secondplatypus

Title: No Illusions in the Way
Author: secondplatypus
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: wing kink, schmoop/schmangst, explicit sex, a little language, references to 5.04/the 5.04 'verse
Spoilers: Set immediately after 5.04, contains a major spoiler or two for that episode.
Word Count: 3001
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all characters therein are the property of Eric Kripke and the WB/CW, I'm just borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes.

Summary: Dean walks in on Castiel with his wings out. Adorable shenanigans and sexy-times ensue, complete with handprint kink, virgin!Castiel, protective!Dean, Enochian, and a little hit of grace. (Casfest fic, written for heavenlyxbodies)

Author's Note: heavenlyxbodies gave me so many beautiful prompts to work with that I had trouble picking just one (and I'll be writing at least one more in the future). In the end, Survivor's "In Good Faith" was the one that ended up producing the best and most feasible plot bunnies. I really hope you enjoy it, sweetie; thank you for giving me such wonderful material.
- both the title and the cut text come from the song that inspired this fic (the full quote surrounding the title is "in the roles that we have chosen / behind the parts we sometimes play / lies the passage to the real me / with no illusions in the way")
- It is part of my personal canon that as long as a piece of an angel's grace remains, they can't ever become human.
- endless thanks are owed to my wonderful beta amor_remanet, without whom I would still be firmly entrenched in writer's block instead of continuing to indulge the wing kink kick I've been on for the last month.



I've cast aside this foolish pride
I know I can keep you satisfied
I'll prove it tonight in so many ways



After talking with Sam, Dean wanted to go to him immediately without taking the time to pause for food, let alone sleep, an idea that Castiel disapproved of intensely given the day and a half's drive to their designated meeting-place. Dean had been exhausted to begin with, and his little trip to the future had tired him out in ways he hadn't previously known were possible. It took hours of arguing, glares, and Disappointed Looks, but after reminding Dean for the twentieth time of the fact that the effort of searching every corner of the globe and five different time periods looking for Dean after he'd felt him disappear, saving him from Zachariah, then transporting the two of them back to the Impala had drained Castiel's grace to the point where he wouldn't be able to move anything for at least 12 hours, so Dean had better take care of himself, damn it, Dean got the message and grudgingly found a cheap motel at the next town they passed.

Dean paced the room for half an hour after checking in before announcing his plans to go out and find a drink or twenty, leaving Castiel alone in the space. After the rumble of the Impala receded into the distance, Castiel waited a few minutes, then unfurled his wings.

When he wasn't around humans, Castiel preferred to have them out; keeping his wings hidden and folded up on themselves felt odd at best, uncomfortable at worst. He'd never actually shown them to anyone other than his brothers, save for their silhouettes on the wall the night he first met Dean and Bobby; they drew too much attention, and he didn't think the color would make the right impression. Castiel's grasp on human culture was tenuous, but he knew people tended to associate dark colors with evil, and he'd seen enough illustrations of fallen angels with black wings to know better than to reveal his. He wanted to help Dean, and all these other fragile creatures, not send them running in fear.

A patch of feathers on the ridge of his right wing had somehow been ruffled the wrong way, producing a sensation akin to having a particularly stubborn piece of apple-skin lodged in one's teeth, and it was driving him crazy. Feathers going awry were a normal part of life as an angel, and under any other circumstances, he would have simply mojoed them back into alignment without so much as a second thought. Unfortunately, he'd used up nearly all his reserves of grace earlier that day, and would have to spend at least two more hours recharging before he'd be able to fix them.
After a number of undignified attempts to bend his arms in ways that defied the laws governing human anatomy, Castiel resorted to rubbing up against the floor-to-ceiling post in Dean's hotel room, which only served to make the problem worse.

***********************

Dean was halfway across town by the time he realized he'd forgotten his damned wallet.
He drove back to the hotel with the gas pedal shoved nearly as far down as it could go, cursing under his breath the entire way.
When he flung open the door to the room, his irritation was immediately forgotten and replaced by stunned confusion.

Castiel had a pair of wings jutting out of his back, and he was arched against the post by the bathroom, completely involved in moving one of the appendages against it over and over. They were huge and beautiful; at least twice as long as Castiel was tall and the same muted, matte shadow-black as Castiel's hair.

As seconds dragged on into minutes, Dean stood there, openly staring, before remembering to cover his surprise with a smartass crack.

************************

Castiel was so engrossed in the task of trying to fix his feathers that he didn't hear the distinctive sound of the Impala's engine, the door opening, or Dean's footsteps; he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Dean's voice.

"Dude, if you really need it that bad there's a strip club a few blocks away - you don't have to hump the architecture."

Castiel froze mid-rub, eyes flying open to fix Dean with one of his patented Angel-Stares.

"Then again, if this is some weird thing you angels do to get your rocks off, don't let me interrupt."

Castiel's expression changed to one of exasperation as he resumed his attempts to smooth the errant patch. "If I needed to get a rock off of anything, I would lift it. This is a much more delicate procedure. Some of my feathers have deviated from their usual positions, and the feeling is intensely uncomfortable. I don't have enough grace remaining to re-align them."

He paused, blinking as though he was pondering the answers to life, the universe, and everything before uncharacteristic shyness entered his voice.
"Would... would you help me with them, Dean?"

Dean nodded and gestured for Castiel to approach him, all the while making a number of very manly protesting noises suggesting that if he had to, he'd do Castiel the favor of touching his wings; in reality, he was enthralled.
With anxiety obvious in his body language, Castiel walked over to Dean and turned his back to him, extending his right wing to reveal the large patch of twisted feathers, some of which were nearly pointing sideways.

Up close, they looked incredibly soft. When Dean reached out, cautious fingertips making contact with the sleek surface, he discovered that the feathers were every bit as lovely to touch as they appeared, like the wispy silk lingerie a few of the classier women he'd hooked up with had worn.
With gentle brushes of his hands, Dean stroked them back into place, carefully lifting the tips of the more resistant quills one by one until they fell in a perfect arc again.

As soon as Dean touched him, Castiel started feeling things he didn't completely understand, things that made his face red and the flesh between his legs tingle, and as Dean's ministrations continued, the sensations grew 'til Castiel was biting back the noises rising in his throat and fighting to stay still. He dug his fingers into the legs of his trousers, and gave silent thanks that he wasn't facing Dean.

When he felt Dean make the final adjustment, alleviating the irritation caused by the mussed feathers, Castiel nearly shuddered with relief.
Instead of moving away, though, Dean's fingers stayed right where they were.

"Didn't we talk about this, Dean? Personal space," Castiel said, struggling to keep the tone of his voice even as he folded his right wing.

Dean laughed, but kept his hand in place, despite the motion.

Visions of what Castiel became in the future - women, drugs, absinthe, and a hopelessness he couldn't drink or fuck or smoke away no matter how hard he tried - ran through Dean's mind as he stroked a thumb along a downy wisp. He wanted to bury his fingers in the physical evidence of Castiel's divinity and never let go, saving both of them from a world where Castiel was so burnt-out and human.
Dean needed to keep Castiel this pure and beautiful, to return the loyalty of this lovely creature who had stood by him when even his own brother had deserted him by protecting him from falling, by protecting himself from becoming broken enough to send Castiel to his death.
By letting go of some of the pain that had been eating him alive.

Dean spread his fingers, bringing his left hand up to rest on Castiel's other wing, then ran them from the upper ridge to as far down as his arms could reach.

Cas gasped and spun around, opening his wings slightly in an involuntary defensive gesture.
"You might want to stop," he said, tone low and choked.

Dean's heart began to beat faster, breath catching in his throat at the expression on Castiel's face. The angel was too close, far too close, and it was exactly where Dean wanted him to be.

Dean reached up, stroking the inside of Castiel's wings.
Castiel leaned into the touch and shivered, lips parting as a low, needy moan spilled from them.

The sound triggered a rush of blood and heat to Dean's dick. Dean fought back the lust that threatened to overtake his senses and judgment, cupping Castiel's face in his hands.
The angel gazed up at him as if hypnotized, those blue, blue eyes huge and solemn.
This Castiel is a virgin, Dean reminded himself, this isn't just sex, and it can't be; this is a responsibility and an honor.
and, Dean realized as he took in the devotion and adoration in Castiel's eyes, it was one he wanted more than just about anything.

Dean ran his fingers down the line of Castiel's jaw, tilting his chin up to meet the mouth that gently descended to claim the angel's.
Castiel made a soft noise, relaxing into the touch and tentatively parting his lips in a silent invitation. Dean ran the tip of his tongue along the sensitive inner edges of Castiel's lips, groaning as Castiel's tongue cautiously met his own. Castiel tasted like the ocean on a rainy day, like the rich afterburn of whiskey, like skin and storms and something Dean couldn't identify that was every bit as luscious and glorious as he was.

Dean broke away to learn more of Castiel's tastes and textures, dragging his lips over softly stubbled skin and kissing down Castiel's neck, earning enticing little cries as a hand reached up to grip the back of his head. When Dean's mouth found Castiel's collarbone, the angel's restrained sounds of pleasure turned to lewd moans.

The noises drove Dean wild; it was all he could do to keep himself from pinning the angel against the nearest stable surface and having his way with him.
Dean attempted to calm the insistent, almost painful throb in his pants by rekindling their kiss, distracting himself by concentrating on every sensation, every slide of lips and tongues and the teeth that caught at Dean's lower lip. God help him, Castiel learned quickly.

Dean was so involved in the contact that he was surprised by the feel of hands on his body, softly tracing the muscles of his chest and stomach before tugging at the hem of his shirt. Dean pulled back, letting Castiel take his shirt off, then that kiss-swollen mouth was imitating Dean's, caressing his neck, then moving lower to lick and nip at Dean's collarbone. As Dean arched his head back, savoring the feel of Castiel's tongue flattening against his pulse point, he was aware of hands moving down his body, flirting with the lines of his hipbones before - Jesus fucking Christ - pressing against the hard bulge in his jeans, making Dean gasp.

At the sound, Castiel raised his head, eyes flickering open to meet Dean's; there was something in those lapis depths that made Dean swallow. Hard.

Another brush of lips later, Castiel stepped back. With Dean's gaze following his every move, Castiel kicked off his shoes, slid off his socks, unzipped his trousers, shrugged out of his trench-coat, and made quick work of his tie and the buttons of his shirt.

Dean forgot how to breathe. An angel of the lord - his angel, after tonight - stood naked before him, clothing piled around his feet.
Hungry green eyes took in the graceful, beautifully slender body before him; a flawless combination of masculine and feminine that Dean couldn't get enough of, pale perfection highlighted by the fan of night-dark feathers that framed him.

Dean closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Castiel and taking in the delicious friction of bare skin on skin as they moved towards the bed.

When the backs of his knees found resistance, Castiel lay back on the mattress with his wings spread out, sensitive undersides bared to his new lover. Dean explored every inch of the warm, down-and-feathered skin until Castiel was moaning his name, chanting it like a prayer and shuddering. Castiel was half mad by the time Dean moved to the skin of his body, talented mouth drawing pleasure from nipples, ribs, belly and hipbones before traveling lower still, licking soft stripes along the silky-hard flesh of Castiel's erection as Dean's hands worked his wings.

Dean reached over the edge of the bed, grabbing the bottle of lube he kept in his bag and giving thanks for the experience that gave him a chance of making this good for his angel. He slicked a finger, then returned his attention to Castiel's dick, distracting him with the pleasure as he started to prep him so the discomfort would be lessened. At the intrusion, Castiel's breath hitched in his throat, which Dean countered by wrapping his lips around the head of Castiel's cock as he searched for the sweet spot inside him. When his curling finger found the nub, a loud groan ripped itself from somewhere low in the angel's throat; it was one of the sexiest sounds Dean had ever heard, and he wanted to make it happen again.

The preparation was drawn out as long as Dean could bear it, until Castiel's begging and the grip of the slick, tight body around his fingers wore him down. Dean positioned himself, settling his hard, heavy length between the slender lines of Castiel's spread legs. Dean knew it would hurt, no matter how careful he was; Castiel couldn't heal himself any longer. Castiel looked up at him with absolute trust, faith, and lust shining in his eyes, silencing the doubt in Dean's mind. Dean thrust in slowly, just far enough to slide the head of his cock into Castiel's body. Castiel cried out from the pain; Dean swallowed the sound with a kiss, soothing Castiel with reassuring croons while he ran his fingers along the angel's cheek. Dean stayed in place, letting Castiel get used to the way he felt, until Castiel wrapped a leg around his hips and arched into the thick pressure inside him. Dean shifted, lowering his head to nuzzle at the angel's neck as he slowly sunk further into Castiel's body, until his entire dick was sheathed in Castiel's perfect heat.

Dean moved slowly, searching Castiel's face for any signs of pain and finding only rapture written on his beautiful features. When he found the bundle of nerves inside Cas that made his universe crack around the edges, Castiel let out a hybrid of a groan and a scream, clutching at the sheets as he moved back against Dean. Slender hips ground up against Dean's body, urging him to go faster and harder, to give Castiel more. Dean shook with the effort of resisting Castiel's demands, apprehension stemming from fears of hurting him crumbling in the face of the eyes that looked straight into his and said in a tone like gravel and thunder, "Harder, Dean. I'm not going to break."

When Dean was buried deep inside him, slamming into his prostate with each stroke, Castiel reached up, fitting his hand to the scar on Dean's arm. Dean's vision was filled with words and symbols and bright, lovely light as the link between their souls -- fueled by angelic Love, faith, and a trickle of grace -- enveloped them, melding their consciousness into a single whole. At the same time Dean felt Castiel's body stretching around him, impossibly tight and glorious, he felt the brush of his cock against Castiel's prostate as the same pleasure the angel was feeling surged through him.

Sensation amplified sensation; Dean wanted to keep control of himself long enough to make sure that Castiel found release before he did, but he heard a gorgeously rough voice in his head telling him that the angel beneath him shared his pleasure. A single human body was not built to handle the arousal, lust, and building orgasms of two; Dean and Castiel soon rose to a Heaven of the senses that left them dizzy and disoriented, unaware of anything but each other; word-moans fell from Castiel's lips in a language older than time that echoed in Dean's ears and in Dean's head, lover, beloved, and Mine dancing behind his eyes as every fiber of his being was set ablaze.
With a few more shifts and slides and a tug of fingers on feathers, they came simultaneously, Castiel clutching at Dean's body as the almighty force of locking muscles and rising wings lifted his torso off the bed.

Dean's body went limp, and he fell forward onto the form beneath him as the world ebbed away, replaced by a gentle, peaceful darkness.

Dean came to with his head on Castiel's chest, cradled in the angel's arms; one set of slender fingers stroking his hair, the other, the scars on his back. He felt a soft tickling sensation against his sides and the backs of his thighs, and it took him a second to realize that he was wrapped in Castiel's wings.
Dean propped himself up on his elbows to kiss Castiel, savoring the caress of full lips as the angel hummed low and deep in his throat. A hand reached up, sliding through Dean's hair as Castiel's mouth opened and he exhaled softly into Dean's, sharing breath he didn't need to take and a spark of his grace, offering the man a piece of his essence.

As hunter and angel fell into the slow rise-falling rhythm of each other's bodies, that tiny shred of grace wrapped itself around Dean's heart. His hands molded themselves to the planes of Castiel's face in a gesture that spoke more than words ever could, accepting the promise of love Castiel had bestowed upon him, and making one of his own in return.
I will keep your grace within me, I will protect and shield it with everything I have and everything I am, and as long as I live, I will never let you fall.