Title:That Awkward Moment When…
Word Count: ~7,200
Spoilers:Castiel? Raphael? Vague Season 4/5/6 references.
Warnings: excessive amounts of wing!kink and oil gland!kink. I am unapologetic.
Summary:All in all, with a full tank of gas and his radio turned up loud, Dean was in a pretty damn good mood. All that vanished into shock and concern when the sky lit up like daylight, as though someone had decided that black was so passé for nighttime.
Notes:Written for this prompt at the Dean/Cas Wing!Kink Meme. I blame stellamaris99 completely for this, JSYK, because instead of doing ANYTHING else I was meant to do, I wrote this. (: Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.
Driving along the I-90, Led Zeppelin blaring loud and Sam either asleep or pretending to be so that he didn't have to bear Dean's off-key singing, Dean was feeling pretty damn good. The hunt had actually gone off rather well; minimal fuss with the small-town folks (they were actually helpful to them, who knew that could happen?) and the monster had been easily ganked with an almost considerate lack of blood and guts flying everywhere.
All in all, with a full tank of gas and his radio turned up loud, Dean was in a pretty damn good mood.
All that vanished into shock and concern when the sky lit up like daylight, as though someone had decided that black was so passé for nighttime. The bright flash only lasted a second, like a camera flare, but it was enough to blind Dean and make him slam on the Impala breaks, waking Sam as he stared up at the sky, looking for any suspicious thing falling from it that might explain the light, because that kind of shit was Angel-bright.
"What happened?" Sam asked, blinking groggily. Dean pursed his lips together in a frown.
"Sky just lit up," he said, carefully blinking away the orange spots in his vision and turning the radio down. "Like, Heaven-light kind of lit up. Should call Cas, see if he knows something." Sam pressed his lips together and nodded, all stoic puppy face, and fished his phone out of his back pocket to flip it open and dial the Angel.
"Hey, Cas?" Sam's voice broke the silence, then he paused as Dean gradually eased his car back into drive, making sure he didn't hit anyone, and got back up to full speed. "Yeah, the I-90. Pennsyl-."
"I am here, Sam," came Castiel's voice from the back seat, and Dean just managed not to jump in shock. He didn't think he would ever be used to Castiel just popping in like that. The Angel pocketed his phone, apparently oblivious to the constant state of startling that he induced in the Winchesters whenever he just appeared next to them, and leaned forward so he could see both Sam and Dean's faces. "What did you see?" he asked, and Dean shivered, swallowing and clenching his hands over the steering wheel just a little tighter when Castiel's warm, sweet-smelling breath ghosted over his neck.
There was a pause, and then Dean remembered that he'd been the only one to actually see it. "Sky just kind of…lit up," he said awkwardly, flashing a look Castiel's way in the rear-view mirror. The Angel was watching him with a small furrow in his brow. "Kind of like daylight. But just for a second. Looked kind of like when one of you guys die or something. And there was a…dunno. Looked kind of like a comet."
"A comet," Castiel repeated, nodding solemnly. "It is just as I feared, then," he continued, sitting back.
"What's goin' on, Cas?" Sam asked, flashing a concerned look the Angel's way.
Castiel sighed, and then straightened up. "There is a motel three miles up from your location. Check in there. I shall be with you shortly." And before either Winchester could say anything, he was gone in a flutter of wings.
"That will never not be annoying," Dean griped quietly and Sam hummed in agreement, before Dean jumped the car up another ten miles-per-hour and ignored the weird tingly feeling that he always got whenever he and Cas were in close proximity.
Dean and Sam checked into a motel room that, Dean thought, must have been implanted into the motel clerk's mind, because there was no way two guys who asked for two Queens would be given 'The Honeymoon Suite'. So, yeah, Cas' fault and that's all there was to it.
'Suite' was a bit of a stretch; the place was larger than their usual dives but only ninety-nine-cent weddings had a honeymoon in a place like this. Between the crushed velour bedspread to the depressingly (and suspiciously) red carpet with questionable stains all over it, and the mirrors on the ceiling, Dean felt his skin crawling as soon as he came into the damn place.
And that was before Castiel showed up.
There was only one bed, and the Angel appeared in the room and dumped a large pile of questionably obtained items onto it. Dean could have sworn he saw a freaking machete in there. Weird. He and Sam carefully dumped their bags as Castiel upended the coffee table, clearing it of the (again oddly stained) tablecloth and began sketching a rune that Dean didn't recognize onto it.
"What's going on?" he asked, making sure to keep a respectful distance between himself and the crazed, agitated Angel. If Castiel could look unruffled, and did stuff like that, he'd be fisting his hair and muttering 'They all said I was mad' with some kind of Igor-type thing in the background.
"Angel activity," he replied without looking at the two Hunters. He moved back to the bed, gathering several of his items and spreading them out across the table. There was a bowl of thyme, a jar of something-Dean-wasn't-going-to-ask-about, an empty jar, several blades of different lengths and thicknesses. "Raphael has been summoned to Earth. Without a vessel. I'm going to banish him before he lays waste to us all."
"Without a vessel?" Sam repeated, eyes wide when they met Dean's. Castiel merely gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "…Crap. How the hell can we banish him?"
"You are not going to do anything," Castiel snapped, flashing a bright gaze over to Sam and Dean. "Except…" He paused, and then gestured for one of them to come over. "Your blood. Now." Immediately Dean held his hand out – hey, Castiel had cut him before for a ritual. Castiel took out a blade – it was a fucking machete, Dean'll be damned – and laid it across the Hunter's forearm, slicing open the skin with surgical precision and making Dean hiss. He tightened his grip around Dean's wrist so that he couldn't pull away, only letting go when he had half-filled the bowl of thyme with Dean's blood, mashing the herbs together with his bare fingertips to form some sort of paste. "Sam, you too," he whispered, gesturing for the same thing. His fingers smeared blood over Sam's forearm when he cut and held him over the bowl. It was almost full now. He then added the unidentifiable stuff in the first jar into the bowl.
Castiel paused, looking at the empty jar, and then back onto the bed. There were only a few spare implements, like extra knives and pieces of chalk and what Dean suspected was holy water in a flask. The Angel bit his lower lip, rubbing his chin and over his mouth with his bloody fingertips, and Dean's eyes followed the motion like a laser, watching the smear of his blood over Castiel's mouth. He licked his own lips, able to smell the blood, knew that his scent was marking Castiel, and wow, inappropriate thoughts.
He cleared his throat and hoped no one noticed.
"What now?" he prompted, because Raphael? Epically bad mofo. Without a vessel which meant he was pure Heavenly badassery and Grace-light which would not be fun. Dean had caught the back draft of when he and Castiel had been attacked by Raphael, trying to intervene in Chuck's prophecy, and yeah, he didn't want to meet up with that again.
Castiel pressed his lips together, eyes narrowed in concentration, and he looked deep in thought, before his shoulders slumped and he looked back to the table, leaning over it and bracing himself up on locked arms. "I need something else," he said, shaking his head and sounding almost ashamed. Nervous.
"What? Anything we can get?" Sam asked, frowning in concern and confusion.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, anything Cas, if we can help."
Castiel bit his lip, and Dean watched the drag of his perfectly white teeth through the small sheen of blood. "I need…" He paused, and then heaved a sigh and rolling his eyes to Heaven, "the wing oil of an Angel."
If someone had dropped a pin in the silence that followed, it would have been deafening. Dean cleared his throat, earning a flash of blue eyes from Castiel. "Okay…" he said, wiping his hands on his jeans absently and looking over at Sam. "Well, not to point out the obvious but you're an Angel…Unless it's -."
"They would need to be in a vessel," Castiel murmured, looking back to the bowl of blood and herbs. "Human stimulation would produce the oil more quickly. More easily." He heaved a breath. "And I cannot reach the glands myself. They are too…" He made a vague gesture in the air, "obscure."
"So…maybe we could -?"
"The oils would have to be extracted by someone with ties to Heaven," Castiel grit out, like it was exasperating him to have to explain this in such fine detail. It took Dean a moment to realize that the Angel was embarrassed, before those blue eyes landed on him, holding an unfamiliar heat and a definite meaning, and met Dean's gaze.
"Um…okay," Dean said, flushing a little under the intensity of the gaze, and taking a step back without fully realizing it. "So…well, it doesn't have to be you, right?" he asked hopefully. "We can get another Angel and maybe you can…or we can…"
For a second, the lights in the room flickered, going out and then flaring back to life. Castiel's eyes were dark, his tone flat and without room for discussion. Dean shuddered at the flare of the electric feeling that was Castiel's Grace in the room. "You will not touch another Angel," he all but snarled, baring reddened teeth. "Not while you are still in my charge."
Then, the moment was gone, and Castiel looked away and Dean was left wondering what the fuck had just happened. "Okay," Sam said, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture, "so it'll be yours. Dean and I can -." He paused. "Well, Dean can get them…Shouldn't be too hard, right?"
Castiel pressed his lips together, and while Dean totally knew that there was a catch somewhere – come on, there's always a catch – he didn't see any other option. Like mentioned; Raphael here, badass mofo, exploderating Angels. Not fun.
"Sure," he said, clapping his hands together and forcing an easy grin onto his face. "No problem. It'll be like milkin' a cow, right?"
Castiel blinked, brow furrowed in confusion, before he sighed and straightened, rubbing his hand over his jaw again. It added new patterns to the blood smear. "Very well," he said. "Though, Sam, I would ask you to leave."
Sam's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to protest; "I also require Holy Oil..and jasmine…" He waved a hand and in Sam's hand appeared a list of things he would need. Most of them were already in the Impala but some would require a trip to the large multi-store they'd passed, and perhaps even into the forest that bordered their little motel-town. He frowned at it, but nodded, accepting the order. He pulled out his wallet and a gun from his duffle bag and left the room.
There was another moment, and it stretched for an unfathomably long amount of time, before Castiel sighed once more, rolling his shoulders as though he was stretching his wings. The electricity in the room ramped up to a twelve and Dean shivered, knowing that the Angel was seconds away from manifesting his wings.
He'd always been intrigued by Castiel's wings, even since the Angel flared them up high against the barn wall in a flash of thunder and lightning. And if he ever spent more time than he should trying to imagine how they felt, the bunch of muscle under soft, downy feathers, well then, that was his business.
The Hunter raised a hand at Castiel's apologetic tone. "Is this going to hurt you?" he asked, already shrugging off his jacket and heading towards the giant bed. It was huge – could easily fit the two of them and Dean had a fleeting thought that maybe Castiel had planned for this.
The Angel sighed softly and whispered, "No."
"Is this going to be like some sort of weird Angel marriage thing?" Dean asked again, turning around at the foot of the bed and finding Castiel watching him with something remarkably like the scared look he'd had in the whorehouse.
Castiel's mouth twitched slightly. "No," he replied.
"Okay then," Dean answered, nodding to himself, and then jerking his head up to the bed. "Get comfortable. I don't think old Raphy will waste any time comin' to find us."
Castiel pressed his lips together and nodded. He then walked up to the bed, forcing himself into the slightly-sectioned-off space. Blood was still smeared across his pale skin and it could have just been Dean, but his pupils seemed larger. Of course, even noticing something like that proved that Dean had spent too much time staring at Castiel's eyes, so he ignored it.
The Angel, with carefully not-shaking hands, shrugged off his trench coat, then the suit jacket, folding them nicely and then placing them on the half-wall that separated the bedroom from the rest of the 'suite'. When he began to unbutton his shirt, too, Dean cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, earning a look from Castiel.
"Is that necessary?" he asked, and hoped that his cheeks weren't flushing.
Castiel, too, seemed a little embarrassed, and ducked his head, but still didn't stop. "The glands are very close to the skin," he whispered, separating the two halves and letting them fall off his arms, baring his naked chest to the room. Dean swallowed when he saw the scar of the sigil that Castiel had carved into his chest, pink and slightly raised from the rest of his body.
He wasn't as built as Sam or Dean, but he was lithe and wiry, like a runner or swimmer. He had a little bit of muscle, enough to make him look like he could have hidden strength, but of course, Dean knew Castiel was strong. He'd been on the receiving end of too many blows and shoves not to know that Castiel was powerful. Castiel rolled his shoulders again and Dean swore he could hear feathers rustling, and holyfuckhewasgoingtoseeCas'wings, and -.
"The jar, Dean."
"Hmm?" Dean forced himself to snap out of his little funk, finding Castiel giving him that almost-smile. The Angel walked back out of the room, grabbed the empty jar, and returned to Dean's side, pressing it into the Hunter's hands.
"For the oil," he rasped out, his voice lower than Dean had heard it before, eyes dark. Dean could smell his own blood on Castiel's mouth, combined with the ozone-and-ocean smell of him. Before he could lean down for a better inhale, Castiel had moved away, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed, and Dean swallowed and crawled onto it behind him, kneeling down so that he could easily touch Castiel's back.
He settled down on his heels, waiting for Castiel to relax enough and bring his wings out. He didn't know why, but for some reason touching Castiel's wings was a big fucking deal, so he didn't want to push or do anything wrong. The Angel rolled his shoulders again and this time Dean could feel the soft brush of feathers against the bare skin of his arms.
"Holy -." And then he wasn't just feeling them.
He didn't know what color he expected Castiel's wings to be; maybe black like their shadow, or white like the stereotype even though he knew no self-respecting Angel would be caught dead with white wings; Raphael's were made of fucking lightning, for God's sake. The deep, rich blue of Castiel's though, took him by surprise. They were gorgeous, sleek like a jaguar's fur, they rippled like they were underwater before the feathers settled into place. One or two were crooked in the wrong direction and without thinking Dean combed them back into place.
Castiel tensed up, and made a sound Dean had never heard anyone, human or otherwise, make before. It was like a dog in pain combined with the growl of a predator nearing its kill. The Angel's hands curled into the velour bedspread and tore holes in it.
"Are you okay?" Dean asked, worried he'd gone too far already.
Castiel blew out a shaky breath. "No, I'm…" He shook his head, taking another deep breath. Sweat was already starting to form on his back, in the dip of his spine and making the soft, thin hair at the nape of his neck stick to his skin. Carefully, Castiel folded a wing and moved it to Dean's other side, and the Hunter leaned back so he didn't get in the way. "The oil glands are very close to the base of the wing," he said, quickly like he was afraid he couldn't get it all out; "They are about the size of a walnut. You should just be able to see it if you look closely enough."
He sounded wrecked. He sounded absolutely torn up, and Dean swallowed back his worry; Castiel had said he wasn't in pain, and even if he was lying they had to do this to banish Raphael, so Dean could just man up and get the job done and then take care of Castiel when it was over.
So, gingerly, hoping not to disturb any of the beautiful navy feathers, he took a hold of the carpal joint, carefully pushing Castiel's right wing towards his left so that Dean could bend down to peer underneath it. He could feel the powerful muscles tensing under his hand, the liquid feathers rustling in either distress or pain or both. Castiel's breathing hitched and the scent of ozone got about ten times' stronger.
Dean hesitated. "Fuck, Cas, tell me if I'm hurting you," he whispered, because Castiel looked positively wrecked. His eyes were clenched tightly shut, his arms locked and quivering, fingers turning into nails in the bedspread and sweat gathering in the dip of his collarbone and down his back.
Castiel gasped softly, eyes flaring open, and the iris had been almost completely taken over by the pupil. "Dean, I swear, I'm -." He cut off with a soft groan when Dean shifted his grip, trying to get a better look to find the gland, and Castiel almost bent double, his arms moving to clutch his stomach as he bit his bloodied lip. "Just do it, please," he whispered.
Dean swallowed, resolving to just try and get this over with as quickly as possible, and went back to observing Castiel's wings. His back was slick and shining with sweat, and then Dean realized – that tang in the air, that wasn't sweat at all. Dean pressed his fingers to Castiel's back and found the skin slick with something with the kind of consistency of olive oil, and he followed the trail to the base of Castiel's wing. The Angel was trembling but Dean paid him no mind, pressing his fingers into the thick clumps of down at the base of Castiel's wings.
He found the gland, and smiled in victory, picking up the jar with his other hand and letting Castiel's limp wing fall against his shoulder. He pressed the jar to Castiel's skin just under the gland and, at a loss of anything else to do, pressed down on it.
Castiel cried out and thick, viscous fluid spurted out between Dean's fingers. The Hunter hurriedly wiped them on the edge of the jar, watching the first few drops slide down the side. It looked kind of like pale honey. Curiously, Dean raised his fingertips to his nose and inhaled. The stuff smelled like oceans and musk, like the sweat of a fucked-out body and sandy beaches and sea air. Dean let out a little gasp of surprise at the scent.
Castiel groaned again and Dean raised his eyes to find Castiel watching him, mouth parted, cheeks flushed and Dean felt himself blush as well, averting his gaze and returning his hand to his task.
"How much do we need?" he asked.
"We…" Castiel shuddered at the pressure, the blinding brilliance of Dean's warm, calloused hand pressing against his wing, gently coaxing out more oils from his gland. It was the best thing Castiel had ever felt; grooming had never felt this way with his brothers, never so…carnal. Heat and desire made Castiel's body throb, and he bit his lip and moaned again when more oil spurted out, like it knew Castiel's intention; to mark Dean, to cover the Hunter with his scent and claim him with his oil so that all other Angels would know that Castiel owned Dean. "Not much," he finally managed to gasp out, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, his entire body trembling. "About a glass-full."
Dean hummed, his warm, knowing fingers returning to Castiel's sensitive wings, and the Angel mewled, unable to help himself, as he reached between his legs and pressed down with the heel of his palm, trying, desperately trying to calm down the raging fire of lust, of need. "Dean," he gasped, head hanging forward. The touch on his aching hardness had done nothing to calm him down; if anything, he had thrown more kindling on the fire and his wings shuddered, feathers bristling in arousal from the force of it.
Dean's eyes widened. He knew that tone; different people had said his name that way, whether they were gasping it into the dark, cold air of an alley or screaming it to a motel room ceiling. He knew that voice. "Cas?" he hedged, leaning forward to try and see his friend's face. He could recognize the signs now; flushed cheeks, hard, ragged panting, black eyes…Shit.
"I'm…I'm sorry," Castiel gasped out, his hips subtly rocking forward, turning his head away from the sensation of Dean breathing on his neck. He needed, fuck, he needed like he'd never needed before. "Please, Dean, please don't stop."
Dean took in a deep, shaky breath, his hand already returning to coax more oil out of Castiel's gland, because they did have a job to do and Dean couldn't say 'No'. He didn't want to say 'No', and that thought didn't surprise him as much as he thought it shoulder have; it seemed natural, from the looks and the touches and the smiles and the deep 'profound bond' shit going on. Dean was the only one who could touch Castiel's wings – tied to an Angel, tied to Heaven – and that kind of meant something.
"Shh, Cas, it's okay," he whispered, forcing more of the thick oil out of Castiel's gland – less and less was coming out now; Dean would have to switch to the other side. He pressed gently, trapping the gland between his fore- and middle finger and squeezing gently, eliciting a heavy shudder from Castiel, his feathers bristling in what Dean was beginning to think was arousal. "I…" He coughed, clearing his throat, and held up the jar for Castiel to see. "I think I got enough, now."
The Angel looked over to see the jar, blinking at the amount. He shivered again when Dean absently pet through the underside of his wings, oil-slick fingers coaxing his feathers into place, some of them falling straight and some of them rubbing the wrong way and making the Angel hiss again.
"This will suffice," Castiel whispered, standing up, but he stumbled, his knees feeling incredibly weak suddenly, and Dean was off the bed, his oil-slick hands wrapping around Castiel and keeping him upright. "To the table, Dean."
Dean grit his teeth and nodded, half-carrying the wrecked Angel over towards the table and letting Castiel stand unsteadily in front of it. Castiel swirled his oil around the jar, then emptied it into the blood filled bowl and handed the empty jar back to Dean.
Castiel began to chant, drawing more sigils into the table and the air with the blood and oil concoction, but Dean wasn't really paying attention, because the smell of Castiel's oil was still heavy in the air, combined with the smell of precome and arousal, and it was potent in the jar he was holding. Without thinking Dean held it under his nose, inhaling deeply the scent of water and sex. Fuck, but he could get addicted to this smell.
Dean was suddenly aware that Castiel had stopped speaking. He opened his eyes in time to find the sky going white again outside, around the closed curtains, and swallowed. "Is it done?" he asked. Castiel nodded. "What about the things you asked Sam to get?"
"A distraction," the Angel replied, and was it just Dean or did that sound like a purr? He shivered.
"You didn't want him here," he said with sudden realization.
Castiel nodded, but his eyes were fixed firmly on Dean's mouth. Dean licked his lips and could taste a lingering trace of oil on them. "What are you doing?" Castiel whispered, standing up and turning towards Dean. His wings were still out, large and puffed out in arousal, oil slicking down his back and making his pants stick to his legs, his hair sweaty and ruffled, and Dean swallowed at the pulse of want that shot through him.
He shrugged. "It smells good," he said, like that explained everything, and maybe it did. Castiel's eyes watched as Dean brought his oil-slick hand to his mouth, setting the jar down, and licked up some of the oil from his fingers. "Tastes good, too."
"Dean." Castiel made that wounded predator sound again, and before Dean knew it the Angel had him up against a wall, pinning him there with superhuman strength and the power of his gaze. Dean stifled a surprised sound into the non-space between them, eyes wide and body burning when he saw the fire in Castiel's eyes, felt the heat of his body and saw the magnificent arch of the Angel's wings, flaring out behind him in domination and invitation.
Castiel growled again, burying his face in Dean's neck and inhaling. Without thinking Dean fisted his oil-slick hands in Castiel's hair, leaning in so his lips caught on the smear of blood across Castiel's mouth. It seemed suiting that they were both marked with each other's blood and oil. It felt…damn it, right.
"Dean," Castiel whispered again, making a sound like when he wanted to blaspheme but couldn't bring himself to, "wash it off. Please, wash it off."
His tone of voice made it sound like he wanted anything but. Hell, Dean didn't want to wash it off, and why should he? He wouldn't make Castiel wipe his blood away – no, let them bear each other's marks. Dean wanted it, damn it. The electricity of Castiel's presence seemed like it was ramped up to a thousand and the oil was making Dean's hands tingly, and his mouth felt super sensitive like there was a live wire in them.
"No," he replied, turning his head a little more to press his jaw against Castiel's. He tugged on the Angel's hair, bringing their faces up so he could see Castiel's eyes.
Castiel's gaze was on his mouth and the Angel mimicked him when Dean instinctively licked his lips. The Angel groaned again, rocking forward, his wings flaring higher, and that was when Dean could feel how hard Castiel was; throbbing, burning. Dean mewled softly, running his hands down Castiel's neck, and his shoulders, before finally finding the base of his wings and tugging, knotting his fingers in the soft, wet feathers there.
Castiel snarled, baring back his bloodied teeth, and then Dean had just enough time to register a change of scenery, his back pressing down onto the horrible velour bedspread before his senses were overcome with the Angel. Ozone and oceans invaded his senses, controlling every part of him until all he could think was Castiel fuck yes please more damn it so good.
For a million-year-old virgin, Castiel could kiss. He kissed like he fought; coming from nowhere, zero to sixty in nothing. His lips were soft and warm and tainted with Dean's blood, which the Hunter lapped at, just out of instinct, and Castiel used the advantage to find and claim the tiny space between his lips, tongue invading and learning every inch of Dean's mouth. Dean shuddered, feeling like he was burning up in his clothes; fuck, both of them needed to be a lot more naked.
He stifled a low moan against Castiel's mouth when, with a flick of his fingers, they were. Castiel's feathers rustled loudly, the only sound aside from their ragged breathing and the beat of Dean's pulse in his ears.
Castiel's hand landed on Dean's chest, flattening over his heart, and the Angel tore himself away, but didn't go far; he hovered over Dean, taking in the Hunter's glazed eyes and spit-slicked lips. He could taste his oil in Dean's mouth and it was the most alluring thing he'd ever experienced.
Castiel swallowed, blinking when Dean's eyes focused on his face. The Hunter looked confused; his warm, wet palms landed on Castiel's flanks and the Angel shuddered, wings flaring out in pleasure and up, allowing his lover-mate-whatever-the-Hell-Dean-was-meant-to-be more access to his oil glands, to the most vulnerable part of him.
"Tell me to stop," Castiel whispered, managing to wrench his eyes open because he had to watch Dean's face. Even as he spoke, though, his hips rocked down, his erection, slick with precome and flushed with blood, sliding against Dean's own, and the Hunter moaned. "This is just…the oil…I can stop." Please Dean please don't tell me to stop.
Dean's brow furrowed slightly. "Just the oil?" he repeated.
Castiel made another wounded sound, pressing his face into Dean's neck, his hands playing up and down Dean's sides, counting the ribs that he made, feeling the softness of the body he put together, that other monsters and creatures had dared to harm with their blares or their powers or their teeth. "The oil," he began in a low, raspy growl, making Dean shiver and bare more of his throat to the press of Castiel's teeth and his stubble-covered jaw, "is an aphrodisiac, Dean. The effects are getting to you through smell." He paused, nuzzling into Dean's flying pulse. He rocked down again, just to feel his charge tremble, because even if he said he would stop, it felt so good, he wasn't sure he wasn't making a liar out of himself.
Dean's eyelids fluttered, just a little, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. There were mirrors on it (creepy) and in the reflection he could see Castiel's body over his, their legs entwined, the Angel's beautiful black wings flared out either side of them and contrasting with the rich, ugly red. He bit his lip, watching one of his hands move up under Castiel's left wing, finding the swollen oil gland that he hadn't milked, full of oil that leaked steadily out of the gland and was soaking Castiel's wing and the skin of his back. He dragged his nails through the patch of oil, just to feel Castiel shudder above him, and then turned his face away from his own reflection, instead pressing his lips gently to Castiel's cheek.
"You think too much," he whispered, and Castiel lifted his head to stare with wide, disbelieving eyes, before Dean smiled and hooked his other hand around the back of Castiel's head and pulling him down for another rough kiss. The taste of his blood and Castiel's oil exploded across his tongue and he moaned. Feelings were rising up in Dean, half-felt and more than a little deep, but he pushed them aside for examination later because he had more urgent things on his mind, like the fire of lust that was coiled like a spiked serpent in his gut, or the way Castiel's breathing was getting ragged and uneven, or the feel of the soft feathers dragging through his fingers.
Castiel snarled at him, tilting his head and one hand drew Dean's chin up, making the Hunter arch for more of the kiss and bare his throat to the press of Castiel's thumb at the hollow. It made Dean feel like he was fighting to breathe, but he didn't push Castiel away – the instinctive and implicit trust made Castiel shiver again, his kiss turning just a little gentler, and he moved up, onto his hands and knees between Dean's spread legs. Dean moaned at the loss when Castiel's body weight left his, wings falling either side of them like dark curtains of water.
Dean looked to one side, reaching out and petting through the silky feathers and Castiel shivered, letting light back in when he raised his wings to give Dean more access to the base, where he was most sensitive. Dean let his left hand trail up to knot in the feathers; his other scooped up the oil onto his fingers, and then he arched his hips up, planting his feet on the bed as he moved his hand between his legs.
Castiel broke from the kiss, able to feel Dean's hand but not knowing what he was doing, and he looked down between their bodies. Dean chuckled quietly when he heard Castiel's quiet, disbelieving groan, and then suddenly there was light again when Castiel sat back between Dean's spread legs, his hands pushing Dean's thighs more firmly apart so he could watch the first teasing presses of Dean's oil-slick fingers into his hole.
"Fuck." The profanity slipped from Castiel and it made Dean moan and shiver, clenching down on his fingers until it almost hurt – fuck, but it had been a long time for him. He pressed a second finger inside of himself, biting his lip to stop the moan of pain as he threw his head back in pleasure, gasping, his other hand grasping blindly for something to hold onto. He ended up finding Castiel's wing, fingers clenching tightly in the thick flight feathers and earning another loud growl.
He heard rustling and then warm breath on his inner thigh, and managed to raise his head to see Castiel watching him from between his legs, the Angel's lips parted and kiss-swollen, his cheeks flushed (Dean didn't even know Angels could blush), hair all in disarray. Then, Castiel graced him with one of those almost-smiles of his, and leaned down to gently bite at where thigh became hip on Dean's body, his breath washing over the Hunter's sensitive skin and making him shiver.
"Fuck, Cas," Dean whispered, spreading his legs a little more in invitation and shoving a third finger inside of himself. It was too quick, more burn than pleasure, but it still felt so good he couldn't bring himself to stop. He needed Castiel in him like yesterday. "Please."
"I like seeing you mark yourself with my oil," came Castiel's low, awed whisper, and Dean could just feel the brush of the Angel's lips along his thigh, up towards where Dean wanted his mouth most, but the Angel leaned further down than that, licking along the webbing of his fingers and tasting his oil on them. Dean moaned, tossing his head back again, biting on the knuckles of his free hand to stifle a loud, pained whimper. "I like the thought that you're going to smell like me, like my oil, and no creature, Angel or otherwise, will touch you after this."
That thought should not be as hot as it was; the idea that Dean was being claimed, basically labeled with a giant 'back the fuck off' sign because Castiel needed some oil for a ritual; the whole thing was pretty damn surreal but Dean sure as hell wasn't complaining.
"Cas, please," he whispered, reaching down to tug at the Angel's hair as his fingers withdrew, returning to massaging the swollen gland under Castiel's wing. "Please, damn it."
Castiel, bless him, went to Dean's coaxing, once again covering the Hunter with his strong, surprisingly heavy body, though Dean supposed that was just the wings. Castiel growled, leaning down, and bit at Dean's neck, worrying the skin between his teeth and just this shy of drawing blood, but Dean was moaning like a whore for it; maybe it was Castiel's oil or maybe it was just Castiel, but Dean seriously doubted anything the Angel did at that moment wouldn't be hot.
"Do you like the idea of being marked, Dean?" Castiel whispered in his low voice, even lower and rougher than usual, and Dean whined when he felt slick fingers, not his own, pressing at his loosened entrance. He whined when Castiel thrust in with three fingers straight away, rolling his hips to absorb the shock, and then rocked himself back down to try and get Castiel deeper. "Like the idea of smelling like me, bearing my marks, knowing that nothing else will touch you as long as you are mine?"
Dean whimpered, licking at the lingering traces of blood on Castiel's jaw, threading a hand through his hair, and Castiel rocked forward with a low growl, yanking his fingers out and positioning himself to slide in. Dean bit his lip, yes yes yes playing like a broken record in his mind.
He cried out when Castiel thrust in, all rough passion after so carefully teasing and drawing Dean forward. The Angel snarled, hilted as deep as he could get inside of Dean, and his hands turned rough when Dean's fingers found his oil glands again, squeezing and pressing and tormenting the sensitive glands. Castiel's back was soaked, his feathers sticky and puffy with oil, wings flared out high in victory over his claim, and Dean could only lie back and take it when Castiel started thrusting into him hard and fast, the Angel's mouth on his and his hands landing possessively on Dean's body.
The Hunter cried out when Castiel was buried deep inside of him, rocking his hips up and lighting up the backs of Dean's eyes like an Angel had just fallen. "Again," he demanded, fisting his hands deeper in Castiel's wings, feeling his palms and wrists and forearms become slick and shiny with oil, and Castiel snarled at him, sealing their lips together once more, and obeyed, rutting against Dean until the Hunter muffled his cries of pleasure against the Angel's bitten-red mouth.
Castiel withdrew, and then slammed forward, managing to find the Hunter's prostate almost every thrust, until Dean was trembling almost as hard as Castiel was. The Hunter whined when Castiel reached down, fisting his cock with a fast, dizzying counter rhythm that Dean had no chance against; within minutes he was coming, shouting loud enough that he was sure the neighbors would complain, head thrown back in ecstasy, skin slick with oil and sweat.
"Beautiful," Castiel murmured against his neck, the Angel thrusting in like a fucking machine, sending almost painful aftershocks through Dean's body; it hurt but it felt so good. Dean whimpered when Castiel finally came, sheathed inside of the Hunter's tight, hot body, and growled as he orgasmed, clamping down with his hands around Dean's hips, his teeth against the Hunter's jaw. "Mine."
Dean could only hum in agreement, too fucked out and sated to do much else. Castiel's wings rustled when they folded to his back, the initial tide of lust abating for now, and Dean amused himself while Castiel recovered, petting through the Angel's dark hair, combing it back from his face while their breathing and heart rates calmed down.
Finally, Castiel withdrew, too soft to stay inside of Dean, and the Hunter hissed at the sudden emptiness, clenching around nothing, but then suddenly Castiel's fingers were there, three of them, filling him up again. The dull ache was like background noise as Dean stared at Castiel, watching as the Angel scooped some of his come out of Dean's ass and onto his fingers, mixing it with Dean's own seed on his stomach. He then took the mixture on two fingers and, eyes flashing to Dean, pressed them against the Hunter's lower lip. Dean opened without question, tasting the combined flavor of himself and Castiel.
The Angel smiled in satisfaction, pulling his fingers away when Dean had licked him clean. He then repeated the process, but this time, he spread his fingers through his own wings. Dean's eyes widened and he sat up, able to smell himself all over Castiel now, and watched the white of his come become mixed in with the pale honey-yellow of his oil and the jet blue of his wings.
"I like the thought of your scent on me," Castiel whispered when Dean turned questioning eyes to him, earning a soft smile from the Hunter. Castiel smiled back, almost shyly, his wings rustling quietly as they folded to his back again.
Dean paused, figuring he should probably say something. "Um…that was -." But he was silenced by Castiel's fingers over his lips, the Angel's amused smile and gentle eyes telling him that words weren't necessary.
"You talk too much," Castiel murmured, laughter in his voice, and Dean chuckled. Then, he took Castiel's wrist in his hand, licking at his fingers, just to see Castiel's eyes darken. He was probably a mess – there was one hell of a wet patch that he was most definitely in the middle of, and he knew he had oil and bits of blood all over him. But if Castiel didn't mind, well, neither did he.
He pulled Castiel closer between his legs, arms wrapping around the Angel and finding the slicked dip in his spine, making the Angel shiver. His fingers trailed lower and he bared his teeth in an eager grin. "My turn," he whispered, and Castiel laughed – really laughed – and fell into the Hunter's embrace, letting Dean find his glands again.
Needless to say, the bed was pretty much unsalvageable by the time they were done and Sam finally returned with the needless supplies. That's one of the bonuses of fucking an Angel, though – one touch and the room was brand new, like they'd never been there. Just another job well done with minimal clean up and a hella-good sated feeling right down to Dean's bones.
And if he chose to not let Castiel clean either of them up; if he chose to let himself stay full of Cas' come and covered in his oil and reeking of the Angel, well, that was his business. And Sam could pretend to sleep for all he cared, 'cause Dean was in a pretty damn good mood, all things considered.