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Castiel, being a lesser known angel, rarely heard prayers in his name. Occasionally a sporadic cult or secular entity learned of his name and prayed to him, but they were few and far between. Humans typically only prayed to his Father, but there were frequent prayers to his archangel brothers as well. Certainly more frequent than him. He spent most of his life, spanning millions of years, acting as a warrior and servant of Heaven, not of humans.
Of course, like most things he knew, this changed when he came into contact with Dean Winchester. Nobody prayed to him like Dean did, and he didn’t need to add up the numbers to know that in the three years he’d known Dean, he’d prayed to Castiel more than any human ever had.
Sam prayed at times too, even Bobby had twice. Still, nowhere near the amount of times Dean did. He prayed for Castiel more when he was alone versus when he was around his family, calling to Castiel from Heaven because he was in need of assistance that was almost insultingly below Castiel’s level. Still, Castiel always came when he called. He came when Dean called him beside Sam, he came when Dean called him too drunk to walk home at an unholy time of night, so late it was technically morning. He came when Dean was sprawled out on a motel bed, his heart shattered into too many pieces to count and bleeding him dry. They never really spoke during or after those prayers, but Castiel always sat beside him and allowed the human to take comfort in that small act until he dozed off. He never told Dean this, but often he would stay hours after he fell asleep. There were a few times when Castiel was still there when Dean began to rise, after not nearly enough hours for an adult human his age, though Castiel never voiced his concerns, and made himself invisible to the human eye to watch Dean go about his morning routines.
Ever since Castiel rebelled, he found Dean’s humanity… fascinating. He was so alike to, yet so different from other humans, but Castiel supposed that was the entire point of humanity. Castiel had seen hundreds of human generations come and go, but none of them held his interest quite like Dean. It wasn’t even explainable, nor was it logical. He just found himself… enamored.
When Castiel wasn’t with Dean, both visible and invisible (because he watched Dean far more than he’d admit to anyone, and to do that he had to be… private about it at times), he was consumed with thoughts of him. It wasn’t only memories or worrying about Leviathans, angels, demons, or whatever else; no, Castiel spent hours of his lifetime wondering what Dean was eating, if he was eating at all, what he’d dressed himself in that day, if his sleeping schedule had improved at all, if he was safe. He thought about everything that could possibly have to do with a human and their ongoing daily activities, and he could not escape it.
Try as he might—and he did— it didn’t work. Nothing worked. Dean was on his mind every second of every day, and Cas couldn’t understand why he was infected with the inability to control himself.
After months of warring with himself, he decided that Dean Winchester was an invasive species. One that burrowed deep into one’s heart and soul and made his home there, unwilling to ever leave from where he’d settled down. That meant he was powerless to how Dean ate away at his mind until there was nothing left to think of anything other than the blasphemous human, and that’s how he excused the way he ran to Dean every single time he mumbled Castiel’s name in his head.
Years of knowing Dean led him to prepare for the most bizarre situations to be summoned into when he prayed. Even then, nothing in Castiel’s millennia-long years of experience prepared him for answering one of Dean’s many prayers only to find him in a state of self-inflicted pleasure.
Hearing the human he cared so much about pleading “Cas, please. I can’t fucking handle it. I can’t take it anymore, please. Need you. Need your help,” had him tearing through space and time to reach him before fatal injury befell him. He was frantic. He was afraid. So petrified that he’d find Dean next to dead or beyond help when he got to him. He appeared invisible because he didn’t need his presence being sniffed out by whatever was attacking Dean as soon as he got there, but Dean wasn’t being attacked. Dean was far from being attacked by anything. Castiel flew to Dean in a panic, landing inside of the four walls of yet another rundown motel room somewhere in Indiana.
Wide eyes landed on the queen sized bed in the middle of the room, then on the unclothed body atop of said bed. Dean had always been beautiful, though Castiel had never admitted such a thought to anyone, but the sight of him flushed, sweaty, and desperately thrusting into his own hand while praying for Castiel was… astonishing. Life-altering.
Whispered pleas of “Cas, Cas, Cas,” slipped from Dean’s mouth and suffocated the air of the motel room. Cas staggered on his feet, unable to look away from the scene unfolding in front of him. He should’ve left. Dean may be praying for him, but it was an accident. He hadn’t meant to call out to Castiel, he’d only accidentally reached out to him because he was…
Castiel faltered, his breath quickened. He was fantasizing about Castiel, wasn’t he? He was praying to Castiel, calling out his nickname that Dean had bestowed onto him almost as soon as they met. He had his fist wrapped around his cock and was wildly bringing himself closer to the crest that humans craved, all the while calling out for Castiel. He wanted him, he was thinking of him while bringing himself off like this.
He wanted Castiel like Castiel wanted him.
“Cas, I can’t fucking take it,” Dean whined to himself, blissfully unaware the object of his affections was only feet away. But Dean was fantasizing, that didn’t mean he meant to bring Castiel to him or that he wanted Castiel to step in.
And even though it was wrong, so unbelievably, damningly wrong, Castiel stayed. He watched as Dean lifted his hips off of the bed, moving his hand uncontrollably over his red, wet cock until his body froze. The sound that came out of Dean’s mouth made Castiel wonder if he’d ever truly entered Heaven, because this sounded more ethereal than anything in Heaven. His sweet mouth parted, eyebrows furrowed in an expression that could easily be mistaken as pain-stricken in any other situation, while he came. Dean’s body shook and trembled in a way that instilled the morbid curiosity of what it would feel like to put his hands on Dean and absorb the tremors into his own vessel through his hands. Castiel burned with the need to reveal himself, to bring Dean to the brink one, two, three more times before sinking himself into his warm, awaiting body.
The thought threw himself out of his reverie. What was he thinking? Putting his hands on a human? Having intercourse with a human because his body and soul craved him so much it was nearly unbearable? He may have rebelled, but he was still an angel. It was wrong to have such thoughts, much less to succumb to them. And he had succumbed to them by staying to watch without Dean’s knowledge, by wondering what it would feel like to have his hands on Dean.
How far had he truly fallen if he was acting like he was?
Panicked, Castiel tore himself out of the motel room even though every molecule of his essence begged him to stay and finish what Dean had started.
He couldn’t. He wouldn't. No matter how much his twisted mind craved Dean’s body and soul, he wouldn’t.
Admittedly, Castiel was hesitant when he answered Dean the next time he prayed to him. He didn’t think Dean would pray, “Castiel, you feathery fucking asshole. Get your ass down here and tell us if you recognize these Enochian sigils,” if he was engaging in sexual acts. With Dean, though, Castiel learned to be on his toes with every single interaction they had.
Castiel would’ve thanked his Father that he was correct in assuming Dean and Sam truly needed his help, if not for the issue that as soon as he laid eyes on Dean’s fully dressed form, the burning desire to get him out of those clothes hit him so hard he nearly stumbled. He had to force himself to angle his body away from Dean and Sam, barely able to process what Sam was explaining about their case and the symbols. God help him, he wanted to see Dean’s bare skin again. He wanted to see Dean’s body flushed red from pleasure and exertion, his muscles tensed from Castiel’s borderline cruel refusal to let him orgasm. He couldn’t help his mind from flooding, from wondering how Dean’s body would take his cock, what he’d look like spreading his legs for Castiel.
“Cas?” Sam prodded, far closer to Castiel than he had been when he began talking. Castiel hadn’t even noticed he’d stepped closer to him while he was lost in a sea of impure thoughts.
Gritting his teeth, Cas looked down at the scattered drawings and pictures of a vaguely familiar sigil. “It’s not Enochian, but it seems like it has Enochian origins,” he told them, still refusing to look up at either brother. He feared one look at Dean would send him into a spiral of even more depraved thoughts, and he truly did not need Dean’s younger brother to possibly see his reaction.
“Can you look at some other sigils that we found at the scenes?” As Sam spoke, he shuffled through some of the papers on their motel room desk. “Damn, I must’ve left them in the car. Just give me a second to grab them.”
Before Castiel realized that getting them from the car meant leaving himself and Dean in the room. Alone.
His head snapped up in time to watch Sam’s tall figure slip out of the door. His fingers twitched against the table, barely resisting the urge to turn and drink in Dean now that they’re alone. But he does resist because it’s wrong, the way he looks at Dean and the way he thinks about him. It was immoral for him to even have the desire to look at Dean for his own pleasure, to bask in his beauty like he so craved, but it was even worse to cave to such an urge.
“You okay, Cas? You look like a marble statue over there.”
Castiel gritted his teeth, smothering the frustrated snarl that surfaced on his face before he reluctantly turned to Dean. For all his pent up emotions, laying eyes on Dean made so much of it all melt away from him. Dean had a teasing and trusting look on his face, though Castiel could see the honest worry tinting his gaze.
For the millionth time, and what Castiel assumed would certainly not be the last time, he wondered what it would be like to meet Dean’s care with his own affection. He wondered what it would feel like to card his fingers through Dean’s golden hair, trace his fingertips over every inch of Dean’s skin, take count of every single scar on his body by using his tongue.
Lord above, he needed to get out before he did something he regretted.
“I’m alright, Dean. There’s quite a bit going on in Heaven right now,” he lied to excuse his jumpy behavior. Dean frowned as he nodded, regarding Castiel with that same gaze he only saved for people in his inner circle.
“You know you can ask us for help right?” Castiel was touched by the sentiment, but he nearly reared back when Dean stood and took steps closer to the angel. He continued speaking, blissfully unaware of Castiel’s irrepressible reaction to his closeness, “I know Sam and I are only puny humans, but we’d be willing to help you any way we can. You always have a home with us if you need it, Cas.”
Dean slapped Castiel’s bicep, but his hand lingered for longer than it would’ve if it were Sam. Images of Dean rushed into his mind anew, this time of Castiel driving himself into Dean’s body again and again and again while he clutched onto Castiel’s arm so tightly his nails dug in. The sounds Dean had made only a few nights before were fresh in his mind all of the sudden, ringing between his ears like an enchanting song. He could hear Dean begging for him, moaning and whining like Castiel had never heard in his lifetime.
That time, Castiel did rear back, throwing himself against the desk hard enough to move the entire thing across the floor. Dean’s eyes widened comically, instinctively reaching out to steady Castiel which only made it worse.
Before Castiel could do irreparable damage, he snapped, “Just use an angel blade on whatever you’re hunting here.” Dean opened his mouth to address his freak out, or maybe his short tone, but Castiel was half a world away before he could utter a single syllable.
Castiel feels wicked for thinking that Dean looks beautiful while naked and wanting, and he feels downright sacrilegious for thinking that Dean looks best when he’s on his knees. Be that bent over on his hands and knees like he currently was, or on his knees in front of Castiel and looking up at him with wide eyes like Castiel dreamed about.
Having Dean on his knees for him would be intoxicating, something that Castiel would sell his soul for, but seeing him bending himself over with three fingers buried deep inside of his body is a close second to his fantasies.
He’s begging for Castiel again, a type of prayer that shouted in Castiel’s head and derailed any other priorities he may have had beforehand. Castiel flew to Dean without hesitation, only suffering from a miniscule pinch of guilt for spying on Dean like this. He reasoned that it wasn’t all his fault. Dean was like a drug, and Castiel needed a fix so terribly that his entire body itched with the need to go to him. But of course, with any vice, nothing was ever enough.
That was the excuse Castiel gave himself each time he came to watch Dean when he lustfully prayed in Castiel’s ears. It had only been weeks since the first time, but Castiel was already waiting with bated breath every single day for Dean to pray to him like this.
Seeing Dean like that, spread open, shuddering, calling out for Castiel desperately, made Castiel want to reveal himself and touch the human. He wanted to slip his own fingers inside of Dean, watch how his tight ring of muscle strained around the intrusion only to prepare him for his cock. He thought of how pleasing Dean’s reaction would be if he told him he needed to use more than three fingers to prep him. He imagined what kind of sounds Dean would make as Castiel split him open with something larger than a few fingers, wondered if Dean’s voice would have the same unfamiliar hitch in it that he did when pleasuring himself.
But he didn’t reveal himself or indulge his carnal urges to touch Dean. He watched as Dean’s back arched and his hands sped up, close to the edge and desperate to fall over. Dean’s hips move to meet each thrust of his fingers, giving Castiel a show that he would not forget for years to come.
“Cas, please,” Dean begged into what he thought was an empty room. Castiel unconsciously took a step closer to the motel bed, his fingers twitching with the suppressed urge to touch Dean’s skin. “Please. ‘M so close, Cas, please make me cum.”
If Castiel had less impulse control, he would allow his grace to seep into Dean’s mind to see exactly what the human was fantasizing about. If he wasn’t still grasping onto the last shred of angelic dignity he had, he might blanket Dean’s body with his own and spend hours learning every inch of him with his tongue.
He did step closer to Dean again, watched with heavy lungs and heated skin as Dean buried his face into the pillow below him to muffle his cries and came with Castiel’s name on his tongue. Castiel breathed shallowly as he watched Dean’s body tensed and undulated, then sagged onto the bed below him. He ignored the way he throbbed in his slacks, shoved aside the intrusive thought that he could fix that issue by sinking into Dean’s stretched out hole. Instead, he focused on the uneven sound of Dean’s breathing and observed the content glow his soul as he relaxed onto his side.
“Christ, Cas,” Dean slurred, his eyes still fallen shut. Castiel’s mouth quirked up, warmed by Dean’s obvious state of satisfaction. He was glad he could please Dean in a fantasy, but he also wished he could show Dean how much better he could make it in real life.
It took less than three minutes for Dean to drift to sleep, something that Castiel should have probably been happy about seeing as Dean got next to no sleep. His only grievance was that Dean fell asleep without cleaning himself off or even pulling the comforter overtop of his body. He would surely notice if he was free of any bodily fluids the next morning, but he could easily assume he pulled the blanket over him right before or during his sleep.
Despite the warnings in his head telling him not to make a move, Castiel found himself snapping his fingers to move the blanket from under Dean’s body. He pulled the comforter up to Dean’s shoulders gently, not wanting to wake him or spook him. He didn’t pull away once he’d righted the comforter, his eyes drawn to the many freckles dusting Dean’s nose and cheeks.
Dean was so pretty it hurt every molecule of his essence. Nothing had ever taken Castiel’s breath away before, but Dean… Dean seemingly couldn’t stop making Castiel feel so winded that he nearly fell to his knees in his presence. Castiel wanted to worship him and his body. He wished, for once, that he hadn’t been created as an angel. If he had been born a human at the same time as Dean, he might’ve had a chance at being with Dean.
Castiel’s fingertips skated over Dean’s cheekbone as his mind wandered, but he pulled away far sooner than he would’ve liked.
Still concealed from the human eye, Castiel spoke a soft, adoring goodbye in Enochian before flitting away. He didn’t see Dean for over a month after that night.
In the month that Castiel staunchly ignored Dean in hopes that it would rid him of the sickness Dean had induced, he prayed to him with honest requests for help only twice. On the other hand, Castiel had to suffer through an average of three sacrilegious prayers in his name every single week. Castiel didn’t know where Dean found the time or energy to masturbate so many times in the span of one week, but, come Hell or high water, he did.
Thirty-seven days after Castiel last watched Dean get himself off to the thought of him, Dean prayed to him for help a third time.
Castiel? You got your ears on, bud? Sam and I are—fuck! Sam! Castiel’s back shot straight at the panicked tone of Dean’s voice, making one of his brothers turn to him in question.
“Is everything alright, Castiel?” Adriel asked, earning a curious look from Muriel as well.
“Has something happened?” Muriel asked fiercely. Muriel was a warrior like Castiel was, much more ready to pounce on a threat than Adriel was. Castiel shook his head at them both, stepping away from the scene of a bloodied demon in front of them.
“It’s a prayer,” he explained.
Cas, Jesus fucking Christ. Please get down here. There’s a fucking rogue Chalkydri here trying to eat everyone who isn’t completely dedicated to God, and I’m sure you can understand why he’s dead set on eating Sam and I right now. We can’t get a hit on him so please, you fucking dick, get down here and help us.
What an odd way humans have for speaking to someone they dream about being with.
“It’s urgent. I must answer it. I assume the two of you can handle what’s left of him?” Castiel confirmed with a nod to the demon. Said demon sneered at him, but it was weakened by his tortured state.
Muriel nodded and gripped her angel blade tighter. She sent Castiel away with the universal gesture between warriors.
Landing on holy ground in a small town in Michigan gave Castiel a rush of power. Holy ground always did that to angels, made them feel what humans would describe as drunk or intoxicated on something that had the exact opposite effect as alcohol. Even more so when it was a beautiful and well supported church like this one. Brightly lit with candles and chandeliers, the sense of a strong religious devotion settling into the bones of his vessel as a pleasant hum.
It was only split seconds before a body went flying past Castiel, falling against a row of pews in a heap of brown hair and gangly limbs. Sam. Castiel scanned his surroundings, needing to lay eyes on Dean before doing anything else. When he did spot him, he was overcome with a sense of protection he’d never felt for a fellow angel or human. The Chalkydri, a species of angel he hadn’t seen in centuries, charged at Dean with a slew of Enochian condemnations.
“Worthless human. My God gave you life only for you to disrespect him with your heinous lifestyle? You will pay for your sins by my hand since my God is too good to,” he spat in Castiel’s language.
Castiel’s eye twitched at the insult, and he admittedly used more force to throw the large serpent against a wall of the church than he needed. His weapon, a sword Castiel recognized as belonging to an Archangel, fell out of his reach to the ground under his feet. Dean’s head whipped around, his fighting stance relaxing significantly when he saw Castiel there.
“Finally! Where the fuck have you been, Cas?” Dean snarled. Castiel shot a look at him, only slightly caught off guard that Dean would choose the middle of a bloody fight to address his noticeable absence from their lives. Dean only glared witheringly back at him.
Castiel ignored him and pinned his attention back on the writhing Chalkydri. “My Father made humans and their fates. If he didn’t want them to turn to sin, he did not need to let them. It was his choice to provide free will, and it is not our place to intervene just because we are unhappy with it,” he growled back in their native tongue. The Chalkydri hissed in rage, resisting Castiel’s hold more violently. His forked tongue slipped out of his mouth and his jaw snapped at him threateningly.
“They are abominations, brother! How dare they disrespect Him with their foul actions and sins? They deserve to be punished, but God is too good to punish his children the way they need to see it!”
Dean’s gaze bounced between the two, unsubtly curious about what they were saying in a language he was unable to speak or understand. Castiel stepped forward until he was able to shield Dean’s body from the creature with his own, then called the Archangel’s sword to his hand.
Suddenly, the Chalkydri laughed loudly, accusingly. He thrashed against the wall in a state of hysteria, prompting a bewildered look on Castiel’s face.
“Did you break him or something?” Dean whispered, far too close to his ear. Castiel smothered the urge to turn his face towards Dean and drink him in up close and personal.
“He may be an abomination, but you?” The Chalkydri’s change from Enochian to English was jarring, still not as jarring as his raucous laughter. “You are a violation of everything that is good and holy. You deserve to be reduced to atoms at the hand of God,” he spoke directly to Castiel. Castiel’s eyes narrowed suspiciously because, to be fair, there were many reasons an angel would be throwing these accusations at him.
But of course he would be talking about the worst possible thing. The one thing Castiel would absolutely not want to take responsibility for in front of Dean. “An angel in love with a human. A human as revolting as this one, no less. The things he’s done, brother, the so many sins he’s committed. If you have any semblance of angelic duty left in that vessel of yours, you should throw him back into Hell where he deserves to rot!”
Castiel’s back had stiffened as soon as he mentioned his… attachment to Dean, but fury ran through his veins when the creature began speaking about Dean like he was a parasite on Earth.
Castiel lifted the sword high above his head and swung once, severing the head of the Chalkydri before another word could spill from his mouth and urge Castiel to torture him instead of only smiting him. His head, which was much more humanlike just a moment ago, reverted back to its true, reptilian form and fell to the ground. Behind him, Dean squawked in confusion and instinctively reached out to clutch Castiel’s trench coat.
“What the hell is that?” Sam slurred from his slumped spot against the pew. Castiel cut a glance backwards, confirming that Sam had been knocked cold by the toss and hopefully hadn’t heard what the Chalkydri had said. There was no denying Dean had heard and understood the creature’s words.
“Copper serpents,” Castiel explained, regarding the sword in his hand carefully. A sword of an archangel may be a useful weapon against the Leviathans. He turned to both humans, but avoided Dean’s wide-eyed gaze.
“They’re a species of angel, and usually very peaceful. I’m not sure what happened with this one, but I’ll be returning his body to Heaven to investigate him further.”
Castiel brushed by Dean to help Sam back up to his feet and steady him. Sam shot him a grateful smile, though it looked more like a wince, and let go of Castiel’s arm when he was finished swaying.
“You good, Sammy?” Dean questioned. Sam nodded, still fighting through his pain, but with the lack of physical contact, Castiel was unable to administer any healing.
“Yeah, yeah. Just a little shaken up. You’re taking him upstairs?” Castiel nodded in affirmation. “Great, then I’ll go get in the car. Dean, you can pack up because you didn’t have to play chew toy with a ‘copper serpent.’ Thanks for helping out, Cas.” With a friendly slap on Castiel’s shoulder, Sam stumbled out of the church and towards the Impala.
Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly, returning to the Chalkydri’s body silently. The silence was tense and awkward, but Castiel preferred that to the horrifying thought of addressing—
“So,” Dean began, cutting off his wishful thinking. “About what freak-a-zoid over here said… Was he, you know, telling the truth?” The wince on his face was almost as damaging as the apprehension in his tone. Castiel fully understood the obsession monsters had with throwing the Winchesters against walls, especially in that very moment.
Placing his hand on the corpse and head of the Chalkydri, Castiel sent it up to Heaven with a note detailing the incident.
“What would you say if he was, Dean?” he sighed as he stood up.
Dean spluttered, turning an enticing shade of red at Castiel’s question. “I-I don’t know, Cas. I don’t—I mean I’m not—” Dean cut himself off with a frustrated breath. He ran a hand through his hair and averted his eyes to the ground of the church. “Nothing. I guess I’d say nothing,” he muttered dejectedly.
He turned his attention to the many jostled pews, moving towards the one in the front row to right it back to its original position. Castiel snapped his fingers, situating every out of place item in the church back to their rightful places. Dean jerked back from the pews and looked back at Castiel, making eye contact for the first time since Castiel visited their motel to weigh in on Enochian sigils.
Castiel couldn’t suppress the sneer that crossed his lips, fully directed at Dean. If he were a lesser being, he wouldn’t be able to count the number of times Dean’s carnal prayers rang deafeningly in his mind. He never read Dean’s mind, but he was sure he didn’t need to in order to guess some of the things Dean had been thinking. The Chalkydri had said Castiel was in love, and although Castiel had been unable to accurately name the way he’d felt about Dean for so long now, that term sounded correct. He still didn’t know enough about humans and how they worked, but he was sure Dean felt something for him. He was just so stuck in his ways, so scared of being abandoned by loved ones that he couldn’t let himself even try to be happy. If Castiel was willing to take that risk, why couldn’t Dean?
He was fed up, sick of Dean’s running and sick of his own resistance to his feelings for Dean.
“Did you know,” Castiel said darkly, “that any slight desire for an angel is considered a prayer? If someone scrapes their knee and just for a split second wishes a certain angel could have been there to help, that’s a prayer. If someone sees something they believe a certain angel would enjoy, that thought is considered a prayer and the angel is able to hear it.”
Castiel could see the moment Dean connected the dots. His eyes shot even wider, his feet taking unconscious steps away from Castiel as he neared him. “So every single time you brought yourself off to the thought of me, begged out loud or in your mind for me to come take care of you like you needed it? I heard every single, vulgar word, Dean.” He stopped when he stood close enough to Dean that he could feel the human’s body heat radiating off of him. He could feel the sharp intake of breath Dean took in, could hear the rapid blinks of Dean’s eyelids.
“Keep your silence now if you wish, Dean. I’m sure I’ll see you spreading your legs and begging for my cock inside of you within days,” he taunted.
“See me?” Dean breathed. His eyes flitted back and forth from Castiel’s eyes to his mouth, and Castiel swore they were closer than they were when he first got in his face. He wasn’t sure if Dean was moving in, or if he was, or if both of them were getting nearer. “You saw me?”
Castiel huffed out a small breath. That was the one thing Dean zeroed in on?
“The first time you did it, it sounded like you were going to die if I didn’t come to you. And the other times…” Castiel moved centimeters closer, their lips hovering above each other. He placed two fingers under his chin and tilted Dean’s face closer. “You’re irresistible,” he said as if it answered any question Dean could possibly have.
It was Dean that made the final move forward, Castiel was sure. He launched himself into Castiel, throwing his arms around the angel’s neck as he crashed their mouth together. Castiel had no words in any language that could express the feeling that engulfed his being. It burned through his veins, an indescribable feeling of love and desire so strong it could destroy worlds. Feeling Dean against him like he dreamed of for years, it felt like a missing piece of him slid perfectly into place. He had been wrong before. It didn’t matter that he was an angel and Dean a human, they were surely meant for each other. Castiel refused to believe this feeling was for anything other than a soulmate.
Castiel’s arms circled Dean’s waist to pull them flush against each other, something that made both of them moan in delight. Dean stepped forward, causing Castiel to step backward until his back bumped against the altar of the church. Acting on instinct, Castiel spun Dean around and lifted him onto the altar. Dean’s legs fell apart naturally, giving space for Castiel to fit himself there.
Cupping Dean’s jaw with both hands, Castiel deepened their kiss with lazy, deliberate strokes of his tongue against Dean’s bottom lip until he was writhing with need. Only when Dean began tugging on Castiel’s trench coat in frustration did he slip his tongue into Dean’s mouth compliantly. Dean moaned outright and wasted no time to meet Castiel’s tongue with his own.
When Dean’s hands pushed at the collar of Castiel’s coat, a movement that caused it to begin to fall from his shoulders, Castiel shrugged it off easily. His suit jacket and tie went next, then Dean’s flannel and t-shirt. Blindly, Castiel reached around the left side of the altar for the holy oil, backing Dean up until his back laid flat against the marble. Too impatient for more work, Castiel snapped his fingers once to rid Dean of the rest of his clothing and poured a healthy amount of the oil onto his hand.
“Are you gonna get your ass kicked for misusing that?” Dean panted against his mouth. Castiel pulled back to watch his slick hand wrap around Dean’s hard cock and stroke unhurriedly. He watched the way Dean’s hips twitched and canted upwards, so similar yet different to the many times he’d watched Dean do this to himself. He seemed more responsive than he was by himself, and that only made Castiel’s feathers ruffle with an obscene amount of pride.
“Most likely not. For coveting you and your body, though? I certainly will.”
A thick moan breached Dean’s mouth, his shaky hands going to undo Castiel’s slacks frantically. Castiel allowed him to be the one to push the waist of his pants over his hips to free his cock, but realized it may have been a mistake when Dean immediately wrapped his own hand around him. Castiel’s entire world shifted on its axis, some of the burning wicks in the votive candles flickering and blowing out around them. A sound Castiel had never heard himself make tore from his throat and reverberated around them.
Why had he been withholding himself from indulging in this pleasure? The feeling of Dean’s hand on his cock, skin on skin, felt better than anything Castiel had ever experienced. If he could’ve been doing this with Dean, he would’ve acted on his feelings long ago.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas, you’re big. I don’t think you’ll even be able to fit in me,” Dean jested, but his voice was heavy and dripping with interest. Castiel took his wrist and pinned it against the marble beside his head, covering Dean’s body with his own possessively.
“You can take it,” Castiel said. Dean’s pupils blew wide, his throat working with a heavy swallow. His eyes widened when Castiel pressed the head of his cock against Dean’s hole, slick from the holy oil.
“I can’t fucking take it raw, Cas,” Dean spoke, alarmed. Castiel smiled and dipped his head down to brush his lips over Dean’s.
“I can take care of you. Trust me,” he coaxed against Dean’s mouth. Dean was still tensed with worry, but Castiel could feel the way he forced his body to relax obediently. He rewarded Dean by delving back into his mouth, loosening him up with his tongue, as he began to push in. Dean shot ramrod stiff, but Castiel’s grace had already done the work to prepare him for his cock. Once he realized this, he melted languidly and submissively against Castiel.
Overhead, the chandeliers flickered dangerously as wind swept around them. Castiel had to actively fight to keep his grace from causing an explosion in the church, which was exceptionally difficult to do when Dean was so tight around him that it frayed every nerve in his vessel. A slurred moan fell from Castiel’s mouth when he bottomed out, met with a quiet whine from Dean.
Castiel broke their kiss to bury his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. He sunk his teeth in there to ground himself, but the wanton moan that Dean released was sinful enough to threaten his sanity once more.
“You’re so big,” Dean slurred, his free hand clutching onto Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel pulled his hips back and pushed back in quizzically, drawing matching moans from them both. He squeezed his fingers around Dean’s wrist tighter as he sped up. The feeling of Dean’s tight body around him, the sound of his whines and moans directly in his ear, the smell of him directly under him, it all drove Castiel to the brink of insanity.
He was able to keep his grace from doing real damage, but the crucifix on the wall behind the altar trembled from the strong gusts of wind swirling about the room. More votive candles were snuffed out, the lights flickered more wildly. Dean was lost in his pleasure, his voice becoming louder and higher in pitch with every untamed thrust. His back arched up off of the altar, looking like a sacrifice fresh for Castiel’s taking.
A certain thrust made Dean shout into the chaos, his muscles fluttering around Castiel’s cock. “Right there, Cas. Again, please.” Castiel indulged him, fucking his hips into Dean at the same angle to nail his prostate repeatedly.
Dean’s reaction was holy, Castiel would’ve staked his life on that observation. His mouth dropped open, his eyebrows furrowed, his entire body trembled in response. Castiel knew he was correct, that Dean was most beautiful in the throes of pleasure, but he didn’t understand just how right he was until that moment. He was something to be worshiped and beheld. Castiel would happily do these things.
“Oh God, oh fuck. Cas, Cas, Cas,” he babbled, squirming under Castiel. Castiel’s grace burned as the words rang in his ears and his mind, the prayer still coming through even though he was right there to answer it.
“Keep speaking,” Castiel growled, but he was truly pleading Dean. He would give anything for the satisfaction of Dean praying to him while he was buried deep inside of him. Dean’s eyes snapped open, then blinked rapidly at him as his lust-addled brain put the pieces together.
“Cas,” he begged, prayed. “Cas, I need you. Need you so bad. You feel so fucking good, Cas, knew you would, too. Only want you.”
Castiel’s head felt light, almost empty. He pounded into Dean without abandon, so close to shattering that it drove him mad.
“You’re so fucking big, Cas. Please. Castiel, please.”
Glass shattered above them and fell to the ground, Castiel’s grace being the only thing to protect them from being shredded, as he came. Castiel shouted Dean’s name and slammed in deep one last time as he filled Dean to the brim with his cum. His eyes fell shut, his vessel shook from the unfamiliar force of bonding with the one he loved.
He heard Dean’s whimpers, felt his blunt fingernails drag down his bicep as he splattered between their bodies. Castiel fell against him, both because he felt no strength at all and because he craved being closer than just hovering above him. He released Dean’s wrist, belatedly realizing he must’ve left rough bruises on the skin there from how tightly he was holding.
Castiel only felt selfish possessiveness at the thought of his bruises being on Dean. He’d have to leave more next time.
“I want to do that again,” Castiel panted against Dean’s collarbone. He placed open-mouthed kisses to the damp skin there, taking the opportunity to worship Dean’s body if it had to be the first and last chance he got.
Thankfully, the frustrating human above him heaved, “Fuck yeah we can do that again.”
Castiel chuckled and lifted his head to kiss Dean once more. “You should watch your mouth in the house of God,” he chastised. When Dean snorted and shoved his shoulder, Castiel was expecting it.