Second Chance (III in the Second Verse)
Title: SECOND CHANCE
Author: bellajayd
Rating: R
Pairing: Castiel/Dean, jealous!Sam.
Spoilers: Yes! Up to the most recent episode of Supernatural.
Warnings: There is NO rape/NCS or main character death. Everything else is fair game. Eventually, this will be a kid!fic [not mpreg!]-- someone will be raising himself a child [OMC].
Disclaimer: This is all a beautiful lie, but let me tell it anyway.
Word Count: 1,700/5,000+ (and growing)
Notes: This is the THIRD story in the Second Verse, you might want to read what came first or this will not make sense.
Beta: Many, thanks to the glorious
aisling_door and the lovely raphaellover for the beta. All mistakes are my own.
Summary: In which Uriel wonders when Castiel became more badass than him, Dean and Castiel continue to, ahem, “share,” and Dean considers turtlenecks, because he sparkles.
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Previous Stories: [i] Second Best; [ii] Second Hand.
-----------------------
A clutch of newly hatched demons trembled with apprehension as Castiel turned his attention to them, hissing hellish filth when their existence was brought to a swift and fitting end.
Uriel had never seen Castiel fight with such diligence.
The battle continued and he observed as droves of the unclean fell before his brother who fought with the power and fury befitting a warrior of God.
Castiel had always been an efficient fighter; expending only the energy needed to disable his opponent.
No more.
No less.
Now, though, something had changed. Fervor and passion spiced his brother’s movements.
It took him a moment to understand what was different about Castiel.
Uriel’s partner, his companion through the empty ages, his fellow Angel of the Lord, was angry.
-----------------------
It took Dean about five seconds, just long enough to be shoved up against a brick wall in the abandoned alley he’d been investigating, to figure out that Castiel was pissed off.
Two seconds after that, in the time it took for him to register the angel’s tongue gently running along the seam of his lips and asking polite permission to enter, Dean knew that whoever Cas was pissed at - it wasn’t him.
So, he stopped thinking and let the angel overwhelm him.
Castiel’s kiss was slick and tasted like ice, cold and clean. As it deepened, mouths pressing desperately against each other, a tingling sensation pulsed through Dean’s body setting his nerve endings ablaze.
It was funny how this thing worked between them. This thing, where Cas took away Dean’s emotions and saved his sanity, where the angel absorbed and experienced Dean’s feelings so that the eldest Winchester didn’t have to.
This thing, which meant that Dean was now used to Castiel’s impromptu visits and being touched, grasped, and groped by the angel. He wasn’t just accustomed to these visitations - he was fast becoming addicted to them.
They both were.
A smooth hand expertly eased itself under Dean’s shirt and stroked its way up to his heart, pausing for a moment to flirt affectionately with an over-sensitized nipple.
Dean had lost track a few weeks back of how many times they had shared themselves this way: Cas burning himself into Dean’s skin, into his soul, giving Dean peace and certainty and in return gaining the ability to feel.
Another hand unfastened the top button of his jeans, creating just enough space for the angel to grip Dean’s unmarred hip, one of the few remaining pieces of skin that didn’t have a tell tale hand print branded into it.
Obviously, they’d done this enough times for Castiel to have become familiar with Dean’s body.
It was someone’s idea of an inside joke that the press of skin on skin, the unfeeling angel’s hand on the hypersensitive human’s flesh, was the conduit for this exchange of emotions.
Dean had developed a new appreciation for thick turtlenecks and made sure to keep his body as covered as possible at all times. He was in no hurry to explain to Sam why it looked like Castiel had been playing with silver finger paint on his body.
The new handprints weren’t raw and red, like the first life giving print on his shoulder; instead, they quickly faded into invisibility until they were exposed to direct light - then they shimmered delicately.
Dean thought it was the damndest thing; it was as if he’d decided to skin a fish and then rub its silvery scales all over himself.
The angel loved to look at Dean’s marked flesh, often stripping him down and placing him in front of a window to allow the sun to illuminate his handiwork.
He sparkled so damned much Dean felt like a fuckin’ fairy, all he needed was a pair of pretty dragonfly wings.
Castiel’s deep, rough whisper snapped him back to the present, “A pair of wings would suit you, Dean.”
Had he said that aloud? He focused his gaze and saw that Castiel’s earlier anger had been forgotten and that his bright eyes were crinkled in amusement.
For one endless moment, Dean forgot how to breathe.
Castiel was a handsome man, or he was possessing a handsome man, whatever, but when his expression grew animated with emotion the angel became breathtakingly beautiful.
“Cas,” Dean murmured through kiss-numbed lips as he shifted to let the angel settle between the cradle of his hips, “Cas.”
The angel quirked his head, blue eyes still blazing, “Yes?”
Looking at Castiel, Dean realized that he’d never felt like this before, and all of the moisture in his mouth evaporated under the power of that celestial gaze and its meaning.
Dean Winchester was happy.
Recently, Dean had been walking around feeling everything through the buffer of Castiel’s grace, and guilt had slowly filtered out of his point of view. He could hunt without bias, think clearly, and keep focused on the present.
There finally existed a living Winchester not weighed down by the burdens of his past.
Dean moved his head forward and nuzzled beneath Castiel’s ear, inhaling deeply in the hopes of capturing the angel’s scent.
He understood that what they were doing was dangerous. He didn’t even really know what to call it, this odd trade they engaged in: grace for humanity, emotions for serenity.
All he did know was that Castiel had become closer to him than anyone else.
He had bits of the angel stamped all over him, both inside and out, and Dean saw pieces of himself peaking through in the angel’s behavior. Looking at Castiel was like looking into a mirror because the angel had his easy smile, his sense of purpose, and the infamous Winchester temper.
Dean was not even gonna get into the angel’s new obsession with pie, because he liked the taste of pastry-flavored kisses.
Whatever it was that they were doing, it felt good, but more importantly it felt as if he was finally doing something right.
Which was weird, because this thing between them was undeniably physical, undeniably sexual, and undeniably really - really - gay.
When Cas was done touching him, Dean felt like he had just had a night of great sex. The funny thing was that, even though he knew that he was aroused and, assuming from the hardness pressed against his hip that the angel was as well, they had never orgasmed in the literal sense of the word.
Dean didn’t know, maybe they soul-gasmed or something.
Which was fine with Dean; it was a lot easier to clean up afterwards, especially since one party tended to soul-gasm and then teleport away.
Still, Dean had never been one for self-delusion and he thought that Sam, the little Anti-Christ-That-Could, had the Winchester’s share of the market covered in that sense. So, after a while, Dean had to admit to himself that he was doing some sexy shit with a guy, or a guy shaped being, and that he liked it.
He liked the solid feeling of Castiel’s legs tangled with his.
He enjoyed being man-handled up against a brick wall or bathroom door or even the Impala once or twice.
He took comfort in the angel’s strength because he knew that it would never be used to hurt him, only to protect him, to save him from himself.
Since his sojourn down in the Pit, there had been very little that comforted Dean, and for the longest time he thought the only peace he would ever get had to be found in the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Now that he’d discovered something that let him sleep at night and see the world with clear eyes during the day, Dean found himself being less bothered than he’d expected by the fact that his comfort came in the form of a man-shaped angel and clandestine gropes in sun-lit corners.
He looked up and the angel was still patiently waiting for Dean to pull himself together, and suddenly he wanted to tell Cas.
It’s you.
But the words were stuck in the back of his dry throat.
I never thought that it’d be you.
All that he could do was bury his head as deeply as he could back into Castiel’s neck and breath.
Thankfully, that seemed to be enough because the angel pressed himself even closer to Dean until the knobs of his back were pushed into the crumbling brick wall as if Cas was trying to merge them into one being.
Maybe he was, maybe that was what this was all leading to - the moment when man and angel stop being Dean and Castiel and became some new being, the first of a new breed.
Ready to take on the world.
Or save it.
Dean didn’t care.
His throat was still full of words he just couldn’t spit out, and he wanted, needed Cas to understand.
It’s you!
You make me happy.
~~END~~
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Next Story
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If you guys missed the Twilight reference . . . shame on you ;)
Author: bellajayd
Rating: R
Pairing: Castiel/Dean, jealous!Sam.
Spoilers: Yes! Up to the most recent episode of Supernatural.
Warnings: There is NO rape/NCS or main character death. Everything else is fair game. Eventually, this will be a kid!fic [not mpreg!]-- someone will be raising himself a child [OMC].
Disclaimer: This is all a beautiful lie, but let me tell it anyway.
Word Count: 1,700/5,000+ (and growing)
Notes: This is the THIRD story in the Second Verse, you might want to read what came first or this will not make sense.
Beta: Many, thanks to the glorious
aisling_door and the lovely raphaellover for the beta. All mistakes are my own.
Summary: In which Uriel wonders when Castiel became more badass than him, Dean and Castiel continue to, ahem, “share,” and Dean considers turtlenecks, because he sparkles.
-----------------------
Previous Stories: [i] Second Best; [ii] Second Hand.
-----------------------
A clutch of newly hatched demons trembled with apprehension as Castiel turned his attention to them, hissing hellish filth when their existence was brought to a swift and fitting end.
Uriel had never seen Castiel fight with such diligence.
The battle continued and he observed as droves of the unclean fell before his brother who fought with the power and fury befitting a warrior of God.
Castiel had always been an efficient fighter; expending only the energy needed to disable his opponent.
No more.
No less.
Now, though, something had changed. Fervor and passion spiced his brother’s movements.
It took him a moment to understand what was different about Castiel.
Uriel’s partner, his companion through the empty ages, his fellow Angel of the Lord, was angry.
-----------------------
It took Dean about five seconds, just long enough to be shoved up against a brick wall in the abandoned alley he’d been investigating, to figure out that Castiel was pissed off.
Two seconds after that, in the time it took for him to register the angel’s tongue gently running along the seam of his lips and asking polite permission to enter, Dean knew that whoever Cas was pissed at - it wasn’t him.
So, he stopped thinking and let the angel overwhelm him.
Castiel’s kiss was slick and tasted like ice, cold and clean. As it deepened, mouths pressing desperately against each other, a tingling sensation pulsed through Dean’s body setting his nerve endings ablaze.
It was funny how this thing worked between them. This thing, where Cas took away Dean’s emotions and saved his sanity, where the angel absorbed and experienced Dean’s feelings so that the eldest Winchester didn’t have to.
This thing, which meant that Dean was now used to Castiel’s impromptu visits and being touched, grasped, and groped by the angel. He wasn’t just accustomed to these visitations - he was fast becoming addicted to them.
They both were.
A smooth hand expertly eased itself under Dean’s shirt and stroked its way up to his heart, pausing for a moment to flirt affectionately with an over-sensitized nipple.
Dean had lost track a few weeks back of how many times they had shared themselves this way: Cas burning himself into Dean’s skin, into his soul, giving Dean peace and certainty and in return gaining the ability to feel.
Another hand unfastened the top button of his jeans, creating just enough space for the angel to grip Dean’s unmarred hip, one of the few remaining pieces of skin that didn’t have a tell tale hand print branded into it.
Obviously, they’d done this enough times for Castiel to have become familiar with Dean’s body.
It was someone’s idea of an inside joke that the press of skin on skin, the unfeeling angel’s hand on the hypersensitive human’s flesh, was the conduit for this exchange of emotions.
Dean had developed a new appreciation for thick turtlenecks and made sure to keep his body as covered as possible at all times. He was in no hurry to explain to Sam why it looked like Castiel had been playing with silver finger paint on his body.
The new handprints weren’t raw and red, like the first life giving print on his shoulder; instead, they quickly faded into invisibility until they were exposed to direct light - then they shimmered delicately.
Dean thought it was the damndest thing; it was as if he’d decided to skin a fish and then rub its silvery scales all over himself.
The angel loved to look at Dean’s marked flesh, often stripping him down and placing him in front of a window to allow the sun to illuminate his handiwork.
He sparkled so damned much Dean felt like a fuckin’ fairy, all he needed was a pair of pretty dragonfly wings.
Castiel’s deep, rough whisper snapped him back to the present, “A pair of wings would suit you, Dean.”
Had he said that aloud? He focused his gaze and saw that Castiel’s earlier anger had been forgotten and that his bright eyes were crinkled in amusement.
For one endless moment, Dean forgot how to breathe.
Castiel was a handsome man, or he was possessing a handsome man, whatever, but when his expression grew animated with emotion the angel became breathtakingly beautiful.
“Cas,” Dean murmured through kiss-numbed lips as he shifted to let the angel settle between the cradle of his hips, “Cas.”
The angel quirked his head, blue eyes still blazing, “Yes?”
Looking at Castiel, Dean realized that he’d never felt like this before, and all of the moisture in his mouth evaporated under the power of that celestial gaze and its meaning.
Dean Winchester was happy.
Recently, Dean had been walking around feeling everything through the buffer of Castiel’s grace, and guilt had slowly filtered out of his point of view. He could hunt without bias, think clearly, and keep focused on the present.
There finally existed a living Winchester not weighed down by the burdens of his past.
Dean moved his head forward and nuzzled beneath Castiel’s ear, inhaling deeply in the hopes of capturing the angel’s scent.
He understood that what they were doing was dangerous. He didn’t even really know what to call it, this odd trade they engaged in: grace for humanity, emotions for serenity.
All he did know was that Castiel had become closer to him than anyone else.
He had bits of the angel stamped all over him, both inside and out, and Dean saw pieces of himself peaking through in the angel’s behavior. Looking at Castiel was like looking into a mirror because the angel had his easy smile, his sense of purpose, and the infamous Winchester temper.
Dean was not even gonna get into the angel’s new obsession with pie, because he liked the taste of pastry-flavored kisses.
Whatever it was that they were doing, it felt good, but more importantly it felt as if he was finally doing something right.
Which was weird, because this thing between them was undeniably physical, undeniably sexual, and undeniably really - really - gay.
When Cas was done touching him, Dean felt like he had just had a night of great sex. The funny thing was that, even though he knew that he was aroused and, assuming from the hardness pressed against his hip that the angel was as well, they had never orgasmed in the literal sense of the word.
Dean didn’t know, maybe they soul-gasmed or something.
Which was fine with Dean; it was a lot easier to clean up afterwards, especially since one party tended to soul-gasm and then teleport away.
Still, Dean had never been one for self-delusion and he thought that Sam, the little Anti-Christ-That-Could, had the Winchester’s share of the market covered in that sense. So, after a while, Dean had to admit to himself that he was doing some sexy shit with a guy, or a guy shaped being, and that he liked it.
He liked the solid feeling of Castiel’s legs tangled with his.
He enjoyed being man-handled up against a brick wall or bathroom door or even the Impala once or twice.
He took comfort in the angel’s strength because he knew that it would never be used to hurt him, only to protect him, to save him from himself.
Since his sojourn down in the Pit, there had been very little that comforted Dean, and for the longest time he thought the only peace he would ever get had to be found in the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Now that he’d discovered something that let him sleep at night and see the world with clear eyes during the day, Dean found himself being less bothered than he’d expected by the fact that his comfort came in the form of a man-shaped angel and clandestine gropes in sun-lit corners.
He looked up and the angel was still patiently waiting for Dean to pull himself together, and suddenly he wanted to tell Cas.
It’s you.
But the words were stuck in the back of his dry throat.
I never thought that it’d be you.
All that he could do was bury his head as deeply as he could back into Castiel’s neck and breath.
Thankfully, that seemed to be enough because the angel pressed himself even closer to Dean until the knobs of his back were pushed into the crumbling brick wall as if Cas was trying to merge them into one being.
Maybe he was, maybe that was what this was all leading to - the moment when man and angel stop being Dean and Castiel and became some new being, the first of a new breed.
Ready to take on the world.
Or save it.
Dean didn’t care.
His throat was still full of words he just couldn’t spit out, and he wanted, needed Cas to understand.
It’s you!
You make me happy.
~~END~~
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Next Story
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If you guys missed the Twilight reference . . . shame on you ;)