I'm losing this battle, but the carnage is delicious.
Title: The Secrets In Your Skin
Pairing: Destiel(+Jimmy)
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 3307
Warnings/Kinks/Whatever: First time, not-exactly-wing!kink, intercrural sex.
Summary: Castiel's back is very sensitive. Dean figures out why. But it takes awhile.
Author's Note: Lots of thanks to treia24 and iblamebroadway for the beta, and to all my consorts for the hands-on experience.
The first time, Dean isn’t really sure whose fault it is.
He’s the one who goes to pat Cas on the back, in a totally manly way, of course, after a particularly rough exorcism. And then just sort of leaves his hand there, resting between an angel’s shoulder blades. So maybe it’s him.
But Cas is the one who freezes mid-step and practically rocks back into his touch, so there’s probably blame enough to go around.
There’s a very long, very pregnant pause, and then.
“You can’t,” Cas swallows, “You can’t see my wings, can you, Dean?”
It isn’t quite a question, but Dean thinks he’s meant to answer it, anyway. “I mean, I saw them once, right? In the barn, the first time?”
For some reason, he still hasn’t pulled his hand back. He’s just standing there staring at the back of Castiel’s head like a mentally handicapped creep, palm flat against the coarse fabric of Jimmy Novak’s trenchcoat.
Castiel sighs, almost inaudibly. Dean’s learning how to translate Cas-speak, and he thinks this is the sigh that means ‘I expected exactly that, but I find myself disappointed and sad anyway.’ It’s one of Dean’s least favorite Cas sounds.
“That was only shadow. An… approximation,” Dean flexes his hand, involuntarily or experimentally, who knows, and Cas drags in a shuddering gasp.
“It was… very difficult, Dean, to show you that.”
The Angel turns a hooded stare over his shoulder, pupils blown wide and the blue of his eyes verging toward black. His voice carries a ragged edge Dean’s not sure he understands, or wants to.
“The control it took to make myself visible to you, but only that much, only… no more than you could take. You cannot imagine.”
Dean’s fingers curl, almost scratch, against Castiel’s back, and the angel’s eyes fall shut.
“Dean Winchester,” he murmurs, almost a whisper, “You do tax my control.”
“Uh, guys?” Sam’s ducked his head back into the warehouse, facial expression stuck at it’s favoured middleground between concern and skepticism.
Dean yanks his hand back.
“So, are we gonna go, or you want to just stand around in abandoned buildings some more?”
Dean forces a bit of a laugh, and it almost covers the sound of wings beating the stale air as Castiel vanishes.
-
The second time, it is more or less completely Dean’s fault. He’s man enough to admit that much.
They’ve just finished hunting a keelut, and not doing a very good job of it, to be honest. Their luck turned around once Cas swooped in to save the day, but Dean’s still not done grumbling about vanishing paw prints and what was it doing this far south anyway.
Despite the generally sour attitude, Cas still finds Dean charming enough that he lets himself be dragged along to a shitty little diner after they’ve put the thing down. Even though Cas doesn’t really need to eat, and mostly finds the whole thing way too confusing and human, Dean convinces him to try a bacon cheeseburger and a bite or two of pumpkin pie, so he’s not counting the job a total loss.
Then, when they’re finally meandering out of the dive, Dean lets Sam lope off ahead of them with his long, stupid legs, and steals an extra moment with Cas.
“Hey, thanks for saving our asses today,” He says, casual as you like, “Damn mutt was still one step ahead of us until you turned up.”
And then he full-on strokes a hand down the center of the Angel’s back. Very. Deliberately.
Castiel nearly falls over, and then he’s gone in the time it takes Dean to blink.
-
The third time is an accident. Really.
Castiel alerted them to a sudden spike of paranormal activity in an already badly haunted house in the already infamous city of Savannah, Georgia. Somehow, in the chaos of investigating a half dozen different ghosts in the same building, and a pack of demons who’d taken up with them to boot, Dean and Castiel had gotten stuck hiding in a closet.
Dean’s not even touching the symbolism there.
They caught a whiff of tell-tale sulfur and ozone on the air before the spirits manifested, and they could already hear a pair of footsteps coming their way, so there was just enough time to dash for the nearest hiding place and yank the door shut behind them. It really wasn’t anyone’s fault that Dean wound up pressed flush to Castiel’s back while the two tried desperately to stay quiet.
The footsteps turned out to be two of the demons they’d run into earlier, and it seemed they were here to try and commune with the ghosts, so it was a damn good thing they’d hidden.
Dean was trying to eavesdrop on them, really, but every time he shifted his weight, Cas let out these little desperate noises that sounding like he was killing himself trying to stifle, and it’s really, really hard to concentrate when something like that is happening scant centimeters away.
There’s still really no excuse for it.
Dean leans right in, bows his head, and presses his open mouth between Castiel’s shoulder blades.
Cas damn near shoves his own fist into his mouth trying to stay quiet.
They stay there for awhile like that, Dean molesting Cas’ back and Cas doing everything he can to keep silent. He does an admirable job, all things considered. No ghosts or demons come barging in.
Sam does, though.
In his defense, Cas sticks around this time. Even after Sam starts in with the closet jokes.
Apparently, the demons, and the ghosts, had taken off a good while before Sam crept in and discovered them. Dean is absolutely not blushing when he stumbles back into the room. Castiel’s whole face is turning red, but he keeps his usual stoic mask firmly in-place, otherwise.
-
The fourth time isn’t anyone’s fault. Or it’s both their faults. However you want to read it.
Cas has been hesitant and extra awkward ever since Savannah any time he’s answered Dean’s prayers. It’s been weeks since Dean could scrounge up a moment alone with Cas, so once he gets it he’s not letting it go to waste.
He practically lunges at Castiel’s back the second he’s got the Angel to himself. He just likes pulling a reaction out of the man, that’s all.
Cas freezes, and then gives a full-body shudder, and then he reaches back at an impossible angle and grasps Dean’s wrist with inhuman strength. Which is about when Dean starts to wonder if he’s in over his head.
Cas takes a few slow, steadying breaths and asks, without turning around, “What is it you’re trying to get from me, Dean?”
And then he spins Dean around and tosses him onto the motel bed.
“Uh,” Dean says, intelligently, and that’s all he gets out before Cas is crawling over him. Looming, even.
Dean’s hands have found their way back to the Angel’s shoulder blades before he really know what he’s doing. As he arches and moans, something occurs to Dean.
“What does this do for you?” He asks, “I mean, what does it feel like?”
“It’s,” Castiel rasps, “It’s not comparable to anything you would have felt.”
Dean claws down his back, and Cas stutter-thrusts, like he’s looking for more but he’s not sure it’s allowed.
“I can only assume it’s the proximity to my wings, where my true form is closest,” a hitching gasp, “closest to the surface of my vessel, that allows this sensitivity.”
That gives Dean pause.
“Your vessel.”
“Yes.”
“Jimmy.”
“Yes,” Cas prompts, more impatiently.
“I just, I mean, I forgot,” Dean swallows, pulls his hands back, “That he’s in there. He’s still in there?”
“Yes, of course. Only under very rare cirumstances can an Angel inhabit a vessel without a living soul,” Cas cocks his head at Dean, that look that unmistakably says he doesn’t get it. “Why?”
Dean laughs, without much humor, “Well, I don’t know where you thought this was going, but what I was expecting? I figure that needs consent from all parties.”
And then, of course, Dean has to consider that he was taking sex-with-a-man-shaped-Angel as a given, at this point. Not that now’s the time for that particular crisis.
“I have Jimmy’s consent, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, frowning, “Actually, Jimmy has wanted this for almost as long as I have.”
“Oh,” Dean breathes, and then “Oh!”
Any other man would need to take a moment and consider after having that sort of thing sprung on him, but Dean Winchester isn’t any other man. In fact, he’s always prided himself on that. So he recovers quickly.
“Right, then,” he croons, “Your wings are real sensitive, huh?”
He follows up with a firm stroke down Cas’ back, and he gets a truly spectacular moan for his efforts. With that kind of response, Dean’s content to spend some time with Cas just lying over him, petting the Angel, both fully clothed. Cas, on the other hand, has had enough of teasing.
Cas growls and tears Dean’s shirt open, finding Dean’s nipples with his lips straight away. He closes teeth around one sharp, perky nub straight away and suckles. So, yeah, Dean just falls back and keens.
Castiel grabs his hands and slaps them back onto his own back, the command obvious. Dean splays his hands over that strong plain and holds on for dear life and Cas explores his whole body, inch by inch. Dean’s shaking apart and Cas is still above the belt. He’s that thorough.
He’s stroking firm, rhythmic ellipses over Dean’s hipbones, teasing, when Dean breaks.
“Please, Cas,” he gasps, “Please, you can’t just tease like that, man.”
Cas chuckles, hot and deep.
“Now you know how I feel,” he whispers.
“Cas, c’mon, I need,” Dean groans, “I just need...”
Castiel relents, drawing back enough to shrug of his trenchcoat and suit jacket, and let Dean undo the buttons on his shirt. He peels Dean’s jeans off his hips and down his legs with agonizing slowness, revealing his hard and purpling cock. Then he backs off further, slips out of his own slacks, and looms back over Dean. Dean slides his hands over all the skin he can reach, so grateful, before he notices.
“Wait,” he says, “Wait, Cas, you’re not-”
He slides a hand between Castiel’s thighs, where he’s still soft, to demonstrate his point.
Cas seems undetered, leans in to press his cheek to Dean’s.
“A human response,” he murmurs, “These things can be difficult. But don’t doubt my interest.”
Cas turns his head just so and presses his lips to Dean’s, not forcing the issue, but presenting himself. Dean can’t resist. He surges upward and captures the Angel’s mouth with his own. He rolls them so he’s straddling Castiel’s hips, and yeah, he knows he can only do that because Cas let’s him. Actually, that makes it hotter.
He pries his lips away and he gasps, “Okay. So, if Angel’s are just different, how do I make this good for you?”
Cas gazes up at him with something approaching worry, and that’s the last thing Dean was looking for.
“Dean-” he says hesitantly.
“Cas,” Dean whispers, leaning in close, “I want you to enjoy this as much as I am. So, tell me, what do I need to do?”
Cas still just stares up at him with that rising panic, the look Dean’s seen only once or twice before. The one that means Cas has no idea.
“Okay,” he rocks back on his heals, gives Cas room to move, “I want you to turn over. Can you do that for me?”
Castiel barely gets a nod in before he’s already complying, turning his back up to Dean. For his part, Dean leans back in nice and slow, before he places an open-mouthed kiss to Cas’ right shoulder.
The sound that gets him says his bet’s payed off.
He strokes over the other shoulder blade with his hand as he suckles his way up and down Castiel’s back. He makes sure he’s thorough, as thorough as Cas was with him. Then he tries gliding his teeth over the ridge of bone, and Cas actually whimpers.
Dean turns his mouth to the left side and bites.
The sound Cas lets out is positively inhuman. It doesn’t make Dean’s ears bleed, but it feels close, it feels like the very edge. Cas screams, but it’s quiet, almost beyond hearing, and deafening, all the same. Dean figures that’s a good sign, and he presses on.
As Dean laves all his attention over Castiel’s back, the Angel’s voice slowly gurgles and stutters down to a less unimaginable place. It’s still strangely loud, still too high and too low all at once, but it sounds like something Dean can make sense of. It gets closer to his frame of reference.
He knows, instinctively, that’s Cas reining himself in for Dean’s benefit. He’s at once grateful and disappointed.
He’s also hard as diamond, at this point. He can’t stop petting and licking at Cas’ back, but he needs something, needs relief. He starts thrusting, almost subconsciously, where his hips straddle Castiel’s ass, and then his cock slides into the groove of his cheeks, and it’s perfect.
Cas lets out a groan like he agrees.
For a good long time, that’s all they need. Dean pleasures and tortures the wings inside Castiel’s - Jimmy’s - flawless back, and he ruts against the Angel’s ass. His pre-come slicks up the path, and he fucks into that smooth slide again and again, digging his teeth into Castiel’s shoulder blades. It’s so, so good, with Cas gasping and pleading under him, Cas’ hips starting to stutter-thrust against the cheap motel sheets, but then it’s suddenly not quite enough.
“Cas,” Dean groans out, “Cas, hang on a sec. Can you spread your legs? Just a bit?”
Cas nods, shakily, and he does, and Dean leans over and gropes at his duffel, clumsy and too eager. Finally, he comes back with a tube of lube.
Cas has turned his head, now. He’s eyeing the little packet warily.
“Dean-” he starts.
“No, we’re not doing that,” Dean tells him, “Not tonight, at least. If you want to, some other time, oh, baby, I am so down with that. But not tonight, okay?”
Cas murmurs his assent, sounding relieved he’s not required to speak much more. Dean can feel all his muscles start to relax, and Cas arches back against him. He squeezes just a bit of the lube onto his fingers, and he starts to stroke them along Cas’ inner thighs, tentatively, at first, and then more firmly, when he’s met with deep, throaty moans. He pets over Castiel’s perinium and the thin, soft skin of his balls, slicking him up thoroughly. He keeps lapping at Cas’ back all the while.
“Okay,” he murmurs, at last, “‘Kay, Cas, I need you to pull your legs together for me. Can you do that? Nice and tight.”
Cas glances over his shoulder, looks Dean right in the eye, and there’s something there, something Dean isn’t quite ready to believe yet.
And then the Angel pulls his thighs together, the muscles visibly flexing, and Dean groans appreciatively.
“Thanks, Cas,” he whispers, before he presses his cockhead right against the crease between Castiel’s thighs.
He fastens his mouth onto Castiel’s left shoulder blade, and he guides his cock slowly between those taught thighs. It’s warm and strong and glorious in there, and he sets up a steady rhythm as best he can, coordinating his strokes between Cas’ legs and the strokes of his tongue on the Angel’s back. It certainly works for him, and if the steadily less human sounds Cas is making are anything to go by, it’s working for him, too.
It doesn’t take long, not when they’ve been working up to this for weeks and weeks. Dean’s orgasm sneaks up on him, just a bit, and he’s loosing his rhythm and coming into the space between Castiel’s legs before he knows it.
And then he’s lying over Cas, gasping against his back, gingerly thrusting through the impossible slickness between his thighs. Cas is still meeting him, thrust for thrust, but he’s quiet, now.
Dean says, when he finds his voice again, “Don’t worry, babe, we’re not through yet.”
Cas hums happily at him, and Dean pulls back so he can turn Cas over. The Angel goes like nothing, so pliable in his arms it’s like he’s boneless. Dean’s never had as big an ego-boost.
He looks at the vivid red erection bobbing at the crest of Castiel’s thighs, and licks his lips.
“Hey, Jimmy?” he says, looking them right in the eye, “This is for you, too, okay?”
And then he swallows Cas down in one, more-or-less smooth motion.
Dean’s no expert at blowjobs. He’s given a few, here and there, and he’s had a lot more, but that doesn’t make him an expert. Apparently, Cas doesn’t mind. He figures that implies Jimmy’s satisfaction, too.
Dean laves his tongue over the underside of Cas’ cock. He circles it around the delicate edge of the head, dips just barely into the slit. He rocks his head up and down on Cas’ cock, riding him, smooth as he can, and when Cas starts to thrust, involuntarily, up into that wet heat, he grips tight to the Angel’s hipbones and hopes he takes the hint.
Cas reels himself back in, and Dean has never been so grateful for the man’s Angelic self restraint. He rewards it with as much attention to detail as he can muster.
He learns just which slight bump in the perfect skin of Cas’ cock has him gasping the hardest when Dean presses his tongue just there. He wonders, vaguely, how much difference there might be between what Cas likes and what Jimmy likes, but he figures he’s doing something right by them both, and he increases suction.
He finds out that Cas bucks into his mouth almost harder than he can take when he hums around the Angel’s cock, and he keeps at it. He likes it a little rough, and he knows he can take it. He can feel Cas pulsing hard, throbbing, where his tongue presses along the underside of Castiel’s cock, and he wants it. He wants it so bad, his own cock twitching valiantly, however soon it is since he came, and he can only imagine how bad Cas must be wanting it. How bad Jimmy must want it, after all this time.
Dean wraps his hand around the base of Cas’ cock, stroking firmly, and focuses his attentions on the sensitive cockhead. He presses his tongue firm against the slit and rubs, rolls his lips over every inch his hand won’t take.
On impulse, he worms his free hand under Cas, scratches down his spine, and Cas whines out a sound like nothing Dean’s heard.
He comes in startled, hot bursts over Dean’s tongue. His hips twitch and jerk, his shoulders hunch forward, and his face contorts into something even Dean might call beatific. It’s spectacular to behold, and Dean pulls back too soon, just for a better view, and catches the last bit of Castiel’s come on his chin.
And how debauched must he look, gaping up at Cas, jizz dripping through his stubble, his hand still wrapped loosely around Castiel’s softening cock.
It’s certainly one of the more exotic chapters in Dean’s sexual experience, and even more certainly, one of the best.
Cas looks lost and dizzy, peering down at him.
“Was,” he slurs, “Was that what you wanted, Dean?”
Dean stretches his tongue down to lap the come off his own chin.
“No,” He grins, “It was way better.”
-
The fifth time is Dean’s fault, no question.
Pairing: Destiel(+Jimmy)
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 3307
Warnings/Kinks/Whatever: First time, not-exactly-wing!kink, intercrural sex.
Summary: Castiel's back is very sensitive. Dean figures out why. But it takes awhile.
Author's Note: Lots of thanks to treia24 and iblamebroadway for the beta, and to all my consorts for the hands-on experience.
The first time, Dean isn’t really sure whose fault it is.
He’s the one who goes to pat Cas on the back, in a totally manly way, of course, after a particularly rough exorcism. And then just sort of leaves his hand there, resting between an angel’s shoulder blades. So maybe it’s him.
But Cas is the one who freezes mid-step and practically rocks back into his touch, so there’s probably blame enough to go around.
There’s a very long, very pregnant pause, and then.
“You can’t,” Cas swallows, “You can’t see my wings, can you, Dean?”
It isn’t quite a question, but Dean thinks he’s meant to answer it, anyway. “I mean, I saw them once, right? In the barn, the first time?”
For some reason, he still hasn’t pulled his hand back. He’s just standing there staring at the back of Castiel’s head like a mentally handicapped creep, palm flat against the coarse fabric of Jimmy Novak’s trenchcoat.
Castiel sighs, almost inaudibly. Dean’s learning how to translate Cas-speak, and he thinks this is the sigh that means ‘I expected exactly that, but I find myself disappointed and sad anyway.’ It’s one of Dean’s least favorite Cas sounds.
“That was only shadow. An… approximation,” Dean flexes his hand, involuntarily or experimentally, who knows, and Cas drags in a shuddering gasp.
“It was… very difficult, Dean, to show you that.”
The Angel turns a hooded stare over his shoulder, pupils blown wide and the blue of his eyes verging toward black. His voice carries a ragged edge Dean’s not sure he understands, or wants to.
“The control it took to make myself visible to you, but only that much, only… no more than you could take. You cannot imagine.”
Dean’s fingers curl, almost scratch, against Castiel’s back, and the angel’s eyes fall shut.
“Dean Winchester,” he murmurs, almost a whisper, “You do tax my control.”
“Uh, guys?” Sam’s ducked his head back into the warehouse, facial expression stuck at it’s favoured middleground between concern and skepticism.
Dean yanks his hand back.
“So, are we gonna go, or you want to just stand around in abandoned buildings some more?”
Dean forces a bit of a laugh, and it almost covers the sound of wings beating the stale air as Castiel vanishes.
-
The second time, it is more or less completely Dean’s fault. He’s man enough to admit that much.
They’ve just finished hunting a keelut, and not doing a very good job of it, to be honest. Their luck turned around once Cas swooped in to save the day, but Dean’s still not done grumbling about vanishing paw prints and what was it doing this far south anyway.
Despite the generally sour attitude, Cas still finds Dean charming enough that he lets himself be dragged along to a shitty little diner after they’ve put the thing down. Even though Cas doesn’t really need to eat, and mostly finds the whole thing way too confusing and human, Dean convinces him to try a bacon cheeseburger and a bite or two of pumpkin pie, so he’s not counting the job a total loss.
Then, when they’re finally meandering out of the dive, Dean lets Sam lope off ahead of them with his long, stupid legs, and steals an extra moment with Cas.
“Hey, thanks for saving our asses today,” He says, casual as you like, “Damn mutt was still one step ahead of us until you turned up.”
And then he full-on strokes a hand down the center of the Angel’s back. Very. Deliberately.
Castiel nearly falls over, and then he’s gone in the time it takes Dean to blink.
-
The third time is an accident. Really.
Castiel alerted them to a sudden spike of paranormal activity in an already badly haunted house in the already infamous city of Savannah, Georgia. Somehow, in the chaos of investigating a half dozen different ghosts in the same building, and a pack of demons who’d taken up with them to boot, Dean and Castiel had gotten stuck hiding in a closet.
Dean’s not even touching the symbolism there.
They caught a whiff of tell-tale sulfur and ozone on the air before the spirits manifested, and they could already hear a pair of footsteps coming their way, so there was just enough time to dash for the nearest hiding place and yank the door shut behind them. It really wasn’t anyone’s fault that Dean wound up pressed flush to Castiel’s back while the two tried desperately to stay quiet.
The footsteps turned out to be two of the demons they’d run into earlier, and it seemed they were here to try and commune with the ghosts, so it was a damn good thing they’d hidden.
Dean was trying to eavesdrop on them, really, but every time he shifted his weight, Cas let out these little desperate noises that sounding like he was killing himself trying to stifle, and it’s really, really hard to concentrate when something like that is happening scant centimeters away.
There’s still really no excuse for it.
Dean leans right in, bows his head, and presses his open mouth between Castiel’s shoulder blades.
Cas damn near shoves his own fist into his mouth trying to stay quiet.
They stay there for awhile like that, Dean molesting Cas’ back and Cas doing everything he can to keep silent. He does an admirable job, all things considered. No ghosts or demons come barging in.
Sam does, though.
In his defense, Cas sticks around this time. Even after Sam starts in with the closet jokes.
Apparently, the demons, and the ghosts, had taken off a good while before Sam crept in and discovered them. Dean is absolutely not blushing when he stumbles back into the room. Castiel’s whole face is turning red, but he keeps his usual stoic mask firmly in-place, otherwise.
-
The fourth time isn’t anyone’s fault. Or it’s both their faults. However you want to read it.
Cas has been hesitant and extra awkward ever since Savannah any time he’s answered Dean’s prayers. It’s been weeks since Dean could scrounge up a moment alone with Cas, so once he gets it he’s not letting it go to waste.
He practically lunges at Castiel’s back the second he’s got the Angel to himself. He just likes pulling a reaction out of the man, that’s all.
Cas freezes, and then gives a full-body shudder, and then he reaches back at an impossible angle and grasps Dean’s wrist with inhuman strength. Which is about when Dean starts to wonder if he’s in over his head.
Cas takes a few slow, steadying breaths and asks, without turning around, “What is it you’re trying to get from me, Dean?”
And then he spins Dean around and tosses him onto the motel bed.
“Uh,” Dean says, intelligently, and that’s all he gets out before Cas is crawling over him. Looming, even.
Dean’s hands have found their way back to the Angel’s shoulder blades before he really know what he’s doing. As he arches and moans, something occurs to Dean.
“What does this do for you?” He asks, “I mean, what does it feel like?”
“It’s,” Castiel rasps, “It’s not comparable to anything you would have felt.”
Dean claws down his back, and Cas stutter-thrusts, like he’s looking for more but he’s not sure it’s allowed.
“I can only assume it’s the proximity to my wings, where my true form is closest,” a hitching gasp, “closest to the surface of my vessel, that allows this sensitivity.”
That gives Dean pause.
“Your vessel.”
“Yes.”
“Jimmy.”
“Yes,” Cas prompts, more impatiently.
“I just, I mean, I forgot,” Dean swallows, pulls his hands back, “That he’s in there. He’s still in there?”
“Yes, of course. Only under very rare cirumstances can an Angel inhabit a vessel without a living soul,” Cas cocks his head at Dean, that look that unmistakably says he doesn’t get it. “Why?”
Dean laughs, without much humor, “Well, I don’t know where you thought this was going, but what I was expecting? I figure that needs consent from all parties.”
And then, of course, Dean has to consider that he was taking sex-with-a-man-shaped-Angel as a given, at this point. Not that now’s the time for that particular crisis.
“I have Jimmy’s consent, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, frowning, “Actually, Jimmy has wanted this for almost as long as I have.”
“Oh,” Dean breathes, and then “Oh!”
Any other man would need to take a moment and consider after having that sort of thing sprung on him, but Dean Winchester isn’t any other man. In fact, he’s always prided himself on that. So he recovers quickly.
“Right, then,” he croons, “Your wings are real sensitive, huh?”
He follows up with a firm stroke down Cas’ back, and he gets a truly spectacular moan for his efforts. With that kind of response, Dean’s content to spend some time with Cas just lying over him, petting the Angel, both fully clothed. Cas, on the other hand, has had enough of teasing.
Cas growls and tears Dean’s shirt open, finding Dean’s nipples with his lips straight away. He closes teeth around one sharp, perky nub straight away and suckles. So, yeah, Dean just falls back and keens.
Castiel grabs his hands and slaps them back onto his own back, the command obvious. Dean splays his hands over that strong plain and holds on for dear life and Cas explores his whole body, inch by inch. Dean’s shaking apart and Cas is still above the belt. He’s that thorough.
He’s stroking firm, rhythmic ellipses over Dean’s hipbones, teasing, when Dean breaks.
“Please, Cas,” he gasps, “Please, you can’t just tease like that, man.”
Cas chuckles, hot and deep.
“Now you know how I feel,” he whispers.
“Cas, c’mon, I need,” Dean groans, “I just need...”
Castiel relents, drawing back enough to shrug of his trenchcoat and suit jacket, and let Dean undo the buttons on his shirt. He peels Dean’s jeans off his hips and down his legs with agonizing slowness, revealing his hard and purpling cock. Then he backs off further, slips out of his own slacks, and looms back over Dean. Dean slides his hands over all the skin he can reach, so grateful, before he notices.
“Wait,” he says, “Wait, Cas, you’re not-”
He slides a hand between Castiel’s thighs, where he’s still soft, to demonstrate his point.
Cas seems undetered, leans in to press his cheek to Dean’s.
“A human response,” he murmurs, “These things can be difficult. But don’t doubt my interest.”
Cas turns his head just so and presses his lips to Dean’s, not forcing the issue, but presenting himself. Dean can’t resist. He surges upward and captures the Angel’s mouth with his own. He rolls them so he’s straddling Castiel’s hips, and yeah, he knows he can only do that because Cas let’s him. Actually, that makes it hotter.
He pries his lips away and he gasps, “Okay. So, if Angel’s are just different, how do I make this good for you?”
Cas gazes up at him with something approaching worry, and that’s the last thing Dean was looking for.
“Dean-” he says hesitantly.
“Cas,” Dean whispers, leaning in close, “I want you to enjoy this as much as I am. So, tell me, what do I need to do?”
Cas still just stares up at him with that rising panic, the look Dean’s seen only once or twice before. The one that means Cas has no idea.
“Okay,” he rocks back on his heals, gives Cas room to move, “I want you to turn over. Can you do that for me?”
Castiel barely gets a nod in before he’s already complying, turning his back up to Dean. For his part, Dean leans back in nice and slow, before he places an open-mouthed kiss to Cas’ right shoulder.
The sound that gets him says his bet’s payed off.
He strokes over the other shoulder blade with his hand as he suckles his way up and down Castiel’s back. He makes sure he’s thorough, as thorough as Cas was with him. Then he tries gliding his teeth over the ridge of bone, and Cas actually whimpers.
Dean turns his mouth to the left side and bites.
The sound Cas lets out is positively inhuman. It doesn’t make Dean’s ears bleed, but it feels close, it feels like the very edge. Cas screams, but it’s quiet, almost beyond hearing, and deafening, all the same. Dean figures that’s a good sign, and he presses on.
As Dean laves all his attention over Castiel’s back, the Angel’s voice slowly gurgles and stutters down to a less unimaginable place. It’s still strangely loud, still too high and too low all at once, but it sounds like something Dean can make sense of. It gets closer to his frame of reference.
He knows, instinctively, that’s Cas reining himself in for Dean’s benefit. He’s at once grateful and disappointed.
He’s also hard as diamond, at this point. He can’t stop petting and licking at Cas’ back, but he needs something, needs relief. He starts thrusting, almost subconsciously, where his hips straddle Castiel’s ass, and then his cock slides into the groove of his cheeks, and it’s perfect.
Cas lets out a groan like he agrees.
For a good long time, that’s all they need. Dean pleasures and tortures the wings inside Castiel’s - Jimmy’s - flawless back, and he ruts against the Angel’s ass. His pre-come slicks up the path, and he fucks into that smooth slide again and again, digging his teeth into Castiel’s shoulder blades. It’s so, so good, with Cas gasping and pleading under him, Cas’ hips starting to stutter-thrust against the cheap motel sheets, but then it’s suddenly not quite enough.
“Cas,” Dean groans out, “Cas, hang on a sec. Can you spread your legs? Just a bit?”
Cas nods, shakily, and he does, and Dean leans over and gropes at his duffel, clumsy and too eager. Finally, he comes back with a tube of lube.
Cas has turned his head, now. He’s eyeing the little packet warily.
“Dean-” he starts.
“No, we’re not doing that,” Dean tells him, “Not tonight, at least. If you want to, some other time, oh, baby, I am so down with that. But not tonight, okay?”
Cas murmurs his assent, sounding relieved he’s not required to speak much more. Dean can feel all his muscles start to relax, and Cas arches back against him. He squeezes just a bit of the lube onto his fingers, and he starts to stroke them along Cas’ inner thighs, tentatively, at first, and then more firmly, when he’s met with deep, throaty moans. He pets over Castiel’s perinium and the thin, soft skin of his balls, slicking him up thoroughly. He keeps lapping at Cas’ back all the while.
“Okay,” he murmurs, at last, “‘Kay, Cas, I need you to pull your legs together for me. Can you do that? Nice and tight.”
Cas glances over his shoulder, looks Dean right in the eye, and there’s something there, something Dean isn’t quite ready to believe yet.
And then the Angel pulls his thighs together, the muscles visibly flexing, and Dean groans appreciatively.
“Thanks, Cas,” he whispers, before he presses his cockhead right against the crease between Castiel’s thighs.
He fastens his mouth onto Castiel’s left shoulder blade, and he guides his cock slowly between those taught thighs. It’s warm and strong and glorious in there, and he sets up a steady rhythm as best he can, coordinating his strokes between Cas’ legs and the strokes of his tongue on the Angel’s back. It certainly works for him, and if the steadily less human sounds Cas is making are anything to go by, it’s working for him, too.
It doesn’t take long, not when they’ve been working up to this for weeks and weeks. Dean’s orgasm sneaks up on him, just a bit, and he’s loosing his rhythm and coming into the space between Castiel’s legs before he knows it.
And then he’s lying over Cas, gasping against his back, gingerly thrusting through the impossible slickness between his thighs. Cas is still meeting him, thrust for thrust, but he’s quiet, now.
Dean says, when he finds his voice again, “Don’t worry, babe, we’re not through yet.”
Cas hums happily at him, and Dean pulls back so he can turn Cas over. The Angel goes like nothing, so pliable in his arms it’s like he’s boneless. Dean’s never had as big an ego-boost.
He looks at the vivid red erection bobbing at the crest of Castiel’s thighs, and licks his lips.
“Hey, Jimmy?” he says, looking them right in the eye, “This is for you, too, okay?”
And then he swallows Cas down in one, more-or-less smooth motion.
Dean’s no expert at blowjobs. He’s given a few, here and there, and he’s had a lot more, but that doesn’t make him an expert. Apparently, Cas doesn’t mind. He figures that implies Jimmy’s satisfaction, too.
Dean laves his tongue over the underside of Cas’ cock. He circles it around the delicate edge of the head, dips just barely into the slit. He rocks his head up and down on Cas’ cock, riding him, smooth as he can, and when Cas starts to thrust, involuntarily, up into that wet heat, he grips tight to the Angel’s hipbones and hopes he takes the hint.
Cas reels himself back in, and Dean has never been so grateful for the man’s Angelic self restraint. He rewards it with as much attention to detail as he can muster.
He learns just which slight bump in the perfect skin of Cas’ cock has him gasping the hardest when Dean presses his tongue just there. He wonders, vaguely, how much difference there might be between what Cas likes and what Jimmy likes, but he figures he’s doing something right by them both, and he increases suction.
He finds out that Cas bucks into his mouth almost harder than he can take when he hums around the Angel’s cock, and he keeps at it. He likes it a little rough, and he knows he can take it. He can feel Cas pulsing hard, throbbing, where his tongue presses along the underside of Castiel’s cock, and he wants it. He wants it so bad, his own cock twitching valiantly, however soon it is since he came, and he can only imagine how bad Cas must be wanting it. How bad Jimmy must want it, after all this time.
Dean wraps his hand around the base of Cas’ cock, stroking firmly, and focuses his attentions on the sensitive cockhead. He presses his tongue firm against the slit and rubs, rolls his lips over every inch his hand won’t take.
On impulse, he worms his free hand under Cas, scratches down his spine, and Cas whines out a sound like nothing Dean’s heard.
He comes in startled, hot bursts over Dean’s tongue. His hips twitch and jerk, his shoulders hunch forward, and his face contorts into something even Dean might call beatific. It’s spectacular to behold, and Dean pulls back too soon, just for a better view, and catches the last bit of Castiel’s come on his chin.
And how debauched must he look, gaping up at Cas, jizz dripping through his stubble, his hand still wrapped loosely around Castiel’s softening cock.
It’s certainly one of the more exotic chapters in Dean’s sexual experience, and even more certainly, one of the best.
Cas looks lost and dizzy, peering down at him.
“Was,” he slurs, “Was that what you wanted, Dean?”
Dean stretches his tongue down to lap the come off his own chin.
“No,” He grins, “It was way better.”
-
The fifth time is Dean’s fault, no question.