[fic] you've really got a hold on me for obstinatrix
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me
Author: beatlemaniac9
Recipient: obstinatrix
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1500
Warnings: Mentions of past non-con (not Dean/Cas), strong language, graphic m/m sex scene, angst out the wazoo.
Spoilers: 5.04 The End
Summary: Dean doesn’t want to need Cas like he does.
Author notes: Title comes from the Beatles song of the same name.
Dean catches the tail end of the weekly orgy that Cas usually throws, looking bitter as always about the whole prospect. Cas is heavily sated, popping a few pills into his mouth and washing it down with the last of the booze Bailey made, which, by the way, wasn’t fit for cleaning an engine, as he lays back on his clean mattress. Orgies are for the floor, he once told Dean, so that he doesn’t have to sleep in any wet spots. Dean can’t help but think him wise for that.
“Oh, righteous man,” Cas mocks playfully, “Oh, fearless leader of ours…penny for your thoughts?”
“If you had a penny, I’d steal it without telling you a God-damned thing.” Dean quips, striding across the floor and settling himself at the foot of the fallen angel’s bed.
“All the bullets left in the world, made of shining pennies and dimes, can’t save you, Dean, because it’s not the croats you’re running from.”
Dean nods in acknowledgement, and Cas smiles, never really knowing how right he is. Even in his drug addled mind Castiel can sense that Dean will never be at peace…not really. Sam is forever lost to them, trapped within his own body as his punishment for the sin of giving up- giving up hope in both himself, and in Dean. Despite this, Cas could never fully comprehend the agony Dean felt because of it.
Dean unclips his thigh holster, setting his gun to the floor before moving to lie beside Cas. As expected, strong arms pulled him into the warmth of his friend’s body, and he breathed out a sigh of relief that, once again, the man had not turned him away. As many times as he’d done this, the fear of rejection could not escape him.
Cas reeked of the women he had been with, but Dean couldn’t muster the strength to care. Any drive left within him was dedicated to taking Lucifer down, and when it was all said and done, he’d rest. It was like that old Kansas song. He struggled to find the words, lamenting the lack of a working tape deck anywhere, but he remembered the basic gist. He thinks that the song was about a man like him, pretending like there was a purpose to everything, but broken. Dean struggled to ignore the sharp pain in his gut at the reminder. That’s what he was-something broken beyond repair. There was no fix, no cure, nothing to help him along. His final breath would be a gift.
Cas knew that when it was over, Dean would be, too. He’d put the warm gun to his head and fire, because nothing else would matter anymore. He wished that he could be enough, that his love for the hunter could keep him going, but he knew, somewhere deep down, that Dean was lready dead. He also wished that heaven would care enough to open their gates to him, if no one else, because no one deserved Heaven’s peace like Dean. He cards his fingers through the messy blonde hair resting on his shoulder, and places a kiss to the crown of his head. “Do you think Sammy feels?” Dean asks hesitantly, like he used to before he learned to fear the honesty Cas provided him.
“I should hope not.” Cas replies, struggling to remain awake.
******************************************************************************
Dean’s dreams fell into two categories: altered memories of his very own golden days, and horrible nightmares of Lucifer and Hell. Today’s mental excursion wasn’t too bad. He was in a diner with Sam. Thinking for a moment, he decided that it was probably in Texas. He thought it looked like one they’d been to a few years back.
Sam was sitting in the bench across from him, one leg to the side and the other between Dean’s, since neither of them really had enough leg room. It probably said a lot about Dean that he was willing to trust Sam to have a leg between his own, as if he were to be irritated, Sam could easily make a crotch-shot (he’d done it before, too). But Dean allowed him the leg room, instead of worrying for his manhood, as many brothers would.
Laptop open, his brother clicked away at the keys, never looking up to call Dean on his staring. It was almost as if Sam didn’t know he was there. As the memory came back to him, Dean realized that when this actually happened, Sam had been pissed at him for going out to a bar while they were on a case. That explained Sam’s refusal to pay attention to him, then.
He picked at his bacon cheeseburger morosely, failing to eat more than a few fries. As sad as this memory made him feel, he was still grateful for the reprieve from the last few days of hell dreams. Cas did that to him; whenever they napped together, the worst of the dreams went away.
******************************************************************************
Later, when they both awoke, they fucked. It couldn’t even be called anything else. Whatever intentions they had before they started flew out the window the moment Dean got his mouth on the other man’s throat. The whole camp knew it, too. It was too easy for them all to dismiss the loud noises coming from Dean’s cabin, because of the two occasions in which Chuck got an eyeful when investigating. Perhaps they should be worried, because if anything managed to get in and make it all the way to Dean’s cabin, no one would come to his aid. Hell, Dean wouldn’t help himself. He was too tired to fight for himself anymore.
Dean was on top. He was always on top. Castiel knew when he pulled Dean out of the fire that Alistair had given him a very special brand of torture in addition to the usual knives and whips. John had gotten the same treatment; Dean was sure of it, but knowing that your father survived it while you broke with unmentionable things in unfavorable places didn’t make it better, it made it worse. Bottoming was something he once enjoyed, in another lifetime. Couldn’t tolerate it now- so Cas took it like a champ, laying himself out whatever way pleased Dean the most on any given night. Most of the camp’s residents thought Dean was taking advantage, though no one would say it. Cas didn’t care what they thought.
Fingers roamed marred skin, taking in every little detail, mapping out their lives in scars and bumps of reformed bone where the muscle was too thin to conceal it. Dean knew the little scar on Cas’s shoulder was from a run-in that Jimmy had with a sharp top cabinet door, but the rest of the obvious ones were all that of the former angel. Cas slid his palm over the mark he once made on Dean, placing his claim to ward off demons on the journey out of Hell.
He thought of that mission, sometimes.
The wiser demons stepped out of his way as he approached the chamber where Dean was carving Bela to bits. She gave in relatively early, but had done something to piss off Alastair.
When Castiel approached, placing a hand on his shoulder, he stilled momentarily before continuing his work. Only the promise of Sam cut through his self-induced torture haze. Castiel wiped his memory of that event before he placed the broken soul back into its reformed body.
Coming back to himself, he linked his hand with Dean’s atop the mattress by his head. Dean held tightly, dropping his head to his best friend’s shoulder.
“Cas,” He whimpered. It was the first time he’s ever said any name during their…activities. Castiel stilled out of shock, but arched as his orgasm slammed through him moments later. Dean’s hips thrust forward faster and faster as Dean neared completion, before he, too, was spent.
Falling to the side, Dean left his hand where it was, firmly in Castiel’s grasp, as he once again drifted off.
******************************************************************************
The next day, Cas woke to find he was completely surrounded by Dean. His arms were tight around the former angel’s middle, and his head was tucked into his neck. What was particularly surprising was that for once, Dean appeared to be at peace. Gone were the worry lines that formed in his sleep, as were the tremors that usually racked his body.
Reaching over Dean to get to his pills, he took a few to get his day started. Thankfully, Dean didn’t stir with the motion. Cas wanted him to sleep as long as possible. The camp was quiet these past few days, but not suspiciously so. They could do without their leader for another hour or two. Chuck could handle any minor thing that came up, and if there really was something that needed Dean’s attention, Chuck would find him, past accidental peep shows not withstanding.
Truth was, they were both tired. Dean needed this.
Once again, Dean needed him.
Title: You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me
Author: beatlemaniac9
Recipient: obstinatrix
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1500
Warnings: Mentions of past non-con (not Dean/Cas), strong language, graphic m/m sex scene, angst out the wazoo.
Spoilers: 5.04 The End
Summary: Dean doesn’t want to need Cas like he does.
Author notes: Title comes from the Beatles song of the same name.
Dean catches the tail end of the weekly orgy that Cas usually throws, looking bitter as always about the whole prospect. Cas is heavily sated, popping a few pills into his mouth and washing it down with the last of the booze Bailey made, which, by the way, wasn’t fit for cleaning an engine, as he lays back on his clean mattress. Orgies are for the floor, he once told Dean, so that he doesn’t have to sleep in any wet spots. Dean can’t help but think him wise for that.
“Oh, righteous man,” Cas mocks playfully, “Oh, fearless leader of ours…penny for your thoughts?”
“If you had a penny, I’d steal it without telling you a God-damned thing.” Dean quips, striding across the floor and settling himself at the foot of the fallen angel’s bed.
“All the bullets left in the world, made of shining pennies and dimes, can’t save you, Dean, because it’s not the croats you’re running from.”
Dean nods in acknowledgement, and Cas smiles, never really knowing how right he is. Even in his drug addled mind Castiel can sense that Dean will never be at peace…not really. Sam is forever lost to them, trapped within his own body as his punishment for the sin of giving up- giving up hope in both himself, and in Dean. Despite this, Cas could never fully comprehend the agony Dean felt because of it.
Dean unclips his thigh holster, setting his gun to the floor before moving to lie beside Cas. As expected, strong arms pulled him into the warmth of his friend’s body, and he breathed out a sigh of relief that, once again, the man had not turned him away. As many times as he’d done this, the fear of rejection could not escape him.
Cas reeked of the women he had been with, but Dean couldn’t muster the strength to care. Any drive left within him was dedicated to taking Lucifer down, and when it was all said and done, he’d rest. It was like that old Kansas song. He struggled to find the words, lamenting the lack of a working tape deck anywhere, but he remembered the basic gist. He thinks that the song was about a man like him, pretending like there was a purpose to everything, but broken. Dean struggled to ignore the sharp pain in his gut at the reminder. That’s what he was-something broken beyond repair. There was no fix, no cure, nothing to help him along. His final breath would be a gift.
Cas knew that when it was over, Dean would be, too. He’d put the warm gun to his head and fire, because nothing else would matter anymore. He wished that he could be enough, that his love for the hunter could keep him going, but he knew, somewhere deep down, that Dean was lready dead. He also wished that heaven would care enough to open their gates to him, if no one else, because no one deserved Heaven’s peace like Dean. He cards his fingers through the messy blonde hair resting on his shoulder, and places a kiss to the crown of his head. “Do you think Sammy feels?” Dean asks hesitantly, like he used to before he learned to fear the honesty Cas provided him.
“I should hope not.” Cas replies, struggling to remain awake.
******************************************************************************
Dean’s dreams fell into two categories: altered memories of his very own golden days, and horrible nightmares of Lucifer and Hell. Today’s mental excursion wasn’t too bad. He was in a diner with Sam. Thinking for a moment, he decided that it was probably in Texas. He thought it looked like one they’d been to a few years back.
Sam was sitting in the bench across from him, one leg to the side and the other between Dean’s, since neither of them really had enough leg room. It probably said a lot about Dean that he was willing to trust Sam to have a leg between his own, as if he were to be irritated, Sam could easily make a crotch-shot (he’d done it before, too). But Dean allowed him the leg room, instead of worrying for his manhood, as many brothers would.
Laptop open, his brother clicked away at the keys, never looking up to call Dean on his staring. It was almost as if Sam didn’t know he was there. As the memory came back to him, Dean realized that when this actually happened, Sam had been pissed at him for going out to a bar while they were on a case. That explained Sam’s refusal to pay attention to him, then.
He picked at his bacon cheeseburger morosely, failing to eat more than a few fries. As sad as this memory made him feel, he was still grateful for the reprieve from the last few days of hell dreams. Cas did that to him; whenever they napped together, the worst of the dreams went away.
******************************************************************************
Later, when they both awoke, they fucked. It couldn’t even be called anything else. Whatever intentions they had before they started flew out the window the moment Dean got his mouth on the other man’s throat. The whole camp knew it, too. It was too easy for them all to dismiss the loud noises coming from Dean’s cabin, because of the two occasions in which Chuck got an eyeful when investigating. Perhaps they should be worried, because if anything managed to get in and make it all the way to Dean’s cabin, no one would come to his aid. Hell, Dean wouldn’t help himself. He was too tired to fight for himself anymore.
Dean was on top. He was always on top. Castiel knew when he pulled Dean out of the fire that Alistair had given him a very special brand of torture in addition to the usual knives and whips. John had gotten the same treatment; Dean was sure of it, but knowing that your father survived it while you broke with unmentionable things in unfavorable places didn’t make it better, it made it worse. Bottoming was something he once enjoyed, in another lifetime. Couldn’t tolerate it now- so Cas took it like a champ, laying himself out whatever way pleased Dean the most on any given night. Most of the camp’s residents thought Dean was taking advantage, though no one would say it. Cas didn’t care what they thought.
Fingers roamed marred skin, taking in every little detail, mapping out their lives in scars and bumps of reformed bone where the muscle was too thin to conceal it. Dean knew the little scar on Cas’s shoulder was from a run-in that Jimmy had with a sharp top cabinet door, but the rest of the obvious ones were all that of the former angel. Cas slid his palm over the mark he once made on Dean, placing his claim to ward off demons on the journey out of Hell.
He thought of that mission, sometimes.
The wiser demons stepped out of his way as he approached the chamber where Dean was carving Bela to bits. She gave in relatively early, but had done something to piss off Alastair.
When Castiel approached, placing a hand on his shoulder, he stilled momentarily before continuing his work. Only the promise of Sam cut through his self-induced torture haze. Castiel wiped his memory of that event before he placed the broken soul back into its reformed body.
Coming back to himself, he linked his hand with Dean’s atop the mattress by his head. Dean held tightly, dropping his head to his best friend’s shoulder.
“Cas,” He whimpered. It was the first time he’s ever said any name during their…activities. Castiel stilled out of shock, but arched as his orgasm slammed through him moments later. Dean’s hips thrust forward faster and faster as Dean neared completion, before he, too, was spent.
Falling to the side, Dean left his hand where it was, firmly in Castiel’s grasp, as he once again drifted off.
******************************************************************************
The next day, Cas woke to find he was completely surrounded by Dean. His arms were tight around the former angel’s middle, and his head was tucked into his neck. What was particularly surprising was that for once, Dean appeared to be at peace. Gone were the worry lines that formed in his sleep, as were the tremors that usually racked his body.
Reaching over Dean to get to his pills, he took a few to get his day started. Thankfully, Dean didn’t stir with the motion. Cas wanted him to sleep as long as possible. The camp was quiet these past few days, but not suspiciously so. They could do without their leader for another hour or two. Chuck could handle any minor thing that came up, and if there really was something that needed Dean’s attention, Chuck would find him, past accidental peep shows not withstanding.
Truth was, they were both tired. Dean needed this.
Once again, Dean needed him.