Title: Prophetic Erotica: The Book of Eros

Author: Lassroyale

Parings: Dean/Castiel, appearances by Chuck, Sam, and others

Rating: MA for sexin'

Disclaimer: It's a better thing I don't own the sexiness that is Supernatural. I'm just playing with the boys and Kripke's marvelous universe

Summary: Chuck has another series of books that he's been writing in secret about the torrid affair of an Angel and a Hunter.

Note: Ongoing series. I'm not sure how many chapters it will end up being. Please review and give me feedback! I'm unsure of how this will pan out and this is my first Supernatural fanfic. Feedback is love.

Introduction

A cry, split the air, wrenching free from the throat of the slight man who writhed against some unseen force, limbs trembling with the intensity of whatever held him thrall.

Chuck, awoke bathed in a sheen of sweat, his breath coming in long, drawn-out gasps as he tried to capture the air that was escaping him in heavy pants. He ran his hands through his clammy locks, groaning as he let himself fall back against the damp pillows, his thin t-shirt clinging to his heaving frame. His fingers were stiff, white knuckled against the dark blue of his sheets, fisted tightly in the fabric as he tried to center himself in the here and the now.

He had had another one of those dreams, this one having descended upon him so hard and fast that Chuck had barely realized he was slipping into sleep before it gripped him. The events of the vision had tugged him, tumbling along through every bit of detail so vivid, that the only aspect that was missing was taste and touch…and even that wasn't so hard to imagine.

It wasn't a nightmare that woke the prophet, though his visions as of late had been increasingly trending towards the malevolent and depraved. No, it was something else entirely that roused him – or rather aroused him.

It had been a vision of Dean and Castiel, their mouths hot and sultry against one another's skin, sliding in a tangle of limbs and lips and teeth – sheer raw power barely held in check as Castiel mounted the Hunter and took him…the sound of their flesh pounding out a frenzied rhythm. There had been no words, only an explosion of unintelligible moans, and what Chuck imagined was the smell of sweat and something decidedly male permeating the stale air of the motel. He had paid particular attention to Dean, paid attention to the tightly coiled muscles of the Hunter's forearms as they gripped the Angel's shoulders, fingers curled into smooth flesh. The flickering lights had cast a pale corona upon the Hunter's disheveled head, highlighting the tendons of his silky throat when Dean threw his head back and came with a cry that seemed to rip straight from his soul. Castiel had followed his lover a moment later, his moan an animalistic growl that bypassed all thought and spoke only of primal need.

Chuck had woken with soiled boxer shorts, having come hard at the eroticism that had been on display, though ever with the sense of dissatisfaction of one who is only privy to look but not touch. The prophet sighed, forcing himself out of bed and out of his sweat-soaked clothes. It had been like this for months. For every vision that he received for the Winchester Gospel, he received…"a glance" at various insipid interactions between Dean and Castiel that he was certain had to be many levels of blasphemous.

Knowing that the vision would drive him to distraction until it was given its proper due, Chuck retreated to his messy desk downstairs, thinking back to when these salacious dreams had begun. Since the first one, (when he had woken horny, confused and worried about his own sexuality) he had been keeping a log, separate from what would one day be published in the Winchester Gospel. It was a private thing that he hadn't told any about, the subject matter being too intimate and too graphic for the regular gospel. Still, the story written between the lines of the physical came down to less lust, more love, and hot sex.

Shaking his head, Chuck pulled out a leather bound journal and flipped open to a clean page. He paused, pen poised above the crisp white sheet, loosing himself in the sensations of the vision once again. When he had gathered his thoughts in some semblance of order, he touched the pen to the paper and began writing.

(To be continued…)

A/N: Please tell me what you think!