Hey everyone! It's been a while since I've posted anything new, not because I haven't been writing but because I have been focused on my Rare Pair Big Bang story, which is going to be around 100,000 words and will be coming out on May 15th. So, something to look forward to (One guess what my rare pair is...let's see...all of unforth's stories are either Destiel or Deanjimstiel, soooo...).

However, I needed a mental break on that and I got distracted by a Writing Prompt Wednesday idea from a couple years ago, and then the idea I thought would be 10,000 words at the most grew into this. Yeah, I know. At the time I'm writing this note I'm note quite done with the first draft but I'm close - it's going to be around 30,000 total.

We all have guilty pleasure kinks, and bestiality (within certain parameters) is one of mine...up to now I've been a little shy about writing in some of my more "out there" kinks but I'm getting more open about stuff the more I write, so I suspect more of that stuff will find it's way into my work going forward. Anyway...yeah, if the idea of dragon sex bothers you this is probably not the story for you, but otherwise - hope you enjoy.

Oh, and a note on the tags that I didn't include in the story description: Dean is not responsible for the emotional manipulation. It'll all make sense, you'll see. :)

So, this is a Writing Prompt Wednesday story.

What is Writing Prompt Wednesday?

Writing Prompt Wednesday is a feature I run on my Tumblr. Followers, readers and friends suggest themes for AUs, and I come up with a list of prompts based on the suggested them. Then, based on those prompts, anyone who wants to join in writes up a short story (or a long story, I guess) and posts it to Tumblr (or AO3, or , or wherever) and tags it Writing Prompt Wednesday!

Last week's theme, for which this story was written, was Differently Abled AUs.

You can read more about Writing Prompt Wednesday and see this week's prompts on my tumblr, unforth-ninawaters.

This week, I chose this prompt:

Only the chosen are born lacking legs, and since the day I was born I've been groomed for my future as a dragon rider, my body uniquely able to sit in the only type of harnesses that dragons are willing to wear. Today I came of age, so it's time to get started on my actual training, and meet my dragon for the first time.

Meta Data:

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Characters: Castiel; Dean Winchester; Anna Milton; Gordon Walker; Zachariah (Supernatural); Bobby Singer; Uriel (Supernatural); Hannah (Supernatural)

Warning: Underage

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Fantasy; Creature Dean; Dragon Dean; Legless Castiel; Magic; Bottom Castiel; Emotional/Psychological Abuse; Protective Dean Winchester; Bestiality; Masturbation; Docking; Anal Sex; Mutual Masturbation; Blow Jobs; Mute Dean; POV Castiel; POV Third Person Limited; Empathic Bonds; Physical Disability

Be aware:

1. Underage tag is for a character under 18 masturbating and fantasizing. No intercourse happens until characters are of age.

2. HEED THE TAGS. I'm not kidding about bestiality. Dean is a dragon, and dragons cannot become people, and Castiel totally wants to bang a dragon.

3. That said, all sex is fully consensual. Dragons are fully sentient and as intelligent as humans and thus capable of giving informed consent for sexual acts.

*I'm still adding tags, but those are the major warnings*

Sweat streaked down Castiel's face, matted his hair to his head, stuck his loose linen tunic to his chest and back. Confidently, his hands grasped at the tree branch and supported his weight. Swinging himself forward, back, forward, to build up momentum, he threw his chest out and let go, reaching for the next branch several feet away. He caught it easily, pulled himself up, and shimmied towards the narrow end of the limb, fingers straining towards the leather tag that he'd placed there an hour before. A sharp wind threatened his balance, and he twisted his torso to better center his balance.

Legs would be handy around now…

He pushed the thought away. Everyone around him had legs and moments like this he was envious – having an additional limb or two to wrap around the thick branch would help his stability – but the desire didn't last. He wouldn't trade for the world and with all the training he'd done, he'd grown accustomed to the feeling of vertigo, the dizzy, stomach twisting sense that he was on the verge of falling. The thrill of danger gave him a high. None of his family or friends would ever understand that feeling. His fingers curled around the length of leather and he let out a triumphant cry, prizing it free. None of his family or friends would ever enjoy taking such chances.

"Carpet, to me!" he called towards the ground, where the carpet gifted him by Lord Joshua sprang to magical life, unrolled and soared up amidst the branches. It flew effortlessly, unthinkingly, bespelled to follow certain commands and gestures. Coming to rest beneath the branch on which Castiel perched, it awaited further orders, crimson weave decorated with an eye-twist paisley design in purples and blues.

None of his family or friends would ever get to ride a dragon.

"Why do you bother?" A voice reached him faintly. Rolling off the branch onto the carpet, Castiel positioned himself on his belly on the soft wool, hands grasping the fringed edge, and he silently directed the conveyance to hurtle towards the ground below. His younger sister Anna stood beside the thick trunk of the tree, watching him, eyes going wide as he didn't slow; she screamed as he swept by her at break-neck speed. "Don't do that!" she shrieked to his back.

"Then don't ask me silly questions," he called over his shoulder. He slowed the carpet by adjusting his grip and circled lazily back around to float before her, holding himself up effortlessly with his elbows. "I need to be stronger."

"Are you kidding?" she snorted, sweeping strands of red hair from her eyes. "Have you seen the riders who patrol the area? None of them are strong, they're all—" She put on a slack-jawed expression, slouched her back and puffed out her belly, the imitation of a heavy-set person especially comical on her slim, scrawny form.

"Right – and that's why they're patrolling around here," Castiel explained to her for at least the twentieth time. "I don't want to be trapped on police duty. I want to travel and have adventures and stuff, and that means I have to be the best!"

"No!" To his shock, Anna lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, unphased by his sweaty, dirty skin. Uncertainly, he put an arm around her shoulder and patted her back. To his alarm, her narrow shoulders were shaking.

"What's the matter?" he asked, hugging her closer.

"I don't want you to go," she mumbled. "I don't want you to get hurt. If you were on patrol I could see you all the time, like we see Marv all the time." Knowing she was upset, Castiel repressed an amused snort. Next time she complained that Marv was annoying and wouldn't leave their mother alone, he'd remind her of this conversation.

If I get the chance, if we see him again before I leave.

Sadness blanked his amusement. Strangely, he'd never before thought of things as she was describing. His whole life had been leading to his 15th birthday, when he'd be sent to Lawrence Citadel for his training, when he'd finally get to work with actual dragons, when he'd meet his dragon and they'd prepare together to face the enemies of the kingdom. Now that it was only a couple weeks away, it felt unreal. Life was still so normal, there was no way that things could change forever so soon.

"I'll come visit," Castiel said soothingly. "I'll visit all the time. My dragon will be able to fly, faster than the carpet, and we'll both come. You'll get to meet them and it'll be just like always."

"But what if you go to war and don't come back?" she asked. Her tears added to the damp sweat spots around the neck of his shirt, and he held her closer, holding back tears of his own.

"I love you, Anna," he promised. "I'll always come back."

More dragons than Castiel could count soared overhead, wheeling and calling to each other, scales flashing all the shades of the rainbow in the bright sunlight. A dozen or more clustered in a field nearby, sprawling in the dazzling rays, lazing in the heat. Dragons weren't cold blooded, but they nonetheless thrived in the heat and preferred hot climates to cold. Wild dragons were migratory, following summer, but those who had chosen to ally themselves with man tolerated winter when they had to. Castiel knew all about dragon biology and society and history, everything he'd been able to learn, but he'd only seen a handful of dragons in his entire life, those that patrolled the local circuits. All those he'd grown up around were older, past their prime, well suited to the benign problems that arose in the small towns and rural communities scattered over the western part of the kingdom where Castiel had grown up.

A blur waved in front of Castiel's face and he went momentarily cross-eyed before he managed to focus on Commander Uriel's hand. "You paying attention, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel chirped. Uriel muttered something under his breath.

"Don't lie, it never ends well," said Uriel brusquely. Castiel flushed, feeling even more like a country bumpkin than he already did. There were only a couple hundred dragon riders in the entire kingdom, and maybe three hundred dragons available to be ridden. Only a handful of chosen children were born each year, and each started their training on the solstice or equinox closest to their birthday. Castiel happened to be born on the last day of spring, which meant that he reported for duty the day after his birthday, but he was the only new arrival that day. Three years he and the others would train. For the first year, they'd be paired a veteran dragon, but after they turned 16, they'd be paired with a youngling roughly the same age as themselves, a dragon who, like them, had spent a year training with a veteran rider. After that, new rider and new dragon would learn together. That was the part Castiel was most excited for, the time roughly a year from now when he'd meet his dragon, the one he'd be paired with for the rest of his life.

Unless something happens to one of us…unless one of us dies…

Uriel led Castiel across the field, beneath the wheeling, playing dragons, and to a large stone-sided building, walls interrupted by regular square windows. Enormous barn doors stood open on one en, and through them Castiel could see shadows that seemed dark compared to the brilliance of the spring day. When they stepped within, Castiel stopped, eyes acclimating.

"This is the training barracks," Uriel said. "For the first year, you'll live here." As Castiel's vision cleared, he could see the interior of the building was one enormous space partitioned into large stalls. Noises filled the air – people talking, breathing, snoring, water running, and others that Castiel couldn't place but would surely soon grow familiar. There was a smell, too, charcoal and hay and cooked meat and a faint undertone he thought might be waste but, thanks to how pristine the facility was, wasn't rank or offensive. A dragon stuck its head out from a nearby stall, scales ice blue and edged in white, whiskers thick and drooping, deep purple eyes cloudy with cataracts. It blinked at them slowly and gave Uriel a predatory smile. "For the last time, I'm not giving you any mice, Elkins." The dragon licked along thick lips with a long, pink tongue, skimming over frighteningly sharp teeth. Uriel tsked and ignored the dragon, so it turned its baleful gaze on Castiel instead. Embarrassed to be caught staring, Castiel jerked his gaze away. Desperate for anything to focus on other than the dragon, he noticed a narrow staircase beside each stall leading up to an open loft partitioned into stalls similar to those below. Some of the lofts were empty, but others contained simple furniture and personal affects, and in one a girl he thought a couple years older than him lounging on a bed reading a book. Unlike Uriel, the girl was obviously a rider – she didn't have legs, either.

Down the long hallway, a groom walked alongside an orange dragon. A brief glance might give the idea that the lizard was horse-like. There were similarities, in the size of the dragon's body, in the work as beasts of burden. Only a cursory inspection could sustain such an impression, though. Despite the surface similarities, there was a world of difference between the two. Physical differences were numerous: a long, thick tail tapering to a point, a sinuous neck supporting a large head peaked by scaled ears and draped with delicate whiskers, stubby, thick legs ending in predatory claws, and enormous wings tucked along the sides of the dragon's body. More importantly were the differences in temperament and intellect. The groom didn't lead the dragon; instead, they strolled companionably side by side. There was no need for a halter or a leading rope, and the groom spoke as if to a friend, though the dragon couldn't reply vocally. Dragons were only capable of empathic communication, were able to project their emotional state to riders and humans with whom they were compatible. Compatibility was completely individual; until a human and dragon interacted, there was no way to know if they'd be able to create an empathic bond. Thus far, Castiel had sensed nothing from the few dragons he'd met, which worried him though he tried not to let it.

What if I can't form a bond? What if there are no dragons who are able to communicate with me? Then what?

Uriel exchanged a greeting with the groom and led Castiel to the far side of the stable. They stopped before an empty stall, above which a furnished loft looked undefinably vacant and unlived in.

"Singer's out – he loves the sunshine – but you'll be working with him and living here," Uriel explained, gesturing up the stairs. Castiel steered his carpet to carry him up as Uriel led the way. "An instructor will be by in a couple hours to run through the basics of your training, such as when you'll be starting and what will be expected of you. I'm sure Singer will take the time to introduce himself later as well. Enjoy the time off while you can, because the real work starts at dawn tomorrow."

"Thank you, Commander." Uriel nodded acknowledgement, gestured towards the small living area and left without another word, boots clomping on wood.

Floating at the top of the staircase, Castiel took in his new room. Compared to how he'd lived most of his life, it was spacious. His family was well off and he'd prepared for training since childhood, pampered and indulged, but he'd still shared a room smaller than this with his brothers. There was a bed amply large enough for him, neatly made with off-white sheets and a thick, dark quilt, a desk with a rickety chair and a chest of drawers. Rolling onto his back and up onto his butt, he balanced on the slight stumps that were all he had by way of legs, the barest semblance of thighs, and grabbed his bag. He hadn't brought much: what clothing he owned, a few personal affects, and a snap portrait that the family had taken last time they'd gone to fair. Tears filled his eyes to see Anna's beaming face as she sat next to him on the carpet, his younger brothers goofing and grinning, his mother and father gazing lovingly at their children. He'd get leave after he finished his first year, after his initial training, but he'd no hope of seeing them before that. Though the journey to the Citadel was only a few hours by carpet, it was several days by wagon, more time and money his family would be able to spare. As he stowed his few things, he sighed and looked around the bare room, wondering what to do with himself during his limited hours of freedom. He was too excited to rest, too nervous to relax, too sad to feel enthusiastic. Glancing down the line of stalls, he noticed the girl down the way still reading but it seemed rude to interrupt. Finally, he decided to go outside and watch the dragons.

The day was spectacular, the sun warming his skin and cheering him despite his conflicting emotions. Dragons swooped and played overhead. While in flight, it was obvious how large their leathery wings were compared to their bodies. The skin that formed them were so thin that sunlight made the appendages appear to glow and cast multi-colored shadows on the ground beneath. Looking now, Castiel realized that many bore riders. The placement of the wings made it impossible for a human with legs to ride, hence why those born without the limbs were chosen for this professional. Complex harnesses attached at the dragons' neck, forelegs and back legs and held the rider in place, bound tight around their hips and lower body, allowing free motion above the waist. The flying dragons bore signs of age, moving slowly, colorful scales tipped with frost, wings beating more slowly than a more youthful beast might, but the riders were on the opposite end of the spectrum, all young. Some clung to their dragons' necks as if still frightened of being in the air.

A group of those who seemed most proficient to Castiel's inexpert eye threw around a ball, trusting their harnesses to hold them in place as they ducked and swerved, moving in different directions from their dragons and yet somehow still in harmony. That was one of the things he'd never understood – how mount and rider communicated intent in the air. Were the dragon a horse, legs would be instrumental in the process. Unlike horses, dragons had thorough command of English, but Castiel had never seen evidence that words were necessary for the rider to indicate their intentions to their dragons, or for the dragon to warn the human of how they were going to move. What little he understood of the empathic connection between dragons and riders couldn't explain it either; dragons could project their emotions, but humans couldn't, and emotions couldn't communicate simple concepts such as turn left or dive. Watching them now, Castiel felt no closer to understanding. Some of the people did speak – calling to each other, calling to their mounts – but none of it suggested to him the kind of information that the dragons would need in order to know where to go. The game was fun to watch, though, despite the mystery.

The first rider, a gangly youth with long slim arms, a beaming smile and sandy brown hair, introduced himself minutes later, flying up and offering a hand to Castiel, naming himself Alfie and his dragon Ellen. There was no distinguishing a male dragon from a female dragon, though in general female dragons were smaller and fleeter. After Alfie, it was like the dam had broken and dragons clustered around him, their riders eager to say hello. Some seemed younger than he, though he knew all must be older since no one started training before they turned 15; others were older – a few much older, instructors who were keeping an eye on what Castiel had thought a game but he supposed must be a training exercise – but all the students were within a few years of his age. In minutes he was overwhelmed and claustrophobic; he'd spent a lot of his childhood in the air and he loved the freedom of taking to the open sky. On the ground, he was trapped because he couldn't walk, trapped because even the wheeled chairs he'd heard some chosen riders used were of minimal use on the uneven fields of a farm, trapped because there was little he could do to aid his family. When he was on his carpet, he was like everyone else, as capable, as able to sow or reap, as able to travel. As faces and names swirled through his mind, he wished for even a minute to get his bearings and for space enough to catch his breath.

A low, rumbling roar cut through the hubbub and the gathered dragon riders made way for a large, barrel-chested dragon, its scales a dull, swampy green, its whiskers and eyes brown, its wings dappled forest green that looked interwoven with yellow and red and brown where veins and bones made a supporting lattive. Though the new arrival didn't communicate in a way that Castiel could understand, the other dragons behaved with understanding and backed off. A barked command by one of the instructors called the students to heel and the training resumed, all save the new arrival taking to the air and leaving Castiel mercifully alone. The brown-eyed dragon watched Castiel closely and he gazed back, trying to suss meaning from the large, expressive eyes, the way the whiskers and ears quirked and relaxed, the lazy rise and fall of its wings. After a protracted moment, the beast gestured towards the ground with its head and flew towards the stable. Castiel followed close; they didn't stop until the dragon alit before the loft and stall that Castiel had moved into earlier.

"Are you Singer?" he asked uncertainly. The dragon nodded once, and Castiel thought he sensed approval in the gesture, but told himself he was being ridiculous. Unless...is that the empathy? Am I able to connect with him? It is "him," right? "Hi, I'm Castiel. It's nice to meet you." The eyes blinked at him slowly, the head quirked to one side, and Castiel hadn't the least clue what he was being told. "I, um, I don't really know what I'm supposed to do now. I mean, I want to get to know you, but this is all so new. Honestly, I have about a million questions and I guess you can't really answer those? Which is annoying because I'd rather ask you than an instructor. Is that weird? Maybe that's weird. I don't know why I feel that way." Singer stared at him, his mouth agape to reveal a ring of off-white teeth, his whiskers twitching, a low sound humming in the dragon's chest and a faint smell of flint in the air. Castiel's nerves twanged. "Really, I just want to get started. I hate that we have a day off, it gives me time to worry that I'm going to mess up and I bet you have loads of experience and the last thing you want is to train a young idiot like me and…" The sound grew louder, staccato and broken. "You're laughing at me," Castiel said weakly. Singer's mouth opened and a sound somewhere between a bark and caw escaped. "I sound like an idiot, don't I."

Singer laughed uproariously, but even as he did he nuzzled the side of Castiel's head and a sense of well-being washed over him. Sure, this was new and scary, and after 15 years of build up Castiel was incredibly intimidated, but in that moment, he knew that everything was going to be fine.

Scales were smooth under Castiel's palms, against his bare skin, so perfectly satiny that the finest jeweler in the world would be jealous of their polish. Hot breath gusted over Castiel's body, stirred his hair, shivered down his spine, filled his senses with fire and brimstone. Fingers frantic for purchase fumbled at a thick, powerful neck but he could find nothing to hold on to, forcing him to keep a slow steady pace even as desire urged him faster, even as his thoughts begged for more. There was so little friction over his cock he thought he'd lose his mind, but if he let go of the dragon's neck he'd fall away, if he tried to go more quickly he'd tumble, if he tried to do anything other than pivot his hips slowly to rub himself against the dragon's wonderful, soft underbelly, he'd find himself working at nothing but air. A moan escaped him at the sweet torture of it and he shook with the need to restrain himself.

"Please," he whimpered, not sure what he was begging for. "Oh, please, please, so much more, please..." The only answer was a burst of hot hair, dry enough to bring tears to his eyes, and a pair of wings folded above him, cocooning him, protecting him, without offering him any of the support he needed to hold his position, without offering even the meagerest touch to his skin, his back, his aching cock. "Help me, please help me, it feels so good, please..."

"Please," he whispered, lips dry as they brushed against fine linen. The muscles of his stomach and back bunched and stretched as he rubbed against a blanket pulled tight across the cleft of his ass, the roughness of the fabric a far cry from the perfect slickness of imagined dragon scales. Mortified at the sounds leaking from him, at how incredibly hard he was, Castiel forced himself to stillness, breathing hard. The stable was never quiet, fortunately, and the rumble of a couple dozen sleeping dragons and almost as many sleeping humans was, he hoped, adequate to drown him out. At least, in the months he'd been there he'd never heard sign of anyone else masturbating, and given how many fifteen and sixteen year olds lived there, it was inconceivable that it hadn't happened. With that thought strengthening him, Castiel reached down, worked his hand amidst the blankets and ran a finger over his erection, shivering and biting his lip to keep quiet.

Scales, whiskers, wings...

No. That's not normal. I shouldn't...curves, hips, breasts... Thoughts of women had never gotten Castiel hot, though he always started there. He tried to imagine running his hands through silken hair, tried to picture how soft flesh would feel under his fingers, chased the sound of a sultry voice moaning pleasure, but while it didn't deaden his arousal, it did nothing to enhance it, either. He stroked and felt nothing beyond pure physical sensation, the wonder of his own fingers wrapped around his cock, the fascinating friction of skin on skin, the tantalizing need to chase more, always more. Gentle curves were replaced by stark lines, by a flat chest, a cock to match his, a deep voice that didn't crack like his own still did sometimes, an adam's apple that bobbed in time to frantic, impassioned breaths. That helped a little bit; cocks tempted him more than vaginas, gave him ideas about how good it'd feel to rub himself against someone who felt the same, and the idea of being filled as he knew men filled women tempted him in a more than he'd ever be able to confess. A vocal sigh leaked free and he clamped his mouth shut against further noises. God, he thought that would feel good, to have someone above him, thrusting into his body as Castiel thrust into his own hand.

So tight and so hot, hands slipping on scales...

No, no...

Two scales parted, a phallus peaked free, reddened and wet and ready. If he wanted, Castiel could reach out and touch it, touch both of them, wrap his hands around it and listen to the powerful beast grow wild with desire, slip his cock into the protective sheathe that housed the dragon's large cock and thrust into that narrow, wet space to pleasure both of them...

It would feel good, Castiel knew it would feel so damn good, and though he knew it was wrong to think about it, wrong to want it, he couldn't resist. Even before he'd had daily contact with dragons his thoughts had tended thus, and now it was almost inevitable that, when he was hot, he craved a fantasy beast to call his own. The image in his head wasn't of any of the dragons he'd come to know, instead it was an amalgam of the few young dragons he'd met, powerful and in peak condition, so much strength contained in their sinuous bodies. He wondered why he fought his urges. One of his instructors had hinted at the profound bonds that sometimes formed between riders and mounts and he strongly suspected listening to her that she had carnal knowledge of what she spoke of. If the dragon wanted to also, what would be wrong with it? It's not like any dragon would permit such a thing unless they were interested as well...what if it were alright? What if I could have what I crave? Early release made Castiel's grip wet and he pumped himself harder as he imagined it, how it would feel to touch a dragon's thick cock, how it would taste if he wrapped his lips around it, how much it would stretch him open as he mounted – truly mounted – and experienced what he yearned for.

With a broken sound he couldn't stop, Castiel spilled over his hand, pleasure wiping out every thought and blanking his senses, making the night-black stable seem as bright as day for an instant. As the high wore off, he rolled onto his back, panting. He felt like he'd had a break through. He'd been raised to believe that as long as two people wanted to pursue pleasure together, there was nothing wrong with that, regardless of their ages, genders, or relative positions in life. Dragons were as intelligent as people; they weren't beasts that could be taken advantage of. Any dragon in the stable could easily kill Castiel if he behaved in a way they felt inappropriate.

But if the dragon wanted to...if he – yes, definitely he – wanted to make love, if he wanted to share intimacy with me...then there'd be nothing wrong with it, right?

The concept was so novel and so incredibly, unbelievably appealing that Castiel hardly grew soft, his cock twitching in his come-coated hand. He pulled a second climax from himself imagining what that kind of acceptance might feel like, not just on a physical level but on an emotional one. He and Singer were somewhat sympathetic; when the dragon was happy, Castiel was happier, whereas when the dragon was angry or frustrated Castiel felt crushed. If he were bonded to a dragon that cared for him, if he shared a strong empathic connection with a dragon that loved him, it would surely feel incredible.

If he would let me, whoever he is, I would ride him...if he would let me, maybe he would ride me as well...

Castiel couldn't think of anything – anyone – he wanted more.

More to come! Hoping to get another chapter or two up tomorrow. I'm guessing this will have five or six chapters total but I haven't really thought it through.