Chapter Text
Castiel freezes up for a moment, and Dean looks into the wide blue eyes, seeing all the angel’s fears reflected there. In his mind, he hears Cas saying, I hurt you terribly. I can’t help remembering…
“It’s okay,” he says softly, trying to reassure the other man. “It’s okay, Cas.”
Cas gives a shudder that rolls through his human body, and then through his wings. He pulls away, causing Dean to whimper involuntarily at the loss of his warm, heavy body, and runs his fingers through the oily moisture on Dean’s stomach. His fingers trail down, very slowly, and Dean lets his thighs part, gives himself over entirely to Cas, just as Cas gave himself to Dean last time.
He wants to be dominated, controlled. Overpowered.
Which doesn’t seem to make much sense, considering what’s gone down between the two of them. But maybe it makes plenty of sense, when he really thinks about it. He knows that Cas is a being of immense power, so much stronger than Dean is that he couldn’t possibly defend himself if Cas tried to hurt him again. So for them to move forward from here, he really needs to trust Cas, to believe that Cas would never hurt him voluntarily. He needs to believe that completely, and the only way that’s going to happen is if he can bring himself to allow Cas to take control.
Cas presses a finger against his opening, very gently, and Dean moans, because he needs more. So much more. Cas’ finger, slippery with oil, slides inside him, and Dean gives a soft whimper. Despite his best efforts, his body clenches, resisting the intrusion, and Cas hesitates.
“Please.” Dean isn’t sure if he’s begging for more, or if he’s just begging for Cas to get on with it before he loses his nerve. “Please, Cas, please…”
Cas moves the finger in shallow thrusts, and Dean groans at the pleasure of it. He’s still pretty new at the guy thing, really. He’s kissed a few pretty boys, even made out and gotten kind of handsy with one. But when he and Cas got together the first time, he was pretty much a guy virgin. He’d fallen into the role of topping pretty easily, both because it was hot as fuck to watch a billion-year-old angel begging, submitting to him, and because the role of being the one who penetrates his sexual partner is what he’s used to.
But letting another guy top him, penetrate him, dominate him… well, the idea is kind of unsettling all on its own. Throw in the fact that it’s Cas, and he’s definitely a little unnerved.
Okay, scared shitless.
But Cas is moving his finger inside him, in slow, careful thrusts, and it feels really good. Better than you’d expect, really. It’s not like he’s totally new to this—he’s been with several women who knew how to stimulate his prostate well enough to blow the top of his head off, and he plays around with the back door sometimes when he jerks off, just to mix things up a bit. But there’s something about the hesitant, cautious way Cas is doing it that makes him unbearably hard.
Cas is being so damn careful not to hurt him, taking so much care with him. It makes Dean’s eyes mist up.
Damn it, he’s turning into a girl.
Cas slides in a second finger, slowly, carefully, and Dean’s hard-on twitches against his stomach, gushing precome. He hears himself sobbing Cas’ name, moaning, begging, more damn it dude come on I’m dyin’ here, but Cas isn’t going to allow himself to be rushed. His fingers stretch Dean deliberately, scissoring and exploring with a gentle thoroughness that’s rapidly driving Dean insane. His fingers are slick and hot with oil, and it feels so damn good, but all Dean can think about is what it’s going to be like when Cas is inside him.
The thought makes his heart skip a beat. He’s still scared, but he’s so damn turned on that he can’t focus on the fear. He can’t focus on anything except the feel of Cas working him open, caressing him from the inside.
Cas adds a third finger, stretching him almost unbearably, and Dean’s hands scrabble for purchase, digging into the grass, clenching it in his fists. He’s totally open to Cas, vulnerable, exposed. Ready to be fucked.
Cas’ fingers brush lightly across his sweet spot, making precome spill out onto his stomach the way moisture is probably spilling out of Cas’ oil glands, and he utters a helpless sound of pleasure, a long sighing ahhhhhh, because his brain is shorting out and there are no words left, no thoughts, only the pleasure of being finger fucked—no, being made love to-- and the urgent, driving desire for more.
Cas strokes him, slowly, deliberately, for long moments, while Dean writhes on the grass and groans helplessly. He’s past fear. He’s nothing now but sensation and heat and craving need.
And then Cas withdraws his fingers. Dean feels suddenly empty, bereft, and he forces his eyelids open.
“Cas.” His voice is high-pitched and pitiful, almost a whimper, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Cas… please… please…”
Cas rubs his hand across Dean’s abdomen again. His long eyelashes flutter down, veiling his bright eyes, and he wraps his oily hand around his own cock—which, Dean notices, is pretty damn big—and begins to stroke himself. Dean knows Cas is just making sure he’s all lubed up, but still, the sight of Cas touching himself is incredibly hot. But that’s not what he wants. He wants Cas inside him, not jerking off in front of him.
He wants Cas to take him.
He wants to be taken.
He whimpers again, a soft, needy sound, and Cas lets go of himself and leans over him. He grasps Dean’s legs, lifts them, and hooks his ankles over his shoulders, spreading Dean wide—and where the hell did an angel of the Lord learn that?—and then he moves his hips, pressing the head of his cock right up against Dean’s tender flesh.
Curse words spill freely from Dean’s mouth, and that odd, organlike sound thrums from Cas’ chest again. Dean can't quite imagine what the choral music of the heavenly host might sound like, but clearly Cas is in the baritone section. It’s a low, throbbing sound, as much vibration as music, and Dean can feel it right down to his bones.
Cas doesn’t move, just holds their bodies in that position, so close to penetration that Dean could weep with frustration. He can’t do a damn thing in this position, can’t grab Cas by the neck and drag him closer, can’t reach his oil glands, or even his wings, which are held out to the sides, out of reach. He clutches Cas’ hands, which are on his hips, and more swear words fall from his mouth, along with a lot of frantic begging. I need this, man, I need it now or I’m gonna die, goddamnit, come on, Cas, fuck me, fuck me…
Cas moves, just a bit, and the head of his cock slips into Dean. It feels so big, so intrusive, and yet it’s exactly what he needs-- those taut muscles stretched, those sensitive nerves stimulated, the aching emptiness filled. It burns a little, but in a very good way. He sobs, breathless with pleasure, and his dick pulses against his stomach, spilling out more precome. The scent of sandalwood and vanilla fills the air, and he knows Cas is just as turned on as he is.
“Is… that… all right?”
Cas sounds like he’s struggling to form words, and Dean nods frantically.
“S’good, man—don’t stop—don’t stop—"
Cas slides into him another inch, and they moan in unison. Cas’ wings are fluttering now, rippling as if he’s trying to control them, but failing. Dean wishes he could reach them, plunge his fingers into the blue depths, drive Cas crazy with his touch, but he realizes Cas is probably holding them back on purpose so as not to frighten him.
He’s not scared, though. He’s really not. He wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything, want Cas, and his desperate physical need has completely overpowered his remaining fear.
Cas gives a little thrust, sinking further inside him, and Dean cries out, shuddering with pleasure.
“Yeah… fuck… just like that…”
Cas does it again, and again, sinking further into Dean with each thrust, until he’s balls-deep, buried in Dean right to the hilt. And then he stops again. Dean opens his eyes to see Cas’s head thrown back, his eyes clenched shut, his teeth bared. His dark hair is more rumpled than ever, and his bangs hang, damp and messy, over his forehead.
He looks so damn human—well, except for the massive wings stretched out on either side of him. The wings are fucking amazing, shimmering blue and silver in the sunlight, quivering with tightly controlled energy.
Wide-eyed, Dean stares at the angel, his angel, drinking in the sight of him. He thinks that no matter what happens in the future, he will never forget this moment, this precious instant in time when Cas was all his.
Cas draws a shuddering breath, and then he slowly withdraws, almost all the way, and begins thrusting in earnest. Dean cries out, clutching Cas’ hands, as pleasure washes over him with every thrust. Cas must like the sensation too, because his wings move forward, surrounding Dean, gently brushing him with feathers. Unable to stop himself, Dean reaches out with both hands and begins to stroke the enormous wings.
And Cas sings.
The music that rises from his chest is so much more than the low, rumbling sound he was making before, and it doesn't sound blasphemous. It sounds holy. It’s totally inhuman, deep and mellow, impossibly beautiful. There are no words, only melody and harmony somehow created by an ordinary human larynx that ought not to be capable of it, twining together into a lovely, complex whole. It sounds like nothing Dean has ever heard before, more complicated than a symphony, more sacred than a cantata, more emotionally affecting than Led Zeppelin.
The sound brings tears to Dean’s eyes. Cas, he realizes, is letting him see as much of his true self as he possibly can. The wings, the oil, the music…
Cas is sharing more than sex with him. He’s sharing everything he possibly can, struggling to bridge the vast gulf between human and angel.
Dean wishes this could last forever, but Cas is thrusting into him, faster and faster, while the song increases in tempo and volume. Dean is overwhelmed, both by the pleasure of being penetrated, and by the song and the wings and—well, by Cas. He’s catching a faint glimpse of what Cas truly is, seeing a hint of the angel behind the human mask, and it’s genuinely awe-inspiring.
He's also rapidly losing the ability to think. Cas fills his body as the wings surround him, blotting out the world. The song fills his head and the scent of the oil fills his nostrils.
He’s lost in Cas.
Cas’ thrusts become harder, faster, more brutal, until Dean is so overwhelmed he can’t seem to draw a breath. His stomach is taut with need, his cock rock-hard, pulsing relentlessly with each thrust, and fire races through his veins with every motion of Cas’ body. In this position, Cas’ cock strokes him inside, precisely where he needs it most, and he’s dripping precome with every hard thrust, sobbing with the pleasure of it. He’s pretty sure he’s going to climax without a touch to his cock, and just the thought of Cas fucking him to completion is almost enough to send him over the edge.
“Cas,” he moans, trying to catch Cas’ hips, to force him move even faster. “Cas, please…”
“No, Dean.” The music cuts off, and Cas catches his arms and pins them down, very gently but very firmly, on the grass, his hands unbreakable manacles on Dean’s wrists. The blue eyes look down at him sternly. “You’ll come when I decide it’s time. Not before.”
A small, icy finger of fear strokes its way down Dean’s spine, but he ignores it easily enough. He’s not really afraid anyway, not any more. Intellectually, he’s known all along that it wasn’t really Cas hurting him that night in the crypt, but now he's pretty sure he’s accepted it emotionally too.
At any rate, he wants very much to submit to Cas. Maybe it’s the huge, awesome wings. Maybe it’s the natural order of things, the weaker human submitting to the powerful angel.
Or maybe he just trusts Cas that much, and wants to make sure they both know it.
He opens his eyes and meets Cas’ gaze, trying to convey to him exactly how much he trusts him, how much he’d do for him, how readily he’d die for him. “Okay,” he says softly. “You’re the boss.”
Cas hesitates for a moment, looking surprised, as if he hadn't really expected Dean to grant him so much power, to trust him so freely. Then he begins moving again, slowly and deliberately, still holding Dean beneath him, helpless, motionless. The Heavenly music begins to rise again, and Cas thrusts steadily into Dean for long moments, until heat flows through Dean in a never-ending current, making him tremble.
“Cas,” he grates out at last. “Please. Let me… let me touch your wings.”
Cas releases his wrists, and he lifts his hands, burying them in Cas’ wings and holding on, none too gently. The wings wrap around him, and the music soars, and it’s all so beautiful his chest aches. This might not be a real place or a real time, but goddamnit, he wishes he could stay with Cas forever. Here, or anywhere.
At the feel of Dean's hands clutching his wings, Cas seems to lose the last remnants of his self-control. He thrusts hard, giving Dean everything he craves, everything he needs. Dean cries out as his orgasm hits him with tremendous force. His cock jerks violently, spurting come all over his belly, and it’s so good, so hot, so intense. He hangs onto the wings more tightly than before, as if he can somehow bind Cas to him forever, and the song rolls over him, glorious, beautiful, as the wings wrap around him more tightly, and Cas’ body stutters inside him.
Golden light brushes over him, just like last time, and his climax intensifies, the pleasure growing inside him until he can’t bear it.
The last thing he hears before the darkness claims him is the sound of Cas’ angelic singing.
*****
When Dean awakens, it’s dark, and there’s a comfortable softness beneath him that's very different from the slight itchiness of fragrant meadow grass. He rolls over with a groan, aware of a certain soreness in his ass muscles, and stares around wildly, trying to figure out where the hell he is.
His eyes fall on numbers glowing in the darkness, and even through his sleep-blurred vision he can see that they read 4:52 a.m. He's in his hotel room, back where he started. He remembers Cas’ voice, trying to explain the concept of a “extratemporal, noncorporeal projection.”
Not a place. Not a time, either.
Wherever he’d just been with Cas, it wasn’t real.
And yet what the two of them did together, what they felt together, was very real.
"Cas," he whispers into the darkness. There's no answer, but then, he didn't expect one. Cas is still on the lam, trying to keep the precious tablet hidden from the angels, and Dean doesn't know when he'll see him again, or even if he'll see him again. He knows as well as anyone that the heavenly host aren't safe to fuck around with. If they ever catch up to Cas, there's every chance they'll rip him to shreds.
But Cas is smart. He's a warrior, with millennia of fighting experience behind him. He threw off Naomi's mind control, and figured out a safe place to hide. If anyone can keep one step ahead of the horde of heavenly dickbags, it's him.
Even so, Dean's worried about him. But he knows there's not a damn thing he can do to help him. This is Cas' fight, not his.
He sighs, looking around at the empty room. It seems very dark after all that sunshine, and very lonely. Cas evidently used his mojo to clean him off, but he left the soreness behind, probably so Dean would know it hadn’t all been a dream. He's glad to have physical proof it was real. It's a memory he can hang onto for the rest of his life, no matter what might happen.
He feels goosebumps popping up on his skin, and reaches for the blanket. As he does so, he realizes there's something in his hand. He blinks at it in the near-darkness, and sees that it's a feather. Even in the dim light he can see the gleaming silver tip. It's just like the feather he found in the woods, the feather that saved him and Sammy, all those years ago.
Warmth fills him. He shuts his eyes, clutching the feather tightly, and lets the darkness take him back into its embrace. And when he sleeps, he dreams of Cas' wings, just as he always does.
But this time, the dream makes him smile.