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Nothing mattered at the moment. He just wanted this. Nothing else. He was so caught up in it. His very essence screaming and aching with something euphoric that he couldn't describe. Something that he only felt when this man--the angel's mortal addiction-- did this to him. Made him feel numb. Made his vessel tremble, crying out for more. Disconnecting his mind from the outside world. He loved it. Oh God, he loved it. It frightened him how much he did. It was the need. The constant hunger for the man that drove him to this sweet ecstasy that spread like wildfire throughout his vessel. Ecstasy that Castiel never knew existed until those hands were on him. Grabbing him. Holding him. Bruising his vessel. The hands of a hunter hungry for release.
Castiel tried to stay away from Dean. Did everything in his will to keep his mind off of him. He always thought he'd had his priorities straight but the angel was ashamed to admit that it was quite the opposite. Raphael and the war in Heaven was at the back of Castiel's mind, along with Crowley and Eve.
As for Dean, the hunter didn't care in the least anymore. He didn't care about anything. Sam and Bobby would figure something out. They always did. But for right now, Dean didn't want to think. Or feel. Or talk. Or do anything but make Castiel spasm and moan and whimper and cry out as he took all of Dean, still begging for more. He was angry as usual. The angel felt it in the way Dean grasped his hair, yanking his head back as he fucked mercilessly.
After their last encounter, after Dean left Castiel lying in that motel room on that cold bed, the two kept their distance from each other. Castiel, terrified of the stinging emptiness that he felt without Dean, and Dean, furious at what the angel had done to him. He blamed Cas for all of this. He was the reason that Dean suddenly had this disgusting desire. The quick fucks and one night stands with the nameless women weren't enough anymore. There was something about the way he could make the angel's vessel do for him whatever he wanted it to do. The way those eyes begged for him. Cas was his. Castiel wanted this bad--wanted him bad. And Dean hated all of it. He fought like Hell to not go running back to that motel room after he left. The scenario played over and over in his head as if fate was testing how weak he was. Seeing just how long it would take before he would pray for that angel just to admit that he wanted this. It didn't take long at all. A week passed. Dean found himself praying--demanding--that Castiel appear again. But the angel's will remained for a bit longer. He feared what Dean might've said to him. Or did. Not that this man could do any harm to him. Despite that, Castiel always felt weak in Dean's presence.
Another week passed.
Dean still prayed.
Cas still ignored it with every fiber of his angellic being.
Another week.
More prayers.
No answers.
Another week.
Even more prayers.
Still no answers.
Dean began to get shamefully desperate. The showers he took grew longer and more numerous for obvious reasons. It was disgusting. Every time he touched himself, thinking of having Castiel beneath him, writhing, begging for him to fuck him harder and faster.
A month had come and gone.
Dean had stopped calling for Castiel altogether.
Sam kept asking about him. Dean always bit his tongue, holding back the urge to scream his frustration. It infuriated him.
Castiel started to realize that Dean had stopped calling. The emptiness came again. Even the lack of Dean tugging at his conscience was enough to make his will finally crumble. He came to him, who was somewhere between furious and sickeningly relieved that the angel appeared. Neither the man nor the angel could look at each other the same way anymore. Castiel was speechless, unable to even think of what to begin to say. Usually, he would've been able to read Dean's expression and know something was wrong. But Dean looked at him--looked through him-- with a stony, cold expression. The distance on his face alarmed Cas. He internally panicked, frantically thinking of anything to say.
"Dean..." was all he choked out. It sounded pitiful. Helpless. Castiel felt all of the above.
"Its been a month." Dean's tone was stoic. The way he spoke made Cas shudder slightly. The angel opened his mouth to speak but Dean raised a hand, stopping him.
"Yeah. Right. The war. I know."
"You can't make me feel guilty for this, Dean. This is something I must do. I make time for you and Sam when I have it."
"Sam has nothing to do with this and you know it."
Castiel's vessel tensed. Dean's gaze was just as rock solid as ever. Unwavering. Unreadable. He rose from the edge of the motel room bed, facing the angel.
"This isn't about Sam or Eve or the war or any of that. Its about..." he trailed off. So did his jade gaze. Dean looked at anything but Cas. Attempted to regain the last bit of composure that he had left. The angel waited for him to finish the sentence, needing to hear it from Dean's mouth.
Dean only sighed, jaw clenched. "When I call, you answer damnit. I don't care where you are."
There it was. The break in his voice. Castiel heard the desperation and need seep through. He should've known that the Winchester wouldn't admit to what he felt on the inside, but hearing that crumble in his voice was enough for him.
Dean's phone rang on the nightstand, its vibrations making it rattle against the wood. It was probably Sam. Dean didn't move.
"What do you want?" The question leapt from Castiel's mouth before he even knew what he was saying.
Dean looked confused by it, taken off guard. The stony expression on his face was broken. Replaced by some look of a shattered facade. Castiel decided that if Dean was going to play this game then he was going to have to force him to admit to what they were both here for.
"I don't want anything from you, Cas." Dean maintained, irritably. "All I'm askin' is for you to at least come when I need you."
"We've had this conversation too many times, Dean. What do you want from me? Do you honestly expect me to drop everything for you when it always ends up like this?"
"Ends up like what?"
Castiel's gaze dropped to the floor. Why was he so hellbent on making this so difficult?
"You can't continue to act like it didn't happen Dean. What happened....Dean you were a part of it too. We both--"
"Shut up," Dean shook his head furiously.
"But Dean--"
All in one second, the angel was against the wall, restrained by the human, icy blue eyes locked in combat with the jade of a broken man who was hopelessly torn.
"Cas...don't. Don't do this."
Having him this close, Castiel's will was no longer existent. He was fed up with waiting.
"Let it happen." His tone was blank, yet filled with sexual anxiety. That damn defense was still caught up in Dean.
"Fuck me, Dean." The vulgar expression sounded foreign coming from the angel's mouth. But he meant it. His vessel tensed, anxious for Dean to do to him what he hungered for this whole time.
Dean's eyes went blank before Castiel made the final move, coercing the human's lips to his. He felt the switch. The animalistic twist in Dean. The kiss, rough and sloppy and heated, lasted mere seconds before Castiel had his clothes off and tossed aside. Dean was only out of his shirt, jeans half off. He still threw the angel onto the bed and Castiel waited for him.
And that's how they ended up here.
The angel panting and gasping as the man in heat plunged in and out of him, teeth sinking into his flesh, hands clawing at his vessel and gripping his hair. The bed quaked as they fucked like deprived animals, both too far gone mentally. Dean's hips worked like pistons and Castiel took every thrust with a throaty guttural groan that begged for more. Harder. Faster. Dean got more aggressive by the minute and it only turned the angel on even more. He cried out as his sweet spot was grazed by Dean's manhood over and over again, feeling himself soil the bedspread with his seed. Neither of them missed a beat. Dean kept thrusting and hissing through clenched teeth, groaning as Castiel's climax caused him to tighten around his cock. The angel fought to return each thrust as that warm mortal body pressed against his vessel's. Then Dean finally let go, unloading all of himself into the angel beneath him before his body with limp. And they just laid there. Just like last time.
Castiel savored it. All of it. Because he knew that it would end like last time. The cold blanket of emptiness and shame would overcome him again and he would inevitably hide himself from this man for awhile before they both felt the urge become too strong once again.
It was then that he realized what they were. What he was to Dean. He was just some object. A plaything. Dean Winchester was sexually frustrated. And Castiel was nothing but a convenient temporary cure. He was being used. Something to fuck then toss away. No better than the women that this man fornicated with on a regular basis.
And Cas was just fine with that.
There was no room for emotions anymore.
Just lust of the flesh.
They both lied there, still naked and still moist with sweat. Still sex high. Too far away mentally to notice the sound of a key unlocking the door. Or the door slowly open. Or see Sam standing there in the doorway.