Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Here’s the thing — Dean’s never been particularly good at being an omega.

Omegas are meant to be petite and gentle, to cower in the face of danger. They’re supposed to be calming presences, dedicated to making a home and not much else. If you asked some of the more unsavoury types, older hunters and guys hanging around the bars Dean frequents, an omega’s true place is on their back; legs spread, mouth open.

The life Dean leads, the blood and guts, the barrel of a gun he stares down more often than not — that’s alpha shit. So that’s what Dean becomes.

And it’s fine, really. It becomes routine before long, swallowing a suppressant every morning, dousing himself in scent blockers on the daily. He pushes himself where he needs to, leans into the anger and violence, until the part of him that’s omega is quiet and small, unrecognisable.

And yeah, maybe there’s this quiet urge every now and again, itching under his skin, to be — small, maybe. Touched without the veneer of sex or violence. Cared for, differently. Some crap like that, something he doesn’t quite know how to want. But wanting that would be wrong, anyway, so he steadfastly doesn’t.

It’s fine. Dean’s fine. That apple pie life was never in the cards for him in the first place, he knows. He doesn’t want to be the meek homemaker or the worthless whore, so there’s nothing else to want.

It’s fine.

So Dean keeps that wanting locked up nice and tight in a box never to be touched in a dusty corner of his mind and goes about the life of a hunter, of an alpha, and doesn’t mention it. It rears its ugly head scarcely enough, usually just on the few long nights when he forgets to take his damn suppressants on time and he’s overcome with heat and it feels like wanting is the only thing he can do.

Then along comes Castiel, and the wanting comes crashing out of its little box in a screaming fury.

It’s at its worst, that first encounter in the barn. There’s this unknown creature before him, wings spreading wide shadows, impervious to bullets and blades, and all Dean can think of is that scent.

Castiel’s vessel is relatively not the biggest guy in the world, but the presence of the angel inside is massive. His scent is similar — unassuming on the surface, but undeniably all consuming just beneath the surface. He smells of ozone, of petrichor, of lightning just struck. He smells of righteous fury, dangerous but safe, and Dean wants, he wants, he wants–

Dean gets real good at taking his suppressants on time all of a sudden.

Even without heats, the wanting scratches desperately at the bars of its cage, bullied barely into submission. This writhing thing at the core of him lessens over the years, maybe because Dean gets better at controlling it, at ignoring Cas’ overwhelming scent until it fades into the background.

Or, if he’s being more honest with himself, maybe Dean’s learned a delicate balancing act. He can’t give in to the urge to– to do whatever it is his crappy instincts are begging for, but he can do this much.

He can hold eye contact a beat too long, near drowning in the blue, blue depths, but like Achilles, always anchored to the shore. He can let his fingertips linger when he brushes a hand against Cas, but always in safe zones like his shoulder, and never touching skin. He can stand a step too close, not quite touching, but almost, almost, as long as gives a half-hearted complaint afterwards.

It’s not much, but it’s enough. It has to be, because it’s all Dean can allow. Because whenever some treacherous part of him thinks it could be more, the illusion is shattered — there’s another hunt, or one of them dies, or Cas is leaving again.

So Dean does what he has to. He ignores his instincts. He takes his daily suppressants. He keeps going.

“Why do you insist on taking those things?” Cas asks, startling Dean enough to drop this morning’s pill down the sink.

“Jesus, Cas, we need to put a bell on you,” Dean grumbles, shaking a new pill into his hand. Cas has been saved from the Empty and back in the bunker (where he belongs, please don’t leave again) for all of one week, and Dean still feels an overwhelming mix of shock-fear-relief every time he sneaks up on him.

It’s something he needs to get over, really. Cas is back for good now. There are no more apocalypses or god-shaped problems hanging over their heads anymore, and he promised to stay. There’s no reason Dean should be jumping like a spooked deer every time he appears, like he’s going to disappear out of nowhere again.

Cas is standing too close to him, which is nothing new really, but it feels different. It’s not the sort of closeness Dean’s become used to, where they sort of drift into each other’s orbits, helpless to the pull — no, this is Cas hovering directly over his shoulder, head tilted in until their cheeks are nearly brushing, eyes pinning Dean in place through the bathroom mirror.

And his scent, fucking christ, his scent. Fuck knows what changed in him, but ever since coming back from the Empty, it’s been growing steadily more powerful, almost knocking Dean off his feet whenever he gets too close — which is often. Dean’s had to resort to breathing through his mouth like a creep when it gets too much, scared of the desperate wanting now half-feral from its years hidden away.

“I don’t like that you’re taking them,” Cas is saying, still too close, scent too strong, and Dean parts his lips as subtly as he can manage. “Daily suppressant use can be detrimental to human health.”

“Yeah, well, how would you know? Not like you’re human,” Dean says a touch too gruffly, swallowing a pill dry. Cas’ eyes seem to darken where they stare at him in the mirror, but he doesn’t move. “C’mon buddy, some personal space? I still need my coffee.”

For a moment, they both stay exactly where they are. Cas is almost inhumanly still, except Dean can see him breathing, inhaling through his nose with purpose, even though he doesn’t technically need to. There’s a pause there, a building tension in the air like Cas doesn’t want to back off, like he wants to get even closer–

And then the moment is over. Just like that, Cas takes a step back in silence, still watching but now without that addictive intensity to his gaze. Some base urge in Dean wants to whine at its loss, but that would be ridiculous, so he doesn’t.

“Good talk, pal,” Dean says, his voice a little rougher than he intended. He pats Cas on the shoulder as he moves past, fingertips lingering for a second too long, before he makes his way to the kitchen.

He half expects Cas to disappear on him, to go do whatever the hell Cas does in his free time. Surely Castiel, Angel-of-the-Lord, has better things to do than hang out with Dean Winchester, Just-Some-Guy. But no, Cas diligently follows in his wake, practically breathing down his neck.

It should be weird and overbearing. Frustratingly enough, it’s not.

Instead, Dean feels a mix of strangely comforted and resoundingly pissed off. He’s on edge as he goes about his morning routine, his shoulders halfway between being hunched to his ears and relaxing completely into Cas’ not-quite-touch.

The third time Dean damn near trips over the solid mass of angel directly behind him, he finally snaps. “Seriously dude, what is wrong with you? Back off!”

For a moment, Cas looks genuinely hurt, and Dean feels like the world’s biggest asshole. Seriously, the guy’s not been back that long, of course he wants human connection, some reminder that he’s safe and home, that he never has to leave again.

(Or maybe Dean’s projecting. Still.)

It only lasts a moment, before Cas’ expression shutters with something akin to fear instead. He takes a purposefully large step back, eyes wide in distress, and Dean’s idiot body leans forward just a touch, chasing the closeness he’s literally just rejected.

“Ah. I forgot,” Cas says, blinking to himself until his face is a blank mask once more. Dean knows him though, has known him for a decade and some change — just under the surface, Cas is freaking out big time. “I should leave.”

Dean’s brain switches off. His vision blurs white with panic and his ears ring as the words lance into his chest. “No!”

“It’d only be for a week or so, Dean,” Cas says gently, barely breaking through the frantic fuzzy feeling clouding up Dean’s head.

“You can’t just go, Cas. This is your home now, here, with me and Sam and– you promised, man.”

It occurs to Dean, somewhere in the back of his non-functional brain, that he’s being all the things he hates. This panicked begging, whining, pleading — this is all that omega hindbrain shit that he usually keeps locked away. It’s that desperate wanting, burst free from its cage, possessing Dean until he becomes something he’s not.

“Dean.”

“Cas, please.” It doesn’t matter anymore, what Dean is or isn’t. It’s not about wanting now, it’s about needing. “Stay.”

Cas swallows visibly, his jaw tense. Slowly, he nods, and something loosens in Dean’s chest, allowing his breath to flow once more. His whole body slumps in relief and personal space be damned, rules out the window, he steps back into Cas’ bubble.

“Dean, I don’t think you understand my issue,” Cas says, his guttural voice carrying even more strained rasp to it than usual. Dean peers down at him, eyes dropping to his lips, and waits. “I am about to enter my rut.”

That sends Dean for a fucking loop. He frowns, tilting his head a little in a habit he picked up from Cas, and tries to puzzle it out.

“Angels have ruts?” He asks, because what?

Alphas go into rut less often than omegas get heats, sure, but it still happens a couple times a year. There’s just no way Cas could have hidden over twenty ruts from him.

“Less frequently, but yes,” Cas tells him calmly, like this isn’t earth shattering information. “Approximately every ten years here, and far less often when I used to reside in heaven.”

“Ten years?” Dean’s not stupid, and the math isn’t exactly hard here. “I’ve known you longer than that, though.”

Cas swallows, averts his gaze. It’s weird, Cas refusing to participate in their whole staring thing, and Dean decidedly does not like the change. “Yes, I… had my last one shortly after we first met. I returned to heaven for its duration.”

It’s easier to figure out what he’s not saying, really. “So you’ve not gone through a rut in a vessel?” He’s still not making eye contact, which is answer enough in itself. Dean still doesn’t like it, though, so he ducks his head and searches for Cas’ eyes that way. “Cas?”

“…Yes,” he says reluctantly.

Dean’s breath escapes him in a whoosh, the lasts of his tension draining out of his shoulders. It’s fine; Cas is fine, no one’s dying, and Cas isn’t going anywhere.

“Alright, buddy, we’ll get you set up. When are you due?”

“Within the next few days, most likely,” Cas says after a moment’s thought. Dean nods, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin and leaving his hand there.

“We can get you some toys to get through it, then. Get you some clothes to scent and stay out your way for a few days. Just… stay here, yeah?”

Cas nods solemnly, like this is some sort of vow he’s taking very seriously. “Alright, Dean. I will.”

And that’s the end of that.

Dean ends up getting Cas the bare essentials for a rut in the form of a fleshlight and an industrial amount of Astroglide— thank Jack for next day delivery. He hands Cas the nondescript parcel after dinner the next day, and neither of them say a word. Cas must have told Sam at some point, since he doesn’t make any comment over it either.

He heads off to his room after, intending to grab a well-worn flannel and hand that over too for scenting. Nothing weird about giving a buddy something like that for their rut, after all. Having scents from pack, from family, can help calm alphas down during the worsts of their ruts, and anything that’ll assure Cas that he’s family is a good thing.

But the flannel looks a little sad all alone in Dean’s arms, a pitiful excuse of an offering. It’d probably help for him to have a few things on hand to scent, in case his rut ends up being on the longer side. So Dean picks up a couple of band tees too, then the faded led zepp shirt he’d been wearing as pyjamas for good measure.

That’s supposed to be the end of it, really it is, but then he passes the Dean Cave and falters in the doorway. The blanket strewn over the arm of the recliner is particularly comfy, good and soft to lay on. Cas would probably appreciate that too, right?

Humming to himself, Dean gathers it into the little pile and decides to take a detour to pick up a couple more blankets. He’s not really thinking at this point, his brain in a pleasant haze as he gathers more and more soft things. By the time he reaches Cas’ room he’s beyond questioning things, which is why he just picks up the flannel Sam left on the floor and knocks cheerfully on the door.

The door opens a crack, just barely revealing Cas’ torso and intense, laser focused gaze. Dean grins at him over the pile of soft things, resting his chin on the topmost blanket.

“Hey man, I got you some stuff,” he says, as if that wasn’t obvious. Wordlessly, Cas sticks his arms out the door, but Dean feels strangely reluctant to hand it over. “Uh, can I… Can I come in?”

“No,” Cas says bluntly, his voice strained. Dean’s grin drops right away, a pit opening up in his stomach instead.

“Oh.” It hurts. Why does it hurt? “I just thought, I dunno, maybe you’d want a…”

A nest. Oh fuck, Dean wants to make Cas a nest, doesn’t he? That’s what all this about, his crappy instincts. He blinks, taking stock of himself as quickly as he can.

Nesting instincts, check. Pleasant haze washing over his thoughts, check. A heady warmth slowly spreading over him, starting at his core and spreading over his entire body? Fuck, yeah, there it is.

His suppressants have failed. Dean’s going into heat, right here, right now.

“You shouldn’t be here,” says Cas, an alpha in the start of his rut, standing a scant couple feet in front of Dean.

“Fuck,” Dean says emphatically. Then, since all higher brain functions are steadily turning off, he asks, “Can I come in anyway?”

For a long moment, Cas just stares at him, and Dean is certain he’s going to turn him away. Right when Dean’s about to give up, leave the pile in front of Cas’ door and go, the door swings all the way open.

“Make it quick,” Cas growls, suddenly standing on the other side of the room. “Please.”

Swallowing, Dean shuts the door behind him. This should strike him as a terrible situation, being in heat in an enclosed space with an alpha in rut, but any worries are flowing away in a haze of contentedness.

“Jeez, Cas, you really weren’t prepared for this, huh?” Dean says, staring at the neatly made bed. The only signs that Cas even uses his room are the trenchcoat strewn on the floor beside the bed and the brand new fleshlight on his bedside table.

Without giving it too much thought, Dean gets to work. The blanket from the Fortress of Dean-a-tude goes down on the bed first, followed by a few other blankets pressed up to make walls around the nest. He moves the pillows about then starts adding the clothes, his heat setting in deeper with each item carefully placed down.

“What are you doing, Dean?” Cas asks, his voice even deeper than its usual just-gargled-gravel growl. By this point, Dean’s only got a couple tees left, and all that’s left of his mind are sated primal urges.

“Building you a nest, alpha,” he says happily, draping one t-shirt over the base of the nest. Cas lets out a feral growl, and that’s all the warning Dean gets before six feet of alpha angel is plastered over his back.

“Dean,” Cas says again, his breath hot on the back of his neck. It sends deliciously cool shivers down Dean’s overheated spine.

“Cas,” Dean sighs, dropping the last tee carelessly into place in favour of leaning back into Cas’ chest. Broad hands tighten over Dean’s hipbones, fingerprints bruising into skin. Fuck, if that doesn’t feel all kinds of alright.

“You need to leave now, Dean,” Cas says, but his lips are now pressed to the base of Dean’s neck, leaving open mouthed kisses there. “I can’t hold back much longer.”

“Then don’t,” Dean tells him breathlessly, panting as he free-falls into the depths of heat. “Your rut triggered my heat. Let’s help each other out, alpha.”

With that, Dean is shoved face-down into his carefully built nest. Cas follows him the whole way down, pressed tightly against him through the thin layers of their clothing. It feels like Cas is everywhere, one hand clawing at his hip, the other sneaking under Dean’s band tee, the broad length of his chest smothering Dean at his back.

“Clothes. Off.” Dean didn’t think Cas’s low growl of a voice could get any deeper, but if anything this feels like it’s closer to Cas’ true voice, to the inhuman ear piercing screech that nearly deafened Dean the first time he heard it.

Dean wriggles as much as he can in place, canting his hips up and back against Cas’ groin — which, fuck, that feels so good. Still, Dean’s hands are pinned quite firmly beneath him, and the rest of his body is pinned even more firmly by Cas’ entire bodyweight.

“Can’t– fuck.” Dean groans as Cas starts rutting against his ass, the hard line of his cock pressing into him deliciously even through their pants. Fuck, why are they still wearing clothes anyway? “Can’t move, Cas. Need you to undress me.”

Cas growls into the skin at his neck, not pausing in his humping. Between one thrust and the next, though, their clothes disappear, and Cas’ cock slides in between slick cheeks instead.

“Fuck, Cas!” He moans, pressing his hips back into Cas’s insistent grip when the head of his cock catches on Dean’s rim before agonisingly sliding past again. “Need you inside me, please.”

“Dean,” Cas growls like it’s the only thing he can say, like a bastardised prayer. The hand that isn’t at Dean’s hip slides back to his hole, one finger pressing insistently at the rim until it slips inside. “Dean.”

A couple thrusts later and a second finger joins the first, soon followed by a third. Dean’s never felt so wet, never had his hole so lax, but each finger pressed inside him stretches him out unnaturally fast. It’s not until a fourth finger is prodding at his rim that he realises it, thoughts swimming through molasses — Cas is using his grace to help the glide.

“Fuck, Cas,” he groans, pressing back into his fingers desperately. It feels so good, so full, but it’s not enough. “It’s fine, I’m ready, fuck me.”

With a snarl, Cas removes his fingers, replacing them with the delicious pressure from the head of his cock before Dean has a chance to complain. He noses along the column of Dean’s neck as he pushes in, slow but hard, inch after inch sliding home.

“Tight,” Cas groans, breath hot behind Dean’s ear. His tongue darts out to lick at Dean’s swollen scent gland then drags down, agonisingly teasing at the spot he could leave his mating bite. “So good. Mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, ’m yours,” Dean gasps out. Cas has him pinned at all angles, engulfing him completely in warmth, feeding into the fire of heat. It leaves Dean immobile, entirely at his angel’s mercy. “C’mon, please alpha, I need you!”

There’s a loud growl and a strange whooshing noise behind him, but Dean doesn’t have time to question it before Cas is thrusting into him like an animal. The pace he sets is hard and fast, almost feral, bruising in its intensity. There’s nothing Dean can do except lie there and take it and oh, take it he does.

At this point Dean’s rational brain is wholly offline, the writhing wanting mess turning him into– well, a writhing wanting mess. He whines and whimpers and begs, with no real clue what he’s saying. Whatever it is must sound good, because Cas never falters in his rhythm, only adjusting his angle until–

Dean keens, long and low, as Cas starts nailing his prostate over and over again. His whole body goes limp in Cas’ grip, his upper body melting into the blankets as Cas pulls his hips into every relentless thrust. It’s mind meltingly good, and Dean is so close, almost there, just a bit more–

Grunting, Cas stops out of nowhere, his hands tightening over Dean’s hips until it’s painful. Dean’s wires must be completely crossed at this point though since the sensation only registers as more burning pleasure; he prays each and every fingertip sears into his skin forever.

“Whu– Cas, I– keep going, please, don’t stop,” Dean begs, on the verge of tears as he tries desperately to grind backwards to no avail.

Cas’ grip holds firm as he instead nips a warning bite right over Dean’s throbbing scent gland. Dean’s vision whites out at that, his body going boneless and limp in his alpha’s hands.

When his vision clears again, Cas has managed to flip him over onto his back, looming above him now. His usually bright eyes are engulfed by his pupils until the blue is a thin ring around the black. Such a dark and intense gaze would usually goad Dean into another round of their staring thing, but this time he can’t.

No, Dean’s eyes are firmly planted on Cas’ wings. They sprout from his bare back, impossibly large, spreading high in a dominant display across the room. The mass of shimmering black feathers block out the lights but give off their own gentle glow, lighting Cas’ form softly from behind.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean breathes, reaching out a hand almost unconsciously to touch. His fingers brush against the feathers closest to Cas’ shoulders, and they’re unnaturally soft, like nothing he’s ever felt before. “Fuckin’ gorgeous…”

Cas’ wings stretch even further out at his words, flaring out wide and proud. The uppermost feathers quiver as they fluff out in a dominant display, and Dean blindly follows his instincts to bare his neck to his alpha.

Whatever daze Cas was in disappears in an instant. His hips snap forwards once, twice, and then the punishing pace from before starts up again. He leans down to bury his nose in Dean’s throat again, and this time Dean has just enough room to lean in and scent him back.

His scent is so much stronger like this, an inhuman force tearing through his system and lighting up every goddamn synapse of pleasure he has. Dean arches into the feeling, buries a hand into the impossibly soft down of Cas’ feathers, and lets go.

His ears ring with static, but he’s fairly sure he screams Cas’ name as he comes.

After a few long moments, he starts to come down from the high of pleasure, gasping and panting because Cas doesn’t stop — hell, he doesn’t even slow down. If anything, he fucks into Dean even harder, until he’s so overstimulated it hurts, before something huge catches on his rim.

Dean whimpers as his soft dick valiantly tries to harden again when Cas’ knot almost pushes into his body over and over again. He slams their lips together in a bruising kiss, panting into Dean’s mouth as his knot finally slides all the way home.

In the distance, fireworks erupt. It’s either that, or Cas has shattered every lightbulb in a fifty mile radius.

Dean cries out into Cas’ mouth, fist tightening in feathers as his hole is flooded with cum. The hot rush so deep inside is like a soothing balm to the wanting, slowly calming it down until Dean can finally think clearly again.

Any other time, Dean might be freaking out right now. Years of carefully drawn lines and boundaries set in place have all been torn down in one fell swoop, one fuck that has the potential to ruin everything.

But damn, it was a really good fuck.

Gasping, Cas draws back from Dean’s lips, eliciting an unhappy whimper that Dean will deny making until the day he dies. Thankfully Cas doesn’t move far, though, lips trailing against burning skin to land pressed up against the base of Dean’s throat instead.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean pants, halfway to laughter. The angel stiffens on top of him, every broad muscle going tense. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“I… apologise?” It’s more of a question than a statement.

“Don’t.” In the dark of the room, Cas’ wings illuminate a gentle arch above the pair of them, and Dean takes a moment to force himself to unclench his fingers from their death grip in Cas’ feathers, stroking the disturbed ones back down into place. Cas whines almost inaudibly into his neck with every touch. “Hey, any idea how long we’re gonna be tied?”

“No,” Cas murmurs, slowly relaxing. Still, he hovers over Dean in a way that couldn’t be comfortable, not for a human, and that speaks to his cosmic nature almost more than his damn wings.

They lie quietly together like that for a while, Cas breathing rhythmically into Dean’s skin as Dean runs a gentle hand through his feathers. Upon closer inspection, a lot of the individual feathers are sticking up at odd angles, so Dean takes his time smoothing them back into place.

Cas keeps making little noises every so often, sort of half-moans, and Dean doesn’t figure out what they mean until his fingers catch on a feather that just won’t lie down flat. It’s a little duller than the iridescent sheen to the rest of his wings, the light a little dimmer, and so Dean plucks it out on autopilot.

The result is instant; Cas groans in pleasure as his knot pulses, another strong rush of cum filling Dean up. Despite only having a half chub, despite being in his damn forties, Dean shoots off again too. Crying out in pleasure, he arches his back and adds to the sticky mess coating their torsos.

Gasping in the aftershocks, Dean tentatively clenches down to milk the knot inside him. It ekes out a little more cum into him, but the knot feels like it hasn’t gone down at all. Either they’re going to be tied for a long time, or Cas is just absolutely huge. Or both.

Dean laughs at the idea, half delirious from pleasure. Cas peers up from his neck, that adorable confused look on his face he gets whenever he doesn’t get the joke.

“I don’t understand. What’s funny, Dean?” He asks bluntly, and Dean just offers him a wry grin and a hand stroked fondly through his mussed up hair.

“S’nothing, really,” he says, indulging himself in playing with the soft black strands. It’s far beyond the platonic touches he usually allows, but so was everything else they’ve just done. Dean’s just gonna blame it on the heat if anyone asks. “Hey Cas?”

Cas hums noncommittally, back to nosing up and down the side of Dean’s neck. “Yes, Dean?”

“Where’d you vanish our clothes to anyway?”

He doesn’t get a response for a long while, Cas instead focusing on scenting him with an almost religious reverence. Figuring he’s not getting an answer anytime soon, Dean drops his head to scent him back, inhaling glorious lungfuls of it. Cas smells unreal, like a thunderstorm in a bottle, and Dean can’t get enough.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Cas eventually admits, his voice muffled by Dean’s neck. Then, a hint of possessiveness to his otherwise mild tone; “You can just wear something of mine later.”

He doesn’t say so out loud but the idea of that is really, really appealing to Dean. Walking out of their cozy slice of heaven still surrounded by Cas’ scent, engulfed in a blanket of angel to the point where it’s difficult to tell from scent alone who he even is, as close to being mated without the actual act… Yeah, Dean would like that very much.

“Okay,” he says, trying for nonchalance but replying a little too quickly to sell it. Cas huffs out a breath of laughter; he’s not buying it for a second. Besides, the way Dean’s starting to chub up again gives him away entirely.

Languidly, Cas rolls his hips in a lazy little thrust. His knot’s gone down just enough to pull out now, but he’s still buried to the hilt inside Dean and he doesn’t seem eager to leave anytime soon. Dean sighs in pleasure, indulging himself in a little kiss ghosted over Cas’ scent gland.

“Round two?” He asks a little too casually. Cas doesn’t respond in words — instead, he rolls his hips just a little harder, angling up at the end to kiss the head of his cock against Dean’s prostate.

Round two it is, then. And if Dean’s lucky, maybe round three and four right after that.

The heat finally seeps out of Dean’s bones after five days. It’s a little longer than usual for him, but it ends around the same time as Cas’ rut. So.

Dean extracts himself from Cas’ limbs carefully, wriggling out from underneath an arm and a leg and a wing. He can’t quite help himself from brushing a hand over the downy feathers right where wing meets flesh before he leaves their nest, earning a little shiver he watches linger down Cas’ spine. The rut really must have taken it out of him for the angel to still be sleeping, and something in Dean longs to crawl back into his embrace and sleep in his arms once more.

Still, Dean can’t stay in their nest forever. He has shit to do, monsters to hunt, suppressants to take. The world doesn’t stop turning just because Dean falls into heat.

He pulls on the old metallica tee (once his but gifted to Cas long enough ago for it to only smell like alpha) by the bed first. It’s the only thing he’s worn for the last five days on the occasions where he needed to do human things like piss or shower, much to Cas’ chagrin. He rummages through Cas’ drawers next, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers and jeans that are a little too short for him.

He’s quiet as he gets dressed, but sated enough not to get lost in his thoughts just yet. Dean assumed that if he and Cas ever fell into bed together that he’d have a crisis over it afterwards — not that he’s considered the possibility much, of course. But no, he just feels– normal, really. Like today is just another day.

Maybe the big gay freakout will happen later. It’s whatever, Dean’s not exactly complaining here.

Yawning, Dean pads out of Cas’ room barefoot and heads to the bathroom. He does his morning routine on autopilot as his rational brain slowly starts kicking in. He pisses, washes his hands (even he’s not so gross as to skip that, Sammy), brushes his teeth, knocks back a suppressant. He pauses, cabinet still open, and takes a morning after pill that Sam insists on keeping stocked too.

It’s upon looking into the mirror and taking in his debauched state — hair wild, skin a little tacky with sweat and sex, a healthy glow about him that’s usually dulled — that reality hits.

Dean just had sex. With Cas. Multiple times.

Groaning, Dean closes his eyes in disgust with himself. Cas is his fucking best friend, he means the world to him, and Dean just– just threw away over ten fucking years of friendship for one goddamn heat. He couldn’t control his stupid instincts for long enough to dump down a t-shirt or two and get the hell outta there. No, he just had to let the wanting thing inside of him out of its neat little box and jump Cas’ bones.

More than a decade of friendship. Years upon years of carefully drawn boundaries, of pushing just a hair too close to the line without toeing over it. All of that, gone in a heartbeat because Dean couldn’t keep it in his pants long enough to just leave Cas’ room. It’s not like this can become their new normal either, because whilst Dean could maybe wrap his head around having a casual heat relationship with his best friend, Cas could never settle for something like that.

Fuck, Cas. He’s going to be heartbroken after this.

That’s the real fear here, isn’t it? For a rare moment, Dean allows himself to be completely honest and lays it all out.

Castiel, a literal angel, is in love with him. And Dean isn’t– well, he’s not into dudes, okay? Nor alphas, really, except when he’s in the thick of heat and getting knotted is practically all he can think about. Even if he was, it wouldn’t matter, because he’s not– he’s not what Cas needs, not really.

Dean’s just a guy. He’s a damn good hunter, but that’s about all he’s got going for him, and that doesn’t exactly make him good relationship material. He’s a shitty boyfriend and an even shittier omega.

Point is, he can’t return Cas’ feelings, he just can’t. It’s only a matter of time before Cas figures it out, realises that he deserves someone about a million times better than Dean could ever be and just — leaves. Again.

Dean doesn’t think he could handle Cas leaving again. Because he might not be able to be in love with the angel, but he still needs him. Needs him more than he needs air to breathe. Needs him more than Cas could ever love him.

And how selfish is that? It’s all what Dean wants, what Dean needs, and what’s Cas getting out of it? A whole load of nothing, that’s what.

So maybe Dean can’t give him love, not the way Cas wants it, but he can give him his body, and a home in the bunker, and a family in himself and Sammy and–

Well. They’d already be having sex, right? Not like it wasn’t good. Not like Dean wouldn’t do it again. Sure, he took Plan B this time, but that’s not 100% effective, is it? Even if it were, Dean can be a pretty forgetful guy. It’d only take him slipping up once, and then, and then–

There’s no way Cas would leave him then.

It wouldn’t even kill him to carry a half-angel kid to term, either. He may be a crappy excuse for an omega, but he also happens to be an archangel’s true vessel. It’d be hard, sure, but it wouldn’t kill him, and wouldn’t getting Cas to stay for once make it all worth it?

Slowly, a plan starts forming in Dean’s mind. It’s less of a plan and more of an idea, really. He’s not exactly trying to get pregnant here, he just wouldn’t be opposed to the idea if he did. It’s no different to enjoying taking it raw, which is fine and normal — he just won’t be taking any contraception afterwards. Consistently, but accidentally, y’know?

So shit, why does Dean feel like such a piece of crap for even considering it?

Sam would tell him to just talk to Cas, most likely. But Sam doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand that Dean knows how Cas feels, that it’s not about that at all. But if he did, it’d turn into a whole thing with pitying tones and puppy dog eyes, and Dean’s sworn off all chick flick moments, so– so this is the best he’s got. Sure he feels guilty now, but he’d feel way worse if he let Cas go entirely.

It’s decided, then. Dean considers tipping the rest of his suppressants down the sink right here and now but that’d be suspicious, wouldn’t it? Not like Dean’s doing anything wrong, but he doesn’t want anyone to think that he’s quitting because of Cas. The poor guy might get the wrong idea, think that Dean is capable of loving too.

Instead, he puts back the little bottle of pills and takes a shower. It’s a quick, perfunctory thing, Dean not allowing himself the luxury of languishing under the hot water too long for once. He gingerly mops up the mess of cum and slick between his cheeks and thighs with a washcloth, careful of the tender skin, then calls it a day.

(And if watching the last traces of Cas’ scent on him trickle down the drain makes something crack painfully in Dean’s chest, that’s neither here nor there.)

Dean walks into the kitchen feeling a little more sure of himself, to the point where the ugly guilt building in the pit of his stomach is easier to ignore. He feels oddly refreshed, more awake than he usually would be so early in the morning.

“You look rested,” Sam comments a little too casually from where he sits at the table. He gives Dean a pointed look over his disgusting green smoothie, probably taking in the fact that Dean’s still dressed in Cas’ clothes.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean says, but there’s no heat to it. He’s not angling for a fight, nor does he attempt to deny what he’s done. If he and Cas are going to keep spending heats together, there’s no point in trying to hide the obvious anyway.

“Jerk,” Sam replies by rote, then gestures to a neatly folded pile of clothes at the other end of the table. “I washed your guys’ stuff, by the way.”

“Huh, so that’s where they ended up,” Dean says with a wry grin, moving to set the coffee machine going. He’d wondered where Cas had vanished them to, back when his rational mind was lost to all-consuming rut.

“No, they ended up landing on my head in the library five days ago.” Sam sounds annoyed at the memory, which makes Dean snort out an unattractive laugh. “Really, Dean? Are we just not going to mention you slept with Cas?”

Dean shrugs, not turning away from the coffee machine. His heart is thundering in his chest for some reason; probably to do with the heavy weight of guilt sitting in his stomach. “What’s there to talk about? He was in rut, I was in heat; it just made sense to help each other out.”

Even without facing him, Dean can see Sam’s bitchface in high definition. “You were in heat?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, which isn’t exactly a lie. It’s not like his suppressants have never failed before — they’re not really meant to be taken for as long as Dean’s been swallowing them down. It’s just a coincidence that they happened to fail in sync with Cas’ rut.

“Not a big– Dean. This is huge!” Sam scolds him. Dean just rolls his eyes as he pours his coffee.

“I’m not talking about this anymore,” he says firmly. Sam looks like he’s about to argue, but thankfully Cas wanders in with perfect timing.

He nods at Sam sleepily before turning his attention to Dean. His eyes dart down his body just once before returning to meet Dean’s gaze, the electric blue somewhat brighter than before. The eye contact is just as intense as always, that insane experience of looking at something unearthly and powerful only to have it look back. His wings may be tucked away out of human sight now, but there’s still something intrinsically ethereal to him.

“Morning sunshine,” Dean says, his voice a little rougher than he’d like. Cas just smiles at him, a tiny quirk to his lips but the real difference in the way his eyes almost shine with happiness.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says in that extra deep gravel tone he gets in the mornings. Something flips low down in Dean’s stomach, which he steadfastly ignores. Cas sniffs the air then, and for a heartstopping moment Dean thinks maybe he’s trying to scent him– but then he says, “Coffee?”

The morning goes pretty normally after that, the three of them helpfully ignoring the elephant in the room. For his part, Dean is just grateful that Cas has apparently developed the tact to not mention it.

Still, with the weight of his private decision hanging over him, time seems to slow to a crawl. There aren’t many hunts going right now, so Dean is left feeling oddly antsy. It’s not often that he makes a decision and doesn’t just act on it, and playing the waiting game has never been his strong suit.

Part of it reminds him of the time they don’t talk about, when Cas was lost to the Empty seemingly for good. Dean had spent the first several weeks in a blissful haze of being too drunk to function before Sam had staged an intervention and purged the bunker of alcohol. It was the months after that, when there was nothing to research, nothing to hunt, nothing to do to save Cas, when Dean had felt truly useless.

He shudders at the memory and buries it deep down where he doesn’t have to think about it. For good measure, he pours the rest of his suppressants down the sink too. It’s only been three days, and he’d intended to wait longer so it wouldn’t seem like he’s doing this on purpose, but– well. Every pill burns down his throat like acid now, and the waiting might just be killing him.

Three days will just have to be enough.

Cas is the first one to notice.

Sam had miraculously found two hunts the same day Dean caved and threw out his pills — one in Florida and one in Wyoming. Sam went with Eileen a couple days later, practically giddy with the idea of taking her on a disgusting couple-y tourist trip in Miami, which leaves Dean and Cas to head out into the middle of bumfuck nowhere to hunt down a shifter.

Still, screw Miami — Dean found an 80s themed roadside diner not two hours into their journey, and the burgers taste fucking incredible. He must be putting out happy pheromones all over the place, since Cas stops right before he can take a bite into his own double cheeseburger to frown over at him.

“You smell different,” he says, blunt as ever. Dean chews his mouthful obnoxiously, waving dismissively with his free hand.

“Stopped taking my suppressants,” he tells him, carefully casual even as his heart begins to pound. “You’re always going on about how they’re bad for me, right?”

Cas just hums, staring at him a moment longer. Dean feels oddly stripped bare under his gaze, like Cas is staring directly into his soul — which, hell, he probably is. The angel is polite enough to not go poking around for a real reason, though. That, or he doesn’t care.

“So, yeah. Guess I’m, uh, back to regular heats now,” Dean continues as he swallows. Cas’ eyes, which had just dropped down to his meal, dart back to meet his gaze with laser focus, an intensity of some emotion there that Dean can’t quite name. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think Cas was horny.

“You’re trying to ask me something,” Cas realises, squinting as his head tilts ever so slightly to the side. “Speak more plainly, Dean.”

“I just– last time was pretty good, right buddy? When we helped each other out?” God, fuck, Dean’s starting to sweat. He used to be so smooth picking up women in bars, what the fuck happened to him?

“I enjoyed spending my rut with you, yes,” Cas says slowly, cautiously. The words still make Dean’s stupid heart leap into his throat.

He takes a breath as he sets his burger down, breaking eye contact to instead start cleaning his fingers on a cheerful blue napkin. He’s just asking a friend for a favour, he can do this. “Look, I was just thinkin’ we could, y’know, help out like that again. As friends.”

“You want me to fuck you through your heats now that they’ll be regular,” Cas says triumphantly, like he’s proud to have figured it out, and Dean promptly chokes on thin air.

“Jesus, Cas, when’d you learn to talk like that?” He splutters out, staring up at the angel in disbelief. Cas just rolls his eyes.

“I have existed for millennia, Dean. I have witnessed countless humans fornicating,” he announces, like that’s a normal thing to say. To be fair, it probably doesn’t even break the top ten weirdest things Cas has come out with. “Besides, I believe I ‘talked dirty’ to you the last time we had sex, too.”

Again with those damned air quotes. Something so objectively adorable should never be paired with words like that, ever.

It’s true, though. After the first couple rounds, when Cas had become coherent enough to string together more than three words at a time, the angel practically wouldn’t shut up. He’d moaned filthy praise directly into Dean’s ear, telling him how good he was being, how incredible he smelled, how beautiful he looked.

Dean’s been trying not to think about it.

“Please shut up,” Dean grunts, mortified. Thankfully, the diner is practically empty, and a quick glance around reveals that the lone waitress is sat at the back completely absorbed by something on her phone. “Just– will you?”

“Yes,” Cas says, staring at Dean unblinking, unbreathing. His face is set in that stony mask that Dean still can’t read even after knowing the guy for a decade and some change.

“Awesome,” he mutters, shoving just a bit too much burger into his mouth to hide the way he wants to grin. Hopefully whatever happy pheromones he’s putting out will seem like they’re because of the food and not the prospect of his half-baked plan coming together.

The next time Dean opens his mouth, it’s to start yapping about something entirely inconsequential. It’s comfortable, easy, to talk to Cas about just about nothing — a slice of normality in their lives. Dean can get excited about the latest season of Dr. Sexy, MD over burgers and fries, and Cas just nods along and very seriously asks questions, and it’s almost like they won’t end up covered in shifter guts by the end of the week.

Maybe Dean will retire once he gets pregnant. Drag Cas out to a beach house somewhere sunny and live like regular people. He could be a stay at home dad — but no, that’d get boring fast. A little beachfront bar could be fun, though, another bit of the everyday. He could come home to Cas, rant about his boring day with his boring customers, and just be normal.

Dean smiles to himself at the little fantasy. If someone had told him this is what he’d want one day even a couple years back, he’d have laughed in their face. But nowadays, taking a break from hunting doesn’t seem so bad. Besides, if he’s going to end up as a family man, he can’t just go around throwing his life on the line all the time. No point in getting Cas to stay only for Dean to kick the bucket himself.

The rest of the drive to Hudson, Wyoming takes about eight hours, and Dean spends most of it idly daydreaming to a soundtrack of Led Zeppelin. His little fantasy beachhouse gains a dog, since he’s wanted one for a little while, and a kid, since obviously. He’s not exactly choosy, but he thinks he’d want a little girl to spoil rotten. He’d take her out to walk the dog, and Cas would braid her hair every morning, and she’d never have to know hunger or fear or violence.

A boy would be nice, too. Cas thinks of Jack as a son and if he’s being honest, Dean does too — but they never got to raise him. The kid’s barely four years old, but he looks like an adult, and now he’s god, so he had to grow up fast — too fast, if you ask Dean. So maybe if they had a boy they could try again, could savour all those firsts they never got the chance to with Jack.

Hell, maybe they can just have both. Dean’s not sure if nephilim can be twins, but maybe, if Cas stays, if Cas wants… Maybe they don’t have to stop at one kid. Maybe they can keep trying.

Dean stops that train of thought dead in its tracks. He doesn’t know if he can get so horny he triggers another heat this soon after the last one, but he’s not willing to risk it.

He chances another glance over at Cas. The angel is staring directly ahead, sat bolt upright, unnaturally still; but he’s there’s a distinctly content edge to his rainstorm scent and a slight uptick at the corner of his mouth, so he seems happy enough. Maybe he should find it weird, find Cas strange in general, but Dean’s sort of used to him. The times Cas comes off as something nonhuman might have freaked him out a decade ago, but nowadays it’s just Cas. There’s something comforting to it, the ethereal otherness, that sets Dean at ease.

Some of the dark, roiling guilt in his stomach settles. Dean’s not being the most moral guy in the world, sure, but if he gets to keep Cas in his life? It’ll all be worth it.

Dean’s first regular heat strikes out of nowhere, and is maybe slightly Cas-related again.

It should have been a simple case, but actually finding the damn shifter had taken longer than Dean would have liked. Three more people died in the week it took to find the damn thing, and by the time he and Cas corner the thing in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, Dean feels exhausted. He’s starting to get old, and it’s showing.

The fight is a bit of a blur once it gets started — it should be trivial to take out just one shapeshifter, but Dean’s tired. He loses his gun in the scuffle, gets pinned beneath the monster and just barely rolls out of the way of a powerful punch to the jaw. The shifter moves to follow but gets stopped by a hand gripping the back of its neck.

Cas.

In a bizarre moment, Dean makes eye contact with the shifter. Confusion is written all over its face, as if it has no idea what’s stopped it, and that’s the last thing Dean sees before he’s shutting his eyes tight against a blinding white light. When the glare fades and he tentatively opens his eyes again, the shifter’s eyes are burned out of its skull and its lifeless husk drops out of Cas’ grip.

The angel stands above Dean, righteous fury still set into every hard line of his face. He glares down at the monster he killed, then darts his eyes over Dean in a full body check. His eyes soften a touch as he brushes a hand against Dean’s jaw, healing a few minor bruises with a tender flare of grace.

“Uh, thanks Cas,” Dean says, his voice hoarse. His stomach feels oddly tight, his heart beating a furious rhythm in his chest. “You really saved my ass there.”

Cas’ whole expression just lights up, a brightness to the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He offers out a hand and Dean takes it, yanking himself to his feet and just… holding it.

For some reason, Dean really doesn’t want to let go. In fact, it’s imperative that he clings on tighter, closer. His belly aches and his skin crawls, like there’s an itch in his bones, a fire in his blood. Cas is speaking but Dean can’t quite parse the words, can only hold onto the cadence of his rasping voice that just barely soothes the burning.

Old instincts that have been subdued ever since Dean stopped taking his suppressants roar back to life, slamming a wall of wanting into his entire being. He wants to be held close, to be small and protected, to fill himself with the scent of ozone and petrichor, to crawl inside of Cas’ skin. It’s all so sudden and so much and so all at once and–

“I’m going into heat,” he realises aloud, cutting off whatever Cas was saying. The angel makes a surprised little sound, his brow furrowing in concern as he leans in and scents Dean’s throat.

He can’t stop himself — Dean whines.

“You’re early,” Cas says lowly, like Dean doesn’t already know that. “You shouldn’t be due for another two weeks, at least.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, but he’s not really listening. He sort of tucks himself inwards, leaning his head to rest in the crook of Cas’ neck. He buries his nose in his scent gland and hums at the mouthwatering smell of alpha, deeply pleased.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

He barely gets a chance for another deep inhale before Cas is yanking him back by the hair, his grip gentle but firm. Dean goes boneless in his grasp, knees a little weak. Cas’ free hand shoots out to hold him at his lower back and Dean leans his entire weight into the touch, trusting Cas to keep him upright.

“Your suppressants have affected your natural cycle. You’re descending into heat too fast. We need to leave whilst you’re still coherent.”

Cas could tell him they needed to walk to Timbuktu and Dean would probably go with it right now. “Yeah, okay. Get us back to the motel?”

Between one lazy blink and the next, the warehouse disappears, replaced instead by the dingy little motel room they’ve been staying in. Cas guides him to one of the beds, sitting him down on the edge as he pushes the other single to meet it.

“You should nest, Dean. It will settle your instincts and keep you lucid for a bit longer.” Dean nods hazily, heat making him feel lazy and compliant. The cramps haven’t started yet, but they won’t be far off if he doesn’t get something inside him soon.

The motel room is cheap and shitty, as per usual, so there’s not much around in terms of building a nest. Without getting off the bed, Dean starts to rearrange the thin quilts and ratty throws into makeshift walls, the actions calming the burning want-need-please fogging up his mind until it’s more manageable.

“Take it slow, Dean. The longer we can draw out your preheat, the better,” Cas says, voice low and commanding in a way that settles Dean’s roaring instincts better than any sort of nesting could.

Humming in vague agreement, he fluffs up the pillows and surveys the base of his nest. Cas is right, he begrudgingly admits; his suppressants have never allowed him particularly long preheats, never more than a couple of hours, and the few heats he’s had have been rough on his body to say the least. It’s one of the reasons Cas and Sam have been so against him using them all this time.

“Want your coat,” Dean tells him after a moment’s pause. The iconic trenchcoat is pure Cas, and it would look good draped at the bottom of the nest, a blanket to rest on that is entirely his alpha. Soon, he can get pinned down and bury his face into it and only smell Cas. “Your shirt, too.”

Cas wordlessly shrugs off his trenchcoat and hands it over. Even though he’s still dressed in a full suit, he somehow looks almost obscenely naked for shedding the outer layer. “You can have my shirt when I get back.”

Dean sits bolt upright at that, carelessly dropping the coat to the base of the nest as a wave of panic cuts through the pleasant haze of preheat. “Back? Where’re you goin’?”

“I need to go to the store, Dean,” Cas says, frowning as the scent of omega in distress starts to fill the air. “We’ll need supplies; food, water.”

Dean scowls, reaching out for Cas. For once, the angel doesn’t move into his personal space. And fuck, but that hurts. “C’mon Cas, can’t you just do that later when I’m resting?”

Cas shifts on his feet, his expression twisted up in confliction. Something warm and proud starts to permeate through the panic as Dean realises that the alpha wants to be close to him, and he immediately feels a little stupid for worrying. Of course Cas wants to be close; he hasn’t yet realised that Dean’s a poison, that he’s a fool for being in love with him.

“There’s also the matter of… contraception.”

And shit, but Cas’ stilted words are like a bucket of icy cold water. Neither of them had talked about it last time, too caught up in heat and rut to do anything but immediately fall into bed together. If Cas gets hellbent on using protection, then all this will be for nothing. Dean doesn’t know how else to get him to just stay.

“Do we have to?” Dean says, his voice embarrassingly small as he picks at the throw blankets with his fingers. He twists the rough maroon fabric until his fingertips turn white, staring down at it so he doesn’t get lost in Cas’ eyes. If they do their little staring contest thing right now, there’s a real chance Dean will instantly give in to anything Cas tells him. “I can just take Plan B like last time.”

“Dean,” he scolds, but takes a step forward until Dean can see the tips of his dress shoes even looking down at the floor. “That’s hardly a reliable method of contraception, especially during heat.”

“Cas,” Dean says pleadingly, looking up at him through his eyelashes. The angel looks even more torn, reaching down a hand to gently pet through his hair. Dean turns into it, nuzzling his face against the scent gland in Cas’ wrist with a whine. His scent is better than heaven, better than sex, better than pie.

“This is serious, Dean. The more times we copulate–”

“Please don’t call it that,” Dean groans, lips still pressed to Cas’ wrist. The angel visibly swallows.

“Fine. The more times I fuck you–” shit, that’s worse, that’s so much worse “–the less likely it is the morning after pill will work. At least allow me to get condoms, or contraceptive patches, or–”

“Please don’t go,” Dean rushes out as Cas moves as if to step away. He clings to Cas’ arm, mind racing, heart pounding. Something slimy curls in the depths of Dean’s stomach, something horrible and wrong and damn near guaranteed to get Cas to stay. “I need you.”

Cas lets out a long sigh of air he doesn’t need, his entire body slumping in resignation. This time, when he gently pries his arm from Dean’s white-knuckled grip, Dean lets him go. He thankfully doesn’t move far, crouching down to a perch on the floor until his face is level with Dean’s, mere inches apart.

“Alright, Dean. I’ll stay.”

Relieved, Dean grins. He squirms out of his layers, throwing his flannel and shirt behind him without much care for how they land in his nest. Now that the panic is melting out of him, it’s being steadily replaced with a whiny sort of need to be held and filled, and that’s far more important right now than a presentable nest. Well, mostly.

“Shirt. Gimme,” he demands, pawing at Cas’ chest impatiently. He doesn’t give much of a shit about how his nest looks anymore, but he needs to lay Cas’ dress shirt out over the pillows. It’s pretty irrational, but Dean’s done questioning his instincts right now.

He helps Cas push the suit jacket off his shoulders, then mostly hinders his progress in unbuttoning his shirt by clawing at the fabric. Huffing out a sound that isn’t quite human, Cas uses a quick burst of grace that leaves the shirt completely undone. Dean practically tears the material off of him, making a triumphant noise once it’s in his hands before promptly burying his face in it.

Cas’ scent is strongest here out of all his clothes, it seems. The collar that presses up against his scent glands is practically doused in it, reeking of ozone and thunder. It’s a bizarrely cold scent, but it fills Dean with a warmth that only fans the flames of heat.

“Satisfied?” Cas questions, clearly amused. Dean looks up from the shirt, blinking guilelessly down at the alpha’s fond expression.

“No,” he decides, shifting up the bed to lay the fabric out over the pillows. He smooths down the fabric before giving Cas a meaningful look. “Need you to get undressed properly and fuck me.”

Cas inhales sharply, all amusement gone from his eyes in a flash of something dark and heady. He lets loose a growl, then finally, finally, he’s touching Dean again. Hands grasp his waist in a tight hold as Cas presses in, chest to chest, and kisses him hard.

Dean whines against Cas’ mouth, his body at war with itself, wanting to melt down into the nest and simultaneously arch up into the delicious pressure of Cas’ body. The angel makes the decision for him, hands firmly pushing Dean down into the mattress as they roam over his torso, then his stomach, then his hips.

“Alpha,” Dean gasps out in a break between kisses, pushing uselessly against Cas’ hold. The simmering heat in his belly is quickly growing to a roaring blaze, consuming his body in searing pain. His hole drips and flexes around nothing, too empty, and his insides burn.

“Hush, Dean,” Cas murmurs, his palm coming to rest over Dean’s lower stomach. A blessedly cool wave of grace bursts through him, chasing away the pain for just a moment before it comes raging back in. “Let me take care of you.”

Pinned by his darkened blue eyes, Dean reluctantly doesn’t follow as Cas sits back up on his haunches. He drags the jeans and boxers off of Dean’s hips the old fashioned way, hands firm even as they linger over thighs and knees and calves. Cas follows his trail back up with his lips, smouldering open mouthed kisses searing into burning skin, the new heat somehow settling the old.

Dean fights the urge to squirm under Cas’ ministrations, determined to do as told for once. It’s probably something to do with the wanting beast unleashed from its tight hold, but Dean can hardly think. He just wants to be good, to be pliant and docile, to please his alpha well.

So he stays as still as he can, trembling as Cas torturously slowly explores his body. Each kiss is like molten lava shooting directly down to Dean’s wanting hole until he’s gushing slick like a damn faucet. He distantly thinks the mattress will be ruined by the time Cas finally gets his knot in him, but all lingering thoughts are chased away when Cas’ mouth drifts lower, lower, and–

Cas starts to eat Dean out like he’s his last meal, like he’s the nectar of the gods. Dean can’t stop himself from crying out, his hands shooting out to tightly grip at Cas’ hair as his tongue ravishes his insides. He’s so keyed up, his orgasm dawning like a holy cleansing fire, and it would otherwise by embarrassing how quickly he comes.

But Cas doesn’t stop; no, he moans all low and sexy as he buries his face impossibly deeper into Dean’s ass. Broad hands spread Dean’s cheeks apart so Cas can feast on his gushing hole, slurping obscenely as he devours his slick.

“Cas, alpha, please,” Dean whines, pushing his hips back to meet every thrust of Cas’ tongue. His hard on hasn’t gone down in the slightest; won’t, not until Cas gets his knot in him properly. But shit, this is so damn good that Dean can practically feel his brain melting out his ears.

The way Cas moves his tongue is entirely unpredictable, stretching Dean’s rim then delving deep then back again. The next buildup is slower but no less fierce, a tightening in Dean’s belly and balls as Cas eats him out. It’s so filthy, almost sinful — Dean would never have expected an angel to act like this.

But Cas is different; he’s always been different. He keeps on going, eating Dean out like he’s a damn professional, and it’s not long until Dean is screaming out and coming on his tongue again.

“Please, alpha, please,” he begs when Cas still doesn’t let up. “Need you, need more! Fuck me, alpha, please!”

Dean loosens his grasp on Cas’ hair as the angel finally draws back from his ass. He looks up, a dark look in his eyes and a wet mess of slick covering his mouth and chin. With the way his hair is sticking up at odd angles from Dean’s fingers and his perpetual stubble is drenched in slick and cum, he looks thoroughly debauched.

It’s a fucking awesome look on him. Dean tries not to think too hard about the way it makes his heart flip in his chest.

“You taste divine,” Cas says in a growl of a voice, and Dean feels like he could maybe come entirely untouched from praise coming outta those lips. He considers it for a moment too, but the thrashing want inside him is screaming at him to get fucked, knotted, bred.

“Cas,” is all he has to say before his angel is upon him. Cas practically smothers him with his body, limbs pinning him firmly to the bed, weight pressing down heavy.

It’s probably weird that Dean likes this. He’s distantly aware that he’s not supposed to; that a big strong alpha restraining him in a grand show of strength and power isn’t supposed to be a turn on.

(An even more distant thought registers that maybe Dean’s just turned on because like this, Cas really can’t go anywhere, can’t leave him. That finally, finally, Dean can relax.)

Then Cas fucks into him in one sharp thrust, and suddenly Dean isn’t thinking anything at all.

Well, that’s not quite true. His thoughts are a mushy loop of please, alpha, fuck me, breed me– but beyond breathy little noises he can’t quite suppress, Dean doesn’t vocalise a single one, so Cas doesn’t have to know. It’s good; hell, it’s great– and yet, and yet–

“More, more,” Dean whines, desperately clawing at Cas’ back, between his shoulderblades. Dean’s ankles lock around his waist to drag him in, meeting his hips thrust for thrust, but it’s still not enough. “I need you, more, please!”

Cas frowns for about half a second before his expression resets to determination and lust. The way he precedes to move Dean is swift and effortless; hiking knees over forearms, washing away soreness in inflexible limbs with a touch of grace, and changing angle until every thrust nails his prostate.

“Like this?” He asks, like this is easy, like he’s done it a million times before. Usually the thought of Cas already having done this before would send Dean for a tailspin of what he refuses to call jealousy; right now it’s all he can do not to come on the spot.

Dean whines out a sound that’s probably agreement, since actually processing and holding onto Cas’ words is beyond difficult right now. His hole gushes slick, soaking Cas’ cock and the sheets below in equal measures, and it just about feels like his brain is leaving his body the same way.

Still, something’s off.

Even if you held him at gunpoint right now, Dean wouldn’t be able to tell you what’s wrong; just that something is. There shouldn’t be, since his alpha is fucking him into the mattress and staring directly into his soul with the most beautiful blue eyes whilst he does it, but still– something’s wrong here. Something’s missing.

Evidently, Cas notices it too. Whether he feels something’s wrong or just notices that Dean is spacey from something other than heat is beyond Dean’s comprehension right now — all he knows is that Cas pauses mid thrust for about a second before leaning down and doing the unthinkable.

Cas bears his neck.

There’s a moment here where Dean stops existing, maybe. The thick length in his aching hole, the rhythmic pressure against his prostate, the firm weight atop his body — it all may as well be happening to someone else. Because this — Cas, an alpha, a goddamn angel, is bearing his neck toward Dean.

White noise explodes in Dean’s ears. He buries his face into Cas’ neck without really thinking about it, inhaling deep, greedy breaths of his scent, filling himself with lungfuls of electricity and ozone and alpha. It settles the screaming daze just barely, just enough, an oasis in the endless desert-haze of his heat-addled mind.

“Wings,” he gasps out before the thought can escape him again. All the air punches out of his lungs on the next hard thrust, but Dean inhales just enough of Cas’ (beautiful, gorgeous, delicious, need more more more) scent to speak again. “Lemme– Need to see ’em, show me your wings, alpha!”

There’s no fanfare to it, no dramatic unfurling accompanied by roaring thunder and flickering lights. No, one minute Cas is looming above him looking almost human, and the next the two hulking appendages are visible behind him as if they’d always been there. Which, Dean supposes, they were, not that his feeble human eyes could see them until now.

Fuck, Cas’ wings. They’re as perfect as Dean remembered, these great black things flared wide and high. They quiver in place, beating gently to hold Cas’ balance as he leans down, hands-free, the position otherwise impossible. It’s like someone spilled oil into the air directly behind him, huge sharp-looking feathers shining in every colour and deep, deep black all at once.

There’s a sort of deadliness about them, too. It’s almost indescribable, but something deep in Dean’s hind brain is screaming at him that these wings, this creature, is to be feared. Cas could kill him with ease, but Dean knows he would never, and that sends a thrill of pleasure shooting up his spine in time to Cas’ brutal thrusts.

It’s strange, because it’s not like Dean is used to seeing Cas with his wings on full display or anything, but the angel looks more whole this way. More like himself, somehow. Whatever it is, it’s enough for Dean to let go of everything, sinking deep into the mattress, into Cas’ tight embrace, into heat.

These wings — they’re beautiful. Cas is beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” Dean breathes out, unthinking.

Cas doesn’t respond in words, nor does his almost-blank expression change at all. But his wings — they flutter in place, the feathers puffing up proudly until Cas looks less sleek-killing-machine and more massive-round-pigeon. It’s cuter than Cas has any right to be when he’s still fucking into Dean like this, pistoning his hips like a goddamn machine.

“It’s you who is beautiful, my– Dean,” Cas tells him, voice low and inhumanly smooth. It’s close enough to a verbal claiming, to Cas calling Dean his, that it makes Dean’s entire body arch in pleasure.

It’s like the floodgates have unlocked, now. Cas dips his head down to the crook of Dean’s neck, spilling filthy praise into his ear until Dean feels hot from more than just his stupid biology, giving him no chance to escape it either.

“My good boy. My perfect human. Such a beautiful omega, behaving so well for me. You feel incredible squeezing me so, better than heaven. You make me want to blaspheme, oh, Dean.”

It’s more than Dean can take. Cas’ gravel rough voice praising him like this is too much to bear, so he doesn’t. He lets go, and with a fistful of impossibly soft feathers, he comes so hard his vision goes white.

Cas talks him through it, cooing sweet nothings in his ear as he leisurely fucks into him. “You’re doing so well, good boy, letting go for me, that’s it,” he murmurs gently, his hips slowing to a stop as Dean’s orgasm washes away, leaving a panting mess in its wake.

“Alpha,” he slurs out, fingers twisting in feathers. He’s bodily exhausted, but his heat isn’t settled yet — not even close.

“That’s right, good boy,” Cas says, flexing the strong muscles of his wings beneath Dean’s grasp. It’s almost like they’re holding hands, like this, and Dean’s heart aches. “Do you need a break, sweet boy?”

Cas is still buried to the hilt in Dean’s soaked asshole, his pubes and crotch and thighs absolutely drenched in slick and cum. The base of his hard cock is ever so slightly thicker, pulsing, the only clue that Cas is tantalisingly close to coming too. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, he’s stopped fucking Dean.

“Need you to knot me,” Dean tries to growl out, but it ends up as almost a sob. He’s trying here, okay, but right now he’s not much more than a pile of post-orgasm mush, and all his exhausted heat-addled brain knows is that he needs Cas’ knot like, yesterday. “Knock me up alpha.”

That spurs Cas on well enough. He snarls as his hips pick up their punishing pace again, his balls smacking into Dean’s sore ass with every thrust. Dean almost sobs in relief, tears slipping down his cheeks as Cas starts to swell up as his knot begins to form.

“Yeah, please, that’s it, give it to me,” Dean babbles, grateful tears streaking down his face as he clings to his alpha, no filter between his base desires and his mouth anymore. “Please, Cas, knock me up, fuck your pups into me. Wan’ it, please, alpha!”

Cas snarls like he’s lost to rut, a deep growl emanating from somewhere deeper than his vessel. When his knot catches and his cum floods Dean’s hole, it’s with a thunderous moan and a vicious bite to the pillow beside Dean’s neck. It’s so good, so hot, and despite all odds Dean finds himself coming again too.

As lucidity dawns on Dean, he finally registers what the hell he’d been prattling on about as he begged for Cas’ knot. He groans, burying his face into Cas’ neck as the angel pants over him, filling him up oh-so-good.

A dirty, wrong part of Dean loves it. His empty womb is getting filled right now, wave after wave of hot cum satisfying that primal urge in him to breed. Maybe he’s already caught — maybe there’s already new life growing inside of him, new life that Cas fathered. The alpha can’t claim him with his bite, but what is this if not another kind of claiming?

Dean gathers this new feeling, this filthy new desire, and bundles it away with the other desperate yearnings for all things omega and wrong. He can try to get Cas to impregnate him all he wants, but he’s not supposed to enjoy it. That’s not what this is about.

“Fuck, that was– that was so great, Cas,” he says on an exhale, soothing upturned feathers with gentle fingers — anything to distract Cas from bringing up Dean losing his mind and begging to be bred.

“Mm,” Cas agrees into the pillow. He eventually pulls his teeth out of the fabric with a reluctant sort of tilt to his wings, turning to nose along the column of Dean’s neck instead. “Yes, I enjoyed that quite thoroughly as well.”

“You dork,” Dean says, rolling his eyes fondly. How the hell can Cas fuck him like that then sound so endearingly awkward in the afterglow? “Your pillowtalk needs work.”

Cas hums seriously into his neck. “I will endeavour to improve, then.”

Indulgent in the afterglow, Dean lets himself rake greedy fingers through Cas’ freshly-fucked hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of practice.”

There’s a moment of quiet between them, where all Dean has to focus on is the steady pulse of cum filling him and the daydreams of what could be. His fantasy family grows in his mind; a little girl with long sandy hair and bright blue eyes, a baby boy with sparse dark hair and a serious expression on his tiny face. A huge dog running around, just a big ball of blond fur. Dean, and Cas, but as Dean-and-Cas.

Heat sated for now, Dean drifts off to sleep in Cas’ arms with a smile on his lips and a fantasy filling his mind.