DCBB Black Glass pt.15
After the ceremony, after he cut and burned away his precious wings, things changed in his head. He suddenly knew things he had never known before, the feel of the water, its smell, when storms were coming, how deep the ocean was, how high the sky was, how far down the tree roots grew, how long the River Rock people had lived and thrived, how old Lucifer was. He could read the markings on his newly inked flesh, he knew the taste of blood, he knew the scent of fertility though he had never laid with a woman before-yet somehow he had-and he knew when children would be born and if they would be male or female. All this he knew and more.
He had blackouts. He would come to and a predator would be retreating from a squealing child and its mother in the shallows. He would come to with his mouth around Lucifer’s cock, and he would scramble away, choking, ignoring the answering heat in his loins and Lucifer’s mirth. He would come to with his face pressed against a woman’s stomach, round with child. He would be caressing the stretched flesh, murmuring a low chant he didn’t understand, yet he did, and he had to fight the urge to purr aloud when he felt the woman’s hands holding his head steady, running them through his thick hair.
When it happened the first time he had stood quickly, alarmed and ashamed with an apology quick on his lips when Lucifer appeared behind him, shoving him back down with the cryptic command to finish it. He felt the words come to him, albeit slower than before, and Lucifer did not let him stand till he was finished, at least until no more words pounded in his skull, demanding to be set loose.
He knew the words and the actions weren’t his own. After the ceremony, after connecting himself to the River Rock people in more ways than the flesh, he knew those actions belonged to the Other, the old gods his father had once told him about. He thought of them as childhood stories, nothing more, but he found himself believing for the first time.
Lucifer was no help. He was, as always, full of riddles and gilded language. But the people loved him, far more than they should have given the fact that he was still and outsider. He knew now as he knew those countless other things that being an outsider had been significant, just as Lucifer had been an outsider before.
Cas was still an outsider, even after he had stayed long enough for Girl to get her first tattoo; a few lines on her shoulder, one block for five years and two thin lines, short lines for her other two years of life.
Cas’s markings were more extensive, and painful, and more meaningful, and only now was he beginning to truly understand them, especially the trail that began over his navel and ended down in his groin, wrapping around the root of his cock. It meant Life Giver, and he was beginning to wonder its necessity, given that Lucifer had no such marking, let alone any other in the village. He had asked Lucifer of its meaning, but Lucifer had merely laughed and stated that he would learn soon enough. Cas hated the fact that Lucifer’s laugh made him warm on the inside and made him want to roll over and expose himself for Lucifer’s perusal and use. To submit. He did not want to submit. The very idea had him growling aloud. He had never submitted, not even to his mate, his precious Dean. He was sure Dean was still out there somewhere, alive and waiting for him even after so long.
And here he was, stuck and rotting in a village miles from anywhere, waking to find himself lip-locked with a man and with his cock thrust deep inside a woman’s molten core.
He was sullied, he was ruined, he was no longer truly Dean’s, but a niggling voice in his head told him he had been planning for this for years. Who cares if he got his dick wet in the process? Nothing mattered till he had Dean in his arms again.
The air thrummed when he thought of Dean at night.
Those nights he would wander in the stars, searching, or he would find himself with his hands on his cock, imagining Dean’s hands in his stead. It was when he began actively seeking his own pleasure with thoughts of Dean filling his head that the visions stopped, as well as the blackouts, and memories of the previous episodes flooded his brain like the spring rains. It was then that Lucifer came to him and told him the truth, about everything.
“I have been grooming you,” Lucifer said one night when the skies were clear and the noises of the river were calm.
“For what?” Cas asked, thumbing a smaller trail of marks on his upper left thigh that meant Dream Walker.
“To become one with the Other. I believe that’s what they called them in the north. The gods of the Godless,” Lucifer laughed. “There is no place in this world that is godless.”
“Where they hold Dean,” Cas snarled, “that place is godless.”
Lucifer hummed and lounged on his bed of cushions and Cas soon found himself pressed close to the notorious riddle-maker’s side. Lucifer had a scorching hand on his stomach, over Life Giver, and he could have sworn he saw the ink glow beneath Lucifer’s fingertips, sending a throb through his blood.
“Truer words were never spoken,” Lucifer uttered in agreement, and Cas squirmed when Lucifer’s hand pressed harder over his flat stomach.
“You shouldn’t be so uncomfortable around me, Cas, if you remember everything we have done before…together.”
Cas did remember, flashes and pleasured quakes in his mind and flesh, memories of being taken.
“A violation,” Cas hissed, struggling to release himself from Lucifer’s grasp only to find that his body would not listen to his commands. His tattoos burned and his limbs ached and grew heavy, lethargic.
“To you, maybe, but not to the Other inside of you.”
“What do you…?”
“Surely you are not this dim? The Other wouldn’t have chosen you if that were so. Surely you felt it? The moment you stepped foot into the river you belonged to Them.”
“But there is no proof.”
“Think of everything you’ve done in this tribe since the ceremony. Do you honestly mean to tell me that you went around in your past life blessing unborn children?”
Cas fought for a rebuke, but it was as if his mouth had been sewn shut and his words were taken back.
“And your voice,” Lucifer hounded, “surely you found it odd that you, one who had been without words since birth, would then suddenly be able to speak? You shouldn’t be able to speak as well as you do, and you know that. Simply listening to another man talk for years is not adequate.”
Lucifer sighed and the cover over Cas’s voice and mouth slipped away. Cas gasped and scrambled away, plastering himself against the far edge of the tent.
“What are you? What is this place?”
“The question you should be asking is what are you?”
“Th-this isn’t about me,” Cas balked, stammering as he once did.
“But it is about you, cousin!” Lucifer crowed, rising to his feet. “You are the Dream Walker, the Life Giver, the River Runner, the Beast…you are all these things and more, Cas! To your enemies you are the Unholy, to the River Rock people and all other free peoples you are the Other in the flesh. You who runs with wolves and shines like the stars. You are everything, Castiel.”
Cas gaped up at Lucifer, his chieftain, his self-proclaimed cousin. Truth laced his words, he felt it in his bones, the bones that he could feel in his dreams, the ones he burned from his back.
“You were born for this, Castiel.” Lucifer continued in a softer voice, kneeling to look him in the eye. Their eyes were the same. He smiled ruefully, stood, and walked to the front of the tent, pausing to look back.
“Rest for the night, Castiel. I apologize, I’ve said too much, and yet too little still. Rest, you will not walk tonight.”
A dreamless sleep, yes, that was indeed what Cas had been longing for many months. Cas nodded his thanks in a numb haze, barely registering when Girl came into the tent some hours later, burrowing under his arm to rest close to his chest for warmth. Not even her disturbance ruined the magic. True to Lucifer’s word, Cas did not walk endlessly in the skies that night. He was glad. The moon was new that night, and the stars were dark behind storm clouds. He would have been lightless and lost.
Sam came to with Cas pressed close to his side, breathing deep in slumber. He head was killing him, throbbing in time with his heart, pounding in his ears. He felt as if gallons of salt water had been poured down his throat, and his stomach didn’t feel much better.
“What you’re feeling? It wears off, eventually,” Sam heard Gabriel croak from across the tent. Sam groaned, he wanted to get up and walk off…whatever it was that happened to him, but Cas had an arm and a leg slung over his body, holding him close. Sam blushed when he felt his hardness press against Cas’s leg, and Gabriel must have noticed that as well, and he laughed.
“That’ll wear off too, Sam.”
“What…what happened?”
“An illusion,” another voice answered from the front of the tent. Sam turned to see a native enter the tent. He was as dark as Cas, though Sam could tell he wasn’t naturally born that way like the villagers. He had extensive tattoos like Cas had, and he recognized him from Cas’s memory that he had somehow witnessed.
“You’re Lucifer?” Sam asked, propping himself up on pillows since he couldn’t leave Cas’s side.
“Yes, welcome to River Rock, brother of Castiel. Sam, was it?”
Sam nodded and Cas stirred and held him tighter when he tried to move.
“Yes, undoubtedly what you just saw was an illusory version of dear Cas’s memories, transferred from his mind to yours via a psychic connection. I told him not to attempt it-he could have killed himself, you know-but he did all the same.”
“And now we’re all caught up with everyone’s story, except yours, Lucy.” Gabriel sniped.
“Pleasure to see you again, brother.” Lucifer sneered, sitting as close to Sam and Cas as possible, leaving Gabriel alone, hunched over the smoldering fire pit.
“Likewise.”
“Whoa, wait, brother? Gabriel, you didn’t mention that your brother was here.”
“It might have slipped my mind.” Gabriel replied, still glaring at Lucifer who was desperately attempting to stifle a grin.
“I don’t know how it could have; I’ve been here for years, Gabriel.” Lucifer replied.
“Maybe I’ve just been avoiding you.”
“And why, dear brother, would you possibly want to do that?”
“You know why.” Gabriel sighed.
“How is Cas still sleeping? Such a lay about.” Lucifer chided, effectively sidestepping Gabriel’s questions. He reached around Sam’s waist to flick Cas’s cheek. Cas grumbled in annoyance and tightened his grip, nearly smothering Sam in the process.
“Ow, c’mon Cas, wake up.” Sam huffed, gingerly pulling his brother’s arms away. Cas whined one last time before his eyes fluttered open, a breathtaking flash of ice blue that Sam couldn’t look away from. Cas frowned at their closeness, but didn’t pull away immediately. He stretched his body in one sinuous, easy movement, sighing against Sam’s neck before he leaned up on one elbow to glare at Lucifer over Sam’s shoulder.
“What, what is it?”
“Perhaps now is the best time to discuss how you plan on going to the Empire to retrieve your long lost brother, your mate.” Lucifer prompted.
Cas extricated himself from Sam’s gangly limbs, not commenting or batting an eye at his flagging erection.
“There is no discussion, I am going.” Cas said.
“Yes, but how?” Lucifer countered with a chuckle. Cas’s cheeks reddened, only slightly.
“Haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“As usual.”
“It does not matter,” Cas said, sitting up and crossing his legs. “However I make it there, or what I do there, I will get him back.”
“I don’t doubt your resolve, Cas, I am merely suggesting that you plan this ahead.”
“What are you suggesting I do?” Cas asked slowly.
Lucifer curled his lips up into a cruel parody of a smile. Sam didn’t like the looks of it one bit.
“I have just the idea, and you will have to do exactly what I tell you to do.”
Michael had never seen such a host of savages in his life. They were everywhere it seemed, crowding the walkway with their loud callousness. They were all dark from lifetimes under the sun, with dark hair in wild tangles if they were female, and closely shorn if male. Almost all of the savages, including the young, had turquoise ink in elaborate designs on their bodies, more so if they were older. The one in the front of the procession, undoubtedly, had the most extensive designs, swirling around his limbs like water. Bands of blue wrapped around his provocatively exposed, muscular thighs and biceps, one even drew attention to his stomach and barely covered groin. Michael’s hands clenched at his sides. The savage was a fine specimen indeed. He more sauntered than walked, with a permanent smarmy grin on his face. Michael wondered how much teasing it would take to turn that smirk into a desperately pleading, swollen pair of lips. When he drew closer, Michael could see that the savage’s eyes were as blue as his markings, electric, and if it had been dark Michael could easily imagine them glowing. Like a wolf in the night.
“Welcome, emissary from the west. How is my dear cousin, Lucifer? He must be unwell to send another in his stead.” Michael greeted, and couldn’t help but slip in the slight at the end. He held no love for his cousin, but if he could win his uneasy affection through this emissary, at least, he would be in good standing.
“Unwell, no; unwilling to make this useless trip, yes.” The savage snorted, succinctly. Michael blinked, unused to such crassness from a lower class citizen, especially from a savage. He might be an emissary from Lucifer’s lands in the west, but he was no capital-dweller. Dean stirred at his side, causing his chain to clink against the floor. The sound was innocuous enough, he almost didn’t notice, but he looked up to see the emissary’s eyes boring holes through his bound slave. He knew the west did not believe in slavery. They completed all tasks on their own. Everything built was built with sweat on their backs and an ache in their feet. A noble ideal, Michael knew, but again they were savages, they would have no concept of such things.
“Well, I’m sure the journey was long and hard, please, come inside and we shall find you and your host accommodations for your stay.” Michael ushered the man in, placing a genial hand on his shoulder and nearly flinched away. The man felt as if he were on fire. Michael found he liked the heat and he wound his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. He smiled easily and relaxed into Michael’s hold, languorously walking where Michael led him. Michael enjoyed his lighter frame pressed to his, muscled and firm, pure heat, relaxed and trusting in comparison with Dean’s frigid reciprocations as of late. He supposed he missed a willing partner, the one he had lost after uncovering Dean’s plot.
Michael saw to it that the emissary’s travelling companions found rooms, and insisted that he speak with the man a while longer. He led him to his rooms, keeping a hand on the back of his neck, fingers straying into his rich dark locks. They sipped wine and laughed for a while, with Dean chained to the wall like a good mutt. Michael noticed the emissary eyeing him at every lull in the conversation, and he didn’t see disgust, or even pity. He saw some form of lust, though it was more…tender. Perhaps the savage desired his slave.
“So, you have come at my cousin’s bidding. What could he possibly require of me that a simple letter would not suffice?”
“Letters, your grace, are rather difficult to deliver…intact from River Rock. We are quite a distance from merely the border of your Empire, let alone the capital.”
“Quite true, but again, what does cousin Lucifer wish to bring to my attention?”
The emissary crossed his legs, toying with the fringe of his boot coverings.
“He wishes that you would keep away from River Rock. Do not send any soldiers to our borders, do not send any ambassadors, and most importantly of all…” The man ceased his play and fixed Michael with an alarmingly intense gaze, “keep your gods to yourself, and we shall keep to our own.”
Michael sipped his wine coolly, hiding his grimace. Lucifer had always staunchly avoided confrontation with the Empire after his exile, and Michael had been loath to recognize his meager holdings in the west as its own independent establishment and simply not a colony of the Empire. Lucifer, it seemed, wanted to sever any and all remaining ties with the Empire, and sent this thoroughly distracting man to do it.
“Tell me, do you worship his gods?” Michael asked, watching the man’s face closely for any sign of treachery. Lucifer’s stance on religion was loose at best, and Michael had never recognized his new gods of nature and elements. The Empire only recognized the one true God, and no others. The man raised a dark brow and gestured to his marked body.
“Surely you know that only the priests of our gods are marked in such an extensive fashion.”
“So you are a priest, then?”
“A loose term, one that I think you would understand better than what I truly am.”
“And what is that, priest?”
“I am a vessel, a voice for our gods, the Other. Through me they carry out their will.”
“Truly?” Michael asked, not attempting to hide the amusement from his voice. The man smirked, a thing utterly feral marring his features, all teeth and vicious intent.
“I could show you if you doubt me so.”
Michael swallowed harshly when he imagined a dark throb echoing around the room. The light seemed to dim, and Dean whimpered from his corner, rustling and pressing closer to the ground. Ringing filled his ears, and he swore he saw the man’s markings beginning to glow in a sickly, unearthly light.
“That won’t be necessary,” Michael laughed uneasily, clearing his throat, and almost as soon as the discord started it ceased. Dean sighed and slumped against the ground, curling and rolling to face the wall. The emissary smiled and uncrossed his legs, tension dissipating from his frame as easily as it had appeared.
“So you are called Michael?” The emissary asked as he reclined on the cushioned lounge, adjusting his strapped on furs to double as pillows. He looked positively decadent, a savage beauty framed by the bleached and fluffed furs on his shoulders and arms, and Michael wanted to partake.
“Yes,” Michael nodded, licking his lips, mouth strangely dry when the savage unstrapped his coverings, pushing them slowly off his shoulders and down his arms. “And what should I call you?”
The man paused and his mouth hung open, glistening and red and dark and Michael had to cross his legs to stop himself from vaulting forward to take him then and there.
“Emmanuel,” he finally answered, dropping the furs onto the floor at last, baring his marked chest and arms. He stood slowly with all the barely restrained grace of a predator, reminding Michael of the great cats he had seen in a visiting troubadour’s group, and before he could protest-like he knew he should have-the man was sliding into his lap, wrapping his scorching body around his to take his lips, devouring his mouth with a hunger that only Michael thought he possessed. Michael sucked on the man’s tongue, running his hands over those miles of exposed tanned flesh, gripping and squeezing and pinching, eliciting pleasured gasps from Emmanuel’s puffed lips. Emmanuel’s chuckle was dark and rich like the earth when he slid from Michael’s lap, sinking down to his knees between his spread legs. Michael wondered how many men had Emmanuel like this, on his knees and willing.
“I would partake of your flesh this night, Michael,” Emmanuel purred, “but I am afraid I am far too exhausted to engage in such acts, for now.” He crawled back and gathered his furs and belts, quick as a flash, and then he was at the door, eyes sparkling in mischief. “Perhaps you could convince your little whore there to help you with your problem.” And then he was gone. Michael shifted, gaping at the door. He stood, in a daze, and made himself ready for bed, yanking Dean’s chain so he would crawl into bed next to him. The nights, he pondered with a shudder as he grasped at Dean’s heated flesh, were getting colder.