thighs encouragingly. Cas carefully slid his hand down, starting at the base of Dean’s cock and gliding down to find his way. Dean hissed in a breath as he glided over his perineum, Cas’s fingers slick and unexpectedly soft on the sensitive area.

                And then he was there, gently pressing one finger in. Dean knew he should relax, it would go easier, but he tensed instinctively and then hissed in a short breath. He fought to force himself to relax, and eventually managed to. Cas waited patiently, looking on with concern, his other hand rubbing up and down his leg and side soothingly.

                He worked his finger inside him, and then moved it around, stretching him and trying to spread the wing oil as much as he could. Dean felt himself grow accustomed to the intrusion. It… started to feel… kind of good. But it was a needy kind of good. It was good, but he knew it could be better and he oh-so-needed it to get better. When Cas crooked the finger inside him, he let out a breathy, pleased sort of moan.

                Cas added a second finger, and Dean locked up. His face tightened slightly with discomfort, and the hand on Cas’s shoulder tightened involuntarily.

                “Dean, are you okay?” Cas asked sharply.

                “I’m fine, don’t take them out, just… gimmie a minute. I want this, I really do. You made this look easy,” he huffed, trying to keep it light and humorous. He did want it, really, for three reasons. He wanted Cas to get a chance to top, for one. Second, he wanted to experience being bottom, so he could learn first hand what felt best. Finally and foremost, though, was that he wanted Cas in this way. He wanted all of him, and he wanted Cas to know that he was eager (not just willing, but eager) to give himself up in this manner, for him.

                “I admit, I eased the process with my grace. And I don’t feel pain as acutely as you do,” he said. Then his face brightened. He’d had an excellent idea. “Dean, close your eyes.”

                Dean nodded jerkily and closed them, still breathing carefully. He was used to this being easy- he had always been the handsome one, Mr. Sex, the libido king. But then, he’d always been the top- he’d never had sex with a man, except finally with Castiel, and then he’d topped. Sure, one or two of the kinkier girls had suggested pegging, but he’d never let them. He wasn’t the outlet, he was the prongs, so to speak. He wasn’t used to having to take a minute to adjust- maybe to pause a minute to allow his partner to adjust, but he was never the one working through it. He didn’t even know how to make his body accept what was happening.

                Light fingers brushed over his jawbone, and he hummed contentedly, turning his head slightly into them. They caressed beneath his jaw and up behind his ear, raking through his hair, tugging playfully. At the same time, Castiel touched him lightly between the collarbones, tracing in the hollow of his throat and down his chest, between his pecs to his belly button, then back up to tease at a nipple. Teeth nipped at his knee, and fingers threaded through his.

                Wait. One, two, three, four, five…

                His eyes opened and he gasped. Little flecks of light danced around them, making the oil-slick-black of Castiel’s wings shine green and purple and blue. They moved like fireflies. There was a cluster around his hand, and on his knee, and on his chest, and he could barely see a glow out of the corner of his eye of a cluster beside his ear.

                “Cas… !?”

                “I told you to close your eyes,” the angel chided, but he smiled anyways. “I’m using my grace to help relax you and make it more pleasurable for you.”

                Oh. That was a good idea- the pain and tightness had all but faded, and when he felt Cas wiggle his fingers, now he was relaxed enough that all he felt was pleasure and a sense of fullness.

                “Ohhh. Good… good idea,” he huffed as the fingers scissored inside him and the patches of light (feeling exactly like soft hands, like Castiel’s hands) continued to caress him.

                “Better?”

                “Mu- uhh!- uch better,” he hiccupped as Cas added another finger and he tensed for an instant before the phantom grace-lips laved his earlobe.

                The pressure was there still, but it wasn’t painful tightness, it was like… Dean couldn’t quite understand it. But it was good, that he knew, and he was very glad of that. His arousal and pleasure was rapidly rising. It went from slightly uncomfortable to just a small amount of pressure to good-feeling to pleasure and he needed more. Something inside him was begging to be filled.

                Suddenly, rather than wriggling and bending inside him, Cas slid his fingers almost all the way out- Dean almost groaned at the loss- and then rammed them back in.

                Dean’s back arched slightly and he reflexively spread his legs wider, and Cas repeated the motion. Again. And again. And again.

                “P-p-p-please, more. I need you insi-ide m-m-me,” he panted, now meeting Cas’s motion with a snap of his own hips, trying to get more. It was like… he needed it. He needed more. It was like when he’d opened his eyes in a pine box and hiked a few miles to a gas station, he needed water. He, Dean Winchester, was begging. And it was all for Cas.

Chapter Text

                Cas obligingly removed his fingers from Dean, and he grunted at the sudden emptiness. “I don’t know how long I’ll last,” he warned the hunter as he rubbed more wing oil on his cock, shivering as he did so. He’d come leaps and bounds from when they’d first messed around and a few well-placed touches could set him off with no warning. Like Dean had said, practice. But he’d never done it this way.

                “Don’t care. Need you,” Dean breathed, leaning up to bite at his ear. “We’ll go slow, if you want.”

                “Slow may be… better. Going slow will allow me to really find the edges of my stamina, as well as to perhaps gain better control over my true form during orgasm,” he said, nodding.

                He carefully lined himself up. Dean tensed slightly when the hot, slick tip of Cas’s cock bumped up against him, but the phantom-grace-fingers trailed over him again, like little calming dragonflies, and then Cas was pushing inside.

                He moved slowly, achingly slowly for the both of them- it was talking all of Cas’s willpower not to just thrust into the tight heat, but he wanted it to be slow. He didn’t want to fuck, he wanted to make love. And Dean felt every stretch, a moment of pressure before being soothed. Cas had bent his back and was licking at his collarbone, muttering into his shoulder- Dean Dean Dean, y-y-you’re so p-perfect, Dean, this is good, this is good, this is so… Dean.

                Finally, Cas was seated in Dean up to the hilt, hips wedged tightly against each other, both breathing hard.

                “Alright. You can move, I think I’m okay,” Dean panted. In truth, it was all he could do not to cant his hips up and flip them and ride the angel.

                Cas pulled out slightly, then pushed in. Repeated it.

                “Longer strokes,” Dean gasped, clutching his shoulders. Cas tried again, pulling out more, and Dean snarled when he snapped his hips back and surged back into him.

                “Like that. Yes. Shit, yes,” he hissed, pulling him down for a kiss.

                After the first few sharp, ramming strokes, Cas set a careful, slow pace, refusing to speed up even when Dean threatened him bodily harm. He had leaned down so their lips touched, but they weren’t kissing. Both were slightly open-mouthed, breathing hard into each other’s mouths, noses brushing, touching at as many points as possible.

                It was unlike any sex they’d had before. Sometimes they had started slow, but it had almost always quickly turned into a wild race to the finish line, biting and shouting and thrusting. But Cas was a more patient being than Dean, and he didn’t allow him to speed it up. When Dean grabbed his hips to try for more, the angel caught his wrists and pinned them to the bed on either side of his head, laughing lightly into the shell of his ear.

                They rocked together, and Dean had stopped fighting. At some point, their eyes had locked, and no amount of pleasure or lust could break the connection. Dean’s eyes were wide and searching. The pleasure he was getting was so strange, he’d never felt like that before. He’d had slow sex before, but never as the bottom. The pleasure was less like a hurricane and more like a tide- slow and lapping, rhythmic, but ever-coming and surrounding. It was like he was submerged, and nothing else was around except Cas, sliding in and out, watching Dean with such care and admiration and devotion that Dean couldn’t look away.

                Like the tide, it built, but slowly, so slowly that he hardly realized how close to the edge he was until it was right there, almost in reach. He didn’t know if he could get over it without any touching of his dick, but at the steady, persistent rate it was approaching, he wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

                Cas had taken to stroking him, his shoulder and hair and chest and back and hip and throat and arms and fingers, worshipping his body, pressing in with such precise repetition it was like a mantra. Dean, Dean, Dean.

                “OohhhCas,” Dean sighed, arching his chest slightly, feeling like he was drowning and surfacing at the same time. “I’m- ohh. I don’t know if I can last m-m-much longer.”

                “Watch my eyes, Dean, I’m right here,” he breathed, licking the hunter’s bottom lip.

                Dean’s gasps became rhythmic and louder, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. They fluttered closed, but Cas caught his chin and turned his face back.

                “Dean. Open your eyes,” he whispered, and Dean obeyed.

                Just in time for Cas to hit that spot.

                There was no way the angel hadn’t planned it, hitting it just as their eyes met. He was able to witness Dean’s pupils, small from being closed behind his lids, snap wide, eclipsing the green of his irises, and his mouth opened and his neck arched. Castiel had seen the earth be born, he’d seen everything between that moment and this, and he could swear that Dean, in that moment, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

                It took three more quick thrusts, right there, and Dean was over the edge. His muscles flexed and writhed around Cas, and he followed him over the edge, managing to hold his true form back enough that he was only a little radiant for a few moments.

                He slipped out and dropped lightly down beside Dean on the bed, breathing heavily, and folded his wings beneath himself. Both of them were silent for long moments after, sides touching, lost in bliss.

                Finally, Dean emitted a sort of giggle (though he’d forever deny that it was a giggle, because giggling was for children) and rolled onto his side to face Cas, and the angel tiredly flourished his grace and cleaned both of them up.

                “That. Was. Amazing,” Dean said, still laughing, punctuating each word with a kiss to Castiel’s face. He felt like his eyes were glowing and he could feel happiness and carelessness and ecstasy so full inside him that it was almost like it was leaking out.  He buried his nose beneath Cas’s ear where it was nice and sensitive, and the angel laughed with surprise at the unexpected attack. “When can we do that again?”

                “I think cuddling will suffice for now. You’ll be thankful we only did that once, come morning time and you have to stand and sit again,” he pointed out, scooting closer to the hunter.

                “Spoilsport,” he chuckled. Abruptly, his hands began attacking Cas’s ribs, feathering over his skin, and Cas was surprised to find himself involuntarily in the throes of a nearly-hysterical laughing fit.

                “Wha- what is. What is this?” he laughed, trying to get the words out and breathe at the same time.

                “Tickling, duh!” Dean cackled, moving his hands up to ‘tickle’ higher on his sides, beneath his arms. His black wings were flailing suddenly as he writhed, laughing uncontrollably, knocking things over and filling the room.

                “D-D-Dean, no, ahaha! St-stop!” he cried, howling all the while. Dean did not stop until Cas’s face was bright red and he was panting, exhausted.

                Dean was tucked up against Cas’s side, half blanketed by a wing, one leg thrown over Cas’s. “We should do this every night,” he mumbled sleepily into his shoulder.

                “What about heaven and earth and monsters?”

                Dean thought for a second. “Well… I figure, since life has been fucking us for so long, it should cut us some slack so we can fuck each other instead.”

                Cas nodded sagely, stroking Dean’s hair. “That sounds reasonable.”

                He stayed for the night, watching the hunter sleep.