Title: In This Bed, We Lie
Word count: 3,857, unbeta'd
Warnings/kinks/contents: frottage, sexual content
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: This is my first Supernatural fic (kinda, I did a crossover a while back at another community). And it's also unbeta'd. But there's porn. Even trade?
There is beauty in his Father's creations, each and every single one of them. They are small beings, so tiny, Castiel muses to himself the day his father brought Adam into Creation. Their shape is foreign, but wonderful and he finds himself an avid admirer from afar. Adam is a delightful first creature and Castiel is sure he's never seen anything quite as lovely.
Then his Father creates Eve and she glows a hot radiance that's almost blinding, so gorgeous and pure. Castiel adores her fair skin without flaw, how it seems to glow and her hair tangles about her shoulders, like water falling across the slopes of her back. She's got a lovely, angular face that descends into swells and curves of her breasts and hips and thighs. She's warm and when she smiles, it lights up the earth in ways that are brighter than that of the sun his father created six days before. And though she has not born children, she is a mother of the earth and her open arms are truly the womb of life as she cradles all within them.
When Eve kneels for the first time before his Father, Adam at her side, Castiel marvels at them. He remembers Gabriel scolding him silently, that to stare was disrespectful. But he cannot take his eyes away, refuses to despite Gabriel's protest. He continues to stare even when his Father casts them from Eden, cowering in shame and reeking of fear. Castiel remembers the apple, sees it's rotted brown flesh even still and wonders if Eve never stopped tasting the bitter flavor against her tongue.
Though banished, they are mystical things, magical almost and despite their flaws as they have left the garden of eternity, Castiel never stops being amazed. Eve gives birth to Cain and Abel and Castiel hums with approval at the wondrous beings. Eve's body grows soft and round with each child and Castiel can see the shimmer of their souls from within her womb. Castiel is warm to their presence because both are wonderful things, amazing creatures, though born of sin, they are so pure and perfect.
For some time, though earth is not Eden, it seems a beautiful place. Cain and Abel grow as whimsical children. Eve watches them from the hills and Adam stands beside her, the lines now deep in his face, eyes old, but he smiles.
And then Cain kills Abel and the blood spatters across rock and grass and sand. There are screams and flares of pain that arch like fire from the sun, burning hot and it shatters the heavens. Cain becomes the first murderer and Abel becomes the first to die. And for the first time since his Father created man, Castiel has to look away.
It is a long time before Castiel can look again and when he does, Eve is gone. Adam is gone. Cain is no more. He doesn't bother to ask what has happened to them because he's told anyhow. He remembers his brothers and sisters rejoice in their Father's creation of Purgatory, how Eve will lie forgotten there for her sins and time will move in its swirling, yet linear pattern as humanity grows.
Though the first creations are gone, the earth now has many of them. Castiel is once again reminded of their beauty, though none are ever as lovely as Adam and Eve had once been, so finely crafted, but Castiel finds himself amused once again. Amused is perhaps not the word. Curious, rather. These human descendants are far different than he remembers.
There is something about them now that is beyond fascinating as they have grown. He'd perhaps call it terrifying.
These humans are not peaceful beings. They seek blood. They ravage. Fire burns hot over lands that Castiel remembers his Father creating with so much love. The Though they fight and rage wars, though they tear apart their own kind, Castiel finds he can only watch.
And then his Father drowns the world. It rains and rains, soaking the earth. The oceans surge over land, colliding and rolling in monstrous waves for forty days and forty nights. Those who once sought violence now seek forgiveness as they are in the hands of Castiel's fallen brother Lucifer. God does not hear their call and instead tells Noah to rebuild.
History repeats itself.
Castiel comes to find that humans are perhaps the greediest, most ill-tempered creatures his Father has created and he's not quite sure he's as fascinated as he once was. It rather disturbs him a way. They had once been so admired. And though they were cast from Eden and their bodies were born of sin, Castiel does not understand how temptation could be so – tempting.
People enslave one another, beat and bruise. The blood spatters land and water. Though Castiel hears the prayers of the righteous, but he moreso hears the begging of the damned, of the greedy, of the evil as they call upon his Father to win them their battles and horrid wars.
His Father instead rains fire from the Heavens, ravages the lands with locusts, and kills every first born and tells Moses to guide his people through the desert and find a home with which to worship him. Moses wanders under hot suns into Sinai and then to Palestine, commandments in stone pressed tight to his chest.
For a while again, it is calm.
Angels do not want. Angels do not need.
But Castiels feels a tug of something in his chest so warm and light when he finds his first vessel amongst his Father's creations. It's a young girl with dark skin, warmed by the sun with hair that is black as pitch and feels strange against his shoulders, braided tight and coursing down his back. He walks on desert sands that he cannot feel the heat of and watches the pyramids rise, day by day, higher and higher as they arch for the sky. It is a wondrous sight.
His next vessel is also young, another woman with hair that's gold this time. It curls in the hot sun as it's wrapped and pinned about his head. Her dress is white and she is adorned with more gold than he's ever seen. It clinks about her wrists and is heavy around her neck, jewels hanging low in between the soft, full roundness of her breasts. Gold dangles from her ears and glitters on her fingers. He sits on silken, soft couches, appraised by servants and finds a strange enjoyment fluttering in the vessel's body within the Coliseum of Rome where he watches men fight, the smell of copper thick in the air.
Castiel finds the paleness of her skin quite lovely and it reminds him so much of Eve. This vessel is beautiful and of the ones he takes over time, he believes that it is one of his favorites. Rome is a glorious city and he takes his time here.
His next is a male, his first. The rocking of stormy oceans is an incredible sight, waves surging up against the boat as it slowly routes through the waters. Lightening against black skies is aweing and Castiel knows he should take shelter below the deck, but he can't. In the morning, the skies stretch endlessly towards the horizon. Castiel sits under the sun until the vessel's skin is red and when they reach land, it's uncharted and new for the other humans around him though he's known about it since God created the earth.
Castiel sees many things with the humans, watches empires rise and fall, wars rage and die, sees wondrous advances in medicine and science and watches their meticulous actions as they advance themselves. His brothers and sisters sometimes mock him in his wonder because humans are so beneath them, but Castiel takes no bristling to it and instead continues to watch.
Their Father leaves.
Castiel had once believed that there had never been such a beautiful creature as there had been Eve. Though Adam had truly been something wondrous, had been the first absolute creation, Eve was something else. Her unbridled warmth, her tenderness, her wonderful beauty and maternal instincts; created from Adam's rib, she was nothing short of a work of art before she'd been locked away into Purgatory.
That was until Castiel glimpsed upon Dean Winchester's soul.
The fires of Hell are raging infernos that scorch his wings. Claws of demons and tortured souls alike reach for him. It hurts. It's so hot. Everything burns, so red with blood and heat. It's sweltering and overwhelming, consuming him as he pushes forward.
And there it is – a glittering, so bright, shimmering light. It glows, practically pulsing, like a heart. For a moment, there is nothing he can do but stare at it. It's bright enough to burn and the heat thrums from its center, and when Castiel listens, he can hear the hum of energy, feel it course through him. Its light cowers from him and yet at the same time reaches out, tendrils of trembling soul drawing for his grace when it senses him come close. It's cracked and broken and blackness, hatred marred so deep, torture so dark seeps into the small nooks, but it's quite simply the most gorgeous thing Castiel has ever seen.
When he touches it, it wavers before it folds into his hands and Castiel holds it close to him, lets it wind with his grace. The fires of Hell aren't quite so overwhelming when he flies them away. He grips Dean Winchester tight and raises him from perdition.
For all of what and who Dean Winchester is, truly the Righteous Man, Castiel finds him incredibly infuriating. He finds him frustrating and irritating and maddening. He has never before felt such things and they are overwhelming. It is an itch underneath the skin of his vessel that he cannot scratch, that his grace cannot reach.
It doesn't help that they have such contradicting emotions because Dean Winchester makes him feel. The strange jump in his stomach, the way it trembles or the way his hands sweat when he's in Dean's personal space. He feels a tugging in his chest whenever Dean smiles, something warm flooding every inch of him, from the core of his vessel to the tips of the fingers and toes. Castiel feels fear, something that is lightening quick in his heart when Dean bleeds, when he's hurt whether with broken skin or a broken mind.
Sadness. Happiness. Doubt. Upset. Compassion. These things vibrate and thrum through his body and Castiel finds them – strange. He wonders if he should be concerned with the fact that it is only Dean with which these things arise. But then Dean will smile at him and Castiel enjoys the warmth that spreads through him and decides to forget. It's easier to do.
It's this rapid, ticking burning underneath his skin, like a clock as the Grace depletes from his body. It becomes almost numbing after a time and there's this worrisome build of the unknown. He's a creature billions of years old, with knowledge no man could ever achieve and has seen things no man could comprehend – but now he's scared. It's the first of many rippling emotions that darts out like daggers from the pit of his stomach
But he does not fight it. He has made his choices. Let what consequences come with them.
Dean had turned to him one day when Castiel is sitting in the motel room, peering over a nasty gash on his arm he cannot heal. It stings, an irritating throb deep beneath the flesh. It's maddening – and itchy.
Dean comes to his side and gently take his arm, cleaning out the dirt and filth away. The rag turns red and it stains Dean's fingers. Castiel reaches out and tries to wipe it away. Dean grabs it and holds both of his arms, a wrist of one and the fingers of the other and Castiel finds himself suddenly swallowing around a throat that's too wet.
Because in that moment, Castiel takes in the vast silence of the room and realizes he cannot hear the voices of Heaven any longer, realizes that the hum of the television and the small fridge are weak and human and he is too. He's here in this motel with Dean across from him, the only family he has left because the gates have closed and Bobby is gone and Sam – Same is here, but Sam is not Dean. He is not Sam's angel.
Dean lets go of a hand and touches Castiel's face, gently beneath an eye and says, you lie in the bed, you make it.
And Castiel replies, I lied in this bed for you.
And Dean's fingers on his face are soft and Castiel leans into the warmth of his palm simply because it feels good, because it feels nice. Dean's breathing does a funny little hitch and Castiel says nothing because Dean will explain himself if he wants.
I know, Dean says, God, I know.
And Dean sounds sorry and Castiel hates how it's broken. He hates more that he does not know what to do to fix it, that perhaps if he were a soldier of God once again, maybe he would. But he sits and reaches up, pressing a hand to Dean's and just waits.
I'm sorry, Dean says after a long time. Castiel feels confusion, feels his face react with it, the tight bunch of muscles pinching in his face, the tilt of his head.
Dean, you have nothing to—, Castiel cannot speak (to apologize for, I would do anything for you) because Dean is swallowing all of his words with a hungry tongue that curls against his lips. The noises go muffled and Castiel freezes. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe, not until Dean touches the back of his neck with his other hand and squeezes. Warmth floods low in his stomach and Castiel finds a hitched noise breaking from his throat that Dean's tongue paws at hungrily.
Open your mouth, Dean breathes against his lips and Castiel feels himself shiver, not missing the prideful glint in Dean's eyes, Let me in Cas, come on. Dean's tongue is back on his lips, prying them open and Castiel lets them part before he's pushed backward. His back hits the bed and Dean's tongue dips deep into his mouth, brushing his own, tasting and curious and he finds another whimper choking from his throat.
Dean, I've never—, Castiel tries to talk, but Dean won't let him and instead cups his face, thumbs rubbing against his cheeks. Dean sucks in a harsh breath through his nose, teeth tugging on Castiel's lower lip, sucking on it and the shiver goes harder up his spine than before. Castiel settles his hands against Dean's chest, feeling warm skin through the shirt and Dean groans. The sound vibrates against his teeth and Castiel murmurs quietly, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he sucks on Dean's tongue; he's learning fast.
Dean's pushing at him again, but he cannot go anywhere except deeper into the mattress and it doesn't budge. There's a frustrated growl above him and Castiel runs his hands down, fingers exploring territory he's wanted to search for so long. His fingers are shaking slightly as he toys with the button of Dean's jeans. Dean reaches down and takes Castiel's hand, pressing it to the growing bulge of his cock. Castiel hears himself gasp, and Dean moans into his mouth. The heat that was in his stomach is pulsing outward and down towards his groin where he feels a corresponding hardness between his own legs. Castiel whimpers when Dean's thigh rubs against it.
Castiel rubs his palm down, pressing the flat of it against the straining erection and Dean bucks rhythmically against his hand before he promptly shoves it aside. There's a moment of heavy breathing and trembling before Dean's hands slot themselves at Castiel's waist, thumbs rubbing and pushing up his tucked in shirt until they caress skin. The touch is gentle and Castiel arches into it before Dean begins grinding against him, hips undulating into his own.
Dean, Castiel's hands fumble for purchase on Dean's arms. But Dean keeps a tight hold on his hips, hips snapping forward and up in hard, brisk thrusts. Castiel arches back, meeting him and the heat in his stomach is much too hot now. A mouth finds his neck, wet and warm and Castiel clings to the soft material of Dean's shirt, bunching is up above his shoulders, exposing the lean, hard muscles of his back that he runs his hands over.
Dean grunts above him and Castiel feels a note of panic rise inside of him. His hands are everywhere, sliding and grasping and unsure. Dean catches them and pins them to the bed.
S'okay Cas, I got you, c'mon, Dean almost sounds like he's begging and there's a stutter of his hips as Dean keeps the pressure slow and steady with the roll of his hips before Castiel's vision goes white. He can't bury the sound, a keening whine, as pleasure explodes, lights dancing behind his lids, brighter than anything he's seen. He comes, hard and exposed, feeling warm stickiness wet down his shirt.
And then Castiel's suddenly being turned over, body pliant and still shaking. There's a flutter and scuffle of movement, feet on the floor before the bed dips again. Dean's hands are back on his hips, pulling him back. Castiel goes up onto his hands and knees. Dean pushes up the buttoned shirt and touches over trembling skin and Castiel doesn't know what's going to happen next.
Castiel feels the slide of his slacks down his thighs and he shakes on arms that feel too weak before Dean presses against his back. Castiel arches towards him as Dean drags a sweaty-slick hand over his thigh, groping his ass appreciatively. Castiel drops his head and moans.
So good baby, Dean grunts, always so good for me. Castiel can only shake in response.
What do you want, huh? What do you want, Cas? Dean breathes into his ear and Castiel squeezes his eyes shot, his cock jerking in response. Dean's hand traces over his navel, fingers spidering gently below it and his hips jerk forward eagerly, but not before Dean wraps an arm around his waist and jerks him back.
C'mon Cas, say it, Dean urges and Castiel whimpers, going down on his elbows. He's not sure what it is he exactly wants, only that he wants—
You, Castiel chokes out. Dean hums an approved noise before there is the sound of something popping open and cold fingers pressing between his cheeks. Castiel jumps, startled. Dean's mouth finds his ear, tongue running over the shell of it, murmuring apologies before there are fingers rubbing at his hole, teasing the rim. Castiel keens low in his throat again before the press is more insistent and Dean's got a finger inside of him, working him open.
Castiel frowns slightly at the intrusion, uncomfortable as he tries to get used it, his body soon relaxed enough that Dean adds a second. There's a delicious drag as they fuck into him and Castiel is finding trouble staying upright even on his elbows now. His cock is hard again, leaking onto the motel bed sheets beneath him. It curls towards his stomach, needy as he is.
And then Dean's fingers are gone and Castiel is again frowning at the emptiness of it all, wriggling impatiently as Dean pushes him onto his stomach and pulls off his pants. He tosses them aside. The sound of Dean's zipper is loud in the quiet room and Castiel comes back onto his hands and knees. A hand gently runs through his hair, another gripping his hip and then Dean's cock is at his trembling hole, head blunt against it before Dean pushes.
It burns. Worse than the Grace that slowly leaves his body. Castiel sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and shudders. Dean runs hot hands over his back, tracing his spine before his hips snap forward. Castiel cries out sharply and Dean's completely buried inside of him, full and throbbing.
Fuck, Dean swears gruffly, Fuck Cas, you're so – Christ, I gotta—, Dean's words sputter out of his mouth, forehead between Castiel's shoulderblades.
Please Dean, Castiel grinds out between his teeth because he needs this, wants it, they both do; it just took them so long to realize it. Dean groans when he begs. He doesn't hold back, though Castiel feels him try with each pump of his hips, pulling out until it feels like he's going to slip out entirely and Castiel clenches around him before he thrusts back in, hips smacking against the swell of his ass.
Castiel's arms shake with the effort to hold himself up again, shirt draped and open as Dean bites his back through it, teasing. Castiel whines, pushing his hips back to meet each thrust, desperate for the release again. And then Dean's hips shift, not much, but just enough and Castiel practically screams, coming down off his arms as Dean's cock swipes over his prostate.
That it's, yeah, just like that baby, just like that, Dean murmurs, finding the sweet nerve again and Castiel cries out into the blankets. Dean's hips slow to a stop. Castiel jerks and pushes back as Dean's hands press down on his shoulders, keeping him pinned. There's a moment where he's frozen and Castiel can't stand it and then Dean's moving again, hips pumping in short, quick thrusts, right up against his prostate, over and over and over.
Castiel's whole body arches and bends, confused and overwhelmed as if torn between meeting Dean for each thrust or pulling away. His hands scrabble at the sheets and ones goes back, touching and grasping desperately at Dean's hip and he whimpers as Dean's cock nestles that bundle of nerves again.
Too much, too much, Castiel chokes out, but never asks to stop, will never ask to stop. And Dean doesn't, hips firm and lined up and Castiel's reduced to nothing but a whimpering, shivering mess. He comes completely untouched on Dean's cock, clenching and seizing up as his come paints the bedsheets and Dean fucks him through it, following with a low groan. The sense of being filled up, hot and wet, is pleasureable and Castiel tremors as Dean ravages his oversensitive body before falling against his back.
They stay like that for a while, Dean breathing harshly into his neck before he gently pulls out and flops down beside him. Castiel lets his hips drop and he sighs, strangely content.
Will you lie in the bed with me that I have made? Castiel asks after a long, pregnant pause. Dean glances over at him and touches his face gently once more. Dean smiles and Castiel finds himself mirroring it as Dean pulls him close.
You were never lying alone to begin with.
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