Next to godliness (spoilers for 4.09, r-rated, 1500 words, bloodplay)
Next to godliness
(Dean/Alastair, some mild Dean/Castiel, r-rated, 1500 words, bloodplay and some pretty messed up sex)
This seems to have all sprung from that tiny little gesture of Alastair's on his entrance, when he touched the banister and seemed displeased that it was dirty. My brain latched on to that, sorry, and encouraged me to write some icky porn.
The stained glass is tiny pieces of coloured light on the grass that crackle beneath Alastair's feet. He walks slowly, aimlessly, and waits to find Dean again on the breeze. He can smell the thin sugariness of Dean's blood and his mouth waters for it. The fragrance melts away and Alastair sighs, resigns himself to waiting.
He looks up from the shards and sees the angel standing in front of him.
"Castiel," he says, and the name on his tongue is like sucking razorblades.
The angel doesn't speak. It stands there in its godly skin and watches him with blue eyes so empty they might as well be marbles.
Alastair cocks his head at it, then understands. He smiles.
"What am I going to do with you?"
He curls his hand around Dean's throat, rubs the thumb of his other hand through the bloody tears that track down Dean's cheeks. Dean makes a wet, hitched noise and presses back into him, head tilted back to let Alastair's fingers spread wide on his skin.
"You just roll over and take it, don't you? You take it up the ass from them, you let them pour their come down your throat, you let them fuck into you any way they want. And then… then you come back to me, looking and smelling like this."
Alastair sniffs delicately at the crook of Dean's neck, where the skin is flushed and filthy and sticky. He frowns and snaps his grip on Dean tighter. Dean moans, squirms back against him.
"What am I going to do with you?"
"Are you here to smite me?" Alastair says. "I'm full of wickedness and sin, you know."
He takes a step closer and the sun disappears for a fraction of a second as the angel beats its wings. Alastair stops moving but he doesn't stop smiling.
"I'm full of selfishness and lust too. Do you know what that's like, Castiel?"
"You will leave him alone," the angel says.
Alastair shakes his head slowly. "No, I won't."
"You. Will."
Alastair shrugs then dares to take a step towards the angel. "Let's say I'm suitably intimidated and do as you say, you think he'll ever be clean again? You can take away all of his scars if you like, but what I did to him goes soul-deep. He's never going to be clean enough for you."
"I think," Alastair says in a musing tone of voice, while he smoothes his palm over Dean's chest, backwards and forwards over his jumping heartbeat, "that I deserve something better."
Dean's reduced to open-mouthed panting, high on desire and want. He's too out of his mind to properly coordinate his body but he grinds back against Alastair as best he can, thighs loose and spread as he lets Alastair hold him up, muscles in his shoulders bunching and releasing as he arches into Alastair's touch.
"I don't think I want to fuck your pretty little pink hole anymore. You let them fill it with their filth and, honestly, how can I be expected to want it now?"
A high, mournful noise escapes Dean's lips. Frantic, he tries to twist around to face Alastair. His hands clutch desperately at the arm Alastair has wrapped around his waist. He's so slippery when he panics and Alastair has to hold him more firmly, fingers pressed into flesh.
"My mouth," Dean says. "Y'could fuck my mouth… please… Want you in my mouth…"
"Even worse," Alastair says dismissively.
While Dean sobs and breaks down, begs Alastair to please please use his mouth please, Alastair moves his hand lower, slips it between Dean's legs and thoughtfully pets the silky skin of his inner thigh.
The stained glass is behind them now. Alastair wonders how close he can come to the angel before it is too close. But the angel simply watches him. Its eyes are more like ice than glass.
"But it's touching you should come see me like this," Alastair says. "Maybe, seeing as John's not here, I should ask you about your intentions towards Dean? Are they honourable?"
"He has the Lord's work to do."
Alastair considers this then wrinkles his nose distastefully. "What a waste. Can't you think of anything better to do with him?" He leans in to whisper in the angel's ear. "I've got a list with some suggestions, if you like. Things I was just dying to try. Knowing my boy, he'd probably love any of them."
The angel snaps round to face him. It is not designed for emotion and is certainly not able to display emotion when confined in flesh. All the same, there's a flash of something there. Anger, maybe, righteous or otherwise.
"He is not 'your boy.' He never was. He was broken."
"And he's fixed now?" Alastair raises an eyebrow and then laughs in the angel's face. "He was my boy then, and he's my boy still."
"Please," Dean chokes out. "Please, I'll do anything…. do it any way you want. Please, please, I need you to fuck me. Please."
"Hush," Alastair says.
He kneads his hand into the smooth, flat flesh of Dean's belly and Dean goes still against him, even if he can't help the hopeless little noises he's making or his strung-out shivering. Contemplatively, Alastair closes his hand around Dean's throat and enjoys the breathless spasms that rub Dean against him. Then he loosens his hold once more.
"You know what? I think I will fuck you after all. You're very pretty and you beg so nicely and you just can't help being a whore." He smiles indulgently at Dean's sobbing gratitude. "But I think I'm going to have to cut myself a new hole to fuck. Something clean and hot and fresh. Something just for me."
Using a single fingertip, he circles the jutting sharpness of Dean's hipbone, before slowly tracing a line across the flatness of his belly, right to the other hipbone. The line is white for a second, then beads of blood appear along it, glistening and dark. A droplet grows heavy and the first trickle of blood rolls down Dean's skin, into the hair about his cock.
Both Dean and Alastair watch the cut turn bloody. Dean whimpers.
"Look at that," Alastair says, his voice hushed and thick with appreciation. "Oh, now that's beautiful. That's for me." He kisses Dean's cheek, teeth grazing his cheekbone. "You'll be a virgin for me all over again. Can you imagine it, Dean?"
Slow and careful, Alastair pushes his fingertip into where the skin is parted. Dean groans, his whole body tensing. Alastair breathes out, greedy and eager, as he sinks into Dean's flesh. He pushes his hips into Dean from behind, letting Dean feel how hard he is, how much he wants him.
"Can you imagine how it's going to feel to have me inside you there? I can. You'll be so hot and tight, you'll cling to me. I'll be able to bury myself against your bones."
He rubs his finger backwards and forwards in the wound and even the slick sound of it makes him want more. He brings his finger up and Dean instantly takes it into his mouth, sucking his own blood from Alastair's skin as if he's been waiting for Alastair to let him do exactly that.
Dean starts crying again when Alastair pulls his finger free and Alastair ducks his head to catch his tears on his tongue, closes his eyes in bliss at the taste of them.
"He belongs to God," the angel says.
"And he sold himself to us," Alastair counters easily.
There's another throb of the angel's wings and this Alastair feels the flutter of it deep inside himself. It excites him. There's not a single stain on the angel but it's a tenuous purity. It's the purity of fresh bedsheets that will be soiled come morning.
"You and me, we're quite alike," he says.
The angel's lip curls. "We are nothing alike."
"We will be," Alastair amends.
"I follow my Lord God's will, always."
"Mmm," says Alastair, smiling. "And your Lord God commands that you bow before His children. Bow before Dean. Yes, Castiel, I can very easily see you going down on your knees for Dean."
"Enough of your filth!" The angel rounds on him and Alastair raises his hands in mock surrender. "You will leave him alone. He is not for you."
The sun is bright overhead but it's nothing compared to the light that shines from within Castiel. It's a sterilising light, a fire that burns away contamination. It's brilliant, colourless and without mercy.
But it's not a brighter light than Lucifer's was. And when the angel speaks of Dean, Alastair sees life in its eyes, life in all its messy, sweaty glory.
"He's all yours," Alastair says finally, and he picks a piece of lint from the angel's shoulder. "Make him a saint if you can, but I suggest you keep a tight hold on your halo."
There's corruption waiting to happen and Alastair's looking forward to the floorshow.
By the time he's got Dean flat on his back, Dean's belly is gaping and red, and Alastair's hands skid through the blood. He moves over Dean, splays his hands over Dean's hips to hold him down, and presses his mouth against the cut. The tip of his tongue teases at the broken skin, lapping up blood and feeling Dean tremble beneath him.
"Look what I found," Alastair says. He tilts his face up to meet Dean's feverish, green gaze. "You're so clean inside."
~end
(Dean/Alastair, some mild Dean/Castiel, r-rated, 1500 words, bloodplay and some pretty messed up sex)
This seems to have all sprung from that tiny little gesture of Alastair's on his entrance, when he touched the banister and seemed displeased that it was dirty. My brain latched on to that, sorry, and encouraged me to write some icky porn.
The stained glass is tiny pieces of coloured light on the grass that crackle beneath Alastair's feet. He walks slowly, aimlessly, and waits to find Dean again on the breeze. He can smell the thin sugariness of Dean's blood and his mouth waters for it. The fragrance melts away and Alastair sighs, resigns himself to waiting.
He looks up from the shards and sees the angel standing in front of him.
"Castiel," he says, and the name on his tongue is like sucking razorblades.
The angel doesn't speak. It stands there in its godly skin and watches him with blue eyes so empty they might as well be marbles.
Alastair cocks his head at it, then understands. He smiles.
"What am I going to do with you?"
He curls his hand around Dean's throat, rubs the thumb of his other hand through the bloody tears that track down Dean's cheeks. Dean makes a wet, hitched noise and presses back into him, head tilted back to let Alastair's fingers spread wide on his skin.
"You just roll over and take it, don't you? You take it up the ass from them, you let them pour their come down your throat, you let them fuck into you any way they want. And then… then you come back to me, looking and smelling like this."
Alastair sniffs delicately at the crook of Dean's neck, where the skin is flushed and filthy and sticky. He frowns and snaps his grip on Dean tighter. Dean moans, squirms back against him.
"What am I going to do with you?"
"Are you here to smite me?" Alastair says. "I'm full of wickedness and sin, you know."
He takes a step closer and the sun disappears for a fraction of a second as the angel beats its wings. Alastair stops moving but he doesn't stop smiling.
"I'm full of selfishness and lust too. Do you know what that's like, Castiel?"
"You will leave him alone," the angel says.
Alastair shakes his head slowly. "No, I won't."
"You. Will."
Alastair shrugs then dares to take a step towards the angel. "Let's say I'm suitably intimidated and do as you say, you think he'll ever be clean again? You can take away all of his scars if you like, but what I did to him goes soul-deep. He's never going to be clean enough for you."
"I think," Alastair says in a musing tone of voice, while he smoothes his palm over Dean's chest, backwards and forwards over his jumping heartbeat, "that I deserve something better."
Dean's reduced to open-mouthed panting, high on desire and want. He's too out of his mind to properly coordinate his body but he grinds back against Alastair as best he can, thighs loose and spread as he lets Alastair hold him up, muscles in his shoulders bunching and releasing as he arches into Alastair's touch.
"I don't think I want to fuck your pretty little pink hole anymore. You let them fill it with their filth and, honestly, how can I be expected to want it now?"
A high, mournful noise escapes Dean's lips. Frantic, he tries to twist around to face Alastair. His hands clutch desperately at the arm Alastair has wrapped around his waist. He's so slippery when he panics and Alastair has to hold him more firmly, fingers pressed into flesh.
"My mouth," Dean says. "Y'could fuck my mouth… please… Want you in my mouth…"
"Even worse," Alastair says dismissively.
While Dean sobs and breaks down, begs Alastair to please please use his mouth please, Alastair moves his hand lower, slips it between Dean's legs and thoughtfully pets the silky skin of his inner thigh.
The stained glass is behind them now. Alastair wonders how close he can come to the angel before it is too close. But the angel simply watches him. Its eyes are more like ice than glass.
"But it's touching you should come see me like this," Alastair says. "Maybe, seeing as John's not here, I should ask you about your intentions towards Dean? Are they honourable?"
"He has the Lord's work to do."
Alastair considers this then wrinkles his nose distastefully. "What a waste. Can't you think of anything better to do with him?" He leans in to whisper in the angel's ear. "I've got a list with some suggestions, if you like. Things I was just dying to try. Knowing my boy, he'd probably love any of them."
The angel snaps round to face him. It is not designed for emotion and is certainly not able to display emotion when confined in flesh. All the same, there's a flash of something there. Anger, maybe, righteous or otherwise.
"He is not 'your boy.' He never was. He was broken."
"And he's fixed now?" Alastair raises an eyebrow and then laughs in the angel's face. "He was my boy then, and he's my boy still."
"Please," Dean chokes out. "Please, I'll do anything…. do it any way you want. Please, please, I need you to fuck me. Please."
"Hush," Alastair says.
He kneads his hand into the smooth, flat flesh of Dean's belly and Dean goes still against him, even if he can't help the hopeless little noises he's making or his strung-out shivering. Contemplatively, Alastair closes his hand around Dean's throat and enjoys the breathless spasms that rub Dean against him. Then he loosens his hold once more.
"You know what? I think I will fuck you after all. You're very pretty and you beg so nicely and you just can't help being a whore." He smiles indulgently at Dean's sobbing gratitude. "But I think I'm going to have to cut myself a new hole to fuck. Something clean and hot and fresh. Something just for me."
Using a single fingertip, he circles the jutting sharpness of Dean's hipbone, before slowly tracing a line across the flatness of his belly, right to the other hipbone. The line is white for a second, then beads of blood appear along it, glistening and dark. A droplet grows heavy and the first trickle of blood rolls down Dean's skin, into the hair about his cock.
Both Dean and Alastair watch the cut turn bloody. Dean whimpers.
"Look at that," Alastair says, his voice hushed and thick with appreciation. "Oh, now that's beautiful. That's for me." He kisses Dean's cheek, teeth grazing his cheekbone. "You'll be a virgin for me all over again. Can you imagine it, Dean?"
Slow and careful, Alastair pushes his fingertip into where the skin is parted. Dean groans, his whole body tensing. Alastair breathes out, greedy and eager, as he sinks into Dean's flesh. He pushes his hips into Dean from behind, letting Dean feel how hard he is, how much he wants him.
"Can you imagine how it's going to feel to have me inside you there? I can. You'll be so hot and tight, you'll cling to me. I'll be able to bury myself against your bones."
He rubs his finger backwards and forwards in the wound and even the slick sound of it makes him want more. He brings his finger up and Dean instantly takes it into his mouth, sucking his own blood from Alastair's skin as if he's been waiting for Alastair to let him do exactly that.
Dean starts crying again when Alastair pulls his finger free and Alastair ducks his head to catch his tears on his tongue, closes his eyes in bliss at the taste of them.
"He belongs to God," the angel says.
"And he sold himself to us," Alastair counters easily.
There's another throb of the angel's wings and this Alastair feels the flutter of it deep inside himself. It excites him. There's not a single stain on the angel but it's a tenuous purity. It's the purity of fresh bedsheets that will be soiled come morning.
"You and me, we're quite alike," he says.
The angel's lip curls. "We are nothing alike."
"We will be," Alastair amends.
"I follow my Lord God's will, always."
"Mmm," says Alastair, smiling. "And your Lord God commands that you bow before His children. Bow before Dean. Yes, Castiel, I can very easily see you going down on your knees for Dean."
"Enough of your filth!" The angel rounds on him and Alastair raises his hands in mock surrender. "You will leave him alone. He is not for you."
The sun is bright overhead but it's nothing compared to the light that shines from within Castiel. It's a sterilising light, a fire that burns away contamination. It's brilliant, colourless and without mercy.
But it's not a brighter light than Lucifer's was. And when the angel speaks of Dean, Alastair sees life in its eyes, life in all its messy, sweaty glory.
"He's all yours," Alastair says finally, and he picks a piece of lint from the angel's shoulder. "Make him a saint if you can, but I suggest you keep a tight hold on your halo."
There's corruption waiting to happen and Alastair's looking forward to the floorshow.
By the time he's got Dean flat on his back, Dean's belly is gaping and red, and Alastair's hands skid through the blood. He moves over Dean, splays his hands over Dean's hips to hold him down, and presses his mouth against the cut. The tip of his tongue teases at the broken skin, lapping up blood and feeling Dean tremble beneath him.
"Look what I found," Alastair says. He tilts his face up to meet Dean's feverish, green gaze. "You're so clean inside."
~end