whiskygalore: (Jensen 2)
[personal profile] whiskygalore
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White sparks flash behind Dean's eyes, pain ricochets up his ribs, and explodes in his chest. "Dean, Dean, Dean." Alastair exhales, hot and foul, in his ear. "I'm going to take such good care of you."

That might be easier to believe if the sadistic bastard didn't have one hand wrapped around Dean's throat and the other crushing his dick so hard that Dean can feel it in his spine.

"I've trained a lot of bitches, Dean, but you...you're special. I can smell it. And I'm going to-"

"Get away from him!" The roar comes just seconds before Alastair's hands are ripped from Dean's body. Dean rolls onto his side, curling into a ball and gasping for breath, in too much pain to consider doing anything remotely helpful. In too much pain to even pay much attention to the drama unfolding around him.

That's why he doesn't witness an enraged Cas grappling with Alastair. Doesn't see the anger in his eyes or hear the savage fury in his cry. Why he doesn't see the moment Alastair reaches for a knife, and Cas responds by smashing him over the head with a brass bedside lamp. Why, he doesn't even notice Benny yelling for help, and Alastair's limp body being dragged from the room, with Meg, kicking and hissing obscenities, in cuffs not far behind.

It's the reason he doesn't see Cas, panicked and breathless, stop just short of dropping to his knees beside him, his righteous fury fading to worry and uncertainty as he looks down.

The first thing Dean is aware of is the touch of fingers dragging through his hair and a familiar voice in his ear.

"Dean? Dean? Are you okay? Come on, brother, let me see you now." Strong hands roll him back over, careful not to aggravate any injuries. Dean knows it's Benny, would recognize that soft drawl and unexpectedly gentle touch anywhere. "It's okay, Dean. We've got you, just breathe. Deep breaths, come on, breathe for me, brother."

I am fucking breathing, Dean wants to say. But he can't because....shit, when did breathing become such a goddamn challenge?

"Is he okay?" Castiel says, his voice resonating like a plucked string in Dean's chest. "A doctor, we should...I should go and find a doctor. A real doctor."

"Relax," Benny says, his hand shifting to rub circles across Dean's shoulders. "Kevin's fetching Doc Rufus. He's a surly old bastard, but trustworthy. He's patched up Dean more times that anyone can count."

Dean can feel concerned eyes on him, but no-one speaks. The silence isn't heavy, or awkward, just calming. Finally, when breathing takes less concerted effort, Dean uncurls and allows himself to be manhandled so he's sitting upright, knees bent, Benny's steady bulk at his back. He opens his eyes to be met with Cas staring down at him, his head tilted and teeth worrying at his lip. There's a blanket in his hand, obviously stripped from the bed and now that Dean's aware and vertical, Cas carefully lays it over him. It's far too late, Dean thinks wryly, to worry about preserving his modesty. It's not until the warm wool touches his skin that he realizes he's shivering, and with a grudgingly grateful nod to Cas, he pulls the blanket a little snugger around himself.

"Alastair?" Is the first thing Dean asks, his voice a ragged husk.

"Gone," Castiel says. "For good this time. I'll make sure of it, I promise you."

Dean nods, his hand unconsciously rubbing at his throat.

"Water," Cas says in response. "I'll fetch you some water."

Dean watches as Cas almost trips over himself in his haste. He finds a glass and a pitcher of water on a dresser, sloshing it over himself as hurries back to Dean. "Here, you should probably just sip it." Cas doesn't take his hand off the glass, just holds it steady as Dean swallows, the cool water divine against his throat.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Cas drops down to his knees, holding the glass of water in front of him still. "This is all just such a mess."

Dean stares blankly, not entirely sure what exactly Cas is talking about; Alastair? The peace treaty? The ritual?

"We need to talk." Castiel says.

Dean would rather not.

"I need to piss." It's obviously not the response Cas was looking for. That doesn't make it any less true, or any less urgent. Embarrassingly, getting to his feet is more of a struggle than he expected and Benny has to practically lever him upright. Frustrated with his own feebleness, Dean shrugs off Benny's support and scowls at Cas until he backs off too, then like a drunken ape, lurches erratically to the door he really really hopes leads to a bathroom and not a cupboard.

Pissing is not a pleasant experience. And Dean's incredibly glad he sat down on the lavatory. If he'd been standing, his legs surely would have collapsed when his dick caught fire as his bladder finally let go. Dean already has enough problems and absolutely no desire to clean up that kind of mess. He curses Alastair again as he hisses through the stinging pain and waits for the burning agony in his genitals to subside. It takes a while for him clean himself up and regain his composure enough to face Benny and Cas. He doesn't look in the small mirror above the sink when he washes himself, doesn't think he'll like what he sees.

He wraps the blanket around himself again and limps back into the bedroom, aching all over, groin aflame, and the plug in his ass grating against sensitive skin with every step he takes. When he sees Doc Turner standing waiting for him instead of Benny and Cas he almost turns tail in retreat. He's not nearly quick enough however, and before he knows it the doc has him flat on the bed again. Unlike Alastair's, his examination is clinical and professional. His manner is brusque, but his hands are gentle and he tactfully ignores the way Dean initially flinches at every touch. When he's done, the doc pulls the blanket up over Dean once more and then allows Cas back in the room.

"Lord Benjamin's dealing with some security issues," Cas explain shuffling back into the room, not quite able to meet Dean's eye.

"Okay, so-" The doctor starts, only for Cas to cut him off.

"Maybe I shouldn't be here. If Dean would rather have Prince Samuel or his father here-"

"Then Dean can speak up; he has a tongue inside that thick head of his." Rufus says, looking at Dean in question. Dean shrugs. He doesn't see any reason to drag his dad or Sammy into this clusterfuck; they've enough to deal with. "Besides, boy," Rufus turns his attention to Cas. "You're gonna be responsible for this idiot soon, you may as well start looking after him now."

"I can look after myself, you old goat," Dean bristles; he's not a damn child, he's capable of taking care of himself.

Unimpressed, Rufus stands hands on hips, and pins Dean with a withering glare. Dean hasn't seen such a fiece expression on the doctor's face since the time Dean punched his fist through a window. That was a week after Queen Mary died, and rather a painful blur for Dean.

"Well," the doc barks, "It sure don't look like you're doing too good a job of it from where I'm standing."

He doesn't give Dean the chance to argue that none of his current injuries are self-inflicted, thank you very much, just steams right on. "Okay, I know you're hurting, but there's no permanent damage. Alastair bruised you up good, but with ice packs, rest and the meds I'm gonna give you, you ain't gonna be feeling much for the rest of the day."

"I don't want drugs," Dean says petulantly, still rather peeved at the doctor's bossiness.

"Boy, do I look like I'm debating this?" Doc Turner roars. Dean shrinks back under his blanket, thoroughly chastised. "Now, I've got creams that'll numb your ass tonight, so you can get through the ritual without feeling any pain, and you are gonna take a sedative as well as the painkillers beforehand so you're relaxed enough not to tense up and do yourself any more damage. There ain't gonna be a problem with that, is there?" The doc pointedly asks Castiel.

"Absolutely not, Sir," Cas replies, sharing a wide-eyed look with Dean that suggests he's as intimidated by the doctor as Dean is. Smart man.

"Now, I'm gonna be frank here, boys, and you might not like it, but tough shit. I'm not happy about this whole situation either. The way I see it, this ritual is gonna go ahead no matter what."

Cas and Dean nod, neither very happily.

"So, as far as I can see, the best thing all round is for it to be over and done with as soon as possible."

"I thought it took a week?" Castiel asks.

"On average it does, but we can speed it up. Now Alastair was a sadistic son of a bitch, but the drugs he gave you are effective at kick-starting the turning process. If we push things along, I reckon we can have it completed in another three maybe four nights."

It's not much, it still means days of humiliation ahead of him, but a tiny flare of hope does spark up inside of Dean.

"Really?" Cas says, eyes flicking to Dean's. "That...that would be good. Well not good...easier perhaps. How? What would we have to do?"

"Well, this is the bit you ain't gonna like. Alpha semen. Lots and lots of it. In everything you eat and drink. Absolutely everything. No sly sips of untainted water, no bites of food that aren't liberally doused in alpha come."

Dean knows his face is screwing into a grimace.

"I know it don't taste too pleasant, but as...as..." Rufus starts to stumble over his words and for just a second seems uncomfortable before quickly slamming his professional detachment back in place. "As the turning progresses, you'll start to find the taste less bitter."

Because good little omegas love the taste of alpha spunk, great.

"You need to keep plugged up with too, constantly, as much as possible." Rufus says, unable to meet Dean's eyes now. Which works just fine for Dean, because this is a topic he's not too comfortable with either.

"The more Alpha semen you have inside of you, the faster this will go. You need to keep plugged up all night, then after you...clean up in the morning, it'd be best if you get filled up again straight away. We can do it with a syringe if you don't want-"

"Okay, okay," Dean says, only just resisting the urge to bury himself under his blanket compltely. "I'll do whatever you want, just as long as we don't have to talk about it anymore."

"Well, that's fine by me," Doc Turner says, obviously relieved. And that's why he's Dean favorite doctor; he likes talking about awkward crap as much as Dean. "I'm gonna fetch some painkillers and supplies. Maybe you boys should talk some while I'm gone."

Dean scowls at Rufus's retreating back. Traitorous bastard.

"I'm s-"

"Please don't say you're sorry again." Dean sighs.

"I am though, Dean. I'm sorry for your suffering. For what you have to go through. I'm sorry that Alastair got anywhere near you. I'm sorry that my father and Zachariah forced you into this. I'm sorry that I can't stop it. But - and I'm sorry if you hate me for saying this - but I'm not sorry that we're together again. I missed you, Dean."

Dean says nothing, doesn't know quite what to say. He's missed Cas too. And he can't deny the tug of want in his guts when he looks at the gorgeous man his friend has become. Or the comfort his familiar blue eyes brings. But so much has happened. And so much is still to happen. They're not children now, and the people of Heaven aren't renowned for their kindness towards enemies or omegas. Dean's very aware that Cas's expectations of their future together are unlikely to mesh with his own in any way.

"I've talked to my father," Cas continues when it becomes clear that Dean's idea of talking doesn't stretch to actual talking. "He's starting to realize how wrong this all is. I know it's rather late, but he has given me permission to make this as easy as it can possibly be for you." Cas takes a steadying breath, and a step towards Dean. "I talked to Sam this morning."

That grabs Dean's attention like nothing else ever could. He listens attentively as Cas relays their conversation and then goes on to elaborate on what took place with Zachariah and King Charles.

It's a lot to take in, but as Cas explains the morning's events, - and God is it really still morning, it feels as though days have passed since Dean first woke -  Dean very slowly begins to relax. He thought, deep down, that Cas was still the same kind, staunchly loyal, friend he always was, but now he knows he is for sure. And the despair Dean was desperately trying to hide suddenly doesn't feel so all-encompassing. In fact, if circumstances had been slightly kinder, Dean would be ecstatic right now to have his friend back. Unfortunately, the circumstances can't be changed, not significantly.

"Thank you," Dean says when Cas finishes speaking and looks expectantly at him. "For getting Sam out of it. The kid would have had nightmares for years and I would have hated that more than anything."

"You're welcome." Cas says, again waiting for Dean to continue.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Cas." Dean admits. "What do you expect of me? What do you think is going to happen when all this is done? When I'm your omega?"

"When you're my husband," Cas corrects Dean. "I hope that you'll stand by me. That when I become king you'll be my consort. I hope that together you and I can bring peace and stability to our lands."

"Together? You mean me kneeling at your feet? Your collar around my neck and your brand seared into my skin."

"No! God, no, Dean. That's not what I want. I promise you. I want you as my equal. My friend."

"And your omega? Your broodmare?"

Castiel huffs in frustration. "No!"

"Yes," Dean stresses. "You can't ignore it, Cas. No one else will. I'll be an omega. Your omega. And like it or not, the laws in your land mean that I'll be treated like a dog and respected less than one."

"Then we'll change the laws." Cas snaps.

"Just like that?" Dean bites back. "Hundreds of years of hate and bigotry and you're just going to outlaw it?"

"Yes, I will."


"I'll find a way. We'll find a way."


"For you." Castiel says.

Dean raises his eyebrow and Cas quickly amends, "And because it's wrong. Fundamentally, it's wrong. Omegas should have equal rights."

Dean considers Cas thoughtfully. "I want to trust you, Cas, I do. But, it's been years since we were friends. You don't know me anymore. And I definitely don't know you."

"I've not changed, Dean. And I don't think you have either, not really. You still care about Sam more than yourself. You're still kind and brave and ridiculously bullheaded, and you still have the most stunning eyes I've ever seen."

"Cas, I don't-"

"Just a chance, Dean." Cas begs. "Just give me a chance to prove myself to you, please."

"Cas," Dean shakes his head, can hear the exhaustion in his own voice. "It's not that easy. I hurt like hell and my head is a fucking mess. There's all this crap goin’ on, and I don't understand half of the political bullshit even on a good day, and shit, man I've not had a good day for weeks now."

"We're both on paths chosen for us, Dean." Cas closes the distance between them, until he's standing right by the bed, aborting a move to place his hand on Dean's arm when Dean twitches, unintentionally but noticeably. "Free will isn't a luxury we've been given in this mess. What we have got is each other. Let me help you see this through. Let me have your back, Dean."

Dean wants to say no. His pride and Winchester stubborn streak mean his instinct is to fend for himself. He doesn't need to lean on anyone. Doesn't want anyone to see him when he's in pain or afraid. But Cas is gazing at him so earnestly, and the more Dean looks at him, the more he sees the little boy that took his hand and led him out of the maze. The boy that dried his tears and carried his weight after he fell from the branch of a tree, bees still buzzing around his head. He sees his friend Cas. And he's missed him. And just maybe he can have him back.

"Okay," He says. "Okay. That...that's....okay."

It's hardly a declaration of love, but Castiel's face lights up with a blinding smile and Dean thinks that just maybe the future doesn't look quite so bleak

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Doc Rufus doses him up with painkillers, sedatives, and whatever else he can scrape up from the bottom of his bag, until Dean's head feels like it's stuffed full of cotton candy and his body is pleasantly numb.

Cas stays doggedly by his side for most of the day. When he has to step out Benny takes his place. Dean wants to say they don't need to babysit him, frankly he's so drugged up he spends most of the time asleep anyway, but when he wakes up, or lucidity makes a brief appearance, it's reassuring to know he's not alone. Not that he'd ever admit that. Not unless he was smashed out of his head on drugs anyway. Oh yeah...that might explain why Cas smiles all goofy at him, and Benny ruffles his hair like he's a damn puppy.

Dean couldn't tell you much of anything about the ritual that night. He knows he doesn't put in an appearance at the banquet beforehand. He's so out of it, he'd land up face first in his starter. He thinks it's Benny that leads him into the hall when it's time, and Cas that helps him on to the breeding bench. Time and focus fade in and out for Dean. One second Cas is telling him to relax, and the next someone else - Cain, Dean forces himself to remember it's Cain, his friend - is pushing into him, whispering soothingly in his ear. There's no pain, maybe a little discomfort piercing through his drugged fog, but mainly Dean feels a total disconnect from what's happening. He even drinks down a cup of warm salty liquid, not registering what it is until it's sliding down his throat.

He wishes the whole ritual could pass with such little drama.

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The next morning passes in much of the same way. Rufus plies him with pills for the pain, pills to ease the sickness which is making it almost impossible for Dean to keep down any solids, and pills to help him relax. The constant buzz stops Dean from caring about the too-private examinations, the anaesthetizing creams, and vials of alpha semen being injected into his ass, and the come mixed in every single thing that passes his lips, but it also means he misses out on seeing Sammy and his father when they visit him. When he learns about the missed visit, he complains bitterly to Cas and Benny that they should have woken him, but they swear blind that they tried to rouse him. "Hell, brother, a herd of elephants could have clog-danced through the room and you wouldn't have noticed," Benny snaps at him eventually.

At midday when Rufus hands him more meds Dean refuses point blank to take them. The resultant shouting match is one sided, but Dean's sullen silence speaks louder than words. And despite Rufus's yelling, Benny's reasoning and Cas's cajoling, Dean remains adamant. He's not hiding inside his head any longer. Not if it means he's so unaware of his surroundings that he can't even talk to his brother, never mind look out for him. That confession almost earns him a head slap from Rufus, but Cas, ever the diplomat steps in. They compromise, something which they seem to be doing a lot of. Dean concedes to taking pain pills, and Rufus promises he won't sedate him unless he absolutely has to.

Without Rufus's knock-out pills, Dean feels more alert than he has in days, and although his body still aches in places, and there are dark clouds edging into his thoughts, he's feeling a little more like himself. He's also bored. Benny brings him books, courtesy of Charlie, but he doesn't have the concentration to read more than a couple of pages before he loses track and his mind starts to wander to places he doesn't want to go. It's Cas that brings him back. He sits on the bed beside Dean and just starts talking.

"You know, I always thought you were a rather goofy looking child. Your ears stuck out and your eyes were too big in your face. You looked a bit like a chimpanzee."

"Hey! I was a cute kid." Dean, whose thoughts were a million miles away, looks up, surprised by Cas's sudden appearance and random insult.

"And I think the first time we met I tried to scrub your face clean because I thought your freckles were dirt."

"I don't-"

"Although, in my defense I think at least half of them were."

"Well, at least I wasn't scared to get my suit dirty."

"That's because you wore shorts until you were eight years old."

"And that right there is why I don't do shorts now."

"Do you remember the time you fell out of the tree? I thought you father was going to kill me for letting you climb it."

"As if you could have stopped me."

"True, you always were stubborn"

"Damn straight."

"And possibly part chimpanzee."

"You're not funny y'know."

"Do you remember..."

And that's how they spend the afternoon; sniping at one another and reliving the few days they shared together that meant so much to each of them. It's also possibly when Dean realizes just how very much he's missed Cas. Missed his so-dry-it-burns humor, and his quick wit. Missed the dazzling smile that lights up his face when Dean finally manages to crack his poker-face and make him laugh. The afternoon passes easier with Cas by his side chasing away his darker thoughts. And when Cas has to leave to prepare for the 'celebration' Dean feels his absence like a missing heartbeat.

A short while later, when the time comes to make his appearance at the ritual that night, Dean wishes he was still blitzed out of his head on Rufus's good stuff. The only bright point is that Cas is there to help him through. As seems to be the new routine, Dean doesn't have to show face at the meal. He doesn't walk into the hall until they're ready for him; Benny escorting him and Cas helping Dean onto the breeding bench, adjusting it so he's comfortable. As comfortable as possible considering his circumstances. He stays by Dean's head the whole time, talking to him softly, distracting him from the harsh reality of what's happening. Harry is the alpha fucking him this time; Dean's second cousin on his father's side, Winchester blood but far down the line of succession and happy to be so. He's gentle and apologetic in his movements. Doesn't hide that he uses enough lube to ease his way, and gets himself off as quickly and efficiently as possible. When they're tied, alpha seed seeping hot and thick in Dean's ass, Harry stays as silent as possible, doesn't touch him more than necessary. And Cas takes Dean's hand in his, holds it steady, forces him to focus on blue eyes instead of the sound and scent of alpha's jacking off around them.

When it's all finished, when Dean's drunk down the alpha come that Crowley tips into his mouth, warm, bitter and vile, and when Benny and Cas have unstrapped him, helped him up and held him steady while he limped back to his holding room, Cas stays right by his side. Sits on a chair by his bed. Doesn't speak, just sits. Keeps watch, has his back while Dean falls asleep.

The chair's empty the next morning. And Dean tries not to feel disappointed that, rather than seeing Cas's bed-headed morning-crumpled face, he's woken by Doctor Turner prodding at him, a mix of pills in his hand and a bottle of cloudy water to wash them down with. Tentatively, Dean stretches out, testing his body for aches. He doesn't feel too bad; more like he's pushed himself too far during training than been beaten to a pulp. That's a major improvement, all things considered. He looks doubtfully at the pills.

"Just take the damn pills, Dean." Rufus says, knowing Dean far too well not to figure out what he's thinking. "These are just painkillers, not even strong ones."

There are some battles not worth fighting, not when Rufus is scowling like that so Dean does as he's told. The water, tainted with alpha come, is musty on his tongue, but not so bad that he can't swallow it down. Grudgingly, he lets Rufus examine him, getting through the very personal exam by humming Metallica in his head, drumming the rhythm out on the mattress with his fingertips. When he's free to go, he bolts to the bathroom, his legs trembling but at least his feet marking a more or less straight path.

He takes the plug out of his ass, grimacing as a thick glob of come trickles down the inside of his thigh, then he uses the toilet, showers, shaves and cleans his teeth. He walks out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, hair damp and beads of water still trickling down his skin. For the first time in days he feels clean, fresh and completely clear-headed.

"Good morning, Dean. How are you feeling?" Cas is hovering by the bed trying so hard not to stare at Dean's chest that his eyes are almost crossing over. You'd think he'd never seen Dean naked before.

"Pretty good, thanks," Dean answers, honestly. "Whatever the doc's doing seems to be working."

"Ah, yes," Cas says, fidgeting with a small package in his hands. "He does seem competent despite his brusque manner. He...erm...he left this for you." Cas holds up a white paper bag. "It's alpha ejaculate, and a clean plug. He said you should....or that I should....for you."

Dean's stiffens. His immediate impulse is to tell Cas to go fuck himself. But as soon as the thought flashes into his head, Dean realizes how unfair it is. Cas is as much a victim of circumstances as Dean, and he's been nothing but kind for the past few days. Kind and caring and compassionate. In fact, if it wasn't for Castiel, Dean's not sure if he could have seen all this through, not without falling apart, not after Alastair.

Cas is looking at him like a wet kitten waiting to be kicked, and his scent, swirling through the air, stronger that Dean has ever sensed it before, is all sour nerves and tangy apprehension. Part of Dean still wants to grab the bag from him, deal with the embarrassment of shoving alpha come up his ass on his own. But another part of Dean, the part that's ruled by his heart and not his head, the part that wants Cas by his side when he falls asleep at night and opens his eyes in the morning, that part wants to reassure Cas and soothe him until his scent settles back into its usual comforting tones. The question is, is Dean ready to drop his walls, his last defenses and listen to his heart. Is he ready to ask Cas for help, for support. To accept they are in this together. That he doesn't have to struggle on alone.

"Okay...okay." Screwing up his courage , he lets the towel slide from his waist and drop to the floor. Bares himself to Cas completely. "What way should we do this? You want me on my hands and knees?"

"You want me to do it?" Cas gulps, eyes snapping to Dean's crotch and away again just as quickly, his voice squeaking half way through his question, and his cheeks flushing pink. He looks adorable when he's flustered. Dean almost laughs. And suddenly he realizes, maybe this doesn't have to be an ordeal. Doesn't have to be serious and somber. Maybe if Dean has control, does this his way, maybe it can be good - fun.

He brushes his hand across his collarbone, watching Cas's eyes trail the movement. He skims his fingers down his chest and over his nipples, and Cas's lips part on a gasp. When he works his fingers lower, down over his taut belly, then traces over his hips, Cas's tongue, pink and wet, pokes out of his mouth as though he wants to taste the skin. As Dean's hand wanders towards his crotch, he can see Cas's eyes darken, his gaze intensifying. And maybe it's cruel to drop his hands to his side before they reach their destination, but Cas's disappointed moan only encourages Dean more.

"Yeah, Cas," Dean says, voice huskier than he expected, maybe Cas isn't the only one affected by Dean's teasing. "You said you wanted to help me through this, didn't you?"

"Yes," Cas says, uncertainty giving way to something more urgent. "I'll do whatever you want. Whatever you need, Dean."

Cas's scent isn't sour now. It's rich and spicy, trickling into Dean's blood like an aphrodisiac. Calling to him in a way that Dean's never experienced before. It's as terrifying as it is thrilling.

He lies back on the bed, swallows down his nerves and spreads his legs. He wants to see Cas's face, his reactions. Wants to see how gorgeous he is when he blushes. How blue his eyes are when they're focused laser sharp on Dean and Dean alone.

Cas fumbles with the bag in his hand, almost dropping the syringe before he lays it safely down on the bed beside Dean. "Like this?" he asks breathlessly. The back of his hand barely skims across Dean's knee, but both men jolt at the touch.

"Yeah," Dean gasps. "Yeah, I want to watch you do it, Cas."

Cas is looking at Dean like he's every Christmas and birthday gift wrapped in one delicious package. Like he wants to devour him and protect him. Like he needs to shelter Dean in his arms and kiss him until he can't breathe.

Dean's never felt as powerful as he does right now. Not in bed, or in battle.

Dean slips a pillow from behind his head under his hips, pushing his ass up into the air. "Come on, Cas," he urges. "You can do it. Fill me up."

Cas groans, loudly. "Can I...can I touch you, Dean?"

"Gonna be hard to do this if you don't," Dean teases, brushing his thumb down the crease of his thigh towards his balls.

That's all the permission Cas needs. He doesn't rush to Dean's ass as Dean thought he would. He doesn't want to just fill Dean up with some strange alpha's seed in a clinical manner like the doc. When he asked if he could touch Dean, he meant everywhere. With reverential care, he takes time to chart every inch of Dean's body. His hands are soft as they trace patterns over old training wounds, a hiss of sympathy rushing from him as he presses carefully over the healed explosion of scar tissue on Dean's chest from a gunshot wound that looks worse than it was. Cas's face hardens as he notes the fresh bruises that too many people have left on Dean's body lately. "After this is all over, I'll kill anyone that leaves a mark on you." The words and tone pure alpha.

"Possessive much, Cas?" Dean chuckles.

Cas glares at him, pouting in a way that should look ridiculous, but Dean can only see as unbearably cute.

"I'm a big boy, Cas, a soldier. My body is always bruised. That's not going to change." There's a flash of something on Cas's face; an argument waiting to happen. This is not the time though. Not when Cas's fingers are trailing over Dean's thighs, marking a slow winding path down to Dean's hole. "Does it hurt?" He asks, brushing his thumb across it.

"Not really," Dean gasps at the curious touch, not from pain, but from something that feels a lot like anticipation. "The painkillers help and the cream. Today it's...it's fine." He finishes on a surprised inhale as Cas pulls at the rim, easing it open, staring at Deans hole intently. Dean can feel himself blushing.

"I hate that other people get to touch you here," Cas admits. "I hate that you have to do this."

"I know, Cas. I know. But it'll be over soon." Dean doesn't know when he became the one who was giving out reassurances. But Cas looks so serious, so torn. And so fucking hot. For the first time in weeks, with Cas between his legs, Dean's body is desperate for touch. For Cas's touch.

Cas leans down until his face is almost hovering over Dean's ass. Dean's stomach squirms, tendrils of want burrowing below the surface of his skin and Dean knows he's lost any sense of control. Knows that now is the time to call this off. To tell Cas no. But he needs, so fucking badly, for Cas to be the one touching him.

"And when this is all over Dean, what then? When I am the only one that gets to see you like this; will you hate me?"

"No! God, Cas, no. You have to know now that I could never hate you."

Cas hums, his tongue darting out between plush lips, and Dean feels his hole twitch, eager and wanting. "You want my mouth on you, Dean?" Cas asks, a glint in his eyes and Dean wonders how the tables got so easily turned on him. How Dean ended up so desperate. "You want me to slick you up with my tongue?"

"God, yes," Dean says, unable to drag his eyes away from the hungry desire in Cas's face. "Please, Cas"

Cas's mouth is on him in an instant. He grabs Dean's buttocks and spreads them apart, Dean's hole twitching desperately in need. Cas licks his hole with a fervor, chasing around the rim until it feels wet and sloppy and not nearly enough. Pushing his tongue inside, swirling and fucking him open, groaning when Dean bucks into it, chasing more. Dean's never done this before, never wanted to leave himself so vulnerable and open. There's nowhere to hide as Cas devours him.

Dean's cock which hasn't twitched in days starts to fill, hardening between his legs. Cas stops, holds the rim of Dean's hole open and blows, and Dean almost bucks off the bed. "So fucking hot, Dean. You have no idea." Cas says.

"Fuck, Cas." Dean moans, "You have to stop. You really need to stop."

Cas freezes. "What's wrong?" Worry, verging on fear clouds his face. "Dean?"

"I'm not..." Dean grabs the pillow under his ass, his fingers digging into the feathers and almost ripping the cotton covering. "I'm not supposed to come during the ritual. Not unless it's on the breeding stand. Not allowed to masturbate. Or fuck anyone."

"Why didn't you say?" Cas asks, his hands petting over Dean's thighs.

"Thought you knew," Dean groans. "And my dick's not exactly been up for business anyway, not after Alastair-"

Castiel growls at the name, cutting Dean off. "You want me to stop? You sure? I can make you come, with my mouth, my hand? No one needs to know, Dean."

It takes every ounce of willpower that Dean possesses to say no. But he does. He signed his name and honor to this agreement. If he doesn't stick to it, he's letting his king and country down as well as himself. Shit, they all better fucking appreciate it. Cas, bless him, doesn't try and persuade him when he says no. He just massages long deep strokes down Dean's legs, soothing rather than arousing. Then screwing his face up like it offends him, he eases the syringe into Dean's hole and fills him up.

Dean's cock wilts right then. And it's totally soft by the time Cas pushes the new butt plug in, thicker and deeper than the last one, trapping all the come inside of him.

"I wish it was me," Cas says. "Wish it was my come you were full of. Just me that could see you. I wish I could put an end to this whole thing now and make love to you like you deserve. Suck your cock until you screamed my name, and-"

Dean darts forward and stops Cas from talking with a kiss. Their first kiss. And it tastes of ass. He tries not to wrinkle his nose up, but by Cas's amused expression doesn't entirely succeed. "If you don't stop talking dirty to me, “ Dean says, wiping the back of his hand across his lips. "I might just kill you on behalf of my poor dick."

Cas laughs, leans forward and slots his lips over Dean's. This time Dean doesn't taste anything but Cas.

dcbb 02.jpg

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