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tracy_loo_whoAhahahha, I had way too much fun writing this one. Way too much fun. :">! ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darksilvercat, I hope it cheers you up a little, bb. ♥
Title: Quiet Enough So Sam Won't Hear from the Motel
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,800
Notes: This is an outtake from Where All Paths Lead, though it can be read as a stand-alone PWPish thing. Fordarksilvercat, who requested a series of porny one-shots based on part of that fic. This is the third.
Summary: It will happen everywhere: against the wall (hard and fast), in Dean's car (quiet enough so Sam won't hear from the motel), on a grassy hill that wouldn't still be there if it weren't for them (breathless and intoxicated on triumph), in the ruins of a town they fail to save (dirty and desperate).
The three of them are sitting around in the motel watching TV when Castiel discovers a new use for his wings. Well, Dean and Sam are watching TV; Castiel is only here because Dean wanted to introduce him to the joys of brain-numbing entertainment. Castiel isn't feeling very joyed or entertained, though, and it's not because he doesn't have the capacity to. He remembers joy in those sudden, fleeting smiles Dean gives him sometimes, the ones that seem to take Dean by surprise, too, as if he never meant for them to happen. He remembers entertainment in the jokes Dean delivers with such smug grins and laughing eyes that Castiel needs to kiss him, even if the joke is at the expense of angels.
But right now, there is no joy or entertainment -- Dean isn't even looking at him -- and Castiel wants to rediscover both before he forgets either, needs to feel them again even though he's not supposed to. Because he's not supposed to. The thought scares him, as it always does, and also as always, it makes him crave Dean's closeness because when Dean is close, touching him and holding him and whispering to him, Castiel can close his eyes and pretend that everything will be okay, if only for a few moments. It's such a weak, human thing to do, he knows, but that has long since ceased to concern him.
He glances over at Dean, sitting on the couch next to his brother with his hand on a beer and his eyes glued to the women in the TV. Castiel is sitting on the lone recliner a little ways away, but even that small distance is too much right now. It is not, however, too much a distance for his wing to stretch across, so he lets an invisible, silent wingtip brush across Dean's jaw. Dean startles so badly he nearly spills his beer, and then holds so still Castiel thinks he might have stopped breathing under Sam's mildly concerned scrutiny. A moment later Sam apparently decides there is nothing wrong with his brother that requires immediate attention, and returns to watching the TV. Dean lets out a slow breath and glares at Castiel.
Castiel isn't fazed in the least. He continues to caress Dean's skin with his wing, trailing feathers across his cheek and under his jaw and down the length of his neck. Dean is still glaring, but the way he subconsciously tilts his head back just a little to give Castiel more access to his neck softens the effect of the glare. Sam glances at him again, and Dean tries to pass it off with a stretch, straightens his legs and puts his arms over his head and arches his body. This does two things simultaneously: it reminds Castiel of the way Dean's sweaty, naked body arches under his hands and wings in pleasure, and it exposes a sliver of skin on Dean's stomach because his shirt rides up.
That sliver of skin draws both Castiel's eyes and his wingtip to it, and he slides soft feathers across Dean's stomach and under his shirt. Dean shivers once and grabs the pillow on the couch between him and Sam, pulls it against his body to hide either the way his shirt is apparently lifting up of its own accord or the way his jeans are beginning to dent in the middle, Castiel isn't sure. Probably both. Castiel covers Dean's entire stomach with soft, cool feathers, and the longest one brushes against his left nipple before trailing down the center of his chest, the hard muscles of his abdomen, the dip of his bellybutton, the light dusting of hair that leads into his pants.
Dean's eyes darken, and he has completely forgotten about the women in the TV. All of his focus is now on Castiel. Castiel smiles and drags his wing down further, over the now quite noticeable bulge there. Dean chokes a little and when Sam purses his lips and looks over at him a third time, he gives his brother a weak smile and pretends it was the beer rather than the invisible wing between his legs, the one currently moving across his balls and making him twitch. It takes Sam longer to look away this time, and when he finally does, Dean mouths the words "I'm gonna kick your angel ass" at Castiel. Not that Castiel has mastered lip reading, but the sentiment is difficult to miss. He smiles serenely at Dean -- feels entertained -- and his feathers make their way back up the length of the bulge. But his gaze is hungry as Dean's glare becomes unfocused and his legs part ever so slightly, and perhaps Sam's failure to be suspicious about this says something about how frequently and intently Castiel usually stares at Dean.
He strokes Dean like this for several minutes, up and down, his wingtip soft yet powerful, pressing in firmly at times and then when Dean starts trembling, starts breathing too hard and tensing too much and getting too close, Castiel lightens up, teases with barely any pressure at all, gives him a moment to come back down a little before Castiel begins all over again. That's when Dean squirms on the couch and squeezes his eyes shut and looks like he might cry, or scream, or both. But he does neither, only opens his eyes again and locks them on Castiel's, and there are so many different shades of green in them: pained, blissful, embarrassed, pleading, needing -- who knew each had its own special shade of Dean-green? Castiel is absolutely fascinated, thinks he can even ignore his own, matching need long enough to unravel Dean and see exactly how many colors there are in his eyes.
But Dean has other ideas, apparently. He makes a frustrated noise and stands up, careful to angle his body away from Sam so his brother won't see how impossibly hard he is. "Dude, what's up with you tonight?" Sam asks, concern warring with irritation.
"Nothin'," Dean replies, voice gruff and strained. "Just need some fresh air is all." And then he throws one more daring, dirty look at Castiel before he stalks out of the motel and slams the door. If his gait is stiff and uncomfortable, Sam doesn't comment. He merely gives Castiel a questioning look.
"I will go check on him," Castiel says, and he is proud of how even his voice is. But he is more or less facing Sam and doesn't think he should stand up, doesn't think even the trench coat would hide his physical reaction to Dean, so he disappears before the human's eyes and flies out to find Dean almost at his car.
Castiel gets there before Dean does, lands between Dean and the car, and Dean doesn't even pause before he throws his half-finished beer to the side, grabs the front of Castiel's coat, and uses his momentum to shove Castiel back onto the hood of the car. Castiel thinks for a wild moment that it's a good thing Dean didn't park in front of the motel window like he usually does. "You feathery son of a bitch," Dean growls, eyes dangerous and dark and lustful, and they are so close Castiel can see even more colors in them, now.
"I am a feathery son of God, Dea--" he responds absently, but Dean doesn't care. Dean covers his open mouth and swallows his words, and there is something about the frenzied way in which he does this that gives Castiel the impression he would probably try to have sex with an electrical socket if there was nothing else available. It's a good thing Castiel is available, then, and he is -- available to Dean in every sense of the word, laid flat and spread open on the hood of Dean's car, completely and utterly Dean's to do with as he wishes. Even the constant presence of his Father in his thoughts is washed away by Dean tearing at his clothes until he is naked, until both of them are, until Dean's naked body is finally, finally pressed against his own, everywhere, and Dean is licking and biting his jaw, his neck, his shoulder.
Castiel moans unashamedly, but Dean swallows that, too. "Can't let Sammy hear," he pants into Castiel's mouth as he rubs his entire body against him, mindlessly. "Can't wait any longer, can't take any more of this, I need -- can I be inside you? I need, god, Cas, I need you, your wings, you, please please please please.." and on and on until Castiel lifts him bodily up and off of him just long enough to open the door and crawl into the back seat with Dean still in one arm, and if he wasn't an angel this would be an incredibly difficult task. But Castiel is an angel, and he can do things like flip them over effortlessly in such cramped confines so that Dean is on top and they are pressed together once more and creating friction all over.
"Lube," Dean breathes, and Castiel can do that, too, can draw oil from nothing, so he does, and then Dean is sliding into him. It stretches him and fills him and it hurts, but when Dean reaches a hand between them to wrap it around Castiel's cock, his pain gives way to pleasure. And then there's more pleasure, somewhere deep inside his body, somewhere Dean's cock keeps brushing against on each long stroke, somewhere that makes Castiel mewl in ecstasy and cling to Dean with hands and legs and wings. Dean doesn't even bother to quieten him this time because he can't, doesn't have the mental faculties anymore to do anything but thrust and stroke and thrust and stroke. Neither of them last long -- it's too much -- and soon all of that searing heat in Castiel explodes and he covers Dean's hand and both their stomachs with his slick, wet pleasure. Dean comes, too, above him, around him, inside him, fingers fisted in the strong feathers of Castiel's wings and entire body shuddering against waves of sweet release.
He doesn't even bother to pull out before he collapses on top of Castiel, eyes closed and panting and sweating. They feel so joined, in a way that Castiel hasn't felt before, in a way that's more than just flesh, in a way that makes something in his chest flutter. His arms and legs and wings are still wrapped around Dean, and he doesn't relax them. He doesn't move at all because he is too busy feeling joy. And like everything will be okay after all, because how could it not when Dean is here with him, so warm and so safe and so content?
Eventually Dean lets out a soft, shaky laugh, and his breath tickles the back of Castiel's ear. "I'm still gonna kick your angel ass, you know," he tells Castiel as he nibbles on and kisses his ear.
Castiel shivers gently, smiles, and says, "Okay, Dean."
fin.
darksilvercat, I hope it cheers you up a little, bb. ♥Title: Quiet Enough So Sam Won't Hear from the Motel
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,800
Notes: This is an outtake from Where All Paths Lead, though it can be read as a stand-alone PWPish thing. For
darksilvercat, who requested a series of porny one-shots based on part of that fic. This is the third.Summary: It will happen everywhere: against the wall (hard and fast), in Dean's car (quiet enough so Sam won't hear from the motel), on a grassy hill that wouldn't still be there if it weren't for them (breathless and intoxicated on triumph), in the ruins of a town they fail to save (dirty and desperate).
The three of them are sitting around in the motel watching TV when Castiel discovers a new use for his wings. Well, Dean and Sam are watching TV; Castiel is only here because Dean wanted to introduce him to the joys of brain-numbing entertainment. Castiel isn't feeling very joyed or entertained, though, and it's not because he doesn't have the capacity to. He remembers joy in those sudden, fleeting smiles Dean gives him sometimes, the ones that seem to take Dean by surprise, too, as if he never meant for them to happen. He remembers entertainment in the jokes Dean delivers with such smug grins and laughing eyes that Castiel needs to kiss him, even if the joke is at the expense of angels.
But right now, there is no joy or entertainment -- Dean isn't even looking at him -- and Castiel wants to rediscover both before he forgets either, needs to feel them again even though he's not supposed to. Because he's not supposed to. The thought scares him, as it always does, and also as always, it makes him crave Dean's closeness because when Dean is close, touching him and holding him and whispering to him, Castiel can close his eyes and pretend that everything will be okay, if only for a few moments. It's such a weak, human thing to do, he knows, but that has long since ceased to concern him.
He glances over at Dean, sitting on the couch next to his brother with his hand on a beer and his eyes glued to the women in the TV. Castiel is sitting on the lone recliner a little ways away, but even that small distance is too much right now. It is not, however, too much a distance for his wing to stretch across, so he lets an invisible, silent wingtip brush across Dean's jaw. Dean startles so badly he nearly spills his beer, and then holds so still Castiel thinks he might have stopped breathing under Sam's mildly concerned scrutiny. A moment later Sam apparently decides there is nothing wrong with his brother that requires immediate attention, and returns to watching the TV. Dean lets out a slow breath and glares at Castiel.
Castiel isn't fazed in the least. He continues to caress Dean's skin with his wing, trailing feathers across his cheek and under his jaw and down the length of his neck. Dean is still glaring, but the way he subconsciously tilts his head back just a little to give Castiel more access to his neck softens the effect of the glare. Sam glances at him again, and Dean tries to pass it off with a stretch, straightens his legs and puts his arms over his head and arches his body. This does two things simultaneously: it reminds Castiel of the way Dean's sweaty, naked body arches under his hands and wings in pleasure, and it exposes a sliver of skin on Dean's stomach because his shirt rides up.
That sliver of skin draws both Castiel's eyes and his wingtip to it, and he slides soft feathers across Dean's stomach and under his shirt. Dean shivers once and grabs the pillow on the couch between him and Sam, pulls it against his body to hide either the way his shirt is apparently lifting up of its own accord or the way his jeans are beginning to dent in the middle, Castiel isn't sure. Probably both. Castiel covers Dean's entire stomach with soft, cool feathers, and the longest one brushes against his left nipple before trailing down the center of his chest, the hard muscles of his abdomen, the dip of his bellybutton, the light dusting of hair that leads into his pants.
Dean's eyes darken, and he has completely forgotten about the women in the TV. All of his focus is now on Castiel. Castiel smiles and drags his wing down further, over the now quite noticeable bulge there. Dean chokes a little and when Sam purses his lips and looks over at him a third time, he gives his brother a weak smile and pretends it was the beer rather than the invisible wing between his legs, the one currently moving across his balls and making him twitch. It takes Sam longer to look away this time, and when he finally does, Dean mouths the words "I'm gonna kick your angel ass" at Castiel. Not that Castiel has mastered lip reading, but the sentiment is difficult to miss. He smiles serenely at Dean -- feels entertained -- and his feathers make their way back up the length of the bulge. But his gaze is hungry as Dean's glare becomes unfocused and his legs part ever so slightly, and perhaps Sam's failure to be suspicious about this says something about how frequently and intently Castiel usually stares at Dean.
He strokes Dean like this for several minutes, up and down, his wingtip soft yet powerful, pressing in firmly at times and then when Dean starts trembling, starts breathing too hard and tensing too much and getting too close, Castiel lightens up, teases with barely any pressure at all, gives him a moment to come back down a little before Castiel begins all over again. That's when Dean squirms on the couch and squeezes his eyes shut and looks like he might cry, or scream, or both. But he does neither, only opens his eyes again and locks them on Castiel's, and there are so many different shades of green in them: pained, blissful, embarrassed, pleading, needing -- who knew each had its own special shade of Dean-green? Castiel is absolutely fascinated, thinks he can even ignore his own, matching need long enough to unravel Dean and see exactly how many colors there are in his eyes.
But Dean has other ideas, apparently. He makes a frustrated noise and stands up, careful to angle his body away from Sam so his brother won't see how impossibly hard he is. "Dude, what's up with you tonight?" Sam asks, concern warring with irritation.
"Nothin'," Dean replies, voice gruff and strained. "Just need some fresh air is all." And then he throws one more daring, dirty look at Castiel before he stalks out of the motel and slams the door. If his gait is stiff and uncomfortable, Sam doesn't comment. He merely gives Castiel a questioning look.
"I will go check on him," Castiel says, and he is proud of how even his voice is. But he is more or less facing Sam and doesn't think he should stand up, doesn't think even the trench coat would hide his physical reaction to Dean, so he disappears before the human's eyes and flies out to find Dean almost at his car.
Castiel gets there before Dean does, lands between Dean and the car, and Dean doesn't even pause before he throws his half-finished beer to the side, grabs the front of Castiel's coat, and uses his momentum to shove Castiel back onto the hood of the car. Castiel thinks for a wild moment that it's a good thing Dean didn't park in front of the motel window like he usually does. "You feathery son of a bitch," Dean growls, eyes dangerous and dark and lustful, and they are so close Castiel can see even more colors in them, now.
"I am a feathery son of God, Dea--" he responds absently, but Dean doesn't care. Dean covers his open mouth and swallows his words, and there is something about the frenzied way in which he does this that gives Castiel the impression he would probably try to have sex with an electrical socket if there was nothing else available. It's a good thing Castiel is available, then, and he is -- available to Dean in every sense of the word, laid flat and spread open on the hood of Dean's car, completely and utterly Dean's to do with as he wishes. Even the constant presence of his Father in his thoughts is washed away by Dean tearing at his clothes until he is naked, until both of them are, until Dean's naked body is finally, finally pressed against his own, everywhere, and Dean is licking and biting his jaw, his neck, his shoulder.
Castiel moans unashamedly, but Dean swallows that, too. "Can't let Sammy hear," he pants into Castiel's mouth as he rubs his entire body against him, mindlessly. "Can't wait any longer, can't take any more of this, I need -- can I be inside you? I need, god, Cas, I need you, your wings, you, please please please please.." and on and on until Castiel lifts him bodily up and off of him just long enough to open the door and crawl into the back seat with Dean still in one arm, and if he wasn't an angel this would be an incredibly difficult task. But Castiel is an angel, and he can do things like flip them over effortlessly in such cramped confines so that Dean is on top and they are pressed together once more and creating friction all over.
"Lube," Dean breathes, and Castiel can do that, too, can draw oil from nothing, so he does, and then Dean is sliding into him. It stretches him and fills him and it hurts, but when Dean reaches a hand between them to wrap it around Castiel's cock, his pain gives way to pleasure. And then there's more pleasure, somewhere deep inside his body, somewhere Dean's cock keeps brushing against on each long stroke, somewhere that makes Castiel mewl in ecstasy and cling to Dean with hands and legs and wings. Dean doesn't even bother to quieten him this time because he can't, doesn't have the mental faculties anymore to do anything but thrust and stroke and thrust and stroke. Neither of them last long -- it's too much -- and soon all of that searing heat in Castiel explodes and he covers Dean's hand and both their stomachs with his slick, wet pleasure. Dean comes, too, above him, around him, inside him, fingers fisted in the strong feathers of Castiel's wings and entire body shuddering against waves of sweet release.
He doesn't even bother to pull out before he collapses on top of Castiel, eyes closed and panting and sweating. They feel so joined, in a way that Castiel hasn't felt before, in a way that's more than just flesh, in a way that makes something in his chest flutter. His arms and legs and wings are still wrapped around Dean, and he doesn't relax them. He doesn't move at all because he is too busy feeling joy. And like everything will be okay after all, because how could it not when Dean is here with him, so warm and so safe and so content?
Eventually Dean lets out a soft, shaky laugh, and his breath tickles the back of Castiel's ear. "I'm still gonna kick your angel ass, you know," he tells Castiel as he nibbles on and kisses his ear.
Castiel shivers gently, smiles, and says, "Okay, Dean."
fin.
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Date: 2009-01-11 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 07:05 pm (UTC)*applause*
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Date: 2009-01-11 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 07:08 pm (UTC)I like how you write Castiel. Dean and Sam are perfect, as well, clearly, but after four seasons, that's easier to do. But the dialogue between the three of them fits perfectly.
You know what, though, you kinda owe Sammy some demon porn, just because he must feel awfully neglected by now.
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Date: 2009-01-11 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 07:46 pm (UTC)I need a shower now.
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Date: 2009-01-11 07:47 pm (UTC)I really enjoyed your Sam! He definitely was Sam, no doubt about it, and I liked that. Too often is Sam poorly portrayed in Dean/Castiel fanfiction. Castiel was delightfully devious in his own angel way, and Dean's reactions were wonderful. I really enjoyed this.
Thank you for sharing~♥
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Date: 2009-01-11 07:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 08:02 pm (UTC)Actually I think Dean and Sam are harder to write because they're so.. established already, and I'd never written them before Castiel came on board. But yay, I'm glad you like them!
That's what other people are for. :| You know, the ones who actively ship Sam/Ruby. Which I don't, even though I don't mind them.
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Date: 2009-01-11 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 08:08 pm (UTC)I'm relieved you liked Sam! This was my first time writing him at all, actually, so I kept his dialog to a minimum for fear of botching him. Hearing that you think he was written well means a lot to me.
Thank you thank you thank you! ♥♥♥
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Date: 2009-01-11 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 08:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 08:25 pm (UTC)*loves you and all that you do*
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Date: 2009-01-11 08:29 pm (UTC)http://big-heart-june.livejournal.com/96195.html#cutid1
I love you for bringing the hotness with the wing porn.::hugs::
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Date: 2009-01-11 08:35 pm (UTC)Seriously, this was so beautiful and hot. Loved teasing Castiel with his wicked angel ways, and desperate Dean intent on revenge/mutual joy. Could not be yummier!
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Date: 2009-01-11 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 09:39 pm (UTC)