Chapter Text
Castiel was pacing.
Trudging back and forth across the rug in Bobby’s study, he anxiously twisted the silver ring upon his left hand while focusing his attention on the quiet bond inside his head.
It had been quiet for almost two days, and Castiel was getting worried. Seriously worried.
“Hey, halo-boy.”
Castiel turned around, facing the doorway to the kitchen in which Bobby and Sam were sitting by the kitchen table, looking back at him.
“You’re gonna wear a hole in my carpet if you keep that up, you know,” Bobby pointed out grumpily. Castiel threw a quick, guilty glance at his feet before taking a quiet, remorseful step off the rug.
“Cas. Dude.” Sam let out a low chuckle, looking up from behind his laptop. “Dean’s only been gone since yesterday morning. Relax.”
“I can’t,” Castiel muttered, going back to twisting his ring. “It’s too quiet. Even if Dean’s busy, it shouldn’t be this silent.”
“You know how Dean gets,” Sam snorted. “He goes into a car shop and he just zones out. He’ll get back to you once he has the parts he need, you’ll see.”
Castiel pursed his lips, but he didn’t answer.
Truth was, Dean had already gotten back to him last night when Cas had called for him through the bond. They had spoken, but Dean’s mind had felt closed and distracted, and the conversation had not lasted very long. This morning, Castiel had barely been able to get any response out of him at all, and now the bond had closed completely.
He felt as if Dean was avoiding him, and it made him nervous.
“Sit down,” Sam said, gesturing to the chair next to him. “You’ll just rev yourself up more from pacing around like that.”
“Thanks, Sam, but I really—”
Cas, you there?
Yes, what’s wrong?
“Looks like someone got a call,” Bobby snickered, but Castiel ignored him in favour of turning his attention inwards, to where Dean’s mind was now smiling at him.
Nothing’s wrong, Cas, I just need to talk to you. Can you get here?
Where is ‘here’? Castiel frowned, and Dean sent him an image of a hotel lobby and an address, along with an insistent sensation of urgency.
I thought you went to Sioux City, Castiel said slowly. What are you doing in Omaha?
You'll see, Dean grinned, the human side of the bond turning a beaming shade of pleased. Just get your ass over here. Room 137. Knock on the door when you get here and then wait for me to open it for you. And step on it.
The bond closed, leaving only a fading shimmer of Dean's sparkling mirth behind.
The frown on Castiel's brow deepened, and he turned towards the other two men by the kitchen table, who were both looking at him expectantly.
“I have to go,” he excused himself. He turned away, but he still managed to catch the little smirk tugging at the corner of Sam's lip before the bronzed number ‘137’ appeared right in front of his face.
Cas looked down at his shoes and the dark red carpet that covered the floor, following it with his eyes down the hallway.
It was a nice establishment. Not a motel, which usually would have been Dean's first choice of lodging, but an actual hotel , with paintings on the walls that looked as if they had been selected with the exclusive purpose of decorating ; not covering up questionable stains on the wallpaper.
What was Dean doing here by himself?
He looked back at the door, and fulfilling his bondmate’s wish, he then raised his hand and knocked. No sound came from inside the room, and so Castiel knocked again, and waited. The bond was still silent, and he couldn’t sense Dean anywhere nearby.
Had he gotten it wrong? Was he in the wrong place? He was already contemplating whether or not he should knock a third time when the door suddenly cracked open, revealing part of Dean’s familiar grin in the narrow space between the door and doorframe.
Castiel expected some sort of explanation, or at least a greeting, but instead the first thing Dean said to him was:
“You didn’t hear me?”
Castiel frowned, shaking his head slowly.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“You sure?” Dean prompted. “Nothing at all? You didn’t hear me say the door was open or anything like that?”
“I’m sure.” Castiel narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
Castiel gave the bond a tentative push, and if he could have described the action the bond made in return, he would have been willing to bet his left wing that Dean actually
winked
at him.
“Why don’t you come on in?” Dean asked, stepping aside with an inviting tilt of his head, and Cas, still squinting, warily stepped over the threshold and into the room.
The first thing he noticed was the bed. And really, how could he not, when it was basically the only piece of furniture in the room? It was wide enough to cover almost the entire width of the inner wall, and had a black metal frame all around it. The headboard, also made of metal, was tall enough to reach halfway to the ceiling, and had thick, sturdy bars spanning across the full width of the mattress.
On the right side of the bed, along the wall opposite from the door, was a small table upon which stood a chromed ice bucket, filled to the brim with, well, ice. Buried in the ice were six bottles of beer, necks sticking up and sparkling with condensation in the dimmed light of the room.
It was midday, but the curtains had been completely closed, leaving the room in dusk. It was illuminated only by the two wall mounted lamps over the bedside tables, and a discreet light in the room's opposite corner.
The room’s interior, however, was not what Castiel's attention focused upon.
Every wall, every single inch and crevasse of the room, was covered in wards. Castiel could see wards for demons, tulpas, angels, reapers, and many, many more. There were spells used for hiding, runes for concealment, and other, even more complicated patterns that Castiel couldn’t discern from the distance he was standing at.
He couldn't see the windows hidden behind the curtains, but when he threw a glance over his shoulder, he could see the thick rope of salt that lined the inside of the now closed door, making him suspect that the windows had already undergone the same treatment. He also noticed the big, lone ward that had been painted on the inside of the door, containing the enochian letters for his own name; an exception sigil. Which explained why Castiel was not currently being strewn across the galaxy in tiny, tiny pieces for standing at the centre of so many anti-supernatural patterns all at once.
The bond was practically crackling with barely contained giddiness from Dean's direction, as if Dean was waiting for Cas to show some sort of reaction. Castiel felt, rather than heard, his mate approach him from behind, and then one of Dean's arms slowly draped over the top of Castiel’s shoulder, embracing him, while Dean pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the back of his neck.
“Do you like it?” he asked quietly, mouthing the words over Castiel’s skin. “I've been working in it since last night.”
Castiel licked his lips, trying his best to put the different, confusing pieces together, but failing.
“I'm… afraid I don't understand?” he asked hesitantly, suppressing a shiver when Dean let out a deep chuckle, warm breath puffing against his skin.
“I figured that I should get this place secured and hidden properly before I invited you over,” he confessed. “It would be very awkward if someone were to… interrupt.”
“Interrupt what?”
There was a faint clinking noise, and when Castiel turned his head to look, he was faced with the sight of a pair of handcuffs. They dangled nonchalantly from the tip of Dean's extended index finger, held out right next to Castiel's head.
“Happy six month anniversary, angel.”
Castiel stared at the cuffs, his mouth suddenly dry. The sheen from the metal in front of him made it clear that the handcuffs were made of silver, not steel. Whatever doubts Castiel might have had about their purpose were washed away when his eyes fell on the enochian sigils that had been carefully etched into the surface of the rivets.
He swallowed thickly.
“Where did you get those?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Wasn't easy,” Dean purred. “Had to make most of them myself. You know what they are?”
Cas nodded. He knew exactly what those cuffs were, and more importantly, what they were used for...
Dean reeled the cuffs back in. Castiel followed them with his eyes, turning around to face the other man just as Dean tucked the silver links into the back pocket of his jeans.
“Is this the reason you put all these wards up?” he asked, and Dean's secretive smile widened.
“Well,” he said, shrugging. “If I'm gonna handcuff my husband's mojo away, I want to make sure the room’s warded against every possible, and impossible thing that might want to take advantage of that. Not including myself, of course.” He took a step forward, running his fingers up the lapel of Castiel's trench coat. “I even put up a sound barrier. That's why you couldn't hear me shouting before. I figured I should test it out before… well, before we give the other guests a reason to complain, if you catch my drift?”
“That's very thoughtful of you.” Castiel felt his stomach jolt, the insinuation of Dean's words rushing up his spine like iced fire.
“I’m a very thoughtful person,” Dean mused, leaning in, lips a mere hair's width away from Castiel's own when Castiel suddenly recalled something.
“Anniversary?” he asked, pulling back to stare at Dean’s face.
“Yeah.” Dean deflated a little, having missed out in his kiss, but when he spotted the dumbstruck look on Castiel's face, his smile returned.
“It's been six months since this…” He tapped gently at Castiel’s temple with his finger before repeating the action on his own head.
And this… he continued inside Castiel’s head.
“… got joined together in holy matrimony. Or whatever weird ass name you guys call it.”
“ Aisro de Poala ,” Castiel offered absentmindedly, too busy trying to count days inside his head to feel disappointed that Dean didn’t remember the proper word.
“Alright, six months and two weeks,” Dean waved, catching on to Castiel's calculations through the bond. “I know I'm a few days off, but they didn't have the room available until now.”
“You wanted this room in particular?” Castiel looked around, confused. “Why?”
Inside his head, Castiel felt the bond send out a low, throbbing pulse of heat when Dean's lips moved in to brush against his, confident smirk firmly in place.
“Because this is the only decent hotel room in the state where you can handcuff someone to the headboard of the bed,” he drawled lazily. This time, Castiel couldn't stop the shiver that went through his body at the sound of his spouse's voice.
“How long did you plan this?” he asked quietly. Again, Dean shrugged.
“Not long. Believe it or not, this is me improvising.”
Castiel frowned. Granted, his brain was still processing the news of the situation, but he still felt as if he was missing something important.
“I didn't realize this was something you wanted to celebrate,” he confessed, feeling guilt claw at the excitement coiling tight in his gut. “Had I known, I could have—”
“Oh, no, no, no.” Dean cut him off, waving a reprimanding finger in front of Castiel's face. “You don't get to be all prissy because you didn't think of this first. I wanted to do this, and I did. Take the hint, dude.”
Castiel shut his mouth, ignoring the victorious surge Dean's mind made as he did so. Cas turned his head, looking at the room, taking in the interior, the size of the bed. The metal headboard.
“So you got us a hotel room,” he said slowly, a calculated edge to his words. “Just so that you could have your way with me without having to spray sigils all over our bedroom at Bobby’s house?”
Dean's face dropped, and the pulsing heat of the bond came to a screeching halt, replaced by a sudden dread when Castiel turned to look Dean dead in the eyes. Nonetheless, before Dean could say anything — through the bond or otherwise — Castiel had already grabbed hold of the collar of Dean's t-shirt and pulled him in, smashing their lips together while sending his unabashed approval through the bond with such force it made Dean physically stumble.
The response was a surprised hum from Dean, vibrating through both throat and bond simultaneously as Dean brought both hands up to catch himself against the front of Castiel's shirt.
You dick , he muttered, the attempted scolding tone marred by the relief shining through Dean's thoughts. I actually thought you got upset.
You're going to have to try a lot harder in order to accomplish that, beloved.
Don't get smug , Dean warned, nipping at Castiel's bottom lip. Don't forget who's getting handcuffed tonight.
Castiel moaned, because no, he had not forgotten; far from it.
Dean's hands dragged over the span of Castiel's chest, tugging the trenchcoat off to let it pile around their feet, before going to work on the buttons of Castiel's shirt. The garment came open easy, the trick of popping those once so infuriating buttons now a well-practiced movement within the flick of Dean's wrist.
Castiel chased after Dean's lips when they left his, mourning their warmth during the short amount of time it took for Dean to relocate them to Castiel's neck instead.
Castiel's hands grappled for and found Dean's waist when Dean began to suckle at his pulse, just below Castiel's ear. It was one of Castiel's weak spots, and Dean was perfectly aware. He had long since perfected the art of turning Cas into a gasping heap of shivering arousal, just by the slow drag of a tongue, or hint of teeth to that particular area.
Castiel, of course, wouldn't dream of complaining about it.
He rocked his body against Dean’s, fingers clutching around the fabric of the other’s clothes when Dean abandoned his neck in favor of moving lower.
Cas tipped his head back, sighing when Dean started licking and nipping his way down his throat and jugular, biting down loosely on Castiel's collarbone in passing while he slid the open shirt off his shoulders.
“You already know what I want from you,” Dean breathed against his chest, lips sliding across skin as he dipped his head even lower to mouth at the soft lines of Castiel's abs. “Bring them out.”
Castiel hummed. He was already reaching through the physical barrier of his own body to do just that. His wings unfurled behind his back, arching high like shadows growing thicker until the feathers were solid enough to reflect the glow from the room’s dim lights.
Dean looked up, and Castiel felt the sharp drag of a breath rush across his skin when Dean inhaled at the sight. Dean’s knees hit the floor by Castiel’s feet, and his hands, rough and calloused, slid down Castiel’s sides, down the length of his legs to help Cas rid himself off his shoes.
Castiel smiled, steadying himself with a grip on Dean’s shoulder as he raised first one leg and then the other, wings spreading slightly to help keep his balance. Once the shoes were gone, Dean made quick work of Castiel’s dark slacks, dropping both them and the boxers underneath to the floor, where Cas kicked them off completely, still with his hand wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck.
Dean’s mouth latched onto the inside of Castiel’s thigh, teeth grazing the soft skin there, and Castiel could feel the ridge of his alula puff up from that shallow touch alone. He had always loved Dean’s mouth; everything from the fullness of the lips to the crude language which sometimes came pouring out from it. He relished in the feel of Dean’s lips inching up, smoothing over the curve of his hips before turning inwards, closer to the spot where Castiel’s erection had begun to swell, thick and heavy between his legs.
The swipe of a tongue came dangerously close to the base of him, and Castiel’s wings let out a frustrated rustle, making Dean moan breathlessly. The color of the bond instantly turned a molten, deep shade of red as a flash of blatant arousal spiked through it.
“Fuck, I’ve missed that sound…” Dean whispered as he let his hands smooth up the back of Castiel’s thighs. Castiel moved his fingers up from its perch on Dean’s shoulder to card them through his hair, another ripple of excitement travelling through his body.
His breathing had already become slightly laboured, and he had a very hard time resisting the urge to rock his hips forward and towards Dean’s mouth when Dean’s hands grabbed around his backside. Feathers quivered, sending a jolt through his body at the same time as Dean moved in to kiss at the soft skin at the junction between Castiel’s pelvis and thigh, and the fingers in Dean’s hair tightened.
Dean let out a warning growl, his own hand clamping down around Castiel’s wrist in retribution, making him let go.
“Get on the bed,” Dean ordered, and Castiel obeyed, even though he was reluctant to leave the alluring heat of Dean’s mouth behind. His primary feathers dragged over the covers as he positioned himself on his back on the middle of the mattress. He reached under the bedspread and snatched a pillow to prop his back up, relieving the pressure put on the joints of his wings as he lay down.
He then watched as Dean, who was still fully dressed, kicked off his own shoes, dragged the t-shirt over his head, and then climbed onto the bed after him.
“So… just to clarify,” Dean said, spreading fluttering kisses up Castiel’s thighs, hip and torso as he carefully crawled over him on all fours, taking special care not to accidentally put his weight on any of Castiel’s feathers. “You really do know what those cuffs are for?”
Castiel sat up, bracing himself on his elbow and swallowed, breathing in deeply.
“They’re an old form of Enochian magic, passed down to the humans John Dee and Edward Kelley during the sixteenth century,” he began. “It was originally an incantation used to bind an angel to its respective watchtower during communication rituals. To allow for interaction between humans and angels that could not take place in dreams or visions.” He licked his lips, looking up at Dean, meeting his gaze.
“You put those on me, and my angelic powers will become tethered within my vessel. I won't be able to use them, or alter my grace, nor escape the enchanted silver keeping me bound. I’ll be helpless.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Dean asked quietly.
Castiel’s wings shuddered, the dry whisper of feathers whispering through the air.
“Excited,” he admitted. “Maybe… slightly nervous.”
“Not scared?”
“No.” Castiel shook his head, and he opened up the bond wider, sending his trust through the link along with a brush of fingers down Dean’s cheek. “Not with you.”
Something in Dean’s eyes flickered; a hint of something that Castiel, even before they had the bond, had come to learn was Dean attempting to hide how bashful he felt about something. He did a good job of it, but the bond still blushed with the same bright pink color Dean so seldom allowed to tint his cheeks, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sentiment.
“Shut up,” Dean muttered, the blush of the bond darkening slightly before shifting from pink to passionate red when Dean reached into his back pocket, pulling the cuffs out.
“You remember what I told you that one time?” he asked, studying the cuffs thoughtfully before looking back at Castiel. “About chaining you to a bed and taking my time with you? About finding all your sweet spots… Making you beg for me?”
Castiel nodded. He did remember. When it came to Dean, he remembered everything.
Dean’s eyes went up to look him in the eye, gaze clear and concerned as he dangled the handcuffs from the tip of his fingers.
“You won't be able to break free from these,” he said seriously. “But that doesn’t mean that I won’t listen to you if you change your mind. You want out, you let me know first thing, alright?”
“Alright,” Castiel answered obediently.
“Let me know what you’re feeling. Stay here .” Dean tapped his temple, gesturing to the bond inside his head. “I’ll listen.”
Castiel nodded again, and added, Of course.
“Good.” Dean took the cuffs and held them out. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Castiel held out his own arm, and Dean took his time to kiss each and every tip of his fingers before wrapping the silver rivets around his wrist. The moment he did, the cuff sealed itself shut, melting together into one single loop without leaving as much as a crease behind in the smooth silver.
The effect was immediate, and Castiel’s head whirled when he felt his grace slam tight inside his body. He blinked, slumping down heavily against the pillow behind his back.
Cas? Cas, are you okay?
Dean’s worry clouded the bond, almost smothering it, but Cas managed to push through, somehow.
I’m fine, I’m— I just wasn’t expecting the effect to take place so quickly.
Dean’s mind, nauseous with anxiety, drained away, leaving a flutter of concern skating the edges of Castiel’s mind.
I didn’t know that would happen, I swear. Shit, man, I’m sorry, I really didn’t—
“I’m fine , Dean,” Castiel repeated, out loud, glancing up at his captive wrist where the space in between the rivets and his skin was now lined with a faint, blue glow. The cuff hovered, untouched and innocent around the base of his hand, like a silvery little halo, and after a few experimental pulls, Castiel noticed that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the rivets to actually touch his wrists.
The investigational movement of his arm was minuscule, yet it still managed to make him feel close to lightheaded. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog inside it, but stopped in abrupt surprise when he realized what a completely and utterly human gesture it was.
“Put the other on,” he rasped, holding out his remaining free arm for Dean to take. “Please.”
Dean was still suspicious, but he did what Castiel requested nonetheless. Castiel brought both his arms up, allowing Dean to thread the chain through the gaps in the headboard before attaching the second loop around Castiel’s other wrist.
This time, as the surge of lightheadedness swept through him, Castiel barely managed to hold back a groan. It cleared almost immediately, but in its wake, he felt as if his skin had shrunk at least an entire size around him. He was suddenly painfully aware of the way the sheets scratched against his skin, of the way Dean’s body practically radiated with heat, right next to his thigh, and he had never before been this aware of the hot, heavy sense of arousal, curling deep in the pit of his stomach.
Human.
That’s how he felt.
He closed his eyes in an attempt to steady his breathing. He could feel Dean’s concern begin to rise, and he flickered a hasty reassurance through the bond, which – considering Castiel’s now obvious lack of grace control – thankfully seemed to work just as well as before.
Probably, he realized, because Dean was the one holding the channel open, and it struck Castiel how he was indeed now completely at Dean’s mercy.
“This is very…” He swallowed, searching for the word. “Intense.”
“Is it still good?” Dean asked, his hand reaching out to smooth down the centre of Castiel’s chest, and Castiel literally gasped so sharply his ears rang with the sound of it.
Dean’s hand. Dear mercy, his hand…!
It was new. Warmer, more firm and carried more weight. The calluses on Dean’s palm scraped against his skin, sending delicious shivers through him like sparks of electricity.
He sucked down air into his lungs when the touch abruptly left his body, letting it back out with a violent shudder that caused the feathers of his wings to rise like ripples on water.
“Shit…” Dean breathed. Castiel realized, with a sense of looking down at himself from the outside — from Dean — that he had closed his eyes. He squinted them open, peering up at the other man, who in turn was staring down at him with a confused frown on his brow. Castiel was grateful when Dean pushed in against his consciousness, sparing him the effort of trying to explain as Dean examined what had just happened from Castiel’s point of view.
“Wow,” Dean said, eyes wide as the sensations registered inside his own brain. “You’re one sensitive birdie, aren’t you?”
“The cuffs…” Castiel closed his eyes, groaning. “I knew they would make things feel different, but… I didn’t think they would make me feel more .”
“Guess your body registers things a bit differently without your grace wrapped around it, huh?”
“That seems to be the gist of the situation, yes,” he grated. “I believe I will get used to it eventually, I just— I just need a moment.”
Castiel felt the mattress shift when Dean moved, and he flinched, eyes shooting open.
“Woah, woah, I’m not gonna touch you,” Dean promised, holding his hands up in reassurance. “I just wanna try something.”
Hands still up, Dean leaned down, and Castiel sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when Dean puckered his lips and blew air across the skin of his stomach.
“Looks like this will be even more fun than I thought,” Dean grinned, looking up at Cas from his spot, approximately less than a tongue’s length away from Castiel’s hip. The obvious lack of distance between the two made Castiel’s heart beat so fast it almost hurt.
“I don’t think you’d be able to hold back on me right now, even if you wanted to,” Dean added, and Cas let out a silent, relieved breath when the other sat up straight again, lips and tongue on a reassuring distance from the rest of his body.
“So…” Dean said, smirking as his eyes raked down the lines of Castiel’s exposed frame. “Where should we start? How about...” He glanced up at the headboard rising behind Castiel’s body. “… we start at the very top and work our way down?”
Without waiting for an answer, he began to crawl higher onto the bed, slowly manoeuvring himself until he was kneeling right next to Castiel’s torso. Meanwhile, Castiel was more than painfully aware of how close the other man was to the secondary and tertial feathers on the inside of his right wing as he did so. Eyes anxiously tracing each and every movement of Dean’s hands, he couldn’t help but think that considering what a simple touch to his skin had felt like, a similar touch to his wings would surely cause him to black out completely.
He watched as Dean leaned in to loom over him, one hand against the headboard to steady himself while the other brushed a soothing stroke down the top of Castiel’s curled fingers. The touch was featherlight, barely more than a whisper of skin on skin, yet Castiel still had to force himself not to flinch violently from the contact.
“Easy…” Dean cooed, a single finger spreading electricity in its wake as it dragged down to coax Castiel’s hand open. Castiel’s hands were both shaking, a fine, fine tremble shivering its way down the entire length of his arms, and to unfurl the digits from within the sanctuary of his palm required more discipline of his muscles than he would have ever believed possible.
Dean’s hand wrapped around his, soft and caring. Castiel didn’t know what to expect, or what Dean was even planning to do, until Dean’s head disappeared from his peripheral vision, and something warm and wet wrapped itself around Castiel’s left index finger.
It wasn’t pain, and it wasn’t pleasure, yet the sensation of lips and tongue upon his skin sent Castiel’s head reeling. He felt Dean’s question push against the bond, and Cas pushed back, nodding eagerly without moving his head, and Dean moved on to the next finger.
He took his time, kissing each fingertip gently, mouthing down to swipe his tongue in between each digit before sliding his mouth over to Castiel’s thumb, grazing his teeth over the soft webbing between the thumb and index finger.
Castiel tried his best to remain still, even as Dean moved on to his other hand, but when Dean let his tongue slide a wicked, wet streak up the centre of Castiel’s right palm, he couldn’t help but moan. His breathing became even more strained when Dean’s teeth dragged against his wrist, chasing the racing pulse underneath the skin, moving lower.
A lick to the inside of his elbow had him mewling in the back of his throat, the muscles in his arms twitching, causing the silver chain to rattle against the headboard.
He heard Dean chuckle, almost right next to his ear, and it wasn’t until there was actual breath beating against his cheek that he realized exactly how close Dean was, or why that mischievous chuckle suddenly had every single hair on the back of his neck standing on edge
When Dean’s lips closed around the lobe of his ear, Cas almost stopped breathing altogether. Tingles raced down his spine, shooting through his nerves and limbs like stars across the night sky, the room filling up with the unsuppressed rustle of shaking wings.
“I wonder…” Dean purred, and the vibration of his voice travelled through Castiel’s body like a wildfire. “How that little spot of yours feels now…? You know… The one. Right. Here.”
Castiel only managed to produce some sort of unintelligent noise when Dean dipped his head and latched onto the spot just below Castiel’s ear, suckling hard. A choked ‘oh’ was all his brain could come up with that could even be counted as a proper sound, and so he clung to it, using it to ground himself while Dean continued his assault upon his neck.
Dean shifted his weight, pushing himself back, and as he pulled back to move further down the mattress, so did his mouth on Castiel’s body. Down, down, down. Sliding along Castiel’s neck and jugular, down to flutter kisses over his collarbones, tongue dipping into the little creases of his clavicle while Castiel struggled to keep his breathing steady – that same, helpless little ‘oh’ spilling over his lips faster and faster the further down Dean went.
Castiel was so concentrated on the touch of Dean’s lips that when Dean gently slid the tip of his fingers down Cas’s ribs, it was enough to make him physically jolt. His wings beat – or attempted to – once, Castiel’s half lidded gaze darting between the two spots on his skin where Dean was now touching him, unable to decide whether he wanted to push against the touch or shy away from it.
The original, sharp sensation that had come with the cuffs had dulled somewhat, but it was still enough to make him feel overly sensitized. Dean’s mouth and lips were naturally soft and pliant, but his hands were rough; still sharp and acutely raspy against Castiel’s skin. A sort of pleasure-pain that made everything Castiel thought he’d known about human, sexual stimuli haul itself straight out the nearest window.
As Castiel watched, Dean let his hand trail up Castiel’s chest, much like he had before, only much, much slower. Castiel could feel the heat of it like a burning tide as it moved over him, rolling through his senses and drowning out his mind.
Then Dean’s fingers were rubbing over the tip of his left nipple, and Castiel went taut as a bowstring, the air catching in his throat.
“S—Stop…!” he choked. “Wait, Dean, don’t— Don’t touch, don’t—“
“What was that?” Dean smirked teasingly. “You want me to stop?”
“You have to— My skin, I can’t— Dean, please… “
“Aww, I see,” Dean cooed, teasing understanding dripping off his tongue. “Hands are still too rough for you.” The fingers withdrew, and Castiel had just about enough time to drag down a shaky gulp of a breath into his lungs before something smoother, wetter, and hotter flared out across the other side of his chest, laving at his right nipple and sending every single one of his feathers into rigid attention.
There, Dean hummed through the bond, suckling at the nub in between his lips. Much better, right? You like it when I use my tongue on your chest, don’t you?
Castiel smothered the sound he made against the muscle of his bicep, nodding breathlessly.
I take it that means you don’t want me to stop anymore, huh?
Castiel nodded, then shook his head, not sure which would be interpreted as the correct answer, his mouth open and jaw slack against his arm.
I’m gonna need you to be bit more clearer than that, babe, Dean chuckled. Castiel’s breath hitched when Dean turned his attention to Castiel’s half of the bond, which was glowing and pulsing hot, like a fever.
Now, if you really wanted me to stop , Dean mused, adding a little tug of teeth to the skin between his lips, causing the bond to flare even brighter. Then I don’t think the bond would feel and look like that. Judging by this , I’d say you’re having yourself a pretty good time.
Castiel tried to answer, grappling for the edge of the link with a mind that was practically trembling from Dean’s continued assault on his chest, but he missed, his pleasured haze making it impossible to catch.
But I don’t want to jump to conclusions here , Dean added smugly. So I really, really need you to focus for me. Tell me if I should stop. Is that what you want?
“No…!” Cas whimpered, pushing his chest up higher when Dean’s mouth teasingly began to pull back and away. “Want your mouth…”
Yeah, I know, Dean smirked. I love how greedy you are for my mouth on you. Doesn’t really matter where I put it, does it? You’re always aching for it… My lips and my tongue, even my teeth. Kissing you… Licking you…
Castiel nodded again, the skin of his bicep hot and moist with the rapid beats of his own breath.
Do you want me to suck you off, babe? Do you want my mouth on your cock?
Another sound, high pitched and wounded, clawed itself out of Castiel’s throat, his entire being yelling out the ‘yes’ his vocal chords couldn’t form. Dean instantly pulled away, leaving Castiel panting in the middle of the bed, his chest heaving with the effort of gulping air down his lungs. Dean’s eyes trailed down Castiel’s body, the sinful glint of them feeling like hands dragging across his skin, and when his gaze came to a stop at Castiel’s erection his lips pulled up into an evil grin.
“Yeah, you’re all wet and leaky already,” he smiled. A devil’s smile.
“It’s like your body is begging to be touched, if only just a little.” He glanced back up at Castiel from the corner of his eye. “And since my hands are still too rough…”
Dean licked his lips and threw his leg over the top of Castiel’s thigh, straddling it. He looked up at Castiel again, lowering his head down as he dragged the tips of his fingers up the top of the other man’s hips in feathery touches. His mouth opened, the subtle peek of a tongue lavishing the lower lip, and in his chest, Castiel felt his heart give a beat hard enough to cause bruises to the inside of his ribcage. He held his breath as he watched Dean’s mouth come closer, felt the heat of Dean’s breath beat against the flushed skin of his cock, the wet gleam of those full lips hypnotizing.
“Hold on a minute,” Dean said, suddenly sitting back up, leaving Castiel twitching in the wake of a mouth that wasn’t there anymore. “We almost forgot about your wings.”
Castiel gritted his teeth, attempting to bite back a groan of frustration, only to have it come out like a pained sob.
“You’re insufferable,” he whined, attempting a glare in Dean’s direction when Dean got off his leg to stretch out on the bed next to his hip.
“I know,” Dean grinned. “That’s why you love me so much.”
He rolled over on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows to look out across the impressive stretch of Castiel’s wing, chin cradled in his hands.
“It’s been a while since I saw these now,” he murmured, reaching out to run a finger along one of the primary feathers splayed out closest to him. Castiel tensed, fingers curling into the palm of his hands again as the electrical surge from before sparked up through the rachis and up into the rest of the wing. He managed to keep his moan at bay, not wanting to give Dean the satisfaction of hearing him break again quite yet.
“We haven’t had the time,” he grated out, once he trusted his voice again, and Dean hummed an affirmative
“Yeah, there’s been a lot going on lately,” he agreed. “I’ve missed them, though. Especially these,” he added, the tip of his finger reaching up to caress one of the tiny, white speckles on the inner coverts of Castiel’s wing.
“They look a bit like stars,” he said, almost thoughtfully, as if his action had not just caused Castiel to almost spasm right out of his skin. “I don’t think I’ve told you that before… but it was the first thing I thought about when I saw them, after they changed. That, and how much I wanted to touch and kiss each and every one of them…”
Castiel moaned before Dean had even finished the sentence, the thoughts inside Dean’s head having already revealed what he was about to be exposed to. When Dean’s first kiss landed on the white spot closest to him, he had to close his eyes, because there was no way he would be able to watch Dean do that to him. Not now, not like this.
Each touch of lips was like a spark igniting a fire that spread throughout his wings, flames jumping from spot to spot where Dean pressed that wicked, evil mouth against their white speckled pattern. At first, Castiel tried to bite the inside of his cheeks, stifling the whimpers in the back of his throat, but that mission failed in less than ten kisses. He struggled to keep the wing still, not wanting to hurt Dean by accident, but even with all that effort, Dean still had to use his hands to hold him down fully once Cas began to writhe on the bed, panting and gasping broken words and syllables to the ceiling.
“You know, I honestly think there’s more of these spots now than there was before,” Dean grinned gleefully, and Castiel groaned, not even trying to answer.
“I wonder if it’s the same on the other side?”
Castiel’s eyes flared open, staring up at the white plastered ceiling.
Other side.
Wings.
He had two wings.
Oh, no.
Gulping, he watched Dean climb over his body to settle down on the other side. This time, he made a big show of picking out the first spot to kiss, and by the time he finally made his choice, Castiel’s feathers were shaking from the anticipation so badly they were visibly vibrating.
He had no idea if the noises he was making were loud enough to be heard, had Dean not applied the silence spell on their room; all he knew was that he was eternally grateful that Dean had , because controlling his voice was something Castiel would soon be officially incapable of doing.
“You know…” Dean whispered, mouthing lightly down the length of a speckled feather, acting as if he didn’t see the way Castiel was clamping down on his lower lip with his teeth, breathing rapidly through his nose in a final, valiant attempt to keep his vocal cords at bay. “I used to miss your old wings at first.”
Castiel shook, fingers clasping hard around the chain holding the cuffs together.
“Like, they had this cool, shimmering thing going on with all the colors and stuff,” Dean continued, smoothing down one of the big primary wings with the palm of his hand. “But thinking back on them now, it’s like… you know, like they only looked like that because they hadn’t actually decided what to look like yet.”
Fingers pinched around the tip of the feather, twisting it slightly, and Castiel tipped his head back with a wounded groan, pushing the side of his face into his pillow.
“I like this color better,” Dean confessed. “It looks more like you. Feels more like you. This blue streak, right here.”
Dean twisted the feather in his hand again, turning it the other way. Castiel knew that Dean was drinking in the color of his wings, watching the subtle shift of their hue in the light from the lamps around them with those sharp, attentive eyes of his. Dean had taken his time to explore Castiel’s wings before, of course he had, and by now, he knew perfectly well how hard he could pull, tug or twist the feathers to stay on that right side of rough that made Castiel go all weak in the knees.
“Fuck, they’re beautiful…” he heard Dean whisper. “All of you is so fucking beautiful.”
Castiel arched with a gasp when Dean’s mouth found its way back to his chest, accompanied by the scorching touch of fingertips, sliding hard over the surface of his feathers. Dean was saying other things, altering between murmuring praise against his skin and into the delicate downs at the inside of his wings, but Castiel didn’t possess enough clarity of mind to register them properly. Hands suddenly felt as if they were all over at once, rendering Castiel a pleading, shivering mess while his own blunt fingernails clawed at the unyielding metal of the headboard.
“Dean, please,” he whimpered, the desperation causing his voice to crack. “Please, no more…”
“You sure?” Dean drawled, hands slowing, but not stopping completely, and Castiel nearly wailed as he shoved the sentiment through the bond.
Yes!
Dean laughed, but sat up, much to Castiel’s relief, leaning back on his heels.
“You do realize I’m not finished with you yet?” he smirked, and Castiel squinted his eyes open to send him a halfhearted glare.
I never would have guessed , he muttered through the bond, still not trusting his voice enough to deliver sarcasm convincingly.
Dean’s only response was another chuckle, and then Castiel felt a nudge through the bond, prodding gently at the his side of his rib.
I’m gonna need you to turn over, babe. Fold yourself up a little.
Castiel grunted, but did as he was told. His wings felt virtually drained as he curled them against his body, bracing himself on his elbows to twist around. He barely resisted the urge to clip Dean across the back of the head with his left wing when it passed, but then he remembered that in his current condition, that plan might backfire horribly, so he let the moment slip.
Getting on his stomach was a bit of an inconvenience, both because of the fact that Castiel’s cock was still hard, and that the rough drag of sheets against that part of him made him want to do nothing but grind down against the mattress until he came, rough and messy all over the bed.
He managed to contain himself, even if it was just barely, and he sank his head back down onto the pillow when he heard Dean get up and off the bed, relishing in his brief moment of peace. There was a rustle heard when Dean grabbed a bottle of beer from the ice bucket, wringing the cap off. The noise was followed by the faint sound of liquid sloshing when Dean brought the bottle to his mouth, drinking, and Castiel heard the sound of his footsteps as he walked back to the bed.
“Here.” Dean offered him the bottle, and Castiel drank while Dean held the bottle up for him. The beer was cold, and it soothed Castiel’s throat as it went down, pooling in his stomach. Dean looked at him, eyes intently focused on the spot where Castiel’s lips wrapped around the glass container, and when Castiel pulled off with a low exhale, Dean licked his lips, as if he had just seen something he’d very much like to have a taste of.
Dean moved back, the mattress dipped, and Castiel let out a sharp hiss when something icy cold and wet dripped down onto his back.
“Oops,” Dean said, grinning – Castiel didn’t need to see his face to know that. “Looks like the ice left the bottle a bit wet.”
Another dribble of condensation splattered up Castiel’s spine, hitting his wings and sending a shiver through them that caused the ridges to puff up with discontentment. Castiel huffed, grimacing at the cold, when suddenly an overwhelming sense of intent that wasn’t his own flashed through the bond.
Don’t move.
“What?” Castiel asked, twisting around to look when Dean climbed off the bed again. “Why not?”
Dean didn’t answer. He did, however, stalk right back over to the ice bucket and stick his hand down, retrieving an ice cube roughly the size of Castiel’s thumb.
Really ? Castiel asked, giving Dean the mental equivalent of an eyeroll.
C’mon, Dean coaxed, it’ll be fun.
I’m aware. Only question is, for whom?
“Don’t be such a killjoy,” Dean berated with a snort, taking another sip of the beer before setting it down onto the table once more. “People do this all the time,” he assured him, climbing back into bed, ice cube in hand. “It's sexy.”
“It's cold ,” Castiel muttered.
“That's sort of the point, you know,” Dean chuckled.
“I still don't see how a piece of frozen water could possib—”
His sentence ended in a string of garbled, hissing noises as his back first arched, and then fell down, body squirming.
Dean, who apparently found Castiel's reaction to be highly fascinating, repeated his action, and slid the ice cube down the back of Castiel's wings for a second time.
“Now that's an interesting effect,” Castiel heard him say, sounding close to awestruck. The pulse of fascination that went through the bond at the same time had Castiel craning his neck back, twisting around to see what the hell Dean was talking about.
His feathers of his aula were all puffed up and fluffy, instinctively reacting to the cold of the ice, but the very tips of the feathers, which had been pitch black moments before, were all now an inky shade of cobalt blue.
Another drag of ice to his other wing made Castiel gasp and whip his head around, but this time he actually got to see the color of himself shift in the ice’s wake.
Dean reached out, placed his hand gently on the feathers and smoothed them down. The warmth of his skin felt comforting against Castiel’s wing, and when he removed it, the feathers were all black again.
“Dude,” he chuckled, looking back at Cas with gleaming eyes. “You're like a freaking mood ring.”
He turned his attention back to the wing in front of him, pursing his lips as he began to move the ice in quick drags across its surface, making Cas breath turn rapid and shallow.
“Dean…. Was… Here,” he recited proudly, and Castiel released a shaky breath when he felt Dean finish the last word with a flourish of his hand.
“Would you look at that,” Dean mused. “My very own celestial blackboard.”
Castiel shivered, his wings rustling with the movement. He had been wrong about the ice, which was surprising. Normally cold and heat didn't bother him, the grace normally wrapped around his body providing him with excellent neutrality to such elemental factors unless he didn't want it to. Now, that barrier was gone, with no means for him to resurrect it until Dean saw it fit.
Castiel shifted, stifling a groan when his erection rubbed against the sheets as he did so. It wasn't that the ice was unpleasant. Compared to the fire Dean had lit before, the ice was almost soothing, but along with the effect from the cuffs… Castiel honestly wasn't sure about how much he'd be able to take without losing what was left of his composure completely.
Behind his back, Dean had gone back to studying his new, almost-human canvas, with what Castiel would call an unhealthy amount of fascination.
“Let’s see, what else could we write…? How about…?”
He started dragging the ice, droplets of melting water running down the surface of Castiel’s wing, leaving flashing streaks of blue in their wake.
“M… I… N… E…” he spelled out, and Castiel let out a relieved sigh. ‘Mine’. That was a good word. A short , good word.
“Oh, I know just the thing to write on this other one, hold on. What do you think of ‘Property of Dean Winchester’?”
Castiel tensed.
Those were not short words.
Not nearly close to short enough words.
“P… R… O… P…” Dean started, Castiel’s as yet untouched wing twitching when it met with the icy cold in Dean’s hand. “P… E— Wait hold on, there’s only one ‘p’ in there, ain’t it?”
Castiel gritted his teeth, fingers curling around the chains of the cuffs when Dean erased his mistake and continued to write. He was doing it on purpose, Castiel was well aware of that, even without the tell-tale gleam from the bond inside his head.
“O… F… D… E…”
Castiel was squirming. His hips were moving without his consent, rubbing and pushing into the mattress, sending shivers up his spine. He barely managed to keep the rest of him steady, but the longer Dean’s scribbles took, the harder it got. By the time Dean started on his last name, Castiel was shaking so hard the tremors sent his wings rattling.
“Hey, hold still,” Dean scolded, grabbing hold around the base of the wing. “You’re screwing up my letters. And if you do that,” he added, voice dripping honey. “I’m just gonna have to start over, won’t I?”
Castiel groaned, but nodded, and in return Dean rubbed the base of his wings soothingly, sliding his hands to card through the soft downs of his scapular feathers.
In between one breath and another, Castiel’s brain shattered. His breath caught in his throat, his jaw going slack against the pillow and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe …!
“No…!” he choked, fingers clawing at nothing but air. “Dean! Dean please, no, not there, not—”
Dean’s hands left him abruptly, and Cas fell back down, body lax.
“What did I do?” Dean asked sharply as the shock that flared through the bond made both his soul and voice tremble. “Cas, did I hurt you? What happened, are you okay?”
Castiel managed a nod, still panting open mouthed and heavy into the pillow.
“I forgot—” he breathed, swallowing down a groan and a shiver. “It’s been so long, I didn’t—”
“Forgot about what?” Dean asked, the worry in his voice now replaced by confusion. Castiel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Put your hand back…” he mumbled. He could feel the pensiveness through the bond when Dean gingerly placed his hand back at the base of Castiel’s right wing, and the touch made him shudder.
“Lower,” Castiel gulped. “Gently.”
Dean did as he was told, and when he reached the spot, Castiel gasped, his wing beating once in an uncontrolled spasm. Dean hesitated, but then he prodded the spot again, the walnut sized nub at the base of the wing hard beneath his touch.
“What is that?” he whispered, and Castiel swallowed hard, clearing his throat to remove the squawk that threatened to clog it when he opened his mouth to speak.
“Oil glands,” he grated.
“What?” Dean frowned. “I’ve never noticed them before. Are they new?”
“Physically, yes,” Castiel answered. “Technically… no.”
“Dude, I don’t follow. Are they supposed to be there? You’re not sick or anything are you?”
Castiel groaned, smothering Dean’s growing concern with an insistent nudge through the bond.
“These wings are a manifestation of my grace,” he started throatily, figuring he might as well take it from the top. “You know this already. But even if they’re corporeal, they still need a constant flow of grace to maintain their physical form. Birds do the same, using oil glands placed by their tail feathers, but seeing as I don’t have those, the glands needed to be placed elsewhere; their current spot seemingly most suitable.”
He sighed, rubbing his forehead against the pillow.
“I suppose the correct term for them would be grace glands, rather than oil, but I assume you get the picture.”
“Sort of,” Dean admitted, his fingers twitching against Castiel’s skin. “But how come I haven’t noticed them before? Your old wings didn’t have these, I know that much.”
“The first time I manifested my wings in front of you, my grace had basically been depleted. What little I had, I needed to keep in order to keep my body from being torn apart, and the rest I could administer onto the wings from the inside. Call it a necessary rerouting, if you wish. It felt unnecessary, however, to manifest something that would only drain me more and also wasn’t of any use at the time. Besides,” he added. “My old wings were smaller than these are now, and easier to maintain. Adding oil glands felt… pretentious, if that makes sense?
“Huh…”
Dean reached out and ghosted the pad of his finger against the gland again, making Cas shiver.
“Do they hurt?” he asked.
“No.” Cas took a shaky breath. “Quite the opposite, actually…”
The bond, which had been quiet during Castiel’s explanation, suddenly lit up again, curious and excited. Dean’s fingers added a bit more pressure, the slow drag of a thumb joining the digit already brushing against the gland. Castiel gave a stifled cry along with a short, warning tug at the link, and Dean halted himself.
“Dean… These glands excrete pure grace,” Cas said slowly. “Your bond with me makes you able to touch and see them, but you might find the sensation of doing so… difficult.”
“What do you mean?” Dean asked, and a hasty image of seared out eyes flashed through the bond, a memory from Dean’s mind. Castiel did not blame him for the turmoil of emotions that flowed through along with it.
“You remember what it felt like, to have grace rushing through your body?” Castiel said, sending back an image of the two of them, backed up against the door of the Impala on some godforsaken reststop, the scent of fresh rain and the sound of rapid, desperate breathing filling up the air.
“Something like that,” he explained. “You probably won’t be able to—”
“Are you telling me it’s like an aphrodisiac?” Dean cut him off, and Castiel hesitated as the sudden stir of lust that rippled through the bond made him stutter.
“Yes,” he decided simply.
“Well, fuck…”
Dean chuckled, and the hand not positioned around the grace gland came down to rub soothingly over Castiel's lower back.
“I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that this is all new to you too?”
“Very,” Castiel agreed.
“Then I'll go slow,” Dean promised, and added, Keep talking to me .
Castiel nodded, both physically and mentally, to show that he understood.
“Remember to breathe,” Dean said softly, and Castiel nodded again, his breath hitching when he felt Dean move to straddle his back. The touch of denim on skin was rough, but didn’t cause a near-seizure like last time – the weight of Dean’s body was both comforting and exciting all at once. He gasped when Dean’s hands moved, steady and assuring against him, and when the first press of fingers closed around his gland, Castiel buried a strangled moan into his pillow.
He could sense Dean’s reaction through the bond; the surprise, the eagerness, the desire to do things right . He could feel the grace pour out of his physical form, forced through the barrier Castiel himself could not break due to the cuffs around his wrist. Through Dean’s eyes, he saw it; not liquid, not solid, not smoke, but grace . Pure and bright like the centre of a star as it wound itself between human fingers, coating Dean’s palms in its glow.
“Shit…” Dean’s voice came out breathless, and the hand not caressing the gland came up to grab around the frame of the other wing as Dean steadied himself. “Man, that’s some heavy stuff.”
“Dean…” Castiel whimpered, body writhing, and the hot pulse of lust that he had been trying to keep at bay burst through to Dean’s mind, making the human’s fingers curl even tighter around Castiel’s feathers.
“I’m on it,” Dean promised, somewhat breathlessly. “I’m on it. Fuck…”
Dean shifted, and Castiel arched his back, pushing his shoulders up and into Dean's hands as they both came down to rub against both wings. Massaging, rolling and pressing, the touch from Dean's hands had Castiel simultaneously melting into and jolting off the mattress in close to no time at all. Castiel could feel the glands pulse, sending grace flowing down his wings, dripping onto his skin and floating through his feathers; liquid lightning and solid thunder barely contained within its very essence.
Dean dragged his fingers through it, pinched it between his fingers, prodding and investigating, and Castiel wasn't sure which was driving him towards the edge the most; Dean's hands on his wings or Dean's hands in his grace.
Dean, it seemed, wasn't able to decide either. His movements became increasingly twitchy, fingers skidding along with the rapidly increasing sound of Castiel’s breathing. The thighs on either side of Castiel's ribs had begun to squeeze, Dean's hips pushing Castiel's own further into the mattress, unconsciously setting a rhythm for the both of them.
The sheets underneath Castiel's body were wet, he was leaking so much. His head was searing as the bond filled up with so much pleasure and desire it made him incapable of even thinking clearly. Dean was slowly losing his self-control, and Cas could feel the discipline of his movements falter as Dean began to seriously grind down against Castiel’s lower back.
Fuck, Cas… Even inside his head, Dean's voice sounded wrecked, strung out and breathy. Does it feel good for you too? Am I making it good for you, babe?
Castiel couldn't find any words to answer. He simply settled with sending his own sense of touch and emotions on a loop through the bond, making Dean's hips stutter to a stop the moment they hit home.
Holy fuck… Oh, shit, hold on, I wanna try something…
The hands left Castiel’s body, and seconds later Castiel heard the sound of Dean’s zipper coming undone, Dean’s relief punching through the bond as he inched the garment down along with his boxers. Then the hands returned, clamping down around the outer edges of Castiel’s wings and pulled, pushing the two limbs together at the centre of Castiel’s back.
“Oh, yeah, this is awesome…” Dean groaned, and Castiel had to stop himself from crying out when he felt the hard jut of Dean’s cock rub against the grace glands in between his shoulder blades. Oh.
Dean set a pace, and it was fast and hurried, hips working back and forth, rocking them both until Castiel was whimpering and babbling, the stimuli of both wings and sheets rendering him completely incoherent as it turned the grip he held on the bond inside his head molten with each intoxicating thrust. He was going to come unless Dean stopped what he was doing. He didn’t want completion from a hotel bed, he wanted Dean, wanted to feel him properly , taking him apart from the inside out, but he was getting too close.
He couldn’t speak, his throat or brain not capable of forming the words, and so again the only choice he had was to shove his state into the link between them. Dean’s fingers curled around him, fisting his feathers greedily when it came through the other side.
“I know, babe, I know,” he panted, thrusting forward with a low grunt. “I’ll get to it, just let me… take the edge off… so I can fuck you properly…”
Castiel whined, fighting to keep his hips still, to ground himself in the feeling of his teeth biting down on his lower lip. Inside his head, images from Dean’s mind came bleeding through; the sight of Dean holding his wings together, creating friction for his cock to slide against, hard and heavy, the shine of grace coating the flushed skin. Castiel saw it twitch, heard Dean curse, and he shoved the image away with a gasp, boarding the bond up because he couldn’t watch that, not for a second longer, or it would be his undoing.
Dean…!
I’m there… Fuck, I’m right there, Cas… Your wings feel so good. So soft and slick around my cock… Cas, oh, Cas…!
Cas arched, pushing back up and into the palms of Dean’s hands when they tightened around him. Gasping, he felt Dean use his wings as support while the human rode out the orgasm against the base of the Castiel’s wings and back.
Castiel could feel the wet heat that was not his grace seep into his feathers, but the sensation did the exact opposite of quenching the fire roaring inside his body. He wanted Dean, wanted him so much he ached, and he bucked his hips, groaning in frustration when Dean only let out a dazed chuckle, not moving an inch.
“Would you at least let me come down first?” he asked, still chuckling. “I know you’re impatient, but I’m still seeing double here.”
“Impatient is an understatement,” Castiel growled, glaring over his shoulder, to which Dean only hummed, coming down on all fours over Castiel’s back.
“Watch yourself,” he purred against Castiel’s ear. “Or I’ll have you beg for it before I do anything else.”
Castiel bit his lip, goose bumps creeping down his neck and shoulders from the words alone.
See? Dean mused. The thought even turns you on, doesn’t it? Maybe you want me to make you beg, huh?
Castiel’s breath hitched, hips pushing down. The thought was tempting; almost too tempting, but he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Just the thought of going through more of Dean’s sinister torture was enough to have the wave build underneath him once more, and he didn’t want to end it like that.
“No…” he whispered. “No, I want you. All of you.”
Dean hummed again, sounding pleased with his answer, and the muscles in Castiel’s body curled tight when Dean’s lips fluttered slow, teasing kisses down his neck and shoulder.
“What’s the magic word?” he teased, and Castiel winced.
Please. Please , Dean.
He whimpered when teeth grazed against his shoulder blade, just enough to make Castiel’s thoughts lose their coherence, and then Dean’s weight disappeared from Castiel’s back when Dean climbed off.
“Get on your knees, angel.”
Castiel obliged, using the cuffs as leverage as he crawled up on all fours, legs already trembling. Dean waited until he had found his balance before he slotted up behind him, gripping around Castiel's hips with both hands.
“So…” Dean drawled. “I had planned to use this new, warming lube I found to open you up real nice and slow. I figured it could be entertaining. But now…” Dean’s right hand ran up Castiel’s side and up to his back, fingers dragging through the slick mess trailing down his spine.
“Thanks to you, I think I’ve found something much, much better.”
Castiel arched when Dean ran his hand up through his feathers, getting his fingers slick and wet, and he hung his head down between his shoulders, stifling a moan. He wanted to say that he didn’t care, that all he wanted was for Dean to open him up and get inside him already, but he couldn’t do that. For Dean to use his grace for such a purpose… Even if his mind hadn't already been blown wide open from Dean’s previous ministrations, that thought alone surely would have gotten the job done.
“This must make you feel pretty kinky, am I right?” Dean asked, amusement clear in his voice as if he had read Castiel’s mind – which, when Castiel thought about it, probably wasn’t too far from the truth.
“An angel, allowing himself to be bound and fucked open by a human, using his own grace as lube, nonetheless…”
Castiel hissed when Dean gave one of the glands a quick squeeze, gathering more grace into his palm.
“Does it make you feel dirty?” Dean growled, tightening his grip possessively around the hip in his other hand. “Spreading yourself open for me?”
“Only for you,” Castiel groaned. “Only yours…”
Fuck, babe, you know I love it when you talk like that, Dean shivered, and Castiel pushed his body back.
Please, Dean, he pleaded. I want you inside me so badly…
Fingers, slick and warm, pushed in against him, and Castiel gasped as his own fingers grappled for the headboard of the bed. The first digit found its way inside him without resistance, and the fire that raced up Castiel’s spine when Dean began to move it in and out was enough to make his body slump forward and down onto the mattress.
“So pretty for me,” Dean praised. “And all mine.”
“All yours,” Castiel echoed, rocking back eagerly.
“Can’t wait to get inside you.” Dean murmured, a second finger already prodding the furled edges of Castiel’s entrance.
“I’ll make you feel so good, Cas. Gonna fill you up and fuck you so good…”
“Yes… Oh, yes, please…”
Castiel shoved his hips back even further, pressing his forehead against the sheets with a whimper when the second finger breached him.
Oh, how he wanted him inside. It had been too long already, several days since they even touched each other physically, and now this outdrawn onslaught of torture on top of that. He needed Dean, needed him closer, tighter, warmer. Dean... Oh, Dean, Dean...!
“You know, I’m still hard,” Dean confided from behind him, making the edges of Castiel’s wings flare out. “I never even went soft after I came. That grace oil really is amazing.”
Castiel yelped when Dean’s lips came down to mouth at his lower back, fingers thrusting in deeper.
“Maybe we should bottle some, huh?” he murmured. “Keep it around. We could have so much fun with it, Cas, just imagine.”
Yeah, Castiel could imagine. He could imagine many, many things that could be done using his grace, and he suspected that Dean already had a few more ideas that even Castiel himself hadn’t even thought of yet. Such wonderful, wicked things…
Three fingers now, and Castiel’s nails dug into the palm of his hands. Three fingers would be enough, he knew that. It would be tight, and maybe burn a little, but it would be enough, and he couldn’t stand to wait much longer.
“Dean,” he whimpered. “Dean, enough… Please, please , enough already.”
“Yeah, you sound like you’re about ready to go,” Dean gloated, and Castiel’s legs twitched when Dean removed his fingers from inside him, getting of the bed.
Castiel could see, albeit upside down, how Dean walked over to the table with the ice bucket and snatched a few wet wipes from a box there, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. Castiel usually used his grace to clean up unwelcome substances after and during sex, since he could and since it saved them time for other, more interesting activities, but it was a luxury Dean had gotten a bit too used to lately. For Dean to resort to wet pieces of cotton to clean himself up now when Castiel couldn’t was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
He only had a few moments to enjoy himself though, because once Dean had cleaned himself off, he was back on the bed, smoothing his fingers up the backs of Castiel’s thighs.
“You want me inside you, Cas?” he purred as he brought one of his hands up to gather more slickness from Castiel’s back and coating his erection with it. “You want my cock?”
“Yes,” Cas breathes. “I do.”
“Say it,” Dean hissed, lining himself up with a steady grip around Castiel’s hip. “Say it properly.”
“Fuck me,” Castiel mewled. “Fuck me, Dean, please, fuck me.”
“Oh, I’ll fuck you,” Dean promised, already pressing his cock against Castiel’s hole. “You just make sure to enjoy the ride.”
Finally. That was the only thought that went through Castiel’s head when Dean began to push himself inside. Finally, finally, finally.
Dean’s name became a litany, spilling over his lips in breathless whispers as Dean set a slow, dirty pace behind him. It was fast enough to make the breath stutter to a stop in Castiel’s chest, but not fast enough to make him come. It was all hands gripping, hips thrusting, a steady pounding against his insides that ignited stars behind his closed eyelids, and it was glorious.
Dean knew exactly which angle to use, and how hard to hit, and he wasn’t holding back. Every thrust was like a nebula bursting through Castiel’s body, colors and lights filling him up until it was the only thing that existed apart from the slow slide of Dean’s cock inside of him.
His own cock was leaking, practically dripping down onto the covers below, swaying in time with their movements, slapping against his stomach. It was the only stimulation he was getting and he realized, as the pleasure pooled and spiked, but never tipped over, that it wasn’t going to be enough.
Dean wasn’t slowing down, but he wasn’t speeding up either. Castiel had no friction from the sheet anymore, and the lack of touch was slowly beginning to become more frustrating than exciting.
He squinted his eyes open, peering up at the chain connecting the cuffs around his wrists. It was too short to allow him to reach anywhere past his own elbows. Even if he shifted his arms, bringing one up higher than the other, he still couldn’t bring his hand any lower than the middle part of his chest.
“Oh, what’s that?” Dean cooed. “You’re missing a little something?”
Cas slumped down on his elbows, despairingly cursing the sinister streak of Dean Winchester under his breath.
“You wanna touch yourself?” Dean asked, underlining the question with a hard thrust against his prostate. “You wanna jerk yourself off while I fuck you?”
“Want… you to touch…” Castiel groaned, the very thought of Dean’s hand on him making his feathers spike. “Want you…! Mad ozien… olani vnig... “
Dean paused, astonished surprise sparking through the bond.
I heard that, he murmured, almost amazed. You want my hands, is that what you said?
You— You understood? Castiel’s eyes went wide, and Dean chuckled.
‘Your hands’, ‘I need’, Dean repeated, a smug, amber glow seeping through the link. The bond’s a bit hazy, but I think I got the bottom line of it. Dean’s hips snapped forward, making the air catch in Castiel’s throat.
Tell me more , he ordered. What else do you want?
“I— I want…ah!” Castiel cried out, body falling forward when Dean sped up, slamming into him and sending white spots dancing before his vision. “ Noib, mtif oi…! Dean , gil ol carbaf de ollog, Dean…!”
Like this? Dean growled, shoving himself in even further. You like it when I go deep on you? When I bury my cock inside your ass and make you take all of me at once?
Castiel nodded, eyes rolling back into his head.
“ Shod… Ol Hoath, ladnah… ”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Dean panted, slowing down to the cruel, slow pace he had from the start. “If I go faster, you’ll just come. I’m having way too much fun to let that happen so soon.”
“No…” Castiel almost sobbed. “ Olani ipam ol… Mercy… Please, dlvgar ollog ocaoa… ”
“What does that even mean, ‘mercy’, Cas? Should I slow down? Should I stop…? ”
“No!” Cas choked. “No, don’t stop, don’t stop, please…”
“You’re saying you want it faster?”
“Yes!”
Castiel’s answer was barely allowed time to spill over his lips before Dean complied, going back to the vicious rhythm that had Castiel’s heart alternating between skipping beats and stopping completely. His cock twitched, drooling precome onto the sheets, and still Castiel wasn’t coming. It wasn’t enough! He needed hands, needed touch . Needed something, anything, or he was going to lose his mind.
“This is what you wanted?” Dean demanded, underlining the question with another hard shove of his hips. “How does it feel? Tell me how it feels.”
“ Nostoah ial…! ” Castiel gasped, wringing the chains in his hands. “ Mtif malpirg… mtif coraxo…! Mtif ollor oiveae oi loncho loagaeth oadriax…!”
“You wanna come, Cas?”
Castiel nodded, jaw slack, chest heaving.
“Wanna come... “ he whimpered. “Wanna come…!”
Next, there were hands on Castiel’s wings, gripping and carding through feathers, pulling them back, making Castiel arch.
Gonna fucking make you come, Dean growled inside his head, hot and possessive. Gonna make you come all over the fucking bed.
Castiel was burning up, his mind disappearing in a blizzard of pleasure that froze every thought in place. His grace was in turmoil; so much power, caged up inside his body with nowhere to go, nowhere to bury the climax that was about to swallow him up and devour him.
Castiel had always been in control of his grace; even that first time when he and Dean joined in the bond for the first time, had he been aware enough to hold himself back when his grace wanted to explode across the continent and proclaim its joy to the universe.
Now, that control had been wrenched away from him, locked inside his body with no other way to go, without him being able to hold it back. The only thing currently keeping the grace from burning through both him and the entire state they were in was the two loops of etched silver clasped around his wrists. The thought alone was terrifying, and the closer Dean pushed him towards the edge, the more he realized that he feared what would happen once he went over it.
Castiel was familiar with the concept of rollercoasters, even if he had never been on one himself. Up until that point, he had never really understood why humans enjoyed them so much. To put yourself, willingly, in a place you both enjoyed and feared at the same time had always sounded absurd to him. Now, however, he believed he had come to understand the objective a little bit better.
But this was not a rollercoaster, nor an amusement park. This was bigger, and far, far more dangerous should something go wrong, yet even though he struggled to stop it, he could feel himself unravel, slowly, like a rope snapping, one strand at a time.
Dean…!
He had to tell him, to warn him about what was about to happen, what might happen. He reached out, clawing at the bond; the only spot of his conscience that burned brighter than the climax singeing the edges of his mind.
Dean… Oi qvasahi, I can’t— Oi molvi qvasahi…!
The pleasure was too much, too big, he couldn’t hold it back. He felt the wave rise; a horrible sensation of drowning beneath a crushing wave of euphoria. Then, Dean was there, weaving calm into his thoughts with the silent brush of his fingers.
It’s okay, Cas, I know. Just let go. Trust me.
Perhaps it was the reassurance of his mind, or maybe the request of Dean’s final words that made him give in, Castiel couldn’t tell. He felt his grace crackle, the borders between his physical body and his celestial one smearing and blurring together in a fraction of a moment, and then he came.
Voiceless, soundless. Suspended in a void that wasn’t a void, but filled with the light of every star and galaxy to ever live amongst the heavens. Burning with the light of a million suns, his grace flared out, breaching through the barrier, and Castiel felt his wings unfurl from the skin on his back; arching, stretching and curling around physical air for the very first time.
Six wings.
And all his.
They were large, but not as large as they could have been, the power of the silver cuffs keeping them restricted to the same proportions as his human body as they crackled and sung, filling the air of the room with jubilant sound and electrifying grace. From seemingly miles away, Castiel heard Dean gasp, the bond swelling with surprise and reverence before finally overflowing with the ecstasy of Dean’s second orgasm, wringing the last piece of Castiel’s self restraint from his body.
He came, again; body arching, limbs writhing and muscles spasming as he shook through the climax, burying his slack-jawed scream into the depths of the pillows below. When his air finally ran out, his throat felt raw, his vocal cords aching, but he simply couldn't find any strength to care.
His legs barely had enough strength left to keep the weight of his body up. He knew that Dean had to still be grasping around his hips to keep him upright, even though every single part of his skin was tingling so much he couldn't pinpoint what was actual physical touch and what was not.
He did feel it when Dean slid out of him, however, and the final, slow drag against his prostate sent his limbs quaking yet again. Unable to hold himself up any longer, he crashed down onto the bed, wincing into the pillow with a voice he barely recognized as his own, feeling the mattress dip when Dean tumbled down next to him.
There was a moment of fiddling, and then Castiel heard Dean mumble something under his breath. With a faint click the handcuffs came undone and Castiel's hands dropped down with two low thuds against the covers.
Castiel groaned and squinted a quick look up at his hands. There was not a mark on them or his wrists, the protective magic of the cuffs having done their job. He pulled the limbs down, dragging his fingers through his hair once, hard, before folding them underneath his head.
He was so lost in the content of his own afterglow that he didn't realize that Dean was still quiet, until he felt a pensive prod against the edge of his consciousness, like a light tap on the shoulder.
He opened his eyes, looking over at Dean from underneath hooded eyelids, and found Dean flat on his back with his eyes staring at a spot right above Castiel's shoulder.
What? He asked, too tired to form the question with his mouth. Dean's eyes flickered towards him, a quick stupefied little glance before they returned to the same spot again.
Are they—? I mean, do they… go away after a while, or…?
Castiel blinked. Then he blinked again, stretching the muscles of his back slowly, eyes widening when the sound of six feather clad limbs rose over him in response.
“Oh.”
He had forgotten about that.
Rising onto his elbows, he twisted around, looking at the two new sets of wings that had manifested on his back. The top pair was dark, with tips dipped in white. The other two, the ones sitting just below his original pair, were the same metallic shade of iridescent blue that the lower tips of his centre pair were.
Still looking, he stretched the wings out, testing the feel and weight of them against the air. They didn't weigh that much, of course. Not more than he wanted them to, anyway, but even he had to admit that the sight was pretty impressive.
Dean, apparently, had the same opinion, if the size of his pupils and the gape of his mouth were of any indication.
“Dude…” he breathed, staring at the wings. He sounded as if he was about to say something more, but nothing came. Instead, Castiel felt a new, longing sensation ripple through the bond, and he smiled, bringing one of the top wings down to his side.
“Go ahead,” he offered. “You don't have to ask.”
Looking as if Castiel has just caught him with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar, Dean slowly reached his hand out and let his palm slide down the ridge of the black wing.
The action did not provoke the same raw sensation of pleasure as the touch had when he had the handcuffs on, but Castiel trembled nonetheless. It felt nice, like the way a specific tune in a song could make shivers rush down your spine, and Castiel sighed with contentment, allowing his head to fall back down onto the pillow.
Dean continued to pet him, even if Dean himself would never call it that, and Castiel relished in the feeling of fingers combing through never before touched feathers and downs. Once he decided that one wing had received enough attention, he rolled over on his side, stretching another one out for Dean to scrutinise.
“You never told me you had six wings,” Dean mumbled, stroking the tip of his fingers down the primary feathers of the lower left wing that was currently in his grasp.
“I am a Seraph, after all,” Castiel answered drowsily. “I assumed you knew.”
“Well, I kind of did know,” Dean muttered, sounding displeased. “I just never… thought about it before, I guess.”
He grumbled something under his breath, the bond throbbing.
“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, tucking his wings in under himself to roll over on his opposite side to face his husband.
“I'm fine,” Dean muttered. “I just feel a headache coming on.”
“That's understandable,” Castiel pointed out soberly. “You've been handling and staring straight at raw grace for almost half an hour. A normal human would have been dead by now.”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Cas.”
“Dean.”
Dean turned his head, squinting at him, and Castiel reached out his hand, stroking it down the side of Dean's face.
“We're bonded, you and I. My grace is no threat to you anymore, not like before when the bond was still new and raw, but it's only my grace. If you attempt to look at another angel's grace, in any way or form, you will get hurt, do you understand?”
Dean nodded, insight blooming in the other side of their connection, and Castiel smiled.
I don't want anything to happen to you, beloved.
Geez, Cas, Dean mumbled, the bond turning a faint shade of embarrassed pink. You're such a sap, you know that?
Just promise to be careful.
Yeah, yeah I promise. Seriously, he added when Castiel frowned at him. I'll be careful, I swear.
Good, Castiel nodded, wings puffing out with satisfaction.
“So.” Dean cleared his throat, and then he reached down to pinch one of the wings sticking up over Castiel's hip. “Tell me more about these. If you've always had three pairs, how come you've only ever showed me one pair before? Even that first time in the barn, with the shadows, you still only showed me two wings. Why?”
Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Dean, when was the last time you saw an angel depicted with more than two wings? If I had showed myself to you, or anyone else for that matter, wearing all six from the start, chances were that you would have taken me for some sort of monster rather than a messenger of God.”
Dean bit his lips, seemingly mulling the thought over.
“As for why I haven't manifested all six until now, it’s also rather simple,” Castiel continued. “When I did it the first time, we needed to remain inconspicuous to outsiders, so one pair seemed more than enough. After that, manifesting more would have been merely inconvenient. Manoeuvring one set of wings inside a human household is complicated; doing it with three is near impossible, even if I use my grace to make them go through furniture and walls. They take too much space and effort. Also, doorways become a downright nightmare…”
Dean snorted out a laugh at Castiel's last comment, and a hasty, rather humiliating image of Castiel, stuck in the doorway to Bobby’s study, flashed through the bond.
Not flattering, Dean , Castiel commented dryly, upon which Dean gave the bond a teasing squeeze.
“I guess that means it would be too hard for you to, you know, manifest all three pairs all the time?” Dean asked, voice sounding merely curious while the bond struggled to remain as indifferent as possible.
Castiel's lips quirked up in a smile.
“I honestly hadn't even considered the thought before. The other two pairs don't really have a use here in the physical world, so I suppose I just forgot about them.”
“How the hell do you ‘forget’ four parts of your own body? That's like me forgetting an arm or some shit,” Dean commented with a snort, but Castiel ignored it.
“To answer your question, I could manifest all my wings in the future as well, if that's what you want,” he said simply. “But not for long periods of time. Perhaps, for more intimate moments only?”
Dean's face lit up, and he licked his lips.
“Intimate sounds good enough for me,” he agreed. Wrapping his arm around Castiel's waist, he pulled him in closer, nuzzling against the side of Castiel's neck. “You know, we have the room until tomorrow morning…” he purred. “And I don't know about you, but I'd love to get a bit more hands on with those new limbs of yours before you have to put them away again.”
Castiel chuckled, feathers rustling.
“It is nice to let them stretch out a little,” he agreed, demonstrating his point by reaching three of his wings around to wrap around Dean's body, feeling the other man stiffen.
Dude, if you even think about tickling me with those, I'll cuff you to the bed again, Dean warned, the sentence coming through the bond with a nervous rattle.
I'm appalled by your accusation, Dean, Castiel objected proudly. I am a being of dignity and morale, I would never resort to such dirty tricks.
“Yeah, yeah, you're a proper little angel,” Dean muttered, a smile tugging at the corner of the bond even as he said it.
“ Your angel,” Castiel pointed out. “Unless you've changed your mind, of course.”
“Never,” Dean growled against his shoulder, pulling him in tighter.
Castiel laughed, but wriggled away again, putting a few inches between his and his bond mate's faces so that he could look Dean in the eye before leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips.
Happy anniversary, Dean. And thank you.
Dean didn't respond right away, but the bond instantly shifted into a bright, pleased green at the words, before slowly morphing into a glowing ember red hue as Dean deepened the kiss, pulling Castiel's wings in tighter around himself.
You're welcome, Cas. Happy anniversary.