fic: MMOM #19: The Cult of Dean (2/3) (Dean/Castiel, Sam/Dean, Lucifer/Michael)
Title: The Cult of Dean (2/3)
Author: eggblue
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Dean, Lucifer/Michael
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Sam, Dean and Castiel are not belong to me.
Word Count: 1000
Notes: Post-4.22. Where Dean and Sam are possessed by archangels, and Castiel is stuck in a triangle. Part 1 here.
Dean has been having the most amazing dreams since the Apocalypse began.
In Heaven’s green room, there are mirrors everywhere, reflecting off of each other, gilded in gold and creating multitudes. Dean sees the mirror image of himself getting fucked halfway to Sunday by the mirror image of his brother, Sam.
Only it’s not Sam and Dean. It’s Lucifer and Michael -- golden-eyed archangels, god’s favorite sons, long-lost brothers, warriors of the Apocalypse -- in the bodies of Sam and Dean.
Lucifer’s (Sam’s) eyes are the brightest gold, his body hard and well-formed as a marble statue, his sex perfect. He’s enjoying every inch of himself, the feel of himself in that body, the feel of that body inside of his needy, needy brother.
In his dreams, Dean knows Lucifer as well as he knows his own brother. It’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.
He feels Michael’s (his) broad back against the sweat-soaked bed. He feels the power he’s barely holding in-check, enough to allow his brother this pleasure, enough to allow himself to give it to him, staring into his eyes, golden eyes never blinking.
Lucifer moves freely above him, grips his limbs to position him, holds his thighs down, and glides their skin together. Lucifer (his brother) bends to kiss him, and he can reach his mouth, kiss him hard and pull back with his hips and thrust, and thrust, and thrust, just that deliberate, until he has to breathe hard on Michael’s cheek just to gain control again. Dean can feel the energy shoot through him with each thrust, and it’s almost more than he can bear. And it’s just a fraction of the rage inside of the other archangel, just a taste of what he’s wanted to do for millennia. Since the fall.
He feels Michael stare into his brother with a hundred times more fascination than he’s ever imagined. Like he’s missed him as much as Dean misses Sam. Lucifer’s golden eyes are just above his, close enough so their noses touch. He knows when his brother is going to come before it happens. He feels the power gathering in their centers, rippling out in waves, beginning to slam into him through those hips, that breath, those eyes. He starts to see light. He holds his brother tight to himself, and he can swear, in his entire tragic existence, nothing has ever felt more right…
Is this how you tempt a prince of Heaven, if you are a prince of Hell? Is it the same thing that tempts the children of Eden? Family, brother, love… Do the angels know this? Do the angels know what this is?
Dean wakes up in a sweat next to Castiel. The angel is sleeping on his side in his full suit and coat, even his shoes, on top of the covers. Dean is achingly hard in his jeans, and he resents Cas for making him sleep in his clothes, even though he normally would’ve anyway.
He’s running his fist up and down his hard length and he doesn’t even care that he’s thinking of his brother’s body when he does it, but he can’t think of anything else beyond his dream -- the sweat that was dripping down his face, the look in his eyes, those hard muscles and those hips and that perfect, perfect cock, making his insides vibrate with the impact, hitting him again and again… and it’s been so long, so long since he’s seen him, touched him…
Then Cas slaps a hand on his knuckle.
“What the…? Cas!” Dean gives him a shove with his left hand, halfway off the bed. So Castiel rights himself, pauses, grabs Dean by the shoulders and throws him on the floor.
Dean remains there, sprawled out flat, the tip of his sex leaving wet spots on his t-shirt, and stares at the angel’s pinched-mouth expression. “Cas, I’m seriously going to kick your ass in a second.”
Castiel just stands there, looking like he’s thinking, desperately, of a way to get through to Dean. “Michael…”
But Dean cuts him off with a growl. “Hey! Subjugation, remember? This is my body, my will. For the last fucking time, Cas…” And he has to stop when Castiel’s face crumples and closes in defeat. Oh, damn.
He figures it’s because of all these damn angels that his mind’s gotten all screwed up. Demons have got nothing on angels when it comes to the mindfuck. Demons wouldn’t make him feel like such a dick by just trying to get off. Demons wouldn’t make him lust after his own brother just when the prince of Hell decided to take a vacation in his body. Demons wouldn’t look at him the way Castiel does when he thinks Dean’s not looking.
But Dean doesn’t want to think about that. Not when he’s still hard and on the floor and Castiel is still standing above him, looking lost.
“Hey, Cas.” And it’s really hard to force eye contact with an angel with your hard-on practically poking him in the face. So Dean just shuts his eyes and bangs his head against the floor a couple of times. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take a cold shower, go for a walk or something.” His eyes are still shut. “It’s cool. No big deal.” He knows Cas has no idea what he’s talking about. Not really.
“No,” the angel replies. “I will take a walk.” And then he’s gone.
Dean guesses he really is taking a walk, out in the moonlight in some forest somewhere. Whatever heartsick, lost, dejected angels do. He doesn’t really want to know what he’s thinking about. He could presume what it is, but he feels guilty enough already.
When Dean begins again, he pumps his fist hard enough so that he doesn’t have to think about Castiel, or Sam, or the archangels, or the end of the world, or anything besides his own need. It makes him feel so empty he could cry.
The End
(I lied: Part 3 here.)
Author: eggblue
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Dean, Lucifer/Michael
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Sam, Dean and Castiel are not belong to me.
Word Count: 1000
Notes: Post-4.22. Where Dean and Sam are possessed by archangels, and Castiel is stuck in a triangle. Part 1 here.
Dean has been having the most amazing dreams since the Apocalypse began.
In Heaven’s green room, there are mirrors everywhere, reflecting off of each other, gilded in gold and creating multitudes. Dean sees the mirror image of himself getting fucked halfway to Sunday by the mirror image of his brother, Sam.
Only it’s not Sam and Dean. It’s Lucifer and Michael -- golden-eyed archangels, god’s favorite sons, long-lost brothers, warriors of the Apocalypse -- in the bodies of Sam and Dean.
Lucifer’s (Sam’s) eyes are the brightest gold, his body hard and well-formed as a marble statue, his sex perfect. He’s enjoying every inch of himself, the feel of himself in that body, the feel of that body inside of his needy, needy brother.
In his dreams, Dean knows Lucifer as well as he knows his own brother. It’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.
He feels Michael’s (his) broad back against the sweat-soaked bed. He feels the power he’s barely holding in-check, enough to allow his brother this pleasure, enough to allow himself to give it to him, staring into his eyes, golden eyes never blinking.
Lucifer moves freely above him, grips his limbs to position him, holds his thighs down, and glides their skin together. Lucifer (his brother) bends to kiss him, and he can reach his mouth, kiss him hard and pull back with his hips and thrust, and thrust, and thrust, just that deliberate, until he has to breathe hard on Michael’s cheek just to gain control again. Dean can feel the energy shoot through him with each thrust, and it’s almost more than he can bear. And it’s just a fraction of the rage inside of the other archangel, just a taste of what he’s wanted to do for millennia. Since the fall.
He feels Michael stare into his brother with a hundred times more fascination than he’s ever imagined. Like he’s missed him as much as Dean misses Sam. Lucifer’s golden eyes are just above his, close enough so their noses touch. He knows when his brother is going to come before it happens. He feels the power gathering in their centers, rippling out in waves, beginning to slam into him through those hips, that breath, those eyes. He starts to see light. He holds his brother tight to himself, and he can swear, in his entire tragic existence, nothing has ever felt more right…
Is this how you tempt a prince of Heaven, if you are a prince of Hell? Is it the same thing that tempts the children of Eden? Family, brother, love… Do the angels know this? Do the angels know what this is?
Dean wakes up in a sweat next to Castiel. The angel is sleeping on his side in his full suit and coat, even his shoes, on top of the covers. Dean is achingly hard in his jeans, and he resents Cas for making him sleep in his clothes, even though he normally would’ve anyway.
He’s running his fist up and down his hard length and he doesn’t even care that he’s thinking of his brother’s body when he does it, but he can’t think of anything else beyond his dream -- the sweat that was dripping down his face, the look in his eyes, those hard muscles and those hips and that perfect, perfect cock, making his insides vibrate with the impact, hitting him again and again… and it’s been so long, so long since he’s seen him, touched him…
Then Cas slaps a hand on his knuckle.
“What the…? Cas!” Dean gives him a shove with his left hand, halfway off the bed. So Castiel rights himself, pauses, grabs Dean by the shoulders and throws him on the floor.
Dean remains there, sprawled out flat, the tip of his sex leaving wet spots on his t-shirt, and stares at the angel’s pinched-mouth expression. “Cas, I’m seriously going to kick your ass in a second.”
Castiel just stands there, looking like he’s thinking, desperately, of a way to get through to Dean. “Michael…”
But Dean cuts him off with a growl. “Hey! Subjugation, remember? This is my body, my will. For the last fucking time, Cas…” And he has to stop when Castiel’s face crumples and closes in defeat. Oh, damn.
He figures it’s because of all these damn angels that his mind’s gotten all screwed up. Demons have got nothing on angels when it comes to the mindfuck. Demons wouldn’t make him feel like such a dick by just trying to get off. Demons wouldn’t make him lust after his own brother just when the prince of Hell decided to take a vacation in his body. Demons wouldn’t look at him the way Castiel does when he thinks Dean’s not looking.
But Dean doesn’t want to think about that. Not when he’s still hard and on the floor and Castiel is still standing above him, looking lost.
“Hey, Cas.” And it’s really hard to force eye contact with an angel with your hard-on practically poking him in the face. So Dean just shuts his eyes and bangs his head against the floor a couple of times. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take a cold shower, go for a walk or something.” His eyes are still shut. “It’s cool. No big deal.” He knows Cas has no idea what he’s talking about. Not really.
“No,” the angel replies. “I will take a walk.” And then he’s gone.
Dean guesses he really is taking a walk, out in the moonlight in some forest somewhere. Whatever heartsick, lost, dejected angels do. He doesn’t really want to know what he’s thinking about. He could presume what it is, but he feels guilty enough already.
When Dean begins again, he pumps his fist hard enough so that he doesn’t have to think about Castiel, or Sam, or the archangels, or the end of the world, or anything besides his own need. It makes him feel so empty he could cry.
The End
(I lied: Part 3 here.)