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It was like falling.
So simple and so easy.
It was another hunt gone pear shaped. Something routine that he should have been able accomplish in his sleep. Instead it ended with another person dead, a fire burned out building and Sam locked in another room a wall away.
He was just so tired.
The drinking started when he hit the hotel, his boots kicked off as he slammed the door shut behind him, locking it without a thought. Whiskey had always been his choice of self destruction and he cracked the top and took a shot dirty from the bottle. The burn was comforting, a reassurance of the numbness to follow.
Shrugging off his jacket he tossed it haphazardly at the rooms only chair, dingy and outdated in the way that most of the décor in the these middle of nowhere hotels always seemed to have, as if they all shared a single decorator from the 1970s. Giant brown floral print that smelled of old smoke and age.
The heat in his belly was starting a small roar in his veins and Dean found a clear plastic wrapped cup from the little tray in the bathroom to pour another shot of his liquor into. The world going to hell, but he would have a little civility. The thought brought a quirk of his lips, more bitter than actually funny. Another drink in had him popping the top buttons on his shirt, and making an even bigger mess of his dirty hair. Something crusty coated a patch in the back, the obvious feel of dry blood crusting under his already filthy fingernails. He had been knocked into a concrete barrier at the side of the road and drug for about 50 feet before Sam knifed the monster that had him. It was another close call, there had been so many of those that it barely left an impact anymore. They had faced hell and won. What was another near death to the Winchesters?
Anger bubbled up hot and fast. It drained away just as quickly. When were they allowed to rest?
Tossing back another shot Dean made his way into the tiny linoleum covered bathroom and began to wash of the worst of the damage. He had a cut across the bridge of his nose, he was lucky that he hadn’t broken it again, and the beginnings of what he was sure would be a stunning black eye. The back of his head was a mess but as he knew, scalp wounds were always messy but they usually just looked worse than they actually were. Using a hand towel that matched the larger one hanging on the towel rack, he soaked the fabric with water from the tap and began to scrub the mess from his hair. It a few minutes before the dry caked blood was replaced by stains of a fresher hue, bright and jarring in the harsh bathroom light. His shirt, he knows, is a lost cause. He mourns it only slightly as he tossed it onto the bathroom floor, more grime to add to the already yellowed vinyl. At least his jacket survived. That leather jacket was his favorite, worn in and deceptively comfortable. Supple in all the right ways. He would take the loss of another shirt.
He knows that he should probably take a shower, but that was a problem for the morning. He was feeling loose and comfortable in his skin, the heat from the whiskey keeping him warm in the slight chill of the room. He stares at the wall that separated him and Sam, wondered if he was over there sleeping the sleep of the just or if he was burying himself in an escape, just like his brother. Nightmares haunt them both and the need to cross the room and try the door that adjoined the two rooms was palpable. If they could talk like normal fucking people for once, maybe this whole shit show could be so much easier to bear. When he does find himself standing in front of the warped and chipped wood of the door, he can only rest his forehead against it.
God he was so fucked up. It was the way they were raised, no hope for anything better. He spent his life trying his best to shelter Sam, and in a way that seemed to make it worse, to drive another wedge between them. The weight of so many things unsaid was an albatross hanging around his neck, why couldn’t he just cut it free?
The sigh that slipped past his lips seemed to come from the bottom of his chest and he stepped back from the door. Maybe tomorrow, maybe it would be better tomorrow. More than likely, they would continue on in search of the next crisis and ignore whatever emotions came up. The Winchester way. This time he did chuckle.
He closed his eyes and felt the room shift, the heavy smell of ozone and the sharp crack of energy that always felt like a lightning storm was close. When he opened his eyes and found Cas, he was almost relieved. Someone to distract him from this thread of introspection.
Cas was making that face at him, the one that said he was thinking things that didn’t quite make sense to him, his brows furrowed slightly, his lips pursed. Dean’s face felt hot as Cas, per usual fashion, stood just this side of too close, his trench coat moving in a way that it seemed to be the only thing alive. Cas’s stillness was uncannily unnatural, that ever-present reminder that he is in no way human. As old as the Earth wearing the cast off body that was Jimmy Novak. Dean wondered idly if this was the same expression Jimmy wore in life, a sort of muscle memory from a very mortal man before the Apocalypse came and stole his life.
He wonders if Cas wore other bits of Jimmy like souvenirs.
Does Cas even know?
As the thought comes to him Cas tilted his head in that considering way that means that he is probably reading Dean’s thoughts. That should bother him more than it does but with the alcohol taking the edge off of Dean’s temper, he found that he really didn’t mind at all.
“Dean,” Cas says his name, the sound of his voice like gravel, the sound makes him swallow convulsively. Pointedly ignores the way it makes his blood sing.
“What’s the damage, Cas?” He almost sounds normal. Castiel seemed even closer now, hovered in Deans space in a way that seemed almost proprietary. His stomach does a little flip flop, clearly having not read the room. Cas’s eyes flicked back and forth as he studied Dean. He tried to come across nonplussed, hoped that the angel can’t hear the thrumming of his pulse, too loud in his own ears. He licked his lips and tried again, “Cas?”.
“You called for me.” Those blue, blue eyes flicked down for just a moment before coming back up to bore into him. “I was, hmmm, indisposed. I am sorry, Dean.” For a moment Dean could only stutter, choking on half formed words. He didn’t….but that wasn’t honest. He had, a last thought before the lights went out. Sam came in clutch, but it was a close thing, more so than he wanted to admit.
He shrugged, gruff and nonchalant. “You’re not my babysitter, Cas. There isn’t anything to apologize for.” He moved to walk past Cas, but he is halted with a hand on his bare chest, a point of heat on his skin. Dean is still shirtless, a fact that startled him now in the situation. The man’s warm palm pressed against his skin made Dean close his eyes. He wanted to beg, he is touch starved and hungry and here with Cas so close and the with liquor burning around the edges, he is a too full cup about to spill. “Cas,” and it’s a broken sound that slips out of him. Self-consciously, he clenches his jaw shut.
Cas seemed to consider, the furrow in his brow deepened. “Is this what you need, Dean?” The words force a sound from his lips, rushed air and need. “I don’t,” he is stammered again, eloquence lost under a rush of need. Cas cuts him off. “Why must you always choose to suffer, Dean?” Cas slid his hand upwards, across his chest, curled around his neck. The soft trace of Castiel’s thumb slid against his jaw, rough from where he hadn’t found the time to shave. If Cas couldn’t hear his heart before, it now beats a tumult within his ribs, a staccato of need and want and please. “Lay down your burden,” and now the angels other hand joined the first, tipped Deans head with a reverence that he definitely didn’t deserve.
But he wasn’t worthy, didn’t deserve this kind of reverence. Emotion welled up thick in his throat and but still, he wanted.
Without the presence of forethought, Dean dropped to his knees on the aged carpet, the fabric of his denim jeans sounded loud in the silence. He reached up with shaking hands and took hold of Cas’s hips, fingers pressed into the silken fabric of his slacks. His eyes slid shut as he pressed his face into Castiels lower abdomen and can’t resist the urge to rub his face against the starched whiteness of the fabric of his dress shirt in small, tentative movements.
And on his knees, he will worship.
Dean’s head spun as he tugged at the bottom of Cas’s shirt, pulled it free from his slacks. He is breathless with the action, expects to be stopped at any moment, breath punched out and broken when he isn’t. He freed the shirt and slid his palms beneath Castiel’s white undershirt. His skin almost fever hot against his finger tips, Dean can’t help but dig into the skin he finds there. Too terrified to meet Castiel’s eyes he works on the fastenings of the slacks, wrenched the button free, and drug down the zipper. So close, Dean can smell Cas’s skin and he aches to cover every exposed bit of flesh with his mouth, to bite and to claim.
Above him, Castiel was silent and still in only the way the inhuman have. A gasp escaped him when he felt a hand slip into his hair, tightening against the scalp, not to restrain or guide, just a presence against his skull.
Almost frantic now, he pulled Castiel’s slacks and underwear down over his hips, just to expose enough of him, watched as the man’s cock sprung free. Dean had never seen another man cock before, not in this context, not so close. It is alien and foreign in a way that made his own dick throb in sympathy, confined in the prison of his too tight jeans. Cas is only half hard and Dean was transfixed watching as he lengthened before him. Clearly his vessel was affected by the situation if Castiel wasn’t.
Dean breathed him in. Pressed his face inelegantly against where Cas was exposed and ran his face against his growing erection, open mouthed and irreverent. Cas smelled like musk, something earthy and wild and underneath it all, he was electricity and ozone. The scent of heaven, of a soldier of God and Dean felt dirty there on the floor, face pressed into Castiel’s groin.
He prayed for ruin.
Dean always knew that he was a fucking mess. He fought so hard to keep it all together, to be what he was supposed to be, what he was taught to be. What he needed was this, raw and coiled, to be broken and remade, debased. The scar on his arm thrummed in time with is pulse, it was Cas burned into his very being. On his knees before him was where he belonged.
When he finally met Cas’s eyes what he saw there was as shocking as his own revelation. His eyes seemed to burn with blue fire, just as hungry as Dean felt and a thrill ran through him, goosebumps broke out across naked skin. ‘Please,’ the word like a mantra, ran through his mind. Anything. Everything. He wanted to be taken and burned clean, he craved the catharsis of surrender.
“Yes,” the fullness of Castiels mouth uttered the word and it sounded like the grating of stone, a commandment. Cas’s hand, once passive, now clutched tight at Deans hair, stung as the wound on his scalp reopened and he only wanted more. Cas wrenched his head closer, the demand was clear and Dean was faced with the angel’s cock, fully engorged now, the head of his cock thick and weeping. The sound that escaped Deans lips was wholly undignified as he ran his mouth over Cas, softer than he expected. Opening his mouth, he let Cas guide him, pressed in until he nearly choked before he pulled back only slightly before he pushed in again, pressed in deeper, until Dean had to learn to breath around the rhythm that Cas set. It was absolution with each press of his cock and he let his hands hang to the sides, allowing Cas to use him, fucked into his throat with an unhurried pace.
This was intuitive, this push and pull and soon Dean found that he pressed farther and farther down, his desire to take everything Cas would give him, to choke on the angels cock, was overwhelming. The grip in his hair was painful as Castiel forced him off, his mouth wet with his own saliva as he gasped for air. He must look a fucked out mess and Dean found that he couldn’t care less as long as Cas didn’t stop. Dean’s hands caught in the fabric of his tan slacks, he met Castiels eyes and he registered the same want that Dean felt. He was pretty sure angels didn’t feel that way, or maybe Cas was as fucked up as he was, blurred the lines between what was right and sane.
Cas used his hair as leverage and Dean was pulled to his feet and roughly shoved backwards to find the bed. He slipped backwards on the faded duvet, he could only watch with his heart in his throat as the angel began to divest himself of his garments. He pulled the tie loose first and cast it aside before yanking the shirt open, buttons making sharp sounds as they were torn free. He pulled the undershirt off in a flash of tight muscle, all sharp angles and lines as Cas seemed to stalk to the bed, his eyes never leaving Deans. He stopped at the foot of the bed, between the v of Deans open thighs, and grabbed the jut of his own cock. Cas stretched his neck, tipping his head to give that otherworldly stare, what passed there were things Dean couldn’t quite comprehend, but hoped to. When he finally removed the last vestiges of clothing, Dean was left to stare up at the length of the angels body and felt overwhelmed.
Undeterred, Cas hooked his fingers into the tops of Deans denims and yanked him towards the end of the bed. The button popped through the buttonhole and the sound of the zipper was an accusation. But fuck, he wanted this, needed this. In a way that was irrational, this man, this being that rescued him from the grip of hell, who had saved him in more ways than one, Dean has always been a greedy man.
He wanted everything Castiel would give him.
With uncanny strength Cas stripped him bare, his dick very interested in the proceedings, throbbed painfully but Dean didn’t so much as move to alleviate the pressure. For several moments the angel just stood over him, staring down at his prize, spread open in anticipation. When Cas finally brought his hands down over his over sensitive skin, Dean could only whimper. Cas gripped his hips and he was pulled even farther down the mattress, until Cas’s groin aligned with Dean’s ass and fuck if that didn’t make him clench in response, somewhere deep and low in his belly.
He had never been with a man, never even thought about being with another man. I mean, yea, he could recognize when another man was attractive, could see what women would be into, but it had never been his thing. The possibility of being on the receiving end of a sexual encounter with another man hadn’t ever really been on his radar. He had been with a lot of women and some of those women were into the more adventurous sex so he knew what would be necessary to make this enjoyable, if experience was anything to go on. From this angle, staring upwards at another man’s very erect cock, it seemed like a lot of ‘this not going to fit,’. Cas was bigger than he had any right to be, not that he was the one to usually guess at another man’s equipment. Cas’s vessel wasn’t exactly diminutive, but next to his brother’s freakishly tall frame, everyone was small. But Cas was disproportionately large. And thick. Christ. Without any experience, he knew that would be a rough one to take and he tried very hard not to think about why that made him salivate. Lube, they were going to need so much lube.
Cas did that head tilt thing and maybe the mind reading wasn’t always such a bad thing because the practical conversation would have been a very awkward one. Dean had been in a self-induced dry spell so he was definitely not prepared for this encounter but Cas rifled through Deans duffel bag before coming up with a small bottle.
Gun oil. Fuck.
He groaned and collapsed backwards, legs still hanging off of the bed. When he cleaned his guns it would invariably induce a Pavlovian response after this, he just knew it. When Cas resumed his position between Dean’s outspread thighs, his heart jackhammered, a living thing inside the cage of his ribs. His breath came a little too fast for his liking and his dick was actively leaking onto his tense stomach. The bottle in one hand, Cas spread out the other across the skin of his thighs, up across his stomach. This was probably, no very likely, the first experience he has ever had with truly physical contact with a human being. He didn’t think angels got up to hanky panky upstairs, but after they ran into one of their bastard offspring, he knew they could down here, in a human body. He was about to find out first hand.
“Cas,” his voice sounded heady, even to his own ears, and Cas’s eyes found his, the blue startling in its intensity. Cas drew his hand away and he upended some of the slick fluid into his palm, Deans mouth was dry as he watched Cas spread it along his fingers. He dropped his left hand next to Dean’s face, his other slickened hand trailed lower until it found where he was tight and clenched. He painted around his opening in small, tentative circles as he applied gentle pressure, barely breaching Dean’s body before backing off and repeated the movement, and he inched inside of Dean in the smallest of increments.
Dean felt as if he was going to hyperventilate. His breath was came fast and ragged and his skin seemed to throb. The thought that Cas was inside him kept echoing through his thoughts and that was enough to make his reach down and grip his dick to keep him from losing control too soon. When Cas had finally worked the first finger all the way inside of his body, Dean had become twitchy and impatient, and he pushed back as Cas worked into him. “C’mon, Cas, another.” He felt wrecked but sounded almost steady. Cas pulled back and added a copious amount of slick to his hand, returned to task with two fingers pressing steadily inside of him.
“Fuck,” he shook as he grabbed onto Cas’s shoulders and the angel studied his expression from inches away. More lube and a third finger joined. The stretch was intense and he was so very wet. Three fingers still wasn’t what Castiel was packing but Dean felt like that was sufficient preparation. His dick felt like it beat in time with his heart and he was almost at the point of begging. Cas’s eyes darted over Dean’s face, took in every expression, every hitch in his breath. He dropped his face to nose along Deans jaw, his stubble rough across his face, catching.
“Dean,” Cas grated out and, impossibly, worked his pinky in alongside his other three fingers. “Jesus,” Dean arched at the sensation, stretched in a way that seemed impossible, hot and tight against Cas’s hand. Cas began to slowly twist his hand, opened Dean up obscenely. His thumb teased against the rim of his hole and a thread of panic rose inside him. Cas could fit his whole hand inside of him, and Dean would let him. His cock seemed to be leaking nonstop and he was so hard it hurt. He was covered in perspiration and shaking from the effort it was taking not to reach down and jack himself off.
With a final flex of his fingers, Castiel leaned back. His eyes roamed over Dean’s body, debauched and needy, and was apparently satisfied with what he saw there because he upended more of the contents of the bottle into his already slick hand and gripped himself, stroked the length to coat his cock completely. Hands on Deans hips, Cas pulled him closer as he adjusted his position on the end of the bed to line him up perfectly. When Cas gripped himself and pressed the blunt head of his cock against Dean’s obscenely wet entrance, he stopped breathing. Cas met his eyes a final time before he pressed inward at a glacial pace. And Dean took it all. The slow, slick slide of Cas’s turgid cock was unstoppable. Dean’s body spasmed as he pushed inside but there was so much lube that it was met with almost no resistance. He stopped halfway inside him as he Deans internal muscles clenched down, farther inside him than his fingers could reach. Cas reached between them, gripped Dean where he throbbed and ached, gripped him in a way that was all too familiar, his thumb pressing around the head of his cock. In a blinding moment of realization, he knew that Cas had watched him when he was alone, as he masturbated in the quiet of countless hotel rooms. It should earn Cas a lecture in personal space, but here with the angel halfway in his ass and stroking Dean on every abortive thrust of his hips, Dean couldn’t find the breath to complain.
With every press against the muscles inside of him, Dean let out a whimper. With every jerk of the angle’s hips, it put him a little deeper inside of Dean and the burn made him gasp. Every slow thrust left his chest feeling so full, his brain screamed too much, and too big, but when Cas jerked him in tandem with this steady advance, Dean found the pain/pleasure signals got crossed in his head. With a gasp, the resistance was gone and Cas slipped inside, his cock seated deep inside of Deans abused ass. Cas’s groin pressed flush against body, and Dean could only shudder. He was so deep inside him, he ran his hand across his stomach, between his hips and pressed down and he groaned at the pressure. He was stuffed full of Cas’s cock and he couldn’t help the way his body demanded to push down harder, to take him deeper. He couldn’t seem to keep silent, a steady stream of sounds fell from his mouth.
Cas began to move.
He kept his thrusts short, controlled, his hand now gripped the base of Deans cock in a mirror of his own early actions. Cas must have known that he was too close to the edge, his body screamed to cum. Dean lifted a leg and locked it around Cas’s hips, pulled him in as close as he could while Cas rocked into his body. He was almost mechanical in the way he moved, snapping his hips forward with a measured and controlled pace. All that angel grace ran through him and kept Cas from feeling the normal human problems such as aches and fatigue. He could probably pound into Dean all night and never need to stop. The thought made him squeeze his eyes shut as Cas rutted inside him. The feeling of something inside him was alien, weird in a way he couldn’t describe. When Cas grabbed his leg and drug it from his hip to rest over his shoulder, Dean was left seeing stars. The shift in position had the blunt head of Cas’s cock rubbing inside him, over something that made his toes curl and his body clamp down where Cas fucked into him.
“There, Cas,” he pressed back against the angels thrusts, the sound of flesh on flesh was loud and crude in the silence of the motel room. “There, fuck.” Castiel drug his lips across his knee where it was slung across his shoulder, an open mouth kiss. Letting go of Deans cock, Cas grabbed his other leg to join the first, arching Deans body even farther over, and pressed his cock into that spot inside Dean with merciless precision. Dean raised his arms and gripped the bed spread beneath him and moaned, fucking moaned, loud and wanton. Cas’s pace seemed to become more erratic, that measure of control slipped from him and he growled and fucked him faster. Deans balls were aching, pulled up tight, and after a particularly deep thrust, Dean found himself coming untouched. He spasmed around Castiel, his ass clamped down as came all over his own chest. Cas turned his head and bit into the skin of Deans knee as his hips jerked, stuttered, and stilled as deep as he could go, bottomed out as he came, the twitch of his cock and the pulse of fluid Dean felt so very deep inside him.
After a few moments of labored breathing, Cas eased Deans legs from his shoulders and he could feel the muscles in his back protest. He was not limber enough to be folded in half, but he found that he really couldn’t complain against the sated, fucked out bliss that washed through him. Cas traced circles into the skin of his hips when he pulled himself from Deans body. He gasped at the feeling but he ached in a delicious way. Castiel hummed in response, staring down at where Dean was open and dripping. The way Cas was staring he felt exposed, color suffused his cheeks when Cas ran his fingers though the mess that slowly leaked from his body and, without preamble, pressed his fingers back inside. He was still loose but Deans body gripped at Cas’s fingers weakly. Dean groaned and buried his hands in his hair while the angel toyed with his entrance. Pressed in and tugged at his swollen opening.
An undignified sound escaped his lips when Cas gripped just behind Deans knees and pushed them up and over, positioned them next to Deans face. A choked off gasp was ripped from him when he felt the press of Castiel’s tongue against his asshole as he began to lick and press against the abused tissue. It was filthy and fucking maddening. The noises that spilled from Dean’s mouth had to be audible through the thin walls of the motel room and Dean tried to protest, but Castiel chose that moment to press his tongue inside and Dean howled. He reached down to press his Cas’s face deeper all higher thought lost to the waves of want that poured through him. Cas just growled and pressed his tongue deeper and it was so much and …
“DEAN!”
He woke up.
Blinking into the violent light of midday, his body coated in a sickening sheen of sweat, the blankets clinging to his body like a dead weight, he woke up.
The look on his brother’s face was half concerned and half repulsed. Sam’s eyebrows pinched together and his mouth opened and closed like he was struggling for the words. He was sitting at the small table near the window, his laptop open and stacks of notes scattered about. A cup of what must have been gas station coffee, long gone cold, sitting on the table too close to all those notes, a ring staining one of the sheets of paper.
Dean struggled from the prison of his sheets and propped himself up on his elbows. The pillows were stained the color of rust where his head had rubbed against them in the night. He took in the state of himself, the night before did end in a hunt gone sideways, a head injury, and a few too many drinks. The rest well, the rest was a particularly filthy dream resulting in a cooling spread of ejaculate in his boxers and Dean was mortified.
“Shut up, Sam!” Sam’s mouth snapped shut and Dean rolled out of bed, careful to roll to the other side of the bed away from his brother hiding his shame. “It’s just a nightmare.” He was hoping the noises he made could be interpreted as a nightmare, he wasn’t going there. Not now, not ever. Having homoerotic dreams about an angel of the lord was definitely not something that was ever going to unpack.
“Yea, right, I get it Dean.” Sam was back in concerned little brother mode and Dean slinks his way into the bathroom to wash away the evidence of his night-time emissions. Locking the door behind him, he gripped the edge of the sink. The mess in his pants was cool and uncomfortable, becoming tacky in a distinctly unpleasant way. He was running the taps of the bath when the crackle of ozone filled the small space, raising the hair on his arms.
“Dean,” his name like the sound of broken glass.
Dean turned.