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tracy_loo_whoLast one, you guys. Sappiest one yet, I think, but I'm just glad I got it done before tomorrow. (OMGOMGOMG TOMORROW!!) Thank you so, so much to everyone who's ever commented on one of my fics -- you guys are what keeps this utter amateur writing. ♥♥♥
Title: Breathless and Intoxicated on Triumph
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,700
Notes: This is an outtake from Where All Paths Lead, though it can be read as a stand-alone PWPish thing. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darksilvercat, who requested a series of porny one-shots based on part of that fic. This is the fourth and last.
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).
See that angel over there? Yeah, the one smiting evil without so much as dirtying his ridiculous trench coat. He's mine. The battle is over, but as Castiel stands alone on the hill watching Dean help disoriented victims below, he lets those words wash over him again. Through him. Who would have thought that the love of a mortal could empower an angel in the same way that God's love can? Just as his Father's blessing gave Castiel the strength to dive into the heart of Hell's fires, so Dean's words fueled Castiel's grace and made it burn bright enough that he could draw a Devil's Trap into the sky with clouds. His vessel is unchanged but Castiel himself is bigger now, brighter and more glorious and terrifying to behold than ever, if only Dean could stand to look upon him. But he can't, so Castiel remains in this human form and waits for him, marvels at him.
When the last survivor wanders off, Dean turns and looks up at Castiel and gives him a lopsided, triumphant grin. There is a bloody gash on his cheek that must hurt considering the size of his grin, and as he comes up the hill, Castiel reaches a hand out to heal it as he always does after a battle. But Dean catches his wrist and pulls him into an embrace instead. It's loose and kind of awkward because they haven't done this before -- hug just for the sake of hugging -- and Castiel's nose gets smushed against Dean's shoulder, but he figures it out quickly enough. Tilts his head up until his chin is resting on Dean's shoulder instead and tentatively circles Dean's body with his arms. Dean is still a little breathless, still vibrating from adrenaline, and he feels very alive against Castiel. It feels, for lack of a better word, good, this moment of shared victory and camaraderie. Comfortable. Strangely intimate.
After a too-short moment Dean laughs once and pulls away, eyes shining green and positively glowing at Castiel. Neither of them drop their arms to let go completely. "You did it, Cas," he breathes, and Castiel thinks he sounds awed, actually. "You were amazing. Terrifying, even."
"We did it," Castiel corrects him, but he can't help a small, almost stunned smile under all that naked adoration. Dean adores him, it's written into every line of his face, and Castiel can't stop looking. "It was because you -- I heard you."
"Heard me?" Dean doesn't get it.
"You called me yours."
"Oh." And suddenly Dean looks down, looks bashful. "Well, I mean, I needed to buy some time, scare him a bit, that bastard could easily have--"
Castiel quiets him with a finger to his lips, and then follows up by pressing his own lips to Dean's. It's okay, says the way Castiel's hand comes up to heal the gash anyway. It's true, says the way his body fits perfectly against Dean's when he leans in. His gestures are meant to relax Dean, but Dean only gets more breathless. His lips part to let a breath out and to let Castiel's tongue in.
"Still," he insists in between kissing Castiel, in between winding fingers into Castiel's hair. "The cloud and the mass exorcism -- all you. God, Cas, I could listen to you speak Latin over the screaming wind and the screaming demons for hours."
"Of course, you're human, and anyway it doesn't take that long," Castiel points out, not quite following and a little distracted now.
"No, I mean." And Dean laughs against Castiel's lips, licks them playfully. "You, Latin. Standing there and smiting things with all the fury of Heaven. Fuck me."
Castiel is startled enough to pull away. "You want me to... What does my reciting exorcism spells in Latin have to do with sex?"
Dean's mouth follows his own and he nips at Castiel's lips before his tongue slides between them. "Everything. Fuck me."
Humans are complicated creatures indeed, Castiel decides, but he isn't about to deny Dean anything, least of all this. Not when they're suddenly both so hard already. His "ridiculous trench coat" is the first to go, followed by his tie, but Dean stops him there because he wants to unbutton Castiel's shirt himself. He does so with uncharacteristic slowness, and there is no struggling this time, no shoving and fighting each other and desperate noises. Just shallow breaths and the careful, almost reverent way Dean strips him, and when Castiel finally stands naked in the grass, Dean's dark gaze rakes his body up and down. Castiel's skin tingles wherever Dean's eyes linger.
He steps forward and deftly relieves Dean of his clothing, too (he is getting good at this, he thinks), and then he says, "Dean." It's an unspoken question.
"Cas," Dean replies, an unspoken answer, and Castiel's strong arms are around him, lowering him to the grass. He settles on top of Dean and their lips meet in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. Oil, Castiel remembers, and then his finger is coated in it and he nudges at Dean's entrance. There's some resistance, but he applies pressure, and it slides in to a small moan from Dean that reverberates in Castiel's mouth.
He is gentle because the last thing he wants to do is hurt this man before him who has already been hurt by the world so much, but Dean squirms beneath him impatiently. "Come on, Cas, I'm not gonna break."
"I know, but--"
"I'll be alright," Dean insists. He rolls onto his side and grabs Castiel's wrist to pull him up against his back. "Trust me. Fuck me."
Castiel does trust him, and he does that other thing, too, presses the head of his slick cock against that tight ring of muscle until it gives way and Castiel is inside Dean and it's so, so, so tight. Dean lifts his leg a little, lets Castiel in deeper, and the pleasure is so blinding Castiel has to squeeze his eyes shut against it. He holds still like that for a moment, almost clinging to Dean's back, until Dean takes Castiel's hand and wraps it around his own cock and wiggles back into him. Castiel's hips jerk and he can't stop, after that, can't stop pulling out and sinking back in (into Dean), over and over again, can't stop moaning, can't stop moving against and around and inside Dean because surely, surely this is what God created them both for.
Dean can't stop either -- one arm reaches behind to loop around Castiel's neck and his head falls back onto Castiel's shoulder as he arches and writhes between Castiel's hand and cock, as if he can never decide whether he wants to thrust forward or shove back. He is moaning a constant litany of yes and then Cas and God, as if the two are one and the same in his mind, and it's blasphemous but it only makes Castiel squeeze tighter and thrust deeper, anything to hear more of it. Dean doesn't stop until his body tenses impossibly around Castiel's cock for that one moment before lets out a last "Oh, Cas," and comes into his hand, pulsing and squirming and squirming some more.
It drags Castiel's orgasm from his body by force, and he muffles his own moan against Dean's shoulder as he spills inside him, into him, and Castiel thinks that maybe a little bit of his own essence flows into Dean's body along with his vessel's come. He doesn't let go of Dean even after the bliss passes and leaves them both panting and boneless in the grass, but to his mild disappointment, his cock slides out by itself when it softens.
Dean shifts, rolls into Castiel until he is on his back, and gives him a dazed smile. "Fucking incredible," he declares, and Castiel is inclined to agree, but he says nothing, only drapes a wing over Dean when he shivers against the breeze that cools his sweat.
They lay like that for awhile, both so reluctant to move, until Dean asks absently, "So where the hell did Sam and Ruby go? I saw them take off with my baby in the middle of the friggin' fight."
"I told your brother to get his demon out of here before she got caught by my spell. She was hurt." Castiel pauses and looks down at him. "I also told him nothing would happen to you under my watch. Shall I go find them?"
"Nah," Dean replies, and turns into Castiel even more. "Stay here."
So Castiel stays, and watches Dean watch the sky.
Dean says slowly, "His demon. His," tasting the word on the tip of his tongue. He glances at Castiel. "So you're..." He trails off, but Castiel doesn't finish for him. He meets Dean's gaze and waits for Dean to say it himself, out loud. It takes awhile, but eventually Dean finishes, not quite looking at Castiel and so softly a human would miss it, "mine." Then his eyes dart up to blue ones, filled with so much uncertainty that Castiel dips his head in a nod. Dean looks relieved-awed-surprised-hopeful-scared as he thinks on this for a moment, then says, "But you're God's."
Castiel lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "True, I am His as well, but I don't know how many freckles there are on God's face."
One of Dean's eyebrows quirk and he looks like might laugh, but he doesn't. "Are you implying you know how many freckles there are on my face?"
"One hundred and eighty-nine," Castiel replies solemnly.
"Oh." Dean blinks. He doesn't ask how or why Castiel knows. Doesn't need to. He looks strangely gratified.
They fall silent again, until something occurs to Castiel. He glances at his coat, discarded on the grass beside them. "Do you really think my trench coat is ridiculous?" he asks, and doesn't understand why Dean's body starts shaking against his chest in silent laughter.
"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" Dean asks him with a grin. When Castiel nods, Dean hooks an arm around the back of his neck and pulls him down to whisper in his ear, "I secretly kinda really like your ridiculous trench coat."
fin.
Title: Breathless and Intoxicated on Triumph
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,700
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 fourth and last.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).
See that angel over there? Yeah, the one smiting evil without so much as dirtying his ridiculous trench coat. He's mine. The battle is over, but as Castiel stands alone on the hill watching Dean help disoriented victims below, he lets those words wash over him again. Through him. Who would have thought that the love of a mortal could empower an angel in the same way that God's love can? Just as his Father's blessing gave Castiel the strength to dive into the heart of Hell's fires, so Dean's words fueled Castiel's grace and made it burn bright enough that he could draw a Devil's Trap into the sky with clouds. His vessel is unchanged but Castiel himself is bigger now, brighter and more glorious and terrifying to behold than ever, if only Dean could stand to look upon him. But he can't, so Castiel remains in this human form and waits for him, marvels at him.
When the last survivor wanders off, Dean turns and looks up at Castiel and gives him a lopsided, triumphant grin. There is a bloody gash on his cheek that must hurt considering the size of his grin, and as he comes up the hill, Castiel reaches a hand out to heal it as he always does after a battle. But Dean catches his wrist and pulls him into an embrace instead. It's loose and kind of awkward because they haven't done this before -- hug just for the sake of hugging -- and Castiel's nose gets smushed against Dean's shoulder, but he figures it out quickly enough. Tilts his head up until his chin is resting on Dean's shoulder instead and tentatively circles Dean's body with his arms. Dean is still a little breathless, still vibrating from adrenaline, and he feels very alive against Castiel. It feels, for lack of a better word, good, this moment of shared victory and camaraderie. Comfortable. Strangely intimate.
After a too-short moment Dean laughs once and pulls away, eyes shining green and positively glowing at Castiel. Neither of them drop their arms to let go completely. "You did it, Cas," he breathes, and Castiel thinks he sounds awed, actually. "You were amazing. Terrifying, even."
"We did it," Castiel corrects him, but he can't help a small, almost stunned smile under all that naked adoration. Dean adores him, it's written into every line of his face, and Castiel can't stop looking. "It was because you -- I heard you."
"Heard me?" Dean doesn't get it.
"You called me yours."
"Oh." And suddenly Dean looks down, looks bashful. "Well, I mean, I needed to buy some time, scare him a bit, that bastard could easily have--"
Castiel quiets him with a finger to his lips, and then follows up by pressing his own lips to Dean's. It's okay, says the way Castiel's hand comes up to heal the gash anyway. It's true, says the way his body fits perfectly against Dean's when he leans in. His gestures are meant to relax Dean, but Dean only gets more breathless. His lips part to let a breath out and to let Castiel's tongue in.
"Still," he insists in between kissing Castiel, in between winding fingers into Castiel's hair. "The cloud and the mass exorcism -- all you. God, Cas, I could listen to you speak Latin over the screaming wind and the screaming demons for hours."
"Of course, you're human, and anyway it doesn't take that long," Castiel points out, not quite following and a little distracted now.
"No, I mean." And Dean laughs against Castiel's lips, licks them playfully. "You, Latin. Standing there and smiting things with all the fury of Heaven. Fuck me."
Castiel is startled enough to pull away. "You want me to... What does my reciting exorcism spells in Latin have to do with sex?"
Dean's mouth follows his own and he nips at Castiel's lips before his tongue slides between them. "Everything. Fuck me."
Humans are complicated creatures indeed, Castiel decides, but he isn't about to deny Dean anything, least of all this. Not when they're suddenly both so hard already. His "ridiculous trench coat" is the first to go, followed by his tie, but Dean stops him there because he wants to unbutton Castiel's shirt himself. He does so with uncharacteristic slowness, and there is no struggling this time, no shoving and fighting each other and desperate noises. Just shallow breaths and the careful, almost reverent way Dean strips him, and when Castiel finally stands naked in the grass, Dean's dark gaze rakes his body up and down. Castiel's skin tingles wherever Dean's eyes linger.
He steps forward and deftly relieves Dean of his clothing, too (he is getting good at this, he thinks), and then he says, "Dean." It's an unspoken question.
"Cas," Dean replies, an unspoken answer, and Castiel's strong arms are around him, lowering him to the grass. He settles on top of Dean and their lips meet in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. Oil, Castiel remembers, and then his finger is coated in it and he nudges at Dean's entrance. There's some resistance, but he applies pressure, and it slides in to a small moan from Dean that reverberates in Castiel's mouth.
He is gentle because the last thing he wants to do is hurt this man before him who has already been hurt by the world so much, but Dean squirms beneath him impatiently. "Come on, Cas, I'm not gonna break."
"I know, but--"
"I'll be alright," Dean insists. He rolls onto his side and grabs Castiel's wrist to pull him up against his back. "Trust me. Fuck me."
Castiel does trust him, and he does that other thing, too, presses the head of his slick cock against that tight ring of muscle until it gives way and Castiel is inside Dean and it's so, so, so tight. Dean lifts his leg a little, lets Castiel in deeper, and the pleasure is so blinding Castiel has to squeeze his eyes shut against it. He holds still like that for a moment, almost clinging to Dean's back, until Dean takes Castiel's hand and wraps it around his own cock and wiggles back into him. Castiel's hips jerk and he can't stop, after that, can't stop pulling out and sinking back in (into Dean), over and over again, can't stop moaning, can't stop moving against and around and inside Dean because surely, surely this is what God created them both for.
Dean can't stop either -- one arm reaches behind to loop around Castiel's neck and his head falls back onto Castiel's shoulder as he arches and writhes between Castiel's hand and cock, as if he can never decide whether he wants to thrust forward or shove back. He is moaning a constant litany of yes and then Cas and God, as if the two are one and the same in his mind, and it's blasphemous but it only makes Castiel squeeze tighter and thrust deeper, anything to hear more of it. Dean doesn't stop until his body tenses impossibly around Castiel's cock for that one moment before lets out a last "Oh, Cas," and comes into his hand, pulsing and squirming and squirming some more.
It drags Castiel's orgasm from his body by force, and he muffles his own moan against Dean's shoulder as he spills inside him, into him, and Castiel thinks that maybe a little bit of his own essence flows into Dean's body along with his vessel's come. He doesn't let go of Dean even after the bliss passes and leaves them both panting and boneless in the grass, but to his mild disappointment, his cock slides out by itself when it softens.
Dean shifts, rolls into Castiel until he is on his back, and gives him a dazed smile. "Fucking incredible," he declares, and Castiel is inclined to agree, but he says nothing, only drapes a wing over Dean when he shivers against the breeze that cools his sweat.
They lay like that for awhile, both so reluctant to move, until Dean asks absently, "So where the hell did Sam and Ruby go? I saw them take off with my baby in the middle of the friggin' fight."
"I told your brother to get his demon out of here before she got caught by my spell. She was hurt." Castiel pauses and looks down at him. "I also told him nothing would happen to you under my watch. Shall I go find them?"
"Nah," Dean replies, and turns into Castiel even more. "Stay here."
So Castiel stays, and watches Dean watch the sky.
Dean says slowly, "His demon. His," tasting the word on the tip of his tongue. He glances at Castiel. "So you're..." He trails off, but Castiel doesn't finish for him. He meets Dean's gaze and waits for Dean to say it himself, out loud. It takes awhile, but eventually Dean finishes, not quite looking at Castiel and so softly a human would miss it, "mine." Then his eyes dart up to blue ones, filled with so much uncertainty that Castiel dips his head in a nod. Dean looks relieved-awed-surprised-hopeful-scared as he thinks on this for a moment, then says, "But you're God's."
Castiel lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "True, I am His as well, but I don't know how many freckles there are on God's face."
One of Dean's eyebrows quirk and he looks like might laugh, but he doesn't. "Are you implying you know how many freckles there are on my face?"
"One hundred and eighty-nine," Castiel replies solemnly.
"Oh." Dean blinks. He doesn't ask how or why Castiel knows. Doesn't need to. He looks strangely gratified.
They fall silent again, until something occurs to Castiel. He glances at his coat, discarded on the grass beside them. "Do you really think my trench coat is ridiculous?" he asks, and doesn't understand why Dean's body starts shaking against his chest in silent laughter.
"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" Dean asks him with a grin. When Castiel nods, Dean hooks an arm around the back of his neck and pulls him down to whisper in his ear, "I secretly kinda really like your ridiculous trench coat."
fin.
