Title: Satisfy Me
Word Count: ~6,100
Summary: In his rational mind, Dean knows that this is the best option, for everyone involved. He doesn't want to live as a monster and he knows that, if he were a good person, he would let Sam and Samuel kill him.
Notes/Warnings: Vampire!Dean/Toppy!Cas. Bloodplay, language and drinking from animals. Written for this prompt at spn_hardcore. I hope you like it, otp_destiel!
It's been an unforgivably long time since I wrote pure Dean/Castiel. I hope this makes up for it?
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.
In his rational mind, Dean knows that this is the best option, for everyone involved. He doesn't want to live as a monster – already, just the two heartbeats in front of him – one slow, steady, maddening like a ticking clock, the other erratic and fast and altogether too sweet with adrenaline and fear – are driving him insane. He grits his teeth and takes a deep breath, tries to brace himself because he knows that, if he were a good person, he would let them kill him. Let his brother kill him because, let's face it, Sam's asked him to do the same fucking thing and the least Dean can do is let Sam do it even if he isn't quite right as Sam yet.
But still…that's really hard to come to terms with when they're advancing on him with those big-ass machetes. He can smell the rust as the iron oxidizes, very slowly. He can smell where they're already covered in vampire blood – dead blood, sour and gross. The blood of his kin.
Not my family.
This…Sam and Samuel…they are his family, and they're just trying to do what's best for him, because let's face it, he will slip up. He can't live by not feeding – already the thirst is burning in his throat. It feels like he tried to gargle with rocks and sandpaper. Everything hurts – his head is pounding and he can smell their blood and it smells so fucking good, he had no idea…
He puts his hands to his head, wanting to close his eyes so that they'll be able to do what needs to be done, to kill him because the cure didn't work so this is their only option, but he can't get rid of Sam's blank stare – he should care. Both of them should care, but they don't. They aren't his kin – they aren't allowed to call the shots for him.
He bares his teeth. Both sets, because the bloodlust is coursing through him, worse the closer they get, and he takes a step back in retreat but they're mirroring and matching him, advancing, God, there's not enough air to breathe…Dean feels like he's suffocating.
He needs to run. He needs to get away from the danger of their blades.
The shadow of Samuel's body falls across the left side of his vision and, without even thinking about it, Dean lashes out, snarling. He just…he just can't die yet. He doesn't want to die even though he knows he should – he can…he can still be useful, right? He has better instincts, better senses of smell and sight, he can infiltrate and learn and he can…he doesn't have to die.
Sam lunges forward, intent on severing Dean's head before Dean can kill Samuel but Dean turns and throws the older man into his brother, knocking them both over, and then he doesn't even think about it. He runs – he runs as fast as he can.
He flees away from the warehouse and any signs of civilization. If he smells blood he runs away from it – human, animal, it doesn't matter. He has to get away from the sounds of heartbeats, but they're so fucking loud, deafening like a drum. Every intake of air scrapes the inside of his mouth and his throat – it feels like he's being punished for resisting. This…venom, this poison inside of him, Boris' blood, is hurting him for not feeding and breeding and creating new vampires. But he can't do that – he won't do that. He didn't save the world and millions of people just so that he could become a killer.
Dean ends up in the middle of a cornfield, and for the first time it is silent. He takes a deep breath that smells of damp earth and foliage and puts his hands to his forehead again, and then stops. There, on his fingertips, is the faintest hint of Samuel's blood. His hands are shaking and his teeth elongate over his first set, and he feels his mouth watering, holding his fingers under his nose and inhaling. His eyes fall closed and he moans, because it smells so good – better than anything he's ever smelled before. It smells like life, like the very edge of the world, like ozone and iron, and before he's even thinking about it, he's sucking off the blood from his fingers. The first drop is like the relief of morphine to a dying man, of water to the thirsty, of an orgasm to someone who has spent days suspended on the knife edge. He curls in on himself from the unbearable amounts of relief and pleasure, just from that one drop.
What must a mouthful feel like? A whole person?
It's dangerous territory to think about – Dean can't let himself slide down that slippery slope. He can't think about more. He will just take enough to survive. He'll go…go raid a blood bank or something, like Boris did with his Changelings. Or maybe try like the Coven that had fed off cows. Anything but killing people – he'll do anything.
Dean finds a farm on the edge of that cornfield, after resting for a solid hour and catching his breath because turns out vampires actually do get tired. He'd even bit into his own hand and drank some of his own blood, and it had sated a little bit of the fire, but not enough. He feels weak and his hands shake as he creeps forward onto the edge of the property. He can hear three hearts inside the house and carefully skirts around it, even if he has to swallow back his saliva and consciously make sure that his teeth don't come out and rip his lips open from the inside. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, sucking on the blood to give him something to distract himself with while he searches.
There are two horses, two cows and a pig in the barn. Only one of the animals is awake – one of the horses, and it stamps in anxiety at his approach. He wonders how he must smell to them – not alive, covered in blood. Like a predator. Like something that shouldn't be there.
He smirks, just for a second, at how much more perceptive animals are than humans.
He ends up going for one of the cows. Honestly, he tries to just get some of the blood without killing the animal – he digs a fingernail into the animal's neck and presses his mouth to it, but it tastes…well, foul. It tastes like shit, to put it plainly, and he knows that if he had turned into a human after this he never would have eaten steak again. The animal's ear flops distractedly at him, trying to swat the fly away, but it doesn't stir.
Dean can't help it, though – even though it tastes like crap, it's working. The fire in his throat is cooling down and he whimpers in relief, pressing himself against the animal, and bares his teeth against its skin. He may or may not have meant to sever more of it, but he does, and more blood flows into his mouth at a sluggish rate, the blood thick and rank, settling in his mouth like sour honey, but he keeps drinking because it feels so damn good.
He drinks and drinks and drinks, his hands digging into the cow's neck and shoulder, keeping it down once it wakes up with a frightened bellow, and he just growls, forcing it to stay down, and loses all sense of finesse. This is his prey fighting back – trying to escape, and he just laughs, tossing his head, and sinks his teeth into the animal's neck for real now. He's done playing around.
The relief of the blood in his throat, healing up the burning scratches, is enough to make him moan and close his eyes. He crouches over the animal, straddling its muscular shoulder, his hands ripping into the cow's skin and soaking his hands as he feels the first edges of berserker feeding overtake him, like a shark.
He hears the click of a gun being cocked before suddenly there's pain in his shoulder and the echo of a gunshot. Dean snarls, lifting his head, because ow, that had hurt, and he sees the farmer standing at the entrance to the door, aiming his gun at him. Dean snarls and bares his blood-covered teeth, rising up from the animal's carcass, and skirts to one side. His eyes are almost black, and the farmer's heart is throbbing, he's shining with energy and life and Dean wants it. He needs it.
The farmer cocks his gun again and Dean can't even think – he attacks. He lunges for the man faster than he has a hope of reacting, and he's on that farmer in an instant. The guy kind of looks familiar, in that abstract sort of way, and Dean bares his teeth, pinning the man down. He struggles, for what it's worth, but he doesn't have supernatural strength and Dean can hold him down with ease.
He leans down, lips parted, and takes a deep breath at the man's neck. His breathing is shaky and, when he opens his mouth, blood and saliva drip down and coat the man's neck and the edge of his scruffy beard. Dean wants to move his mouth up, to bite into his own wrist and feed someone else, let someone else know the glory of this kind of blood, this high, and he knows this is his instincts talking, knows that he shouldn't do this, that this isn't what he is, but it's really fucking hard to concentrate on his conscience when he's got a living, breathing human underneath him.
Dean breathes in again, hears the man's heartbeat fly with adrenaline and fear, and it smells so fucking good, so decadent. Dean moans, leaning down to press his lips against the pulse in the man's neck, his body arching a little and rubbing along the man's body, like a cat.
He's just about to bite down when he hears a flutter of wings, and then something's yanking him away from the human. Dean snarls, fighting back, defending his kill, but then he turns around to see blue eyes that he knows very, very well. Dean gasps in shock, because Castiel…is glowing. Glowing with radiance and life and righteous fury, and it flashes in his eyes – the Angel is pissed, barely restraining himself and he knots a hand in Dean's hair, forcing the vampire down to his knees in one quick, efficient movement. Dean isn't sure whether the hurt feels good or bad, but he goes because he can't not.
He's breathing hard, unable to do more than watch as the Angel lets him go, and goes over to the prone man. He bends down and touches two fingers to his forehead, and the man disappears along with Castiel. Dean gets to his feet just in time for the Angel to return.
The vampire's trembling, looking at the Angel. He's just so…so thirsty and Castiel smells so good. He smells like ozone and power and what Dean imagines Heaven must smell like, pardon the cliché. He steps closer, breaking all the rules about personal space that he's ever laid down, and buries his face in the Angel's neck, taking a deep breath.
But Castiel doesn't let him stay there – Dean feels the Angel's chest rumble, and it takes a moment to realize that Castiel's growling at him (and he doesn't even get a second to think about how hot that is), before Castiel's yanking him back again by his hair, forcing Dean down once more.
"How far you have fallen, Dean Winchester," Castiel says, like he's disgusted, but there isn't any hatred or loathing in his eyes. He's studying Dean like the vampire is some strange, weird specimen, like he's got Dean now, but he's not quite sure what to do with him. Dean just whines, trying to get up but Castiel, though he lets him go, waves a hand and Dean's immobilized. The Angel's voice feels like it penetrates Dean's very soul, and Dean wants to gasp and curl in on himself, wants to hide away but Castiel's got him frozen and he can't break gazes with the Angel. "What do you have to say for yourself, Dean?"
"I…" Dean swallows, and he can't say anything else. There is no excuse. "Cas."
The Angel's upper lip curls back, his eyes flashing again, and he's as pissed as Dean's ever seen him. The vampire imagines he can see wings flaring out behind him, aggressive and threatening and Dean whimpers, wanting to back down but unable to because Castiel's Grace is keeping him still.
For a long moment, Castiel just stares at him, and then he waves his hand again. Dean immediately shoots to his feet, adrenaline coursing through him, making him strong and daring and he snarls at Castiel, preparing for a fight. The Angel growls right on back and within a second Dean's on him, burying his face in Castiel's neck, wanting to bite and take and drink but Castiel's not letting him, and that's fucking infuriating. Dean makes a low sound when Castiel's hand knots in the back of his hair, tearing the vampire away from the vulnerable area of his neck. The attack had knocked them both off balance, Dean landing on Castiel and straddling his stomach while he'd tried to bite, and Dean snarls at being denied his prize.
The Angel rolls them both over, using his supernatural strength and Dean makes a surprised noise, his eyes widening in shock that Castiel is able to reverse their positions so quickly. The animal blood sings inside of Dean's body, making him stronger and he snarls, angry, feeling cheated that Castiel won't let him drink, that his prey is fighting back. He thrashes under Castiel's surprising weight until the Angel's lips thin out, and he takes Dean's wrists in one hand and pins them over his head, his other hand moving to Dean's throat and keeping him down that way.
"Be still," the Angel hisses, baring his teeth at Dean and the vampire stills, unable to do anything else when Castiel's true Voice is infused into his vessel's, and it makes Dean shiver. The Angel leans down, using his hand to make Dean bare his throat, and the vampire makes a choked-off cry when his second set of teeth are forced back into his gums by Castiel's Grace, so he can't bite down and shed Castiel's blood. "You need to learn your place, Dean Winchester. I cannot be worrying about you slipping up when I am not around to make you safe for those around you."
The vampire swallows, able to feel his Adam's apple pressing against Castiel's palm as he does so; the Angel's that close to choking him. His eyes are wide and almost black from bloodlust, some of the cow's blood smeared around his mouth. Castiel leans down, breathing against the corner of Dean's mouth and the vampire mewls, closing his eyes, because Castiel's neck is right there, and his heartbeat is deep and slow, like the throb of base music, primal and dark. Castiel is not panicking, he is not human – he is strong and capable of wiping out even a vampire-Dean from existence on a whim.
"Cas," Dean whispers, and it's hard to talk when Castiel's hand is pressing down so hard on his throat, and he turns his head to one side, baring more skin to Castiel's mouth when the Angel leans down, dragging his parted lips and moist breath down Dean's neck, making the vampire shiver. Dean mewls softly and rolls his hips up, thighs gripping Castiel's hips tightly to make sure the Angel doesn't go anywhere. "Please. Your blood, Cas…" The Angel has to know, has to know what being so close is doing to Dean.
The Angel shushes him gently, letting his throat go so that he can pet through Dean's hair soothingly, making the vampire close his eyes tightly shut, bare his teeth and clench his jaw, so many sensations and feelings overwhelming him. "I will let you, Dean," Castiel murmurs against the still pulse in Dean's neck, pressing a light kiss there. "Once you earn it, and show me that you are capable of self restraint."
Dean laughs brokenly, because he's been starving himself until now – the cow's blood, after the drop of his grandfather's, was the only he'd ever ingested, and yes, he probably would have drained Farmer Brown dry if Castiel hadn't shown up, but he can't be judged for relapsing when he was technically never on the wagon, can he?
But he needs, so badly. Whatever you want, Cas, whatever you want, just please… The vampire whines, bucking his hips again, Castiel's power washing over him, assaulting everything that makes him human and everything that makes him more than that. It's like as a vampire, with his senses so heightened and so sharp, he can taste Castiel's power. His body trembles with pleasure wherever he can feel Castiel's heat, whether it's the heat of his body or the heat of his Grace, he doesn't know, doesn't care.
"Please," he whispers, arching his body again, pressing against Castiel's hold, just wanting to…to touch, to prove himself. He wants to wring satisfaction from this powerful creature so that Castiel will give him his own relief.
"Does it feel good, Dean?" Castiel whispers, lowering himself so his weight rests entirely on Dean, between the vampire's legs, and Dean almost sobs in relief at the pressure, the delicious friction when Castiel starts to match his rhythm, mindlessly rubbing himself against the Angel's erection that he can feel underneath his clothes. The vampire just whines in response to the question. "When you pin something down, have it completely at your mercy, under your control…Does that first drop taste just like victory?" The Angel's voice has gotten even lower, if possible, his words dark and curling around Dean like a physical touch, and Dean whines again, tossing his head to one side, his teeth trying to slide out of his gums, but Castiel's Grace won't let them. It actually hurts to keep them inside. Castiel rears up, taking Dean's chin in his hand and forces their eyes to meet. "Answer me, Dean."
Dean's breathing hard, desire and unsatisfied need rising in him – this debilitating want is terrifying and Castiel just seems to be goading it on, but he also seems to know what he's doing. Dean's not sure to trust Castiel or try to flee from him.
"I…Cas, please, I don't know what you want me to say," he murmurs. It's the first words he strings together in a sentence, something that's not just mindless growls and desperate gasps of the Angel's name.
Castiel's lips thin out again, his eyes flashing. Dean can see every detail of his face, even in the non-light of the half-full moon – he can see every thread of stubble on his jaw, every imperfection in Jimmy's face, and the glow that is all Castiel behind it. Dean swallows back the excess saliva that he can't seem to stop producing, pushing up against Castiel's hand again, wanting to touch, so badly. "Please, Cas -."
"You are not an animal, Dean," the Angel says softly, finally moving his hands away from the vampire, but still Dean can't move. The power radiating off of Castiel is intoxicating, and Dean knows he's using some of that to hold him down, to keep him human. It's decadent, almost, how much Castiel has and how much he needs to use on Dean to keep him submissive. "You don't know what really being an animal is like, not really. Even as a creature of darkness, you still remain yourself, inside of your head."
Dean's eyes widen as Castiel stands up, and begins shedding his clothing. The trench coat goes first, shrugged off of Castiel's shoulders almost mechanically, like Castiel has been practicing so that every nuance is exactly right. Then, he yanks at the knot of his tie, pulling it over his head. Dean swallows, his eyes widening further when Castiel zaps them off to God-knows-where, and then starts undoing the buttons of his shirt, baring pale skin that's marred with various kinds of scars, none of which he thinks Jimmy ever had. He sees the knife wound Dean had dealt him when they first met. He sees the sigil Castiel had carved into his own skin to distract the Angels when the Winchesters had tried to rescue Adam. Then, above and around that, he sees minute little scratches. Tiny, almost not there, and so numerous that Dean can barely tell they're there – wouldn't be able to tell if he didn't have his vampire sight.
"Cas…" He swallows when the Angel's eyes flash to him, but Castiel doesn't stop what he's doing. He pulls the shirt off too, lets it drop, and rolls his shoulders like he's stretching, but Dean can't see his wings. Then, he kneels down between Dean's legs.
"Sit up, Dean," he whispers, like he's not covered in scars, like Dean can't see them, and the vampire can only obey, mute and wide-eyed. Castiel's arms go around his shoulders, pushing at his jacket so it goes around Dean's forearms and then stops there, and pushes his shirt up to just under his arm pits.
"Cas, what happened to you?" Dean asks, his voice low and filled with either awe, shock, fear, or some mix of the three. He's not quite sure yet.
The Angel pauses, looking up at Dean with bright, fathomless blue eyes, and his lips thin out again while he considers. "You are not an animal, Dean," Castiel says softly, ignoring the question, and he kneels up and pulls Dean so that the Hunter is awkwardly straddling Castiel's lap, but the Angel bears his weight without comment. "An animal is mindless, born of instinct, incapable of rational thought or control." Dean swallows as Castiel breathes the words into his ear, his lips just brushing Dean's ear as he speaks before he bites down on the lobe, earning a sharp jolt from the vampire. "Are you capable of restraining and controlling yourself, Dean?"
Dean whines, very softly, struggling in Castiel's hold as the Angel's arms wrap around him, gripping onto his jacket and helping Dean remove his hands from it, and the Hunter pulls his t-shirt over his head, tossing it away from them. Then, he wraps his arms around Castiel's shoulders, and kisses him. He's not sure what it's meant to put across – promise or desperation, submission or fight. He can smell Castiel's blood, thick and warm inside of him, pounding out a base beat that Dean matches in the movement of his hips over Castiel's own, wanting to please the Angel, this powerful creature, wanting to be able to walk away from this stronger, knowing more, being better. Dean wants to please, wants blood, can taste his reward in the air, and knows Castiel will give it to him if he just behaves.
But it's so fucking difficult. The vampire moans softly, a broken sound, when Castiel moves one hand to rub between his legs, putting pressure on Dean's erection until the vampire feels like he's about to explode, and his other hand undoes Dean's jeans, then slides around his back and dips down into them, his fingers just teasing along the beginning of Dean's opening.
The vampire moans more loudly, his hips jolting at the unexpected touch. He whines in part fear, part need, baring his human teeth against Castiel's skin because the Angel won't let him bite yet, but that doesn't stop Dean trying, or maybe that's trying to resist. He opens his mouth wide and sucks a bruising kiss onto Castiel's pulse, his teeth sinking in; teasing himself as his tongue traces the raised blood in his skin.
"Castiel." He moans the Angel's full name into his neck, body shaking with desire which only spikes tenfold as Castiel moves his hands down Dean's tense thighs, willing both their pants and underwear away, so it's naked skin against naked skin, heat and warmth against the chill of Dean's dead body, but it's Dean who shivers, overwhelmed with the heat of Castiel's Grace, feeling like it's burning him.
Dean gasps in shock when he feels Castiel's teeth sink into his skin, inhumanly sharp, and…oh. Oh, fuck.
"Fuck, Cas," Dean gasps again, pressing his body as close as he can to Castiel's, because this…Fuck, there are no words. It feels like Castiel's sucking him off, the pleasure is that intense. "Cas, my blood, you can't…" The warning comes too late – he knows when Castiel swallows that the Angel has ingested his blood, but Castiel doesn't give signs of being affected by it. It's really hard for Dean to concentrate – Castiel's mouth is warm and wet on his flesh, sucking him down even though he's not sucking him down, and he's swallowing, and fuck, how could blood drinking ever feel this good? Dean trembles, the ache in his gut building up to an impossible height. He shudders, closing his eyes.
Castiel's hand wraps around him, caging him in right as Dean felt he was about to fly off the edge. The vampire's eyes flare open and meet Castiel's. "Restraint and control, Dean," Castiel reminds him, and Dean whimpers again, closing his eyes when Castiel starts to stroke him, slow and loose and altogether not enough. "Satisfy me and I will let you sate yourself."
"How?" Dean asks, begs more like. He wants to satisfy Castiel, he wants to so badly. Not just for the blood, or the orgasm, or for any of that – he wants to see what Castiel looks like when he falls apart. He wants to know Cas. Biblically.
Castiel just smiles, and Dean understands. "Oh, fuck, yes," he growls, clutching tighter at Castiel. "Fuck, Cas, yes, please."
"On your back, Dean," Castiel whispers, pressing at Dean's body and the vampire goes, spreading his legs for Castiel, and makes a little surprised sound when he finds his jacket laying down as a protective layer between his back and the ground. It's a nice thought, though a little pointless because Dean's essentially indestructible now, but still. "Be still."
"What -." Dean chokes off, suddenly feeling one slick finger penetrating him, and he whines, not expecting the burn so soon, and tries to arch away from it, to force Castiel back out, but the Angel holds firm, one hand clenched tightly into Dean's thigh.
"Be still, Dean," Castiel orders, his voice hard and his shoulders tense, like his wings are flaring out behind him, and Dean imagines that he can see them in the shadows of the badly lit sky, where there's a black spot of nothingness where there should be stars. He imagines he can hear the sound of the wind drifting through Castiel's feathers.
"Can't," Dean growls in frustration, the burn being replaced with liquid heat, bucking his hips so that Castiel's finger is forced more deeply into him, making the Angel clench his jaw and Dean whines, baring his teeth as the Angel crooks his finger perfectly, grazing a spot inside of Dean that lights him up like a fucking firework. "Can't, Castiel, please, need you so bad. Your blood, your cock, don't care…"
"If you cannot learn control, Dean, then you will not reap the benefits." Castiel's voice is hard and demanding, like when he's scolding Dean for doing something stupid and reckless, and Dean moans, throwing his head back and baring his throat, because there's just something about the Angel when he's so tense from anger, coiled tightly like the rope holding a battering ram, and Dean can only lie back and take it when Castiel adds another finger, scissoring and stretching him to take more.
The Angel leans forward, grabbing one of Dean's hands and lacing their fingers together, pinning it by Dean's head for balance, and he kisses the vampire, slanting his lips perfectly over Dean's in a way that Dean can only assume he learned from playing voyeur and watching humanity for God knows how long. Still, it's fucking good, the way Castiel coaxes his tongue out to play, the way he bites at Dean's lips impatiently, making them part and swell and become sensitive, tingly – though that may be his Grace, Dean's not sure. Dean moans gently, fisting his other hand in Castiel's thick, dark hair, loving the softness as he runs his fingers through it, and though his teeth can't slide out of his gums, that doesn't stop him trying to bite back, because he's not going down without a fight. The instincts to fight are still in him, like lava wrapped around the steel, spiked ball of pleasure in his gut and the burning need racing up and down his spine. When Castiel leans down and presses Dean into the soft, muddy ground, using his weight as the anchor, Dean feels the dominance radiating off of Castiel. He imagines Castiel's wings are flared up and open, every feather standing on edge to make him look bigger, but so sensitive, unable to be touched because he is not weak. He is not human. He can't be ripped apart like Dean can.
Castiel's breathing is getting heavier, his pupils dilated from lust, his fingers becoming a little harsher inside of Dean as passion begins to overtake him, but the vampire doesn't mind – he can take it. He spreads his legs a little wider, encouraging Castiel with soft sounds against his Angel's jaw, and closes his eyes when he finally feels Castiel withdraw.
The feeling of Castiel pushing into him is…hard to explain. Even more so when the Angel sinks his teeth into the open wound on Dean's neck again, using it to anchor Dean so the vampire can't move away. One hand holds Dean's thigh up, giving him more room to move, and the other finds the handprint on his shoulder and squeezes tightly, his teeth sheathing themselves into Dean's neck as the Angel is fully hilted. It's too much sensation – the slow burn of Castiel's cock penetrating him, filling him up so deliciously; the sharp lightning-strike of pain that is his handprint burning under the Angel's familiar touch, his soul (if he still has one) reacting to the presence of the Angel that made its home; and the sluggish pleasure of being drunk from, of Castiel taking, taking what he wants, without permission, without consent, but it doesn't matter. He's draining Dean and filling him up and uniting him all at once and the vampire can do little more than whimper in submission and clutch at Castiel, desperate for something, anything, that can push him over the edge, because he's so close. He needs, so much.
"Cas," he grunts, when Castiel rocks back and then thrusts into him again – just slow rutting motions like animals for now. "Cas, please." He can't even remember what he's begging for now – more, less, yes, no, please, stop, keep going. Castiel just snarls into his neck, his tongue licking along the edges of the bite and gathering blood in his mouth and then his mouth lands on Dean's again, sloppy and uncoordinated as Castiel's hands shift to Dean's hips and he starts to fuck the vampire in earnest.
The taste of his own blood should repulse Dean but it doesn't – it tastes so good. Like steak and iron and the ozone of Castiel's own Grace, and he whines, eyes clenched tightly shut in sensation as Castiel mercilessly drives into his body. His teeth ache from being denied for so long, unable to slide out of his gums, and he knows his ass is going to be sore in the morning, but that doesn't matter. Castiel's burning hot compared to Dean's own chill and he wraps his arms around the Angel, his legs tightening too, wanting him deeper, wanting more of Castiel. He doesn't try and touch himself, because Castiel keeps talking about that restraint thing and jerking himself off doesn't really qualify as that.
Castiel smirks, like he can hear Dean's thoughts, and the Angel purrs into his mouth, tilting his head to one side, his tongue sliding along the roof of Dean's mouth and into the divots where his second set of teeth lay, and Dean jerks as he finds out that they're super-sensitive to the Angel's tongue. He mewls and bites down at Castiel's lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before nipping again, silently begging with his eyes because his mouth is otherwise occupied and he's kind of gone past the point of words.
Neither of them last long, but perhaps they shouldn't have because this has been a long time coming. Castiel slams into Dean one last time, his shoulders tensed up, and groans low into Dean's mouth as he comes. It's warm and makes Dean feel a little fuller, the liquid weight settling in his ass, and he clenches reflexively around Castiel, milking him and earning another shiver from the Angel. Dean's hands go over Castiel's shoulders, soothing him through what Dean's pretty sure is his first orgasm, and when his hands touch Castiel's shoulder blades the Angel mewls softly and rolls his shoulders, so Dean keeps doing it until Castiel pushes away.
He doesn't go far – Castiel smiles down at Dean and presses a kiss that's tinged with Dean's blood against the Hunter's forehead, and then bares his throat. Dean's teeth suddenly slide out of his gums, set free from Castiel's Grace, and Dean knows the invitation for what it is. He surges up, biting down on the side of Castiel's neck, just shy of his Adam's apple where the pulse beats strongest. Blood like the richest port Dean's ever tasted flows into his mouth, tasting so perfect, the best Dean thinks he could ever have, will ever have. He rolls them over so Castiel's pressed into the ground, taking advantage of his prey's shaken, pliant state, and sheathes his teeth as far as they can go into Castiel's willing body, his hips grinding down into the space between Castiel's spent cock and his hip.
The Angel's warm hand reaches down, wrapping around him, his breathing no less labored and Dean surges forward again, selfish with his own pleasure now that Castiel's had his. He drinks from the Angel, pulls from his neck in long swallows that feel like the finest food and drink he's ever tasted, adding to the sated warmth in his belly and the burning need in his cock. It isn't long before he's shuddering through his own orgasm, spilling over Castiel's hand and stomach, stifling his moans into the wet skin of Castiel's neck.
Throughout his orgasm, he doesn't drink. He can't. Castiel's blood wells up, hot and thick and delicious, around his lips but Dean lets it slide down and stain the mud red. He licks around the wound, waiting for it to seal, and can feel the small raised bumps of each of Castiel's scars under his tongue. He wants to ask about it, but Castiel probably wouldn't answer if he did, so he keeps his mouth shut on that.
The word 'Mine' slips from his mouth before he can stop it, pressed with his bloodied lips against Castiel's skin, his hand combing through the Angel's dark hair, and Castiel shivers a little beneath him, releasing Dean's spent cock and grabbing a hold of Dean's shoulder with that hand, mixing blood, semen and flesh together on Dean's body, making a claim of his own.
"Mine," the Angel whispers back, and Dean smiles, and kisses Castiel, his mate, his Angel, his Ringmaster, and rolls his hips down again, reveling in the warmth of Castiel's body and Grace and, when he closes his eyes and loses himself in the kiss that tastes of blood and ozone and safety, he imagines he can feel the soft, midnight feathers of Castiel's wings caressing his skin as the Angel's wings wrap around him and shield them both from sight.