One of The Very Few Advantages

It's the last appointment of the evening, so Dean's not exactly in the mood to deal with a scrambled "I just got out of the shower, hold on," and other excuses, so he lets out a heavy sigh as he raps on the door a second time, and calls out loudly against the panel.

"Oven repair, anybody home?" Dean asked, shifting his weight to the other knee, shoulder straining under the pulling weight of his toolbox. Fortunately, a muffled voice answered back, and Dean tilted his head in near surprise to hear it.

"Come in, the door is unlocked," a deep voice echoed on the opposite side of the door. Dean gave the handle a testing pull, and sure enough, it's unlocked, and he enters the apartment without hesitation.

"This a bad time?" Dean called through the empty kitchen, ducking his head around the corner of the counter, suddenly aware that his "customer" could be some sort of reclusive psychopath ready to spring from the corner and harvest his organs. Or then, it could just be a regular social outcast, saved by the advent of over-the-phone and online business from ever having to venture outside. The apartment, however, seemed slightly too dirty, too homey, to belong to that of a serial killer or shut-in.

"No…I…just a moment…" the voice stumbled, and Dean kept walking, until he reached the end of the kitchen/dinette which opened out onto the living space. And he could suddenly see why the inhabitant of apartment was not eager to come out and greet him.

Whereas the rest of the apartment was fairly put together, the living-slash-bedroom was a mess. Papers crumpled and piled up in the corners, pillows and blankets thrown carelessly over every piece of furniture, and feathers, long, black and slick, littered on every surface. The feathers were so many they nearly blanketed the place, gathering in soft piles against walls and table legs, black, but glinting in places with purple, yellow, green, as they caught glints of the various bouncing lights in the small space.

And the tenant of the apartment himself was in the middle of it, twisting and struggling to put on a shirt, which was proving difficult due to the massive, angular wings spreading out from his shoulder blades. The…man was otherwise normal looking, with white skin and dark hair clinging to the usual places, on his arms, a rough stubble on his chin, and on the trail which started at his navel and ducked under his jeans, and curling in generous waves from atop his head.

But those wings…they were pretty imposing, and Dean was taken a little aback, but the man/creature didn't seem threatening, so he held his ground, instead uttering a decidedly impressed "whoa" when he was done his visual sweep.

"So…you're a bird-man or something?" Dean asked, making a 'well, now I've seen everything' sort of face.

"Angel," the man replied. The heavy wings appeared to stem from just inside his shoulder blades, and as such the shirt he was holding was equipped with two slots to accommodate the appendages, though the man still seemed to be struggling. "Seraph, actually. Technically, I would be a fallen angel, since many of my powers seem to be diminished in my earth form, but that's not necessarily relevant…"

Dean watched him struggle incredulously for another moment with the shirt, before putting up his hand to stop him. "Hey, man, it's okay, keep it off, whatever," he insisted, and the man tilted his head in Dean's direction, before stopping. It was pretty clear the creature – angel – hadn't had much practice donning the uniquely tailored shirt. Or leaving the house. Not for a while, anyway, given the mass of feathers accumulated in the room.

"So what's…" Dean began hopelessly, gesturing to the entire room.

"Molting," the angel replied quickly, "it happens twice a year, as part of my mating cycle. During that time I can't hide my wings, so it makes moving around…difficult. So I decided to stay in for the duration of the cycle. But I realized I cannot eat if my oven doesn't work…"

"Gotcha," Dean said with a nod. He was surprised, but not exactly new to this kind of thing – in his line of work he got to visit every sort of person with a secret to keep, and not all of them turned out to be people, like the ones with too much hair to be chalked up to an abundance of genes, or the ones who insisted upon pain of death that he work with the shades drawn.

Angels, however, were something new. Dean had never seen one, and hadn't much cared to. He took in this angel's wings, from wingtip to wingtip, which must've spanned a good 16 feet when fully unfurled, if not cramped in this tiny apartment.

The angel continued after a moment, when it seemed like Dean was not interested in continuing. "I would lead you to the oven, however, the hallway will not fit both of us, given my wingspan…"

"Yeah, yeah, no," Dean replied, halfway tired and impressed. He almost wished he had the energy to be indignant about the fact that a freaking angel just summoned him, without any warning, but he wasn't, instead feeling strangely at ease with the creature. Must've been something in the soothing, homey scent of the apartment, and the fact that Dean was used to smelling cold basement air and the heating vents of his car, and was happy for the change. "Just point n' shoot."

Dean looked up the creature's form, starting from his bare feet, all the way up to his eyes, and held his gaze with a mix of wariness and interest. "I'm Dean."

"Castiel," the creature replied.

Castiel guided him in the direction of the oven and Dean hunched down to get to work, acutely aware of stirring blue eyes against his back, a solid, real weight against the curve of his shoulders, but oddly, it wasn't uncomfortable. He struggled for a few minutes before realizing he'd made enough of a show, and reached out his hand behind him, displaying a small, bent piece of wire.

"So your main element is broken, the rest of the rig isn't gonna fly without it," Dean waved the piece blindly in Castiel's direction, head still ducked into the bosom of the oven. "I can bring a new piece, but not until tomorrow."

Castiel tilted his head in concern, but consented, shaking a clump of feathers out of his right wing with a mild flap. "I would appreciate that."

Dean stood, brushing the dust from the knees of his jeans with his empty hand. "Okay, I'll be back tomorrow about this time," Dean concluded, casting his gaze back at Castiel trying to keep his eyes politely centered on the man's face, rather than the gloriously mussed appendages ascending over his shoulders. It turned it wasn't that much of a hardship, given those stunning eyes were trained determinedly on him.

"Just don't turn on the gas, whatever you do," Dean warned, "you could suffocate in here. Or worse," he added, looking over at the cluttered – and flammable – mess of the room.

"I understand," Castiel said, and as he turned to leave Dean could swear he saw a subtle eye-roll, which made him smirk.

The next day followed nearly the same as the last, and when Castiel once again failed to greet him at the door, Dean wondered if the angel actually couldn't leave that room at all. His wingspan was pretty massive, it would take some maneuvering just to get down the hallway. The thought that others might not react kindly to seeing the creature didn't so much as cross Dean's mind, because he had never given a single shit what other people thought of him, save two, and he assumed everyone else should do the same.

The musty-yet-homey smell of the hall reached his nose and Dean breathed a languid breath, before marching down the hall and sidling up to Castiel's place, where he was seated cross-legged on the rug in the center of the room, giving his wings the most possible area in which to stretch. It still wasn't enough to get them straight.

"I brought a new element, it should just take a couple of minutes to replace," Dean noted, waving a Ziplock back and forth for Castiel to see. The angel brightened up upon seeing him, face remaining mostly stoic, but his mood was belied in a cheerful shudder of his feathers.

Dean shot back a pleased smile before leaning down under the counter.

As he worked, they shot little tidbits of conversation back and forth, revealing their lives in pieces as easily as new friends, and Dean didn't question their closeness. That's what he did: got along with people, became their friends so they would become his customers, then he left when the job was done.

"So how did you end up here?" Dean called while reaching deep into the cavity of the oven. "I mean, on earth?"

"I was stationed here by my garrison about four months ago – but I have not since heard from them, or been able to contact them in regards to my return to Heaven," Castiel explained, craning his neck to better observe Dean, the stretch of the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

"That sucks," Dean replied, "military man?"

Castiel called back his affirmation, and Dean pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a large, oddly-shaped burn eating into the flesh of his shoulder. "Same here. Served until I was 30, then they sent me home with nothing to show for it but this and a fucked-up knee."

Castiel tilted his head. "What do you mean, nothing to show for it?"

Dean deliberately shook his head, dropping his eyes and rolling his sleeve back down. "No, I just mean, my brother was in it too, but now he's got a wife and he's going to school, he has a real life…"

"Surviving the battle is reward enough," Castiel replied matter-of-factly, and Dean wondered if the man knew the meaning of the word 'subtlety'.

"No, not like that, I mean," Dean huffed out, "what was the point of all that? Now what've I got to my name except 'once killed a bunch of guys'?"

"You are not the sole product of your achievements, Dean," Castiel replied gently, and if Dean didn't know any better, caringly. "There is more to who you are than the experiences you've lived through."

"Yeah, like what?" Dean snapped back, staring the angel down over his shoulder. Cas didn't answer, and Dean frowned.

"Yeah, well, thanks for that–" Dean was about to continue, but a noisy crack coming from the vicinity of his right hand caught his attention, and he turned back to see the top wall of the oven snap and crack off of the machine, hanging by a mere single plane of charred metal.

Both men put their attention on the broken piece, and Dean swore out an insult in the machine's direction, banging the heel of his hand angrily against the side.

"All the wiring under the element is fried, what the hell," Dean grumbled, peeling a charred, melted piece of curled wire out of the back of the oven and shaking it, "probably put together wrong in the first place, Jesus Christ. No way could it get that hot on its own."

"What does that mean?" Castiel replied concernedly, looking Dean up and down, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"It means I need to replace the whole plate and the wiring," Dean shot back, "it means you'll be eating cold bird seed until next week."

Castiel squirmed uncomfortably, opening his mouth to protest, but then clamped it quickly shut. He nodded his assent, and Dean's mood instantly softened, and he returned with a sympathetic look.

"Sorry, just, tough it out a little while longer, alright? I'll be back Monday to finish it," Dean said softly, and the look in Castiel's eyes as he stared back was meaningful, but unreadable.

Five long days later, Dean found himself again on the precipice of Cas' doorframe, his heartbeat strangely loud. It was ridiculous how much he wanted to see Castiel again, how much he'd missed him, just the way he spoke, so clearly and frankly, the way his eyes focused so indomitably. He wanted to see Castiel again, needed it like his heart dependent on it.

Dean announced his presence, but Castiel didn't answer, and Dean frowned as he walked down the hall towards the living space. He continued to sense no response, save for a nearly silent flutter of feathers behind the wooden door.

Dean leaned his ear close to the door panel, swallowing worriedly as he heard a quiet little whine come from the room, and a thump like a knee hitting the floor. He cleared his throat loudly and heard Castiel go still, and his response sounded utterly broken.

"S…sorry, I'm not…" Castiel struggled out, and the drag of his deep voice across Dean's nerves made his hair stand on end, and that did it, he was turning the handle and pushing the door open without a second thought, because who knows if Cas was sick, or hurt–

Castiel was unharmed, quiet, still, face flushed by the stuffy heat of the apartment, but his breathing was loud and frenetic, and it didn't take a second to tell what he had been up to. He was seated on the floor with his knees bent in front of him, his fly unzipped, and a few tissues littered in reach of his arm.

Dean immediately jumped, flushing just as quickly, and staring down at Castiel.

"I'm sorry," the angel muttered sincerely, the look on his face so pathetic Dean didn't know whether to berate him, or scoop him up.

Dean shook his head, as if part of him didn't want to acknowledge this had even happened, but he had to, had to see that the slim, pretty-faced angel seated on the floor had clearly just been masturbating.


"I mentioned molting was part of my mating cycle," the angel said hopelessly, breathlessly, "around the end of the cycle my impulses become…unbearable…"

Dean nodded frantically, eyes wide and bright as a car's headlights. "Uh, right, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do," he offered, wondering how ridiculously stupid he might've sounded while he was trying to be helpful, andwhy the hell hadn't he gotten out of there already?

"I'm sorry, but I– just–" Castiel tried again helplessly, eyes darting from Dean's horrified gaze to the door through which he'd just entered, hoping desperately to communicate "please get out because I need to come" without actually having to say it.

Dean seemed startled by the realization and reached around behind himself to grab the door, pulling it closed as he stepped backwards out into the hall, uttering a "yeah, don't let me stop you," though it was clear he struggling to get over the embarrassment just as much as Cas was.

As Dean shut the door, Castiel called back quickly, "I'll clean up right away, just give me a moment," and Dean's chest gave a twinge at the raised pitch of the angel's voice, and he carefully settled himself against the edge of the counter.

Dean considered leaving, and he considered working as though nothing had happened. It's not like it was of any consequence to him what his clients decided to do while he was there; he'd once repaired a heater while a group of women held a yoga class in the middle of the room, one miscalculated swan-dive away from a stranger's hand on his butt. And Dean Winchester was by no means a prude; changing in front of his father and brother for a good 20 years or so of his life – then in the military for what seemed like another 40 – had instilled him with a sense of parent-like tolerance for bodily matters, and he wasn't going to be squicked by one dude with his dick out.

But it was so much harder to ignore after seeing that, after seeing Cas like that, how his mouth looked when it was all red and puffy from biting down cries, how his flush made the wrinkles in his face more noticeable, but made him look all the more younger and more vulnerable at the same time…

Dean breathed out a steadying breath and lowered himself to the floor into a crouch, spreading his tools out around him. This, he could do. He could repair this damaged beast of a machine, he'd done it before in near vampiric darkness, he could do it while there was the faint sound and smell – oh God, the smell – of sex a few feet away, only separated from him by a slim pane of wood.

On the other side of the door, Castiel begged silently for relief, for just a few unaffected minutes, not in front of Dean, not in front of Dean, just for a moment of respite from this maddening tightness inside him…

Castiel bent over his knees, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, reaching his hand down lower and lower into the crux of his thighs, the dark space underneath, lower, but stopped suddenly, eyes shooting open, as he heard the door slam open above his head. The force of the door swinging open sent a gust of wind brushing across the room, stirring the shed feathers into the air, and brushing Castiel's hair upwards in a surprised sweep.

Dean was there in the doorway, looking a strong, fearsome warrior of a man, broad shoulders heaving and thighs tightened firmly, anchoring him to the floor. He stared at Castiel before approaching him in seconds, falling to a crouch over where the angel was sat upon a rug on the floor, and slithering into his personal space.

"Don't, just don't," Dean stifled Castiel's protest, leaning within nipping distance of his lips, "just tell me what you need."

"Oh…okay," Castiel murmured his response as Dean placed a charged kiss on his lips, then a second. He backed up as Dean crawled towards him, and opened his thighs, letting Dean sidle up between them.

"I just…uhm…" Castiel mumbled as Dean leaned over him and ground his hips into Cas', sweeping a hand around Cas' back to cradle him while he decorated the angel with kisses on his collarbone, neck, shoulders. Cas moaned and angled his hips upwards to meet Dean's, reaching a hand around to grip Dean's butt and pull him closer.

As much as he hated to pull away from Dean's attention, Castiel needed release more than anything, and needed it sooner rather than later, so he reached over across the rug for the tube he'd been coaxing lotion from just moments before. He reached for Dean's hand and slammed the tube down in it with a definitive smack that sent a jolt of arousal down Dean's spine. Dean's eyes went wide as he searched Castiel's face, the desperate heat in his blue eyes, the way his lips were softly parted.

Then the angel craned his neck up to place a kiss on the underside of Dean's jaw, mumbling a low, nearly silent "do it", and Dean was off the starting block in an instant.

Dean shoved both hands down along the front of Cas' hips to snake him out of his jeans, coaxing the garment off and noticing that Cas – of course, oh God – wasn't wearing underwear, and the revelation caused fresh beads of sweat to trickle down the front of Dean's throat. He swallowed thickly and started to push Castiel over, stopped by the angel's hands catching and gripping his wrists with unknown, desperate strength.

"Wait, my wings," Castiel protested weakly, calling attention to the fact that the enormous, stunning things might get in the way. Dean groaned, sliding his hands up Cas' chest and under his armpits, scooping him up and flipping him over onto his front on the rug as though it was the easiest thing. It helped that Castiel, otherworldly and strong as he was, was just that much slimmer than Dean to let him feel the most powerful thing in the world as he positioned Cas under him, and the angel in turn lifted his hips, presenting himself like a beast in heat.

Which, for all intents and purposes, he was, and which Dean tried not to think about while he shuffled out of his jeans, because this was just Cas in front of him, just Cas, the gorgeous, deadpan-serious, sweet-smelling thing who greeted him from the middle of his nest of shed feathers a few days ago, who always had that adoring look on his face when he caught sight of Dean…

"Yes, please," Castiel responded to the question Dean didn't ask, wiggling his hips towards Dean's hand, letting out a squeal of delight when a lotion-coated finger slid into him. He humped back against the finger eagerly until a second one joined it and he whined out loud, hips jerking back and forth on Dean's hand and knees thumping on the floor with each advance.

Castiel's wings were shuddering against his back, the tips splayed out to either side, and the tight, shivering line of tension down the crests made it obvious he was desperately trying to rein them in. They brushed across Dean's stomach, and then as a particular jolt of pleasure hit Castiel they unfurled and smacked across Dean's cheek, earning a growl from the man, who reached out and gripped the pair of them at the first major joint, and yanked them straight up with and out of the way. Castiel let out a shout and rose with them, moaning desperately as he dug in his heels and lifted himself up, the arch of his back exaggerated and feathers flying everywhere.

Clearly he'd achieved something great by touching Cas' wings, because the angel was nearly in pieces now, trembling on all fours and pounding desperately against Dean's hand, wordlessly begging him for more, holding his wings as straight up as he could so the lean muscles of his shoulders and back were clearly visible. Dean swallowed an enormous lump in his throat and pulled out his fingers, earning a distraught whine from Castiel, who tried to follow after his withdrawing hand.

Dean didn't have to look down to see how hard his own cock was straining, swollen and full and ready, so he cupped Castiel's butt with both hands and squeezed, drawing a deep, rasping cry from him.

"You ready?" Dean asked, licking his lips and coating them, shiny and slick.

"Yes, yes, please, Dean, I can't wait any longer," Castiel gasped out, sounding surprisingly deliberate despite the way his entire body was shivering, from the tip of his toes to the ends of his wings, which were shooting high into the ceiling so the angling tip feathers were folded against the white pane.

Dean needed no further prompting, grabbed his cock in one hand and pushed inside, sliding in root to tip in one motion. He groaned at the stealing heat that surrounded him, and Castiel let out a moan in response, low and long and possibly singularly the hottest thing Dean had ever heard.

Castiel didn't give him a moment to catch his breath, however, unapologetically bumping back against the front of Dean's hips and throwing him off balance, nudging him forward, deeper into Castiel, making the angel cry out in satisfaction. Dean grunted and grabbed Cas' hips in both hands, steering him to follow Dean's rhythm, which was slow and steady, making Cas moan in protest. But Dean didn't let up, he wanted Cas like this, wanted Cas to let himself be pleasured and fucked by Dean, wanted the gorgeous creature beneath him to feel every little inch Dean gave, and the ones he didn't.

Dean started thrusting in waves that rose up from his knees and through the base of his spine where a heat like no other he'd ever felt was burning, urging him forward. The sight of Cas' arched back sloping in an elegant, powerful curve from his hips to his shoulders, the tight column of his neck, folded over as he addressed the floor with loud, raspy groans. The smell of him, his feathers musky with sweat, his fluids, his breath, everything so present andstifling and thick Dean thought he might drown in it.

Dean's thrusts became quicker, more rapt, his attention on Castiel honed like a laser, he himself grunting and moaning without inhibition, faster and louder as Castiel dropped himself down onto his elbows, which served only to increase the closeness of him, his insides slipping and clenching down on Dean's cock as if desperate to suck him closer and drink everything out of him.

Slowly but noticeably, things started to shake apart in the room, catching Dean's attention when a plate rolled off of the nearby desk and clattered to the floor. Dean's eyes went wide as he darted them around the room, certain that the two of them weren't moving quite that vigorously. His heart sped up at the shuddering windowpanes and wobbling table legs that seemed to be shaking more and more rigorously with each thrust he and Castiel moved closer to completion.

"Is that…you?" Dean asked cautiously, slipping a hand around under Cas' stomach to hold him up, as the angel slumped further and further into the rug until his back was inclined like a cat's.

"Yes," Castiel reached down and took himself in one hand, stroking rapidly and nodding with his breathless reply, "yes, yes, yes, yes–"

It took no more effort to finish Dean after hearing Cas' crooning, moaning voice, whispering encouragements until with a subtle stammering of his hips Dean came, the breath he let out like the firing of a piston. But Castiel didn't give him any mercy, rocking against Dean's softening erection, slamming back and nearly pushing Dean over with the force of shoving his ass onto Dean's cock, muttering desperate coos in what Dean could only assume was angel language, until he gave out a loud, sobbing moan of pleasure as his climax shuddered through his body.

Dean could barely pause to enjoy Cas' spectacular finish because there was a loud screech and a crack that accompanied it, and Dean looked up to see all of the windows in the room were shattered, and the remains of a few plates and glasses which had decorated the tables and desk were now piled on the floor.

Dean stared wide-eyed at the carnage he could only assume was caused by Castiel's orgasm, stunned. He dropped his gaze down over the Cas' exhausted form, his shoulders slumped down into the rug and his hands slowly unclenching from the white-knuckle grip he'd had in some of the threads. Cas let out a pleased sigh, closing his eyes, and Dean couldn't help but smile.

Afterwards Dean lied down with Cas, on a thin blanket Cas had apparently been using to make his bed for the week, lending even more towards Dean's bird-like description of him. It didn't help that the entire room was now coated with yet another layer of feathers, this one downy and thin so that it clung to everything, and Dean was ready to admit that it was…well, it was pretty gross, there was no denying it, but he didn't care at this point, because he felt so comfortable, like this was where he belonged.

"I'm glad you…came when you did," Castiel admitted into Dean's chest, curled up against his side with an arm flung across the man's waist. His wings had since disappeared from sight, and as impressive as they were Dean was happy for it because it meant he could wrap an arm properly around Cas' shoulders.

"Now I can properly clean up," Castiel lifted his head slightly to peer around the room and take in the blanket of black-ish feathers, "as I think I've finished molting, until my next cycle."

Dean's lip curled in a grimace. "You don't have to say it like you're on your period or something."

"Actually," Castiel began, "it isn't entirely dissimilar to the female human's fertility cycle, which lasts–"

"Stop talking," Dean cut him off with a firm hand on Cas' side, and the angel obliged him.

Dean turned to Castiel, lips curving into a soft smile, a real one he hadn't been capable of giving to anyone for a while. Castiel stared back adoringly, and it was all Dean needed to feel like he'd definitely done the right thing in barging into the angel's space just a few minutes ago.

"So, you're all good?" Dean asked, nudging Cas' nose with his own.

"Yes, thank you," Castiel replied in earnest, "at least until next time."