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~ooooOOOoooo~
“Pizin noco iad…”
“Cas!” Dean dove for his mate as Castiel reeled back from the Whore with a ragged cry, fear clutching at his heart as he felt the vague stab of pain echo from Cas before it was cut off. They hadn’t talked yet. Hadn’t had a chance to say everything Dean knew needed said, even if he was allergic to such conversations.
A low groan rumbled in Castiel’s throat as he rolled towards Dean; Dean was vaguely aware of Sam and Pastor Gideon taking off after the Whore, trying to reach her before she got to the parishioners in the meeting room down the hall. Dean tried to pull him up, viridian eyes wide and urgent, and Castiel placed one hand over Dean’s heart to gently push him back. “Go… I’m fine. You have to stop her, Dean.”
“Cas…” He didn’t want to go. He wasn’t sure Cas was okay; the wall between them was gone, having lasted only moments, and the pain now throbbing across the bond like an abscessed tooth belied the concept.
But both of them were soldiers. Cas wasn’t mortally wounded and there wasn’t time to argue. Dean pulled Castiel’s head to his, crushing that beautiful mouth in a fierce kiss, and then he was running into the melee.
Gabriel was evacuating the innocents trapped in the storage room. Kerosene fumes were thick in the air as Sam and Gideon tried to battle through “Leah’s” more zealous followers. The Whore stood in the center of it all, her expression an obscene mix of triumph and serenity.
This bitch hurt Cas.
Dean didn’t stop to think beyond that. He dropped into a forward roll, crossing the distance and cutting under several combatants. His hand found the cypress wood, cool to the touch, and at once there was a whisper in his mind… in his blood… tendrils of ancient Earth-born power…
A wall of force rolled him back. Dean gasped reflexively, spinning away, trying to get out of its path and get to the stake…
“Pathetic, self-hating, faithless jade.” She was on his chest, hands clamping on his throat with inhuman strength, eyes a cruel gleam of hatred. “You belonged in the Pit… with us… you think you can kill me? You’ve never served Heaven, except as a fallen seraph’s slut. And now you can’t do anything but watch the world burn.”
How his fingers closed on it, Dean would never know later. He only knew the surge of old magick in his hands, lighting through his limbs as he drove the stake through the solar plexus, angled up to pierce the heart. “Don’t be so sure, Whore.”
Grace swept him, pulled from Cas through the bond by the wave of wild magick that blasted out through him. It left Dean gasping on the floor, staring disorientedly at the ceiling as the Whore’s body stiffened, hands prying free of his throat as it toppled back, convulsing. Shock ran through the bond from the others; Sam was there in a heartbeat, pulling him to his feet as the stake burned through the Whore’s chest, destroying the spirit within with a final phoenix cry, then dissolved to ashes. Dean’s limbs were woolen and his weight was born up only by his brother’s grip as silence settled over the cadre of stunned parishioners, the spell woven through their senses broken with the Whore’s death.
“I don’t understand,” whispered Jane. Her eyes were wide, wounded; zealotry born of a mother’s grief suddenly bereft of its muse. “How do we get to Paradise now?”
“Same way as before,” Gabriel told her quietly. His eyes were soft butterscotch, the mercy of God reflecting in their depths. “Honor the precepts the Son set down, do the best you can, and let the Father worry about the rest.”
Dean wanted to say he doubted it. Wanted to argue the point, knowing God’s attitude about the apocalypse. Castiel’s grace pulsed at him and he remained silent, forcing his legs to hold him up and all but running to fetch his mate.
* * *
It was a long, silent drive out of town. Rather than snapping them away, Gabriel climbed into the passenger seat as Sam took the wheel. Dean herded Castiel into the back and kept the angel curled up against his chest in complete violation of anything resembling seat belt laws. Sam kept flicking glances in the rearview mirror, watching the quiet worry in Dean’s eyes as the elder Winchester almost absently stroked Castiel’s hair. Castiel rested against Dean’s chest, eyes closed and ear pressed against the soothing drum of Dean’s heartbeat.
Finally, Gabriel seemed to straighten a little and reached out, tugging Sam’s sleeve. “Turn here,” he ordered softly, indicating a dark access road to the right.
Curious, Sam didn’t question it, pulling onto the unmarked county road and following his mate’s instructions. Perhaps fifteen minutes later, the Impala was pulling to a halt in front of a neatly kept A-frame house that appeared to be totally empty. “Gabriel?”
“One of a few places I’ve got hidden away where I can recharge my grace.” There was a faint smile lighting his tired features. “We’ll be safe here. Iron frame, salt lines sealed into the thresholds and gridded tighter than mosquito netting between the stones and the sigils.”
Dean was still supporting Castiel, one hand yanking his duffel from where he’d stuffed it into the foot well behind the front driver’s seat. “Please tell me there’s a hot tub.”
Tired as he was, Sam burst out laughing at the honestly affronted expression on Gabriel’s face.
Before the archangel formulate an appropriately snarky reply, Dean grinned. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to.”
* * *
“Gotta hand it to the Trickster,” Dean mused, relaxing into the gentle bubble of the swimming-pool-sized jacuzzi. “Man does know how to kick back.”
“Gabriel has been on Earth for a long time,” Castiel replied. He had been uncertain about the idea at first, not really seeing the need or point, but Dean had stripped down eagerly once they’d found the room and filled the tub. His mate had made something of a show of disrobing, too, when he’d noticed Castiel gazing at him with undisguised admiration. Dean was a splendid specimen; Castiel was ever proud of his handiwork in restoring this beautiful man.
The sight of those long lines and solid muscles sliding into the warm water was really all the incentive Castiel had needed.
“Seems like most angels hung out down here one time or another,” Dean countered, shifting so one of the jets pulsed more solidly against a knot in his back. “How come he’s the only one who figures we had some good ideas? Even you wonder whether it wouldn’t be a better idea to just let Michael kill Lucifer, sort all us mortal slobs between Heaven and Hell and just have done with it.”
“I did,” Castiel agreed. “But that is no longer the case.”
Dean’s eyes opened wider as he turned to face his mate. His angel. “What changed your mind?”
“You.”
Simple. Direct. The essence of Castiel. “Cas, I’ve done nothing but get you in one mess bigger than the last since you yanked me outta Hell.”
“You reminded me that Father did not create us to be creatures of mindless unthinking subservience. That He asked us to love humans as we do Him.” Castiel sat straight and still in the water, as if the concept of this setting being for relaxation still eluded him. “I bowed before Edom, Dean. I swore that love to mankind. And you are my beloved. So I am attempting to learn about the things that bring you joy. There must be great worth in that which makes you happy.”
Heat washed through Dean that had very little to do with the water rushing and eddying around them. He pushed across the hot tub in one powerful glide, his arms catching around Castiel and his legs bracing between his mate’s thighs, forcing them apart as his mouth caught the angel’s in a searing kiss.
Cas mewled into it, wet hands gliding up to clutch at Dean’s shoulder blades, stroking down his spine. Dean’s hands snaked backwards, trailing down the sensitive skin over Castiel’s ribs, drawing out a delightful squirm before he slipped them up to capture Castiel’s face in both hands. Long fingers stroked over high cheekbones, careful as thinnest glass, tongue teasing its way into Castiel’s mouth and tempting Cas to tease back, lips pulling into a warm grin against his lover’s mouth when the angel did precisely that.
Slow, almost reluctant, Castiel shifted back just enough, his eyes drinking in the deepening joy on Dean’s face, so rarely shown in recent days. “You have such a beautiful smile, beloved.”
A low roll of want sounded in Dean’s throat, and then he was kissing Castiel’s eyes, mouthing down his cheekbone, drawing in one earlobe and suckling until Cas was pressing up into him, hips and spine arching, and Dean’s hands caught the small of Castiel’s back as his mouth worked its way down the pale column of Castiel’s throat, pausing to draw vanishing red-purple ellipses across the hollow of his pulse.
“Castiel…” The name murmured across the angel’s collarbone, Dean’s lips soft as rose petals against the skin. Castiel keened high in his throat, his legs shifting to wrap around Dean’s waist and pull himself closer. The bond between them still felt fragile; Dean’s acceptance of him so tenuous; the need for his mate, the hunger for skin and weight and touch and possession overpowering. Not even Famine could ignite an ache so deep…
That ache sharpened as Dean’s hands slid to the angel’s thighs, pressing and guiding Castiel away from his body. Dean’s name whimpered out as gentle hands turned him, urging him away from the heat of his mate’s body and against the cool marble plinths surrounding the tub.
“Don’t worry, Cas.” Dean slid close, surrounding his mate from behind; Castiel’s hips pushed back into the hard line of Dean’s arousal and Dean nipped at the back of his angel’s neck. “Easy, angel… I’ll get you there… trust me.”
Large, callused hands laced through his own; Castiel all but whimpered as Dean pressed them both forward, laying Castiel out across the marble, palms flat on the cool, smooth surface. It brought him all but completely out of the warm pool, the contrast between Dean and the water and the rock sparking uncontrolled shivers across his rapidly fraying nerves.
“Stay here,” Dean whispered. He nibbled at the tender skin between Castiel’s neck and shoulder; Cas gasped, hips bucking up against the thick heat he needed. “Just like this… you’re so hot, Cas…” Another bite, sharper this time, stinging the curve of Castiel’s shoulder. Cas cried out, fingers flexing against the marble. “Wanna hear you… Castiel… my Castiel…”
Possessiveness flooded into him across the bond; Castiel could have wept from need and relief and aching, desperate want as Dean’s mouth traced a searing path across the axis of his shoulders, nibbled down his spine. His mate… his impossible, recalcitrant, irrepressible hunter… Dean wasn’t holding back, was letting him in… letting them have this…
Fingers teased and traced, lingering over ticklish spaces, trailing water droplets across his skin that Dean chased with his tongue, pinching here and there with his teeth until Castiel was a moaning, trembling wreck from fighting to be as still as Dean wanted.
Trickling droplets, running over his ribs. Down his spine. Dean almost made a game of it: catching as many as he could, nipping at Castiel’s back or hips or shoulders when there were no more to chase, only to lift another palmful of water to spill across his angel and begin again.
Finding the space where Castiel’s wing joint should have been was a total accident. Dean hadn’t even been looking for it, simply enjoying every trembly shudder and hitching gasp Castiel made. The love bite into the tender, unexpectedly sensitive flesh shocked a climax out of the angel, wing-shadows unfurling like silent thunder blasts and dropping Dean back into the Jacuzzi with a splash. He watched in awe as Castiel shook and keened his release against the marble edge, wings fluttering somewhere between distress and ecstasy.
It had to be, hands down, the hottest thing he’d ever seen: his angel undone by his lips alone.
Before Cas could recover, he was back, wrapping around his angel and massaging soothing circles around those wings. Castiel moaned and pushed back against Dean, wings of shadow and grace still trembling under Dean’s touch. “Dean… if you’re going to do that, you need to be inside me.”
“You gonna smite me if I don’t?” Dean dug his thumbs in around the wing joint as he said it. Castiel let out a stuttering little cry, going hard again sooner than Dean had reckoned possible. Angelic healing mojo equals zero refractory time, apparently.
“Never,” Castiel growled, too distracted to acknowledge the thought. “But my body finds it uncomfortable to not have you inside me and it is worse every time you…”
The words broke off, having undone Dean’s control. His long arms let him keep one hand on Castiel’s back as he shifted, kneeing Cas’ legs further apart and taking one tender globe of pale flesh in his free hand. Cas whimpered, a wordless plea, and Dean ran his tongue up the exposed curve.
Castiel’s responses got extremely vocal at that point.
Having never used this particular technique with a male lover, Dean found himself smiling, curiously exploring. The delicate, rosy, puckered flesh was far more sensitive than he’d expected, and there was no hurry tonight. They could rest and recover here; Dean could take as much time with his angel as he wanted.
His tongue worked just inside. Castiel let out a shriek and Dean could swear he heard the marble crack under Cas’ fingers. Or as much time as either of us can handle, anyway. He kept going, prodding deeper, taking in the taste of salt and earth and other; muscles clenched and quivered around his tongue, drawing him as deep as he could go, not deep enough for Castiel, and Dean reluctantly eased back, floating kisses across the tender skin before easing Cas down into the water. Castiel mewled as the too-sensitized flesh hit the warmth of the pool, muscles flaring, seeking more…
Dean braced his hands on Castiel’s hips and sank slowly home, basking in the cry it drove from Castiel that seemed to echo forever in the air around them.
“Castiel…” Dean’s chest was pressed against Castiel’s spine, Cas’ legs spread across his own, the angel rearing up and clutching at Dean’s arms where they wrapped protectively around his chest. “My Castiel…”
“Yours.” A sound framed in submission, in relief, in need and love hopelessly intertwined. “Please, beloved…”
Unable to let his angel go, Dean built the rhythm slowly, letting Castiel feel each bunch and flex of powerful thighs between his own, every press and draw of tapered hips that controlled the depth and pressure inside. One hand slid down, still gentle, still possessive, fingers gliding around the girth of Castiel’s arousal and letting the cadence of their hips do the work. Castiel thrashed, whimpered, ensnared by strong arms and desire that pulse-pounded across the bond in time with Dean’s every movement and there was nothing, nothing in Heaven that could compare to this…
“Come for me, angel,” Dean whispered, warm breath curling in the shell of Castiel’s ear. “Wanna feel you…”
Helpless, he did, Dean’s name ringing from his lips as he spilled into the water surrounding them.
And Dean still kept going.
* * *
Sam was trying to enjoy naked snuggling with Gabriel. He really was. They were warm and safe; Sam was feeling wonderfully muzzy, Gabriel having made love to him long and slow and sweet until an orgasm had rolled through him like a storm surge. The archangel had dissolved the damp spots and was wrapped around Sam like a contented cat, his sharply beautiful face burrowed in so that his ear was directly above the drum of Sam’s heart. It was a peaceful moment that Sam wanted to luxuriate in, cocooned in love and warmth and safety that would inure him against the coming days.
Peaceful, except for the muffled porn soundtrack coming from where Dean and Castiel were having passionate, possessive marathon sex on the first floor.
“Can’t you soundproof it so we can’t hear them?” Sam complained, the words muffled in the mint and lily scented waves of Gabriel’s sunset hair. “I really don’t need to hear that right now.”
Gabriel smiled softly against Sam’s chest, brushing a kiss across the crest of the muscle. “You’ve shared close quarters with your brother most of your lives; this can’t be the first time you’ve heard each other having sex.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to,” Sam contested. “It’s kinda pervy, listening to them… and besides: overhearing your brother having a mattress workout with a random waitress or hot chick from a bar isn’t the same as listening to him having sex with his soul mate. It’s…”
“More intimate?” Gabriel supplied. Sam nodded, blushing faintly. “It might be, but that just makes it better blackmail later.” Before Sam could frame a reply, let alone an objection, Gabriel tipped his head up for a gentle, thorough, breath-stealing kiss.
Their lips parted on a moan from Sam, friction along the ridgeline of two renewed arousals sparking through his blood. Gabriel grinned at him. “Come on, gorgeous… I bet we can be louder.”