Fic: Conditional Formatting, SPN, Dean/Castiel
Title: Conditional Formatting
Author: Claire
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,449
Summary: Dean says yes, but he has some conditions...
Notes: Written for dc_fireplace
If Dean's honest with himself, he's kinda amazed that Michael ever agreed to the conditions Dean laid out before he said yes.
Michael hadn't baulked at the Nothing happens to Sam, had just nodded his head at the Bobby gets healed with your angel mojo. He hadn't even objected to the Zachariah gets bitchslapped at the first opportunity--
But, then again, Dean had never expected him to say no to any of those. Well, okay, maybe the Zach one, but Dean figured he could slide that one in under the radar. No, the one he expected Michael to refuse, the one he expected to be the deal-breaker in all of this was the last condition Dean laid at the feet of the angel who was planning to wear him like a condom.
And I stay in control--
The angels around them had started as soon as the words had left Dean's mouth. Who did Dean think he was to demand this of Heaven? No vessel had ever remained in control. This was the Prince of Heaven, not some common street vendor to barter with.
The indignation had continued to flow until Michael stopped them all with a raised hand. Stopped them all and stepped forward in the vessel he was currently wearing (and Dean hates to admit it, but seeing a 13-year old girl stop the Host of Heaven in their tracks with barely a look will never get old). He'd pressed a hand against Dean's chest, pink nail varnish bright against Dean's black tee, and nodded.
"Agreed."
So Dean answered Michael with a single word of his own.
"Yes."
~
"Dean?" There's worry lacing Sam's tone.
"I'm still me, Sammy." Only he isn't, not really. Even though he is. Because it's still his body, even with Michael wrapping himself around every part of him.
It's nothing like Dean expected it to be, this feeling of Michael settling into him and filling the spaces inside. Everything around him is brighter, clearer, sharper, and he's pretty sure the rustling he can hear is the wind in the trees in the next field over.
And the angels. Oh god, the angels. They're shining. Bright and hot and perfect. And Cas is among them, standing there like a fucking beacon.
Our brother always shone brightly.
The words are in his mind, careful and quiet and licking at the edge of his consciousness. And Dean had always thought that if he ever started hearing voices in his head he was going to check himself into the nearest loony bin, and not actually agree with them, but it's not the first time he's been wrong.
But Michael's right, Castiel does shine, and Dean's never felt akin to a moth before but if this is what the little fuckers feel like when they're diving towards the light then it's a hell of a rush. It's not until he feels soft amusement running through him that Dean realises he's taken a step towards Cas. Clenching his hands by his sides, he stares down at the ground. Because he's not moving towards Cas, he's not. Not when he's surrounded by the Host of Heaven, and certainly not when he's got the angel's big brother riding him like a pony. Especially because he knows that if anyone had had the kind of thoughts about Sam that he's been having about Castiel, Dean's pretty sure that he'd have taken them out back and threatened them with a shovel, even if Sam is big enough and ugly enough to look after himself.
Only, Michael's not burning Dean's brain out for thinking illicit thoughts about Castiel. In fact, Dean has the strangest feeling that if he could see Michael, the archangel would be leaning against a wall and smirking at him.
Relationships between angels are not like those of humans, Dean. Brother, lover, friend, mate; I have used each of those with the Host. Occasionally, it was even at the same time.
Yep, definitely smirking. Smirking and, apparently, thinking about--
Oh, jesus, fuck. He does not want that mental image, thank you very much. Even if he is a little impressed over how bendy Gabriel seems to be.
Bastard, Dean thinks lightly.
I've been called worse, is Michael's response.
Dean has little doubt about that, is considering calling Michael something worse himself, except any words Dean may have thrown at the angel are swallowed as they're joined by Cas, bright and shiny and tempting enough that Dean's fingers are itching with the urge to reach out. To just reach out and touch, but he's not going to. And he's good with that, honestly he is. He's good with it right up until the point Michael's back in his head, the Why not? echoing around him. Because there's no reason why he shouldn't, no reason why he should just reach out and--
"Dean?"
And Castiel has a right to sound confused; Dean's not that far behind him. Because they were in a field with angels and Sam and trees and grass and all that shit. And now they're back in the motel room, flickering neon sign shining in through the window, bathing the room in a muted blue glow that the cheap-ass drapes can't block out.
We have to work on your control, Michael's commenting dryly.
But Dean's ignoring him. Ignoring him because if he ignores him then it's just Dean and Cas in the room. No archangel hitching a lift in his skin, just him and Cas, and Cas is still fucking shining.
He reaches out, fingertips lightly touching Castiel's cheek and feeling sparks dancing over his fingers. And if Dean had known this is what it was going to be like, he'd have said yes ages ago, if just so he could touch Castiel and feel-- oh god, feel his grace flaring between them.
"Cas--"
Dean feels harder than he's ever felt before, dick pressing insistently against his jeans. And Cas knows; Dean can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows exactly what Dean's feeling.
"Dean, please--"
Castiel catches Dean's hand in his, tangles their fingers together, and Dean's nerve endings are firing everywhere skin is touching skin.
"I want-- I don't--" Because Dean can feel it under his skin, this want that's pulsing hot and heavy through him. Can feel it dancing just out of reach, twisting away from him every time he tries to hold on to it.
The gap between the two of them is non-existent now, Cas all but pressed against him, and Dean can feel the answering hardness of Castiel's body against his.
"Dean--" Castiel's voice is low, wrecked, and Christ, if this is what he sounds like when they haven't even fucked, Dean doesn't think he's going to survive what's going to happen when they finally make it to a bed.
Dean's fingers are released and Cas's hands come up to frame his face, warm against Dean's cheeks as Cas holds his head. Holds Dean's head and meets Dean's eyes and pushes.
It's sharp and it's sudden and it's fucking glorious as Cas's grace intertwines with his. (And, yes, it's technically Michael's grace, but it's Dean's body it's running through, Dean's cock that's beating a steady tattoo against his jeans and Dean's eyes that feel like they're about to roll back in his head, so Dean's totally claiming it as his.)
"Cas, fuck--" And all other words are lost, lost in bright and harsh and there, as Dean's body jerks, cock pulsing into his shorts in bursts of agonised perfection. Lost, as Castiel shudders in Dean's grip, fingers bunched in Cas's trench coat as their graces slowly part.
"Cas--" Dean can hear the hoarseness in his voice, can hear the undertone of loss as grace sinks back into his body, soft and sure; settles in like it belongs there.
Dean sways slightly, giddy and light-headed, and he's glad the bed's there, because his legs aren't going to hold him up any more. He snags an arm around Cas's waist as he drops onto the too hard mattress, pulling the angel with him. "Damn, is it always like that?" Because, seriously? Fuck the apocalypse, the sex is going to kill him.
Cas twists to look at him. "I'm-- not sure, I've never--"
Which has Dean banking down on the urge to gloat about how he totally just popped Cas's angelic cherry.
"I believe," Cas says carefully, "that we'll have to experiment further. Just to see if it is always like that."
That totally works. "And after that, we can try it the human way," Dean comments, and muffles Cas's agreement with his lips.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,449
Summary: Dean says yes, but he has some conditions...
Notes: Written for dc_fireplace
If Dean's honest with himself, he's kinda amazed that Michael ever agreed to the conditions Dean laid out before he said yes.
Michael hadn't baulked at the Nothing happens to Sam, had just nodded his head at the Bobby gets healed with your angel mojo. He hadn't even objected to the Zachariah gets bitchslapped at the first opportunity--
But, then again, Dean had never expected him to say no to any of those. Well, okay, maybe the Zach one, but Dean figured he could slide that one in under the radar. No, the one he expected Michael to refuse, the one he expected to be the deal-breaker in all of this was the last condition Dean laid at the feet of the angel who was planning to wear him like a condom.
And I stay in control--
The angels around them had started as soon as the words had left Dean's mouth. Who did Dean think he was to demand this of Heaven? No vessel had ever remained in control. This was the Prince of Heaven, not some common street vendor to barter with.
The indignation had continued to flow until Michael stopped them all with a raised hand. Stopped them all and stepped forward in the vessel he was currently wearing (and Dean hates to admit it, but seeing a 13-year old girl stop the Host of Heaven in their tracks with barely a look will never get old). He'd pressed a hand against Dean's chest, pink nail varnish bright against Dean's black tee, and nodded.
"Agreed."
So Dean answered Michael with a single word of his own.
"Yes."
~
"Dean?" There's worry lacing Sam's tone.
"I'm still me, Sammy." Only he isn't, not really. Even though he is. Because it's still his body, even with Michael wrapping himself around every part of him.
It's nothing like Dean expected it to be, this feeling of Michael settling into him and filling the spaces inside. Everything around him is brighter, clearer, sharper, and he's pretty sure the rustling he can hear is the wind in the trees in the next field over.
And the angels. Oh god, the angels. They're shining. Bright and hot and perfect. And Cas is among them, standing there like a fucking beacon.
Our brother always shone brightly.
The words are in his mind, careful and quiet and licking at the edge of his consciousness. And Dean had always thought that if he ever started hearing voices in his head he was going to check himself into the nearest loony bin, and not actually agree with them, but it's not the first time he's been wrong.
But Michael's right, Castiel does shine, and Dean's never felt akin to a moth before but if this is what the little fuckers feel like when they're diving towards the light then it's a hell of a rush. It's not until he feels soft amusement running through him that Dean realises he's taken a step towards Cas. Clenching his hands by his sides, he stares down at the ground. Because he's not moving towards Cas, he's not. Not when he's surrounded by the Host of Heaven, and certainly not when he's got the angel's big brother riding him like a pony. Especially because he knows that if anyone had had the kind of thoughts about Sam that he's been having about Castiel, Dean's pretty sure that he'd have taken them out back and threatened them with a shovel, even if Sam is big enough and ugly enough to look after himself.
Only, Michael's not burning Dean's brain out for thinking illicit thoughts about Castiel. In fact, Dean has the strangest feeling that if he could see Michael, the archangel would be leaning against a wall and smirking at him.
Relationships between angels are not like those of humans, Dean. Brother, lover, friend, mate; I have used each of those with the Host. Occasionally, it was even at the same time.
Yep, definitely smirking. Smirking and, apparently, thinking about--
Oh, jesus, fuck. He does not want that mental image, thank you very much. Even if he is a little impressed over how bendy Gabriel seems to be.
Bastard, Dean thinks lightly.
I've been called worse, is Michael's response.
Dean has little doubt about that, is considering calling Michael something worse himself, except any words Dean may have thrown at the angel are swallowed as they're joined by Cas, bright and shiny and tempting enough that Dean's fingers are itching with the urge to reach out. To just reach out and touch, but he's not going to. And he's good with that, honestly he is. He's good with it right up until the point Michael's back in his head, the Why not? echoing around him. Because there's no reason why he shouldn't, no reason why he should just reach out and--
"Dean?"
And Castiel has a right to sound confused; Dean's not that far behind him. Because they were in a field with angels and Sam and trees and grass and all that shit. And now they're back in the motel room, flickering neon sign shining in through the window, bathing the room in a muted blue glow that the cheap-ass drapes can't block out.
We have to work on your control, Michael's commenting dryly.
But Dean's ignoring him. Ignoring him because if he ignores him then it's just Dean and Cas in the room. No archangel hitching a lift in his skin, just him and Cas, and Cas is still fucking shining.
He reaches out, fingertips lightly touching Castiel's cheek and feeling sparks dancing over his fingers. And if Dean had known this is what it was going to be like, he'd have said yes ages ago, if just so he could touch Castiel and feel-- oh god, feel his grace flaring between them.
"Cas--"
Dean feels harder than he's ever felt before, dick pressing insistently against his jeans. And Cas knows; Dean can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows exactly what Dean's feeling.
"Dean, please--"
Castiel catches Dean's hand in his, tangles their fingers together, and Dean's nerve endings are firing everywhere skin is touching skin.
"I want-- I don't--" Because Dean can feel it under his skin, this want that's pulsing hot and heavy through him. Can feel it dancing just out of reach, twisting away from him every time he tries to hold on to it.
The gap between the two of them is non-existent now, Cas all but pressed against him, and Dean can feel the answering hardness of Castiel's body against his.
"Dean--" Castiel's voice is low, wrecked, and Christ, if this is what he sounds like when they haven't even fucked, Dean doesn't think he's going to survive what's going to happen when they finally make it to a bed.
Dean's fingers are released and Cas's hands come up to frame his face, warm against Dean's cheeks as Cas holds his head. Holds Dean's head and meets Dean's eyes and pushes.
It's sharp and it's sudden and it's fucking glorious as Cas's grace intertwines with his. (And, yes, it's technically Michael's grace, but it's Dean's body it's running through, Dean's cock that's beating a steady tattoo against his jeans and Dean's eyes that feel like they're about to roll back in his head, so Dean's totally claiming it as his.)
"Cas, fuck--" And all other words are lost, lost in bright and harsh and there, as Dean's body jerks, cock pulsing into his shorts in bursts of agonised perfection. Lost, as Castiel shudders in Dean's grip, fingers bunched in Cas's trench coat as their graces slowly part.
"Cas--" Dean can hear the hoarseness in his voice, can hear the undertone of loss as grace sinks back into his body, soft and sure; settles in like it belongs there.
Dean sways slightly, giddy and light-headed, and he's glad the bed's there, because his legs aren't going to hold him up any more. He snags an arm around Cas's waist as he drops onto the too hard mattress, pulling the angel with him. "Damn, is it always like that?" Because, seriously? Fuck the apocalypse, the sex is going to kill him.
Cas twists to look at him. "I'm-- not sure, I've never--"
Which has Dean banking down on the urge to gloat about how he totally just popped Cas's angelic cherry.
"I believe," Cas says carefully, "that we'll have to experiment further. Just to see if it is always like that."
That totally works. "And after that, we can try it the human way," Dean comments, and muffles Cas's agreement with his lips.