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For all he loved green, and everything it meant to him, Castiel’s new favorite color was yellow. As an angel, his memory had been a constant he could easily draw from, but to parse out his own mind was now a rare moment called “lucidity.” The finesse required of his human memory often failed him. However, despite his abhorrence of Naomi’s reprogramming, he learned he liked being able to forget, at least on his own terms. To push everything out of the way but his existence, and the one it was tied to. He began to understand personally the attraction of the River Lethe.
As soon as he’d reached the Bunker, Dean took him to a thrift shop to build his new human wardrobe, but Cas was consistently distracted by a host of thrift angels: paintings, prayer books, trinkets and chotchkies staffed the shelves with human perceptions of the angelic form. Dainty. Effete. Now, as he lie on his back, a halo of light surrounding Dean’s dark blonde head, he started to understand that human sense of awe, of surrender: submission to the divine. It came as naturally as the black spots that followed, darkening his vision until Dean was the universe. Towering ineffably over him. Nothing seemed more natural.
The hiss of breath as his throat was released signaled him to return. Dean had made him promise to use the safeword they’d contrived of in this cheap motel but Cas had never been so weak as to need one. Not that Dean had dared touch him, before. It made sense that a white knight like the Righteous Man would only deflower him once Cas had given up everything he’d known, become Dean’s only; once he was as weak, confused, and impermanent as any other human Dean had ever lain with, suddenly the gender of his vessel ceased to matter. Now the thought of losing him, this angel who was stuck with mortality, with him, did terrible things to the hunter. The panic in his eyes as he slowly slapped Cas’ cheek to rouse him spoke volumes about his insecurities.
I can’t lose you, he’d told him once, I can’t do this alone.
Cas put effort into breathing as his vision restored. Tension seeped back out of Dean’s naked shoulders, lines of sweat that swept down his torso or pooled in his collar bone.
“Don’t do that to me, man,” Dean sighed, swiping at his hair and eyes with a shaky wrist, “Remember: im-pa-la. Say it when you need a break.”
I don’t know when I need a break, Cas resisted speaking aloud although he nodded soberly, shuffling uncomfortably with the tent in his jeans. Dean had managed to get half-naked but he’d tossed him on the bed as soon as they’d made it to the room. Now his shirt reeked of testosterone.
Dean watched him watch himself. When Cas returned his gaze the hunter’s intensity bloomed, a small breath punched out of him at the mere sight of his arousal. It was not enough that Dean was willing to do this with him, but that he had made it clear, oh-so clear what it meant, what he was giving up. But then, pretenses hadn’t survived between them.
A sly angle permeated the man’s smile, bewitching Cas even as he fumbled to help with the sudden interest in shedding his clothes. Dean unzipped and unbuttoned every shirt of the standard Winchester layering, smiling sweetly, so dotingly Cas moaned at the sight as he left the fabric splayed beneath him. Then he gathered the hem of Cas’ stained, grey undershirt and pulled it over his head, deftly wrapping his arms in the excess cloth and tying them off on the spindly headboard. Cas choked at the sight, tested the bonds and found his legs spreading eagerly when he couldn’t move them. He couldn’t move because he was pinned by a human, at the mercy of Dean, of all people, the only one who wouldn’t need any such contraptions to do so.
Having him simply take when he could have ordered without complaint stimulated parts of Cas that had him shifting and squirming for more.
A hand glided down the front of his trousers and he moaned imploringly, eyes trapped in Dean’s gaze. The hunter licked his lips and thumbed at the zipper, yanking the jeans off in a swoop so deft, Cas was almost jealous of who’d taught him.
“You know I can tell when you get distracted, right? Think about me, Cas, tell me,”
“I love you.”
The words fled from his soul in a panic. Dean stalled and he whined. A hand crept around his throat and Cas tilted his neck back, giving Dean everything he wanted. To punctuate his obedience, he stressed,
“I love you, Dean,”
“I know,” the hunter growled, face slightly contorted, uncertain and wild. Cas groaned when a second hand shoved between his legs, sliding along the slick crease of his thighs as he wriggled. Dean had told him to come here, had driven over from the Bunker, hours away, just for their meeting. Even paid for the room. It wasn’t presumptuous of Cas to prepare himself beforehand in the tiny bathroom, showering with the exact soap Dean had once said he liked: verbena and lemongrass, fresh. Neutral. Cas’ vision swarmed with yellow dots again. He drew in a painful gasp as he was slowly penetrated by teasing fingers. Dean had learned by now that he didn’t have to hesitate, (Cas abused himself thoroughly before their meetings, cumming as he fingered himself to see if he could last longer under Dean’s actual touch) although he enjoyed taking his time.
A little jump as Cas twined his legs together, brows knitting, sent his blood pressure over the edge. He released his grip and pulled Cas over his lap, unbuttoning his jeans and briefly slicking himself before he asked, for some reason he always asked,
“How do you want it?" stroking himself slowly, intently, daring Cas to look away from his eyes. Shaking hips ratcheted up, supported by spreading ankles as Cas flushed and pulled at his bonds.
“Anything you want, anything, Dean, just join with me--” he gulped pitifully, throat hoarse and sore as Dean’s smirk faltered and the hunter folded his legs back up his chest. Finally.
“Do you want me in here?” he teased with a dark undercurrent to his voice. He circled Cas’ rim with the tip of his cock, bright red and aching, dipping just slightly into his hole as it fluttered and clenched in anticipation. Cas shook, sweating profusely. Dean rubbed against him just to watch the angel jump, expression frantic. He stilled him with another grip to his neck.
“I need you.” Cas uttered solemnly, eyes shining, and all Dean could think beyond the bolt of desire and love that cracked through him was you really have to learn what dirty talk is. Part of him liked this about Cas: his pure, instant honesty. But part of him also wanted him gagging for his dick.
He entered haltingly, alternating between squeezing his fist and savoring the helpless gasps emanating from his lover, and forgetting to hold him entirely. The grip on his cock was mind-blowing as he slid in, as though Cas were trying to eat him. Small, staccato thrusts ground him tighter into the angel, finally bottoming out with their eyes locked together, a vague expression of bliss overwhelming Cas’ blushing features. Dean leaned in and kissed him, hand pulsing appreciatively at the desperate gasp it earned him. He started gyrating, searching inside Cas with devotion to his task.
This was supposed to be about comfort, after all.
“Dean… Dean, Dean, De--”
“I gotcha, baby,” he answered, releasing his hold to run fingers through Cas’ disheveled hair, shivering when the bruised throat turned and eager, wet kisses attacked the arm bracing him. He groaned and picked up speed, the obscene slapping of their hips echoing in the empty room. Cas began to moan in earnest, tugging at his bonds,
“M, more, no, o-ver, MMH, ohh, Dean, Dean, Dean!” his cries grew in volume and someone punched the wall, yelled for them to shut up but Dean only laughed and closed in tighter, as though shielding the angel from the world outside. Cas blinked up at him with such adoration he felt he could carry the world, felt the weight on his shoulders and the undying support shining beneath him. Cas was perfect, too good for him. His only need seemed to be to follow the soul he’d sought in Hell and like that, he would always be an angel. Now, simply just Dean’s angel. Dean had learned that firsthand, watching a haggard future of himself too like his father corral and command his mate, a version of Cas so broken and degraded, at his leader’s words, he’d sink to his knees or brace himself against a trunk, even in enemy territory.
The hunter was certain the bruises along his collarbone had not been inflicted during one of his orgies. His hips stuttered at the thought of Cas taking dick from every angle, a chain suspended between a collar at his throat and the fist of his stony-faced mate. Dean had watched Cas lose himself, before, but now that he knew what it was to own such a creature, he could never give him up. He could never share. This was it. Cas was his.
“Ain’t no one else broken you in, this way, made you feel this good,” he growled, “only me, only I get to do this to you.” He drank in Cas’ high-pitched moans as he ground into his prostate. The angel nodded as much as he could with fingers flexing around his neck, expression flushed and pitiful. Dean slowed his thrusts to a gruelling pace, delighting in an increase in whimpers, the weak swivels of Cas’ hips as he attempted to snap back and devour Dean’s cock deeper. As punishment, the hunter pulled out so just the tip hovered within his rim. Controlled, minute thrusts caused the hole to spasm hungrily around him, Cas writhing with hitching sobs that broke over his gravelly breaths like waves on the shore. Dean was stupefied.
“Goddamn, Cas, so fuckin’ beautiful for me,”
Cas whined as his hips sank deep, teasingly brushing his prostate, zapping and singing pleasure through his body. His grinding increased as Dean let him struggle to set the pace, focusing his attention instead on the necklace of bruises marking his lover’s throat.
“Are you gonna come on my dick, angel?” Dean whispered close to his ear, squeezing his throat and sniffing at the mix of tears and testosterone at his neck. Cas moaned deeply, chest rattling as he chanted Dean’s name like a hymn. Reverent.
“Al-ways--for you, only, you, Dean, Dean, Dean Dean Dean--”
“Touch yourself.” Dean gasped, hurriedly releasing Cas’ bindings, hips snapping to action as the angel erupted with a shriek of pleasure. He had to stabilize himself before attempting to stroke off, too distracted by the brutal cant of the hunter’s hips against his own, the sap of oxygen from his brain that rippled pleasure up his spine. His only focus was where he and Dean connected. As the hunter released his grip on his throat and Cas shuddered, gasping, a kiss was forced onto his lips, shocking a thirsty groan from deep in his belly. His hands scrabbled uselessly on the bed, limp and tingling yet eager to caress Dean’s predatory face, frame the golden halo illuminating the shape of his heart. A corona of dust scintillated behind him. His eyes sparkled as he was released from the kiss with a long sigh.
“I told you,” Dean breathed through his sharp thrusts, easily blindsided by Cas’ eager moans, “to touch yourself.”
Cas mewled, shaking his head, “I can’t--I’ll--cum, don’t, th- there! OH, Dean!”
Cas’ legs wound greedily around his hips as his back arched obscenely at the renewed attack on his prostate. A deep growl in his ear, another thrust, two, and he was coming. Dean gripped his throat and crushed him against his orgasm, yanking their hips together with painful slaps as Cas emptied himself, mouth wide open.
“Fuck, Cas, you’re so, you’re so--”
“Yours,” Cas croaked. The fingers released as Dean shoved his legs back hard against his chest, grinding straight down as he came at Cas’ declaration. “Yours, Dean, your--only--you, mmh.” He whined and wiggled when he felt the hot pulse as his lover emptied inside of him, savored the shaky descent of Dean’s body to his as he came with a shout. They were so close, this binding of flesh, all of him touching all of Dean, it was so close to the way angels made love and yet nothing like it. He wished he could have given Dean that kind of pleasure. He wished they had done this before his body was weak, before something like stamina could get in the way.
Although he did enjoy begging Dean. He’d certainly done it enough in the course of their relationship to learn a taste for it.
The hunter caught his breath and stared down at him with a broad, stupid smile, and Cas’ heart shattered anew. How could he think of going back to what they were, when every time Dean dared touch him, he felt remade? Curiously aware of his vessel. Yearning for his love to take the next step because Dean in control was a masterpiece.
“I take it you would like to shower first,” Cas croaked, throat impossibly sore and wrecked from abuse. Dean grunted and rolled off, offering a pillowcase to clean the mess dripping out of him.
He had heard of people in their sort of arrangement acquiring and wearing collars, if not for the thrill, then to hide the marks. An ecstatic shiver traveled down his spine to his spent cock and he winced at the stimulation. Such a gesture would surely announce them to the world at large, or worse, he thought on Dean’s behalf, Sam would win the bet.
Castiel grimaced. The memories burned. They always shared too much when drunk, an unfortunate side effect of his newfound humanity.
You might not have to make the first move. Dean likes you more than anyone I’ve ever known. Whenever we’ve effed up, or all gotten hurt, you know you’re the first one he runs to, right?
That hadn’t so much mattered. Cas had stuck his neck out dozens of times to save Dean but suddenly the literal version was a straight shot to light the hunter’s passions. It struck Cas that Dean had had less and less sex in the ten years since they’d met, only lumbered begrudgingly in the background between casual hookups before April had “rescued” him with the intent to harm. Dean had once tried haltingly to explain the differences between her use of Cas and his.
You’re with me because you want to be, you’re important to me. And you know my motivation is, uh, I mean, it’s you or nothin’...
Cas understood deceit and sincerity. It made Dean’s playful abuse of his body much more intimate, knowing how conscious the hunter was of how he could hurt him, how he believed Cas had been hurt.
That was, what April did, that was non-consensual. That was rape. I get if you don’t wanna talk about it. I’m here, but I get it.
The Winchester Out. Castiel did not want to talk about it, but if Dean wasn’t merely rambling to fill dead air, then his concerns were achingly sincere. Cas tried to think of a way to express that Dean could never hurt him, even now, lacking his “mojo,” resorting to salves and bandages to quell the sting of his bruises and stiff joints. He tried but the most convincing act of all would be just as he had played his part, before. Cas had roughed Dean up once or twice of his own volition (occasionally not, he pursed his lips in remembrance).
Dean’s hands had been rough in his own. Jimmy had lily-white hands before Cas had gotten to them, but Dean had the scarred, weathered hands of a soldier. Those green eyes widened as he’d raised their joined hands, stared profoundly into him, searching for denial (when had Cas ever willingly denied him?) but they found only provocation. With a hiss between his teeth, Dean’s hands had closed around Cas’ pretty, unmarred throat.
The bathroom door shuffled open, catching on the yellowed shag carpet of their by-the-hour room. Cas smiled as Dean cussed and sidestepped it, pawing at the towel hiding his prize as the hunter passed by him. Dean growled and hung on.
“Shitty motel water pressure,” Dean always found the strangest things to complain about. He looked Cas up and down, brow raised. “Were you hoping for another round or did you not hear me say ‘clean up’?”
Cas bit his lip at the commanding tone and arched his back, grossly aware of the trickle of cold cum down his thighs but thrilled by the effect it clearly had on Dean. A knee hit the bed. Cas turned on his side to present himself but Dean surprised him with a warm swipe of the towel along the seam of his thighs. Moaning, he collapsed, allowed Dean to care for him and, when it was done, pulled the hunter into his arms and wound them tight.
“Possessive much?” Dean chuckled, weaving his hand through Cas’ hair, stroking his hip placatingly.
Cas grumbled but sank into him with a glorious sigh. He cracked an eye open as his lover began to hum. The flicker of the motel sign through the window, yellow and white, glowed behind Dean as he curled protectively around him, sweat dotting their skin and gleaming in the strange light. Fingers delicately assessed the damage to his neck and Cas flinched at the sudden contact but Dean gently withdrew, singing softly into their embrace with a deep, satisfied voice as Cas’ heart slowed its giddy beat,
Remember
to let him under your skin,
then you’ll begin
to make it better