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Dean knew that he shouldn’t. The he really, really shouldn’t.
It was unethical, and childish, and his mother would surely be beyond disappointed at him had she known, but he was desperate! Sam had gone to the local library and wouldn’t be back for a good few hours. His nerd genes needed to feed, and that could easily take the entire night should he stumble over something interesting. Dean needed to take the chance and get this done now, while he was still entitled to his privacy.
But, as fate would have it, he needed help.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried handling it on his own—because he had—but he just couldn’t get it to work . He had even stubbed his finger trying to get it up and going, yet nothing . Not even as much as a quiver !
So he was at his wit's end here, and more than willing to throw any kind of moral ethics out the nearest window to get this party started. That’s how he had eventually found himself sitting on his still made motel bed, fingers laced between his knees in prayer with his eyes humbly closed, face tilted to the ceiling.
“Cas, you there?” He licked his lips, fighting back the embarrassed smile that threatened to creep across his lips. God, no matter how many times he did this he still felt so silly. “I need you to work some of that angel-magic of yours,” he continued, eager to get the job over and done with. “Got a bit of a problem down here.”
He barely had time to finish the sentence before the familiar rustle of wings reached his ears. When he opened his eyes, sure enough there he was; wearing the same, rumpled trench coat, backwards tie and peculiar blue eyes as always.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean grinned, his hands falling apart as he rested his elbows on his knees.
“Hi, Cas,” he greeted. “Everything all right on the angel front? I didn’t pull you out in the middle of a duel or anything?”
“Things are going… slow,” the angel grated out. “And angels don’t duel,” he added with poorly hidden disapproval, as if the very thought was insulting. He tilted his head in offended confusion when Dean snorted out a laugh in response.
“You needed my help?” he asked shortly and Dean straightened up, pulling himself together when he remembered what he had actually called the angel down for.
“Yeah, uh… You think you could…” He nodded towards the bedside table, and Castiel followed his gaze, frown deepening even further when his eyes fell on the item standing upon it.
“I’m not sure if I understand,” he rasped, and Dean rubbed his neck awkwardly.
“Well… you see, it’s broken and… I can’t get it to start. So I figured you could just, you know…” He wiggled his fingers dramatically towards the device. “Work some of your mojo on it?”
Cas gave him a long, silent glance, making Dean’s ear flush bright pink, and then he stepped closer to the bed while leaning in to read the label on the rectangular box.
“What is ‘ Magic Fingers’ ?” he asked after studying the apparatus for a good minute and a half.
“It’s a sort of massage thing,” Dean explained with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Massage thing?” Cas repeated, looking mildly confused.
“Yeah… uh, it makes the bed shake,” Dean offered lamely, escaping the awkward silence that followed by throwing himself back and nestling down into the pillows, arms leisurely sprawled out by his sides.
“That hardly meets the requirements of a massage, Dean,” the angel objected slowly, eyes still lingering at the box as if he wasn’t quite sure what to think of it.
“Well, it’s the only kind of massage I can get hold of at the moment,” Dean snorted impatiently because seriously, time was ticking here. “So if you just get it started, I cou—oh...!”
The bed was not shaking, and it was nothing like one of those seats you could find in stores all over the country, with the mechanic bulk movements imitating that of a real massage. Instead it was the indisputable sensation of having hands kneading against his back, rolling over muscles and easing up the knots with well practiced movements that made Dean’s body instantly melt into the mattress like butter in a frying pan.
He threw a dazed, wide eyed look at the angel standing by the side of the bed. Castiel simply straightened up and looked back, his face showing no signs that he was responsible for the sensation currently skirting up Dean’s shoulders.
“Wow… Cas that’s… that’s really…” Dean swallowed down a low groan when something in his lower back popped into place, and Cas tilted his head to the side.
“I assume that this serves the purpose better?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah… yeah, it does…” Dean choked down another appreciative moan, clearing his throat to cover it up. “How are you doing that anyway?”
“My grace can do many things, Dean,” Castiel answered cryptically. Dean frowned, but he let the subject slide when another roll of invisible hands began working on his neck. So instead of arguing, he settled back into the beddings with a content sigh, eyes fluttering shut.
Cas was right; this was way better than any funky motel room, luxury imitation. After almost an entire week on the road where he and Sam had spent their nights sleeping in the seats of the Impala, the prospects of a mere bed had been like a blessing. When Dean had entered their room and spotted the Magic Fingers box sitting on top of the bedside table, his joy had been absolute.
Not so much though, when the damn thing had swallowed up his quarters one by one without giving him as much as a buzz in return, and that’s where the angel mojo had come into play. No, using your celestial assets to fix broken motel equipment wasn’t exactly morally correct, but he had to admit, Castiel’s version of said mojo turned out to be a lot more comfortable than Dean’s own had been.
As of now, the kneading feeling continued to work, from the top of his neck and down his shoulder, rolling over muscles to drive out the tension, and adjusting the joints with each skillful press. Dean’s back arched slightly when the sensation travelled further south, moving over the muscles of his lower back. He tensed, not exactly comfortable with the thought of Cas going any lower to do… that to his ass. That would be awkward enough had he been using his real hands, but would be even more so this way, for reasons Dean couldn’t really specify. He almost considered telling the angel to stop, that he didn’t want to do this anymore, when the sensation abruptly skipped a beat and then continued downwards to the back of his thighs instead, following the muscles all the way down to the very soles of his feet.
It tickled, something the bastard angel probably knew very well, but it didn’t last long enough to actually provoke a laugh; just a simple drag as of blunt fingernails across the arch of Dean’s foot. Then, as the kneading began its journey up again, Dean let out the long, discreet breath of air that he had been holding and relaxed into the incorporeal touch once more.
All in all it felt fucking amazing. After a good ten more minutes Dean Winchester had absolutely no moral quarrels left about calling in the angel to do him favors like this in the future. God, if Cas could pull off stunts like this with that clever skill of his, then Dean absolutely needed to pray to him more often so that he could—
That’s about as far as he got in his train of thought before his eyes shot open with a gasp. His entire body jerked up from the bed as if electrocuted, and a startled cry fell from his lips, echoing from the walls of the motel room surrounding them.
“Cas what the—” his protest was cut short when that same something skirted up his rear in one long swipe, and whatever he was about to say dissolved into an undignified squawk, hands fisting into the sheets. Then, just as sudden, there was pressure directed at his lower abdomen as something else sparked through him; flaring from the inside out. His back arched high, mouth opening in a choked moan. He tried to sit back up as he twisted towards Cas, expecting to see a look of alarm, or at least concern on the angel’s face, but Castiel was just standing there, looking at him as if he was a puzzle in need of solving.
“Cas—” he choked. “Cas, what— what are you—”
“I’m giving you a massage,” Cas replied, brow furrowing slightly in concentration. “Lay still, your muscles are harder to find when you’re moving.”
“That’s not a m-muscle!” Dean yelped, the genuine muscles of his thighs and abs jumping violently, but Castiel just nodded in acknowledgement to his protest.
“My mistake, it’s a gland.”
“ I know what it is !” Dean snarled, sitting up further, but halting with a vicious tremble when another determined prod at his insides made the air catch in his throat. His stomach drew tight and his head reeled from the electric shock the touch sent through him.
“Why are y—”
“It’s an important pressure point for your nerve center,” the angel explained patiently. “You wanted to relax your muscles, and the prostate contains a lot of nerve endings that will help you achieve that. Now lay still.”
And just like that, it was as if something had shoved Dean square in the chest, sending him falling backwards and pinning him firmly to the bed. Another string of garbled noises tore out of his lungs when the pressure returned, more insistent.
“Cas…! Seriously, you’ve gotta— Oh shit …!”
“Relax, Dean.”
“ Stop it !”
Castiel’s head tilted sideways, a look of confusion settling over his face and the sensation stopped, leaving Dean panting and writhing in the middle of the queen sized bed.
“What’s wrong?” the angel asked, and Dean barely managed to hold back the disbelieved sound that threatened to leave his mouth.
“What’s wrong ?!” he wailed. “How about the fact that you’re using your angel mojo to—“ He cut himself off, face darkening into a deep blush when the realization of what he had been about to say dawned on him.
“I don’t understand,” Castiel mumbled, clearly confused. “You’ve asked me for this.”
“I asked you to fix a piece of crappy hotel equipment! I never—“
“ Dean. ”
This time it was the tone of Castiel’s voice, along with the sudden steel that flashed through the normally so calm blue of his eyes that cut Dean off. His mouth shut with a mute snap of teeth.
Castiel looked at him, silently regarding him, and Dean’s heart slowly began to work its way through his ribcage the longer he stood there, staring him down with that new, slightly terrifying gaze. By the time the angel actually spoke, Dean’s head was helplessly thrumming along with the erratic speed of his pulse.
“We share a deep, intimate connection with one another, you and I,” Castiel said slowly, and the way his voice seemed to drop another octave when he continued made Dean shiver in spite of himself. “This means that wherever I am, whatever I do, a piece of me never leaves your presence. At the slightest invocation from you, my consciousness is pulled to your side whether I choose it or not. You call for my attention, and I listen. Every word, every prayer, every thought ; I hear them all.” Castiel’s head tilted slightly to the side, eyes narrowing. “Including the ones you make while you sleep.”
Dean’s eyes widened, a sharp hiss of breath rushing past his lips when he realized what the angel was getting at, but Castiel was not done.
“You’ve begged me for this,” he clarified, and as if to prove a god damn point two of the fingers that had been hanging loose by the angel’s side suddenly curled, causing stars to spark before Dean’s eyes as his gut curled in on itself in a fit of spasmic pleasure.
“I’ll admit that your requests have been somewhat… unorthodox,” Castiel continued, as if he hadn’t just sent Dean spiraling head first into a near orgasm. “Rare and unusual… but in no means unreasonable.”
“You—” Dean gasped, struggling to steady his voice. ”Don’t mock me, you son of a bitch…!”
“Mock you?” Castiel’s voice sounded nothing but perplexed. “I’m only doing what you asked of me.”
“You can’t take what people say in dreams seriously, Cas, Jesus Christ, don’t you—“
“You are an exceptional con-man Dean, but you cannot lie to me,” Castiel interrupted firmly, taking a step closer to the bed. “I’ve heard you, over and over. Heard you cry out for me, felt the surge of your soul pulling at my grace, beckoning me closer. You beg, and you plead; you moan my name in your sleep, and all I can do is stand by and watch . Now you may not have asked me out loud, but you have asked, Dean. And I’m growing tired of constantly denying you.”
Once more the sensation of an invisible hand trailed up Dean’s spine to settle in between his shoulder blades, moving in small, soothing circles; a comforting pressure that completely contradicted the force behind the angel’s words. Dean’s head was spinning of its axle, his heart going 180 with no brakes on, and fuck, fuck, fuck, this was not— He hadn’t expected Cas to actually— Oh dear god, he had heard him !
As if sensing the panic slowly building inside the man on the bed Castiel’s shoulders relaxed, his posture changing from Celestial Warrior of Heaven to the Lost Little Angel in a Trench coat that Dean knew so well. His blue eyes softened, locking onto Dean’s green ones with a faint shimmer of reminiscence.
“I will not deny…” The angel’s gaze moved from his face, down the length of his body, and Dean suddenly felt more naked and exposed beneath that scrutinizing look than he had during any other situation in his entire life.
“…that the thought of you, like this, is something that’s been haunting my mind for a very long time,” Castiel continued. “The lure of your body has begun to outweigh my fascination for your mind, and it’s… distracting.”
A motion of a hand later Dean could feel the constrictions of his limbs slowly begin to loosen. He shifted warily, pulling himself higher onto the bed as Castiel moved closer, his eyes like blue beacons that cut through every kind of defense that Dean could ever have hoped to come up with.
“So let me do this,” the angel whispered quietly. Dean stared, wide eyed and baffled, the reality of what Castiel was offering him slowly becoming clear and solid inside his head.
He wanted it of course. In spite of the embarrassment and shame that was clawing its way through his chest from the revelation that what he had thought to be his most intimate thoughts and moments had been fully exposed to the angel from the very first breath. He wanted it . His erection was already pushing against the seam of his jeans, and Castiel’s confession that he had spent all this time yearning for Dean in return was almost more than he could handle. Castiel had been watching Dean get off while thinking about him. Had heard him gasp out the angel’s name to the ceiling while coming all over his stomach, and Jesus, what if Cas had been touching himself while thinking about Dean too? The thought made him shudder, his insides jolting when the mental images of that scenario made impact with his brain.
He nodded.
God help him, he nodded, and Castiel’s lips parted in a slow intake of breath as he raised his hand towards him again, fingers slowly curling.
“No, wait!” Dean gasped and the angel let the hand fall, another look of complete confusion settling over his face.
“Not like that…”
Castiel’s brow furrowed even further when Dean turned his eyes away, looking down to where his hands were fisted tightly amongst the sheets.
“You’ve heard me, in my dreams…” Dean mumbled. “You’ve seen what I—” He cut himself off, the fingers of his left hand wringing the white fabric even tighter as he sent a broken glare to the ceiling above him.
“Jesus Christ, Cas, don’t make me say it…” he hissed. “You already know, so just…”
He reached out his hand, groping blindly until his fingers caught on to the lapel of Castiel’s trench coat. He pulled him closer, leading the angel to take yet another step towards him, and Castiel followed obediently as if in a trance. His eyes stayed firmly fixed on Dean’s face even as the mattress shifted beneath his weight, and he knelt with one knee upon the bed, the insistent tug of Dean’s hand continuing to drag him forward.
“Please,” Dean breathed. “Don’t make me, I ca—”
The abrupt pressure of Castiel’s lips upon his cut him off, and moments later he was near whimpering into the warmth of the angel’s mouth as Castiel’s tongue slipped in between the seam of their lips. It was a calm, controlled kiss, meant to soothe, but Dean could feel it. That just below the surface there was something more; something wild and ferocious that was just longing to break free, and he pulled back.
He wanted to tell Cas that he wanted, wanted all of it, but at the same time he didn’t want to do or say anything that would risk ruining it. That he had waited for far too long to allow himself to screw this up. He opened his mouth to say all of that, but the look of barely held back exhilaration he saw on Castiel’s face made the words stick in his throat. Instead he watched as Castiel leaned back in, stopping to simply breathe against his mouth; near enough for Dean to feel the heat of his skin, but not enough to touch. Warm puffs of air cooled the saliva lingering on his lips; quick, ragged breaths that felt completely uncharacteristic for the usually so composed male before him. Dean’s entire body shuddered as he realized that the angel was trying to control himself when blue eyes opened to look at him, fingers curling into the bedspread next to Dean’s own hand.
“Cas…” Dean started, “Cas, if this is too—“
“It’s not,” Cas breathed simply and Dean silenced, nodding eagerly to show that he understood. He reached up, grabbed hold of the angel’s collar, and slowly pulled him in for a new kiss. This time, Castiel was the one who moaned, and the sound of it sent heat flaring through Dean’s gut. The taste of him was electric on Dean’s tongue, like ice and fire all at once, and he tugged at the trench coat in his hands once more. Dragging him closer and down over himself, he forced the angel to follow until Castiel was straddled across his hips, hands on either side of Dean’s head and the trench coat bunched around his elbows.
“Take this off…” Dean whispered and Cas immediately sat up higher, pulling the garment off his arms and tossed it aside to drape over the edge of the bed. Dean slid his hand around the other’s neck, brushing his fingertips down the length of that infuriating, backwards tie. He closed his fingers around it, the silk cool against his skin. How many times had he not imagined holding that tie, just like this? Too many, surely.
He pulled, hard, yanking Castiel back down so fast the other had to catch himself in order not to land sprawled out all over him. Dean reached to the side, groping over the covers before he found and tugged at Castiel’s wrist, bringing his hand up in between their faces.
“Show me,” he ordered. At first it was as if Castiel didn’t understand what he was asking, but then something sparked in the depths of those blue eyes, and the angel’s lips parted in a silent gasp.
“Show me,” Dean repeated, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I want to see it.”
Castiel swallowed. Then, slowly, and very deliberately, he curled his index and middle finger, moaning when Dean’s hips jerked beneath him. Dean struggled to resist the reflex of letting his eyes flutter close, and he sucked in a stuttering breath through his teeth, letting it go in a fierce rush when the fingers uncurled in one swift motion. He swallowed down a groan, nodding eagerly.
“Again…” he gasped, Castiel complying. This time, Dean’s eyes, honest to god, rolled back into his skull, his head falling back into the cushions with a breathless groan.
“Fuck…! Oh yeah, just like that…”
He could feel Castiel’s breath rush over the skin of his throat, mimicking the pace and force of his own moans. He knew that the angel was studying him; wide, blue eyes staring him down as if fascinated by the fact that something as simple as two fingers could cause such an intense reaction. He could see Castiel’s face through the dim of his eyelashes, could see the way his lips were still parted, a predatory gleam in those calm, steady eyes; like a lost desperation since long forgotten. When he let out another moan they immediately snapped up to lock onto his, a question flickering in their depths.
“Yeah…” Dean panted, nodding, “More… give me more…”
Castiel’s upper lip pulled up in a low growl as the pads of his finger started moving in quick, barely there motions that made Dean arch off the bed; stealing his breath away only to leave a choked out ‘fuck!’ and a desperate twitch of fingers in their wake.
Dean’s body was burning, fire coursing through every nerve and vein in his system, and his ability to think had since long been blown to pieces. The world existed only in that sweet, sweet pressure inside of him, and the grip around the tie in his hand grew tighter, knuckles whitening, hips grinding, and he was getting so close… Holy shit, it shouldn’t be possible already, but he was convinced that in just a few seconds he would be coming in his pants like a fucking teenager, oh god…!
Then, it just stopped. The wave he had been climbing broke and fell apart beneath him with a whimper he didn’t realize came from him until he opened his eyes to find Castiel looking down at him, seemingly slightly out of breath.
“No… No, don’t stop…” Dean nudged his hips up and broke out in an uncontrolled shiver when he felt Cas press up against his thigh, hard under the layers of fabric between them. He yanked at the tie, pulling the other down for another bruising kiss, moaning when the feeling against his prostate returned, slower and softer, but still there.
“Tell me...” he growled. “Tell me what you’re doing to me, Cas...”
Blue eyes narrowed, blue light crackling like lightning along lust blown pupils.
“I’m focusing my grace to cause friction against your prostate gland…” Castiel’s voice was rough and gravelly, and Dean’s eyes fluttered close when the sound of it moved against his lips. “I’m using it to stimulate you to climax…”
“You’re using your grace to fuck me, aren’t you?” Dean moaned, lips tilting up in a little smirk. “That’s what this is, right? Grace-fucking…”
Cas’ head fell down as the other released a low growl against Dean’s neck, raw and primal as if the word Dean had just used was the most filthiest thing he had ever heard.
“Yes…” he rasped.
“Does it get you off?” Dean breathed. “Does it make you hard?”
“ Yes…! ”
Releasing the tie, Dean squeezed his hand down in between their bodies, and Castiel let out another throaty moan against his clavicle as he began fumbling to undo the fly of Castiel’s slacks. It took some effort, but he succeeded, his hand trembling slightly as he wiggled his fingers inside the narrow opening. He could feel the outline of the other’s erection twitch against the pads of his fingers through the cotton underwear as he slowly traced them up and down the length, causing Castiel to shudder and slump forward, the motion against Dean’s prostate faltering.
“Don’t you want to try it the traditional way?” Dean whispered, rubbing his palm over the head of him, rocking his own hips up.
Castiel stilled, his head buried in the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder. For a few, horrifying moments, Dean was convinced that he had managed to ruin it. That he had crossed whatever invisible line that could possibly exist whilst having an angel offering you magic orgasms, but then Castiel let out a quivering, painfully slow breath against his skin.
“Dean…” he murmured, “We don’t— Not for my sake…”
“Oh, shut up.” Dean shoved his hand further down Castiel’s trousers, wrapping his fingers around the erection he found there through the thin material of the other’s boxers, making Castiel hiss.
“You said you were tired of denying me what I want. Well, I want this .” He dragged blunt fingertips down the tip of the clothed cock, making the angel gasp. “I want you inside me. Hard, deep and solid. You can do what you want with me, I don’t even care. I want you , Cas.” He let go, pulling his hand back and out demonstratively. “So what’s it gonna be?”
The hot beat of Castiel’s breath left his neck as the angel sat up slowly, and for the second time Dean was convinced that he had pushed the line too far. Then Castiel looked down at him through his lashes and Dean’s stomach drew together tight, because there was a dangerous gleam in the bottom of those blue orbs that he had not seen before. He swallowed hard when Castiel leaned down towards his face, his lip pulled up in a low snarl.
“You better be sure about this…” he warned. Dean shuddered, an electric quiver rushing up his spine at the growl in Castiel’s voice. “I don’t wish to hurt you.”
“What, you think I can’t take it?” Dean asked challengingly, swallowing down his nervousness. “If you’ve been spying on me then you’ve seen me touch myself haven’t you? You know how much I can handle.”
He ran his hands slowly up and down the angel’s thighs, kneading them firmly.
“C’mon Cas, you’re as ready to go as I am… Don’t you wanna fuck me?”
“No.”
Dean scowled, opening his mouth to ask what the hell he meant by that, but Castiel’s hands closed around his wrists, holding them still against the muscle of his legs.
“I don’t want to fuck you, Dean,” he declared firmly. “Such a word would be an insult for the things I wish to do to you.”
He leaned down and for a moment Dean thought the angel was going to kiss him, but instead Castiel’s lips came to a rest just next to his ear, pressing in against his temple.
“I want to take you apart,” he whispered. “I want to make you come undone beneath my hands as I worship the very atoms of your existence. I will kiss away the scars on your soul until there’s nothing left but pleasure, and bliss, and then I’m going to put you back together again, better, stronger than ever before… I wish to ruin you forever. To make you crave me the way I crave you, but I can’t do that, Dean… Not without your consent, so I need you to be sure .”
The lips against Dean’s ear moved, ghosting over his cheek until they stopped to hover over his lips.
“Are you sure?”
Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly bone dry, but there was only one answer;, had always only been one answer.
“Yes,” he breathed, his hips thrusting up impatiently, the slow writhing of his own body against the angel above him making his blood boil. “Yes, I’m sure.” He tugged at the hands holding him captive, his head falling back with a frustrated groan when they wouldn’t as much as budge from their spot around his wrists.
“Touch me,” he winced. “I want your hands, Cas… Want you to take me apart just like you said… God, I’ve wanted you for so long…!”
He wasn’t aware of the fact that he had closed his eyes before the growl from above made them fly open, and then, Jesus Christ, there were fingers tearing at his shirt. Before he had the chance to draw another breath he was lying shirtless with an angel’s lips suckling greedily at his left nipple while a strong hand reached down and cupped him firmly through his jeans, making his hips jerk and caused the air to catch in his throat.
“Get these off,” Castiel ordered. Dean’s hands flew to the buckle of his belt, fumbling in his eagerness to get it open. He was still struggling to slip the prong out of the holes in the leather when Castiel decided that he had been given enough time. Two seconds later, both jeans and belt were lying at the bottom of the bed, the metal of Dean’s belt buckle slightly bent where the force of the angel’s hand had clasped around it.
A revering ‘Shit…’ was all Dean managed to get out before Castiel was on him again, all hot mouth and inhumanely strong hands. Dean’s fingers closed around the front of Castiel’s shirt, tugging pointedly and in return there was a low groan of affirmation breathed into his mouth. He heard the sharp sound of thread tearing along the distant sound of buttons hitting the floor when the white fabric was torn open beneath his hands mere seconds later, and dear god, that was two garments within the span of less than a minute, and Dean couldn’t even remember the last time he had been this turned on from anything in his life !
His hands scrambled across the span of the now bare chest before him, dipping under the edges of fluttering, white cotton, nails raking down softly and catching on the edge of a hard nipple, causing a startled moan to tear out of Castiel’s lungs.
“Hurry up,” he panted. “I need you naked Cas… Can’t get you inside me with your pants still on…”
Castiel grimaced, his lip pulling up and his nose scrunching in a displeased frown, as if the thought about getting up and off of the human beneath him was the most unappealing suggestion he had ever heard. He obliged with a low grunt nonetheless, and soon the dark suit pants and boxers were lying piled on top of Dean’s jeans on the floor.
As the angel turned around, moving in to lie down on top of him once more, Dean took the window of opportunity to sit up and push at the angel’s shoulder, urging him backwards instead.
“Lie down,” he ushered. Castiel went willingly with the push of Dean’s hand until he was lying back against the mattress, looking up at him with eyes sharp and dark like blue tinted obsidian. Dean moved, straddling the angel’s legs to run his hands up the now naked thighs, fingertips curling and tracing the edge of hip bones when they reached as far, purposely ignoring the erection standing tall in their way.
Castiel, who was still wearing his partially ruined shirt, watched as Dean continued to roam his hands over his body; trailing them across his stomach, up his ribs and over his chest, sliding under his collar to knead at the top of his shoulders before moving back down again.
It was surreal, to finally have this, like this. If Dean hadn’t known any better he would have said that he was sleeping, because the sight before him seemed plucked straight out of one of his own dreams.
Castiel… His Castiel….
“Been wanting to do this forever…” he smirked. Before Castiel had the chance to ask what he was referring to, Dean slid his mouth down over the angel’s erection, and Castiel hands dug into the sheets by his sides, mouth opening in a silent ‘Oh’ that made Dean’s own cock twitch heavily between his legs.
Humming, he allowed his teeth to grace the base of the flesh in his mouth. This time the sound falling from the angel’s lips was not as silent as Castiel’s hips bucked, one of his hands shooting down to fist harshly amongst the hairs at the top of Dean’s head.
Had it not been for the firm grip he held over Castiel’s thighs Dean would most likely have ended up being choked then, but as it was, he was able to tighten the pressure of his hands, allowing the length of Cas’ cock to simply slide further into his mouth. He pinned the angel to the bed until the length of him hit the back of his throat, again, and again, while the other’s nails raked over his scalp in seemingly blind desperation.
He could have kept it up forever, he really could—feeling this warrior of heaven crumble beneath the slide of his mouth and tongue until there was nothing left but a quivering mess of pliant muscles and panting breaths—but frustratingly enough, his body was not as enthusiastic about the thought as his brain was. He needed air, and he pulled off with a wet gasp, feeling a few of his hairs being yanked out by the roots when he tore himself away from the suddenly punishing grip of Castiel’s fist.
The snarling reprimand he had been about to utter, however, promptly died on his tongue when he looked up and saw the completely wrecked expression of the angel’s face. Eyes shut and mouth open, eyebrows knotted together in almost agonizing pleasure. Instead, his lip pulled up in a lewd smirk, allowing his tongue to swipe out and lick at the mess of precum and saliva gathered at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, feels good doesn’t it?” he mused. Castiel eyes squinted open, regarding him with an almost rudely dazed expression.
“You know what will feel even better?” Dean insisted, picking at the angel’s attention, and Castiel shook his head, breath panting. Dean reached out, taking hold of the hand that had been latched onto his head mere moments ago, bringing it to his mouth and licking lazily over the length of three fingers.
“How about you get me opened up and I’ll show you…?”
Sitting back on his heels he then moved around to stand on all fours in invitation, but before he managed to fully settle his weight onto the bed there was a tight grip around his left bicep, pulling and basically shoving him down onto his back again.
“No,” Castiel growled, sending the wild flutter in Dean’s stomach soaring to an entirely new level of excited. “You will face me as I stake my claim on you.”
Dean nodded, of course he nodded, what else was he possibly supposed to do when told something like that? Even though Castiel’s expression softened into something less predatory in response to his reaction, his eyes were still glowing with that same, primal thirst when his hand moved down, slickened fingers disappearing out of Dean’s sight.
When he felt the first, tentative press against his entrance he stiffened, the sensation of having someone else touching him in such an intimate place being utterly unfamiliar, because honestly, Dean had never done this with anyone else. Only Castiel.
In the safety of his own fantasies it had been easy to imagine them doing this. To think of Castiel’s touch on him while he hid his lust for his friend in the dead of night; shielded by shabby covers or the hot spray of a rattling motel shower. Only and ever was it Castiel who did this to him. Only them, together inside his head, but never had those fantasies carried such an amazing thrill such as this.
“I’ve seen you do this to yourself,” the angel murmured, as if reading his mind, and fuck, maybe he was, Dean couldn’t possibly tell. “I’ve heard you wring pleasure from your fingers so many times… yet not being able to reach the satisfaction which you truly wanted…”
Dean gasped, feeling the angel’s finger circle the furled rim of him, slowly, lazily and… fuck, the angel was actually teasing him, god dammit!
“Cas, just get the lube out of my bag so we can—” he started, but he was rudely cut off when Castiel apparently decided that he was done teasing and thrusted his finger in to the hilt in one quick push. Dean gasped, preparing to let out an ear shattering scream of pain, but instead the sound which emerged from his throat was a strangled, surprised whimper as the agony he had been expecting from such a rude, basically dry breach remained noticeably absent.
“W-wha-…? How did you…?” Openly staring, he craned his neck, bewildered eyes desperately trying to see what the angel was doing to him, but without success. His head tipped back against his will when Castiel proceeded to pull his finger out, leaving only an empty clench behind as he held up his hand so that Dean could see, and dear Lord, did he see...
Castiel’s fingers—no, scratch that; his entire hand—was glowing! Not like a lamp or anything, heavens no. Instead there was a faint shimmer to his skin, as if the very cells within it had come alive and was now spinning rapidly beneath the surface, the movement seemingly kindling the grace rushing through the angel’s veins, like stars whirling through a galaxy.
It didn’t last long, because as soon as Castiel made sure that Dean had registered what was going on he was moving again, slipping three whole fingers inside with little to no effort at all. It stretched and it pressed, thick and unyielding as Dean was prepped, the pace slow and gentle even as he was shielded from all sorts of physical discomfort thanks to Castiel’s grace. Still, it was a strange and unfamiliar feeling, and Dean writhed on the bed, panting from the effort of willing his body to relax.
Damnit, if the angel mojo could be used to make sex like this practically painless, then why the hell didn’t Castiel just apply some of that glowing stuff to his dick and fuck him properly already?
“Because…” Castiel answered, and yeah the angel was definitely reading his mind now, “… if I did that, I wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to do this.”
And with that, he curled the digits upward, pressing the pads of his fingers against Dean’s prostate in swift repetition, startling a breathless litany of curses from the human’s mouth. In mere seconds Dean was tossing his head from side to side, fingers curling into the sheets beneath his body while breathless groans of pleasure ripped out of his throat along with a string of other noises that he would never in his life admit to having made. He was flushing, burning hot all over with goosebumps prickling his flesh, and fuck it if he wouldn’t be able to come like this. Just like this, with Castiel’s fingers shoved deep inside him, and those freaky, glow-y angel digits playing him like a motherfucking instrument.
Then it all stopped, again , just as quickly as it had begun as Castiel stilled, fingers returning to simply scissoring him open, avoiding the throbbing bundle of nerves inside him with a cold and almost cruel accuracy.
“You see, I too have been wanting to do that… forever,” Castiel mumbled, cleverly using Dean’s own words against him, but Dean could only gasp in return. He pulled greedy mouthfuls of air into his lungs as he arched up, heels pushing into the mattress for support while he tried his best to grind down onto the fingers still inside him, urging Cas to do that to him again. It turned out to be a futile attempt, because Castiel, the bastard, only followed with the movement, not giving him as much as a shallow rub for his efforts. Just more stretching and teasing that dragged a strangled groan of frustration from Dean’s lips. Where the fuck had the angel learned to be such a sadist anyway?
“From you, I reckon,” Castiel provided helpfully.
“How about you stop screwing with my head and get down to actually screwing me instead?” Dean snapped back. Castiel chuckled, and the sound of that dark rumble sent tremors up Dean’s spine. When the angel pulled his fingers out, Dean immediately decided that they needed something to replace them with. Right now.
“Put my legs on your shoulders,” he instructed, feet already rising. Castiel did as he was told, leaning forward to support his weight against the mattress , nearly bending the human beneath him in half.
“You sure this is how you want it?” the angel asked, and Dean rolled his eyes because really, this was taking way too much time.
“Cas, if you ask me if I’m sure one more time, I’m going to kick you off the goddamn bed,” Dean snapped impatiently. Castiel’s eyes narrowed, giving him a scrutinizing look that made Dean wish he could grab hold of the words and shove them back inside his mouth again; even more so when he spotted the silent, smug twitch at the corner of the angel’s mouth.
“As you wish then…”
The little warning barely had time to sink in before Dean felt himself get filled; impossibly, horribly and wonderfully so in between the span of one choked out gasp and the next. Castiel obviously wasn’t stalling anymore, and sweet Jesus, the strength in those hips, holy shit!
Dean had engaged in plenty of sex in his lifetime. He had done the slow, the sweet, the wild, the rough, the slightly twisted—which he had only gone along with since he was more than sufficiently drunk, and the chick had been kind of hot. He had done everything , but all of it, every one night stand and every short term relationship paled and shrunk into the distance when compared to the way Castiel was driving into him right now.
It was raw, it was rough, it was borderline animalistic and Dean fucking loved it.
He loved the way Castiel was holding him down, hands in a tight grip over his shoulder as he pushed him into the mattress, folding him deeper and deeper down over himself with each relentless thrust. Dean knew that he was probably screaming; howling his goddamn throat hoarse in sheer ecstasy, but neighbours be damned, he wouldn’t be able to stop even if he wanted to.
Castiel didn’t pull out in between the thrusts, not in that graphic way they always did in the countless pornos that existed around the world. Fuck, he barely pulled back at all. Instead he simply rocked into him, rubbing and grinding hard against Dean’s sweet spot over and over, never leaving, never breaking contact, and Dean was going mad. Such pleasure could not exist, shouldn’t be physically possible, and sure as hell shouldn’t be fucking legal because this could kill a person! Dear god, he was convinced that it was actually going to kill him in just a matter of minutes.
Sweat had begun to gather at the dip of his clavicle, tiny beads pearling and glistening on his skin. He gulped for breath, trying desperately to inhale the air his body craved as sounds continued to punch out of his chest in time with Castiel’s thrusts. The blood was roaring in his ears, a continuous white noise that blocked out everything else around him, and he was losing himself in it, the pleasure threatening to swallow him whole. It was amazing, in every possible sense, but in spite of it he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right, that something was missing. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he realized what it was.
Castiel was quiet
Too quiet.
“Cas…?”
Dean reached out, grappling and carding his trembling fingers through the angel’s hair, fighting to keep his eyes open as he gripped and tugged, forcing Castiel’s face up into the light. The sight that met his eyes as he did so made his heart stutter.
Castiel was gone .
His eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth nothing but a sharp, thin line while his throat and jaw worked, swallowing down whatever noises Dean could imagine were trying to break free from the confinements of the angel’s mouth.
“Cas,” he repeated, a bit louder this time. Castiel opened his eyes, sending barely as much as a squint in Dean’s direction The glimpse of blue that shone back at him then was enough to free Dean’s heart from its paralysis and send it galloping around the inside of his ribcage once more. Castiel’s eyes actually glowed ; like molten stars against a night sky, and sweet Jesus, Castiel was holding back …!
“Holy shit…”
Castiel’s body gave a violent shudder in response to his voice, and the fingers against Dean’s shoulders twitched.
“It’s… harder…” The words were low, barely capable of carrying the short distance from the angel’s lips to Dean’s ears, but when they did they sparked a flame in Dean’s gut so intense it made white lights flash before his eyes.
“So much harder …” Castiel repeated, a tremor wrecking through the last word and rendering it almost unrecognizable. “I wasn’t expecting... I didn’t know that—”
Another hard roll underlined the shattered words falling from Castiel’s lips; a sharp contradiction to the almost helpless moan that followed with the action. Dean could feel the heat spiking, licking hot flames of desire up his spine in vicious stabs of blissful light, and shit, he wasn’t going to last much longer.
“ I’m close…” He moaned, desperately trying to get the message across. “Cas, you— You gotta— Oh God, I’m gonna—“
“Dean…” Castiel’s voice was wrecked , just above that of a whimper. His hips stuttered, speeding up in response to Dean’s pleas—or simply because he couldn’t hold on anymore, Dean didn’t know, he didn’t care because it was just what he needed. It was just right and so, oh so good!
“It’s okay… it’s okay, just let go…” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure if the words were meant for himself or the angel above him. “I wanna see you come, Cas... I wanna see it…”
“Dean, be quiet …” Castiel forced the words out between his teeth, but it wasn’t an order as much as a plea. Dean could feel the tiny hairs beneath the hand he kept resting against the nape of the angel’s neck rise in a surge of bewildered excitement in response to his voice.
“I want to see your face… when you empty yourself inside me…” Dean rambled on, not because he was ignoring the other’s words, but simply because he couldn’t stop . The words came tumbling out of his mouth in a stream of noises that he couldn’t have held back even if he wanted to.
“I want to see your eyes… Wanna see ev-everything…” The hand on Castiel’s neck shot up to fist roughly in the angel’s hair, desperate and frantic. “Oh fuck…” he breathed, eyes widening as they sought out the heavenly blue above him, “Oh fuck Cas, I’m coming… I’m gonna c— Cas… Cas …!
It seemed to happen all at once. Dean’s back arched with a loud cry, and Castiel released a wounded groan when Dean’s come splattered against both of their chests in a series of thick, white stripes. Dean’s legs slipped off the angel’s shoulders with a soft thud, the climax still shattering through his mind as Castiel kept rutting against him, hard and frantic, lost in a surge of desperate pleasure.
He felt Castiel reach out a hand, scrambling in search across the sheets until he finally found and entangled his fingers with Dean’s, gripping tight ( grippedyoutighthegrippedmetight ). His head fell down with a greedy press of lips against Dean’s neck, mouthing incoherent words of blissful nonsense over the skin in sharp, ragged breaths that made Dean’s entire body shake, and then everything just went white.
Truth to be told it wasn’t even a colour, but ‘white’ was the only thing that Dean could think off because ‘nothing’ and ‘everything’ were far too complicated words to describe the thing that filled up the motel room along with the angel’s climax. It bled through the blinds in the window, crept into the cracks of the wooden floor, and just before Dean was forced to close his eyes against it all he could have sworn that he saw the silhouette of something larger—something strong and almost solid that spanned across the ceiling—sprouting from the angel’s back in two elegant and horribly impossible arches. He felt Castiel’s fingers squeeze his, and every single hair on his body stood to attention when the angel let out a sound right next to his ear. A strangled, animalistic moan, all hot breath and slack jaw over his skin that slowly morphed into a choked out whimper. He could actually feel the final, trembling surge of Castiel’s orgasm as it rippled through the air, leaving behind a faint scent of ozone, like fresh summer rain on hot soil.
When he dared open his eyes again, his gaze immediately went over Castiel’s shoulder, an exhilarated hope flashing through his gut that what he thought he saw—fuck, he didn’t dare think it; the thought itself being almost too much—would still be there. But the vision was gone, nothing left for him to see but empty space and a cracked, stained plastered ceiling.
With a start he realized that there were something wet trailing down the left side of his face, and he quickly wiped the treacherous tear away with a hard drag across his cheek. Swallowing, he let his hand fall down, hesitating for a moment before he began to drag lingering fingers through Castiel’s hair.
He stilled when he felt the male form splayed over his chest breath out a whine against his shoulder, and Dean turned his head in search of the face still buried in the crook of his neck.
“Hey…?”
Jesus Christ, his voice was totally fucked out ; he wouldn’t be able to make a phone call for a week!
“Are you okay?” he rasped, forcing his vocal chords to function at least somewhat properly. Again the only response he got was that low, strung out noise and a shudder that seemed to travel through every nerve of Castiel’s body.
Okay, this was becoming worrying very quickly, but just as he was about to sit up and command the other to roll off of him, to tell him what the hell was wrong, Castiel’s grip on his hand tightened, holding him down as if knowing precisely what the human was planning.
“Stay.”
A whisper of a breath, throaty and hoarse, but not an order. Castiel was asking him, and even if Dean couldn’t understand where in the world the angel had thought he would go, Dean obliged, letting his weight settle down onto the bed once more as his free hand moved up and rest on the nape of the angel’s neck.
“We should clean up,” he pointed out.
“Later,” came the drowsy reply.
“Dude, I’m leaking ,” Dean grimaced. At that Castiel actually raised his head to look at him, as if he hadn’t fully realized that Dean was still lying underneath him and was now trying to figure out exactly how he had ended up there in the first place. Then his eyes widened, some of the fuzz disappearing from his gaze as his gaze dipped down to look sheepishly at the mess trickling down from in between their bellies.
“Oh,” he said, sounding just as dumbstruck as he looked, and Dean couldn’t help but snicker at him.
“C’mon,” he prompted. “It’s a quick fix, right? Just snap your fingers or whatever it is you guys do.”
“That’s hardly a dignified gesture,” Cas muttered while slowly moving up, pulling out of him with a soft sigh that made Dean’s legs spasm.
“Listen, do whatever gesture you want as long as you get us clean ,” Dean grimaced, feeling the hot, sticky remains of Castiel’s release trickle out of his ass. “This is getting gross, and I still have to sleep in this bed tonight.”
He didn’t get further than ‘have to sleep’ before he found himself lying smooth and dry in the middle of the bed with Castiel slotted up against his side, head resting against Dean’s chest. The faint scent of detergent in the air informed him that the sheets beneath them were now cleaner than when he and Sam had first arrived.
“Wow, remind me never to accuse you of not being thorough,” he grinned. He could both see and feel the subtle smile Castiel’s lips moved into in return, sending up a whirl of butterflies inside Dean’s stomach.
“So…” he cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling. “Did you… Like, was it… good?” he asked, feeling a nauseous twist wring his gut as soon as the words left his mouth, suddenly more than a little bit nervous to what the other’s answer might be.
“I mean, you came,” he clarified hurriedly, “so apparently it worked well enough, but… you know, did you… enjoy it?”
“Dean,” Castiel murmured, his breath ghosting over Dean’s skin in a soft sigh. “Ask the question you want to ask. Don’t waste time trying to disguise it as something else.”
Well, that made Dean’s mouth shut faster than a slap to the face. For the longest time he just laid there, staring at the pattern of questionable ceiling stains above him, trying to will his nerves down. Castiel probably knew what he was going to ask already, he was fairly sure, but he didn’t want to rely on that alone. He opened his mouth, taking a breath, and then he closed it again, letting the air out through his nose in a slow sigh.
“Would you like to do it again?” he asked, words hurried and voice low. “With me, some other time?”
“Yes,” came the simple response. Dean licked his lips.
“Would it mean anything? To you I mean?”
“Of course.”
Dean nodded, teeth worrying his lower lip and gnawing at the skin there for a good long minute.
“Why?” he asked eventually, the hoarse strain of his voice suddenly sounding a hundred times worse. Castiel shifted, but instead of answering, he simply let his hand slide across Dean’s ribs, up to rest it atop of the human’s heart.
It started as a tingle, a pleasurable tremor that grew warmer and more intense with every passing second until an almost painful sense of affection was pulsing through Dean’s veins, making his chest clench and his heart to ache with the mere sincerity of it. He had to grit his teeth not to let out a strangled whimper as the love he felt radiating from the angel by his side almost brought tears to his eyes.
After a few seconds it faded, leaving a glow behind that felt like a piece of molten amber in the center of his chest. Castiel sighed; a content little noise that gently pulled Dean back to reality, where the angel had now seemingly decided that the dip in between Dean’s shoulder and torso was the most angel-friendly pillow in the whole bed, and was now nuzzling his face into it as far as he possibly could.
It was almost laughable. Forty minutes ago the very same angel had been standing by the edge of Dean’s bed; an Angel of the Lord, Warrior of God, an entity as unreachable and distant as the farthest planet, yet here Dean was, with that very same creature lying sprawled over his chest like the world's most affectionate kitten, and yeah, that analogy was actually pretty damn funny.
“Hey,” Dean poked a finger against the angel’s shoulder blade. When Castiel raised his head from Dean’s chest to give him a squinted look, Dean glanced over to the side with a grin. Castiel followed his gaze until his eyes landed on the rectangular, wooden box still sitting atop the bedside table.
“Please?” Dean asked sweetly.
Castiel sighed, almost making Dean laugh out loud when he watched the angel give an exasperated eye roll to the ceiling before narrowing his eyes at the box. With a started jerk the bed began to shake, the whirr of the machinery attached to frame beneath sending loud vibrations surging through the mattress.
“Awesome…” Dean beamed. He was fairly certain that even if Castiel tried to look as if he thought Dean was the biggest child in the entire universe, the angel was secretly taking pleasure from making him smile. Sighing contently, he hooked his ankle around Castiel’s calf and pulled, forcing the angel’s leg closer to tangle with his, as he let his hand sneak up to play with the dark curls at the back of the other’s in faked absentmindedness. Castiel responded by ghosting his lips against Dean’s neck, the tip of his index finger brushing along the furled edge of the handprint on the Dean’s left arm in slow, tender swipes.
And so it turned out—as Sam were to shockingly discover thirty seven minutes later—that calling in your celestial assets to fix broken motel equipment for you wasn’t such a morally bad decision after all.