whiskygalore: (Jensen 2)
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This is the fourth night of the ritual and as far as Castiel is concerned, it's gone on long enough. He doesn't know how much longer he can watch as Dean is violated in the cruelest of ways. How much longer he can hold his temper in check. He's never thought of himself as a jealous man, but watching other alpha's drooling over Dean like he's there only for their enjoyment is making him crazy.

After his father's change of heart, Castiel had managed to limit the time Dean has to spend at the ceremony each evening. He'd also adamantly refused to be parted from Dean's side either during the ritual or after. Crowley, lips stretched in a crooked knowing smirk, hadn't offered any opposition to Castiel’s demands and King John had taken Castiel aside to thank him for everything he was doing to help Dean. It doesn't feel enough though. Not when he has to watch Dean suffer night after night.

Hopefully, Castiel thinks as he helps Dean onto the breeding bench yet again, the end is in sight. If this isn't the last night, then surely the next night will be. Dean is doing everything asked of him. Every meal he forces down is laced heavily with come. Castiel knows that Ellen tries to disguise the taste with spices and herbs, but Dean still has to take anti-sickness meds in order to keep the food down; his body rebelling even though his will is not. Even the coffee Dean drinks is dosed. That out of everything is what Dean complains about most bitterly. Cas thinks Deans priorities may be slightly skewed when the ruination of his coffee is his number one grievance. Saying as much to Dean had almost ended with Dean's steaming hot coffee poured in his lap.

The more time Castiel spends with Dean, the more he learns about the man his friend grew into. Castiel already knew that Dean was strong and brave and self-sacrificing to the point of idiocy, but now he also knows that Dean loves his car more than is appropriate, that he can't function unless his blood is at least twenty percent caffeine and that behind the cocky walls he protects himself with, Dean is still the sweet, loving, impish, little boy he was when they first met. Dean is gorgeous, that much is obvious to anyone with passable eyesight. But now Castiel knows for sure that Dean’s more than starburst freckles, kissable lips, and sun-lit-forest green eyes. Dean's as beautiful inside as out. And the sexiest man Castiel has ever laid eyes on. And his scent...his scent is intoxicating, the taste of his skin addictive.

Castiel is besotted.

Dean was exponentially more nervous tonight than Castiel has seen him before. Which in turn is making Castiel more nervous. Dean is hiding his anxiety behind off-color quips and posturing and Castiel is trying to remain the dependable pillar of strength he's pretending to be for Dean's sake. Even Benny, steady as a rock and utterly unflappable, seems on edge, far more so than usual, as he stands guard. His fingers twitching on the ceremonial sword he carries, as he warily eyes the eager audience blatantly drinking in the sight of their prince, naked and vulnerable.

Christian Campbell is the alpha charged with fucking Dean tonight. He's Dean's cousin on his mother's side. Not Winchester blood, but royal and close enough family to meet the criteria. The man looks drunk as he struts towards the platform where Dean is already strapped down. Not swaying happy drunk, but mean arrogant drunk. Castiel dislikes him on sight; the sneer on his face as he looks at Dean, the cruel contempt in his eyes as unzips his pants and palms his erection. Thankfully Dean is well prepared to be fucked. Castiel slipped out his plug when he strapped Dean down, checking that there was enough lubrication - and enough of Rufus's numbing cream - to ensure that Dean would not be hurt. Christian doesn't stop to see if Dean is ready or not. He simply spits in his hand, rubs it over his dick and shoves straight into Dean's hole. He doesn't give Dean any time to adjust, just starts hammering away as though he's fucking a lifeless toy.

Dean - who barely makes a sound when he's on the bench, who is usually so proud and strong - lets out a strangled cry. His gaze flying up to meet Castiel's. Castiel kneels down so he can whisper in his ear, shushes him gently, strokes his fingers through Dean's hair.

Campbell slaps his hand down on Dean's ass, grabs onto his hips and pounds so hard that the stand shudders under the onslaught. The pain in Dean's features, the stressed tension in his muscles is greater than Castiel has seen since the first night. He scowls at the alpha who stares back uncaring.

"It's okay, Dean." Castiel whispers. "He won't last much longer. It'll soon be over. Just hang on a little while longer.

Dean makes a hurt sound, almost a whimper and closes his eyes.

"Fuck cousin." Campbell says, his voice loud enough to carry to the closest of their audience. "You are a tight ass."

Someone laughs nervously. Campbell grins. "Not such a hotshot now, Dean, are you? Ass in the air and hole filled with spunk. Not daddy's bravest little soldier now. Not even a man anymore are you, cousin? Nothing but a slutty bitch with a needy hole." He accompanies his remarks with another stinging slap to Dean's ass, and Castiel sees red.

"Open your mouth again, Campbell and I'll ram my fist in it." He hisses.

"He's not your bitch yet, Prince Castiel. If I want to put my cousin dearest in his place, you can't stop me." He punctuates the last few words with deep thrusts into Dean, his face breaking into a blissful grin when his orgasm rushes through him, his knot catching in Dean's hole. He doesn't seem to care about his pitiful lack of stamina, just drags his fingernails down Dean's back leaving angry tracks as he pulses inside of him.

Castiel wants to drag the bastard off. Wants to take him outside and beat him to a bloody pulp. It's only the fact that having the knot ripped from his ass would hurt Dean as much as Campbell that stops him from doing it.

"If I'd known your ass was this sweet, cousin I'd have put you on your back years ago." Christian says, leaning low over Dean now so that his voice doesn't carry.

"You've never been able to best me in a fight, Christian." Castiel looks at Dean in surprise. Dean has never spoken before while this was happening. Never said a single clear word while strapped down on the breeding stand. Usually he seems to pretend he's elsewhere, and Castiel can hardly blame him for that. Now though, the flush high on Dean’s cheeks looks a lot like anger rather than humiliation.

Christian swivels his hips and drags his knot back, stopping just short of yanking it from Dean's body. "Yet you're the one displayed on a breeding stand. You're the one that's going to be the omega whore of a Prince of Heaven."

"And I'll still be more of a man than you," Dean grits out. Castiel opens his mouth to add something but the fierce glare Dean gives him stops him short.

Christian's hand finds its way to Dean's shoulder, and Castiel can see red imprints blooming under his fingers. "You always were a spoilt brat, Dean. Always thought you were better than everyone else."

"No, just better than you," Dean snarks, his body all tense ligaments and straining muscle.

"Relax," Castiel leans low and whispers urgently in his ear. "You have to relax or his knot will never come free." He combs his fingers through Dean's hair, while trying to kill Campbell with the darkest of looks, hoping the man can see the murderous threat in his eyes.

He cannot. The moron. His eyes narrow in fury at Dean's defiance. "You're better than no one now," he spits. "You're the lowest of the low. Do you know what they do to omegas in Heaven, Dean? They keep them naked and on their knees, collared and leashed. They fuck them, breed them, whore them out and sell them like cattle on the market. You think if I offer a good enough price, I'll be able to buy your broken ass one day? Make you crawl back here so Sammy can see what became of his big brother."

Castiel is a heartbeat away from punching Campbell right there and then, but somehow even strapped down Dean is not defenseless. First he drops his head, defeat signaling in the slump of his shoulders. Campbell grins victorious. Then like a whip snapping, Dean throws his head back and smashes the back of his skull into Christian's gloating face. He catches his cousin's nose perfectly. There's a crack of bone breaking and a veritable fountain of blood cascading down over Dean's shoulders, streaming down his spine. Campbell rears back, explosive pain and shock punching the arousal from his body in one sudden blow. Knot shriveling and popping free, Campbell staggers backwards hands covering his face. Two seesawing steps later and he loses his footing, falling off the platform into a heap of flailing arms and limp legs on the floor.

Castiel almost cheers. Almost kisses the smug grin from Dean's lips. Thinks it might be best to free him from the stand and usher him out of the hall first.

Christian lumbers upright, cursing and yelling although his words are largely incomprehensible. Most of the hall are on their feet; King John and Prince Samuel barging through the crowds to see what's happening. Castiel loosens the last strap binding Dean in place quickly, and then steps directly between him and Christian, Benny moving to assist Dean, wrapping a robe around his shoulders.

"I wouldn't advise you to come any closer," Castiel warns, his fingers bunching hopfully at his side.

"Fuggin useless ass." Christian splutters, stumbling forward. "Can'd you control your dambed omega?"

Castiel's fist snaps forward as soon as Christian is within hitting distance, he did warn him. The punch lands with cruel accuracy on the bridge of the man's broken nose and he hits the floor with a high pitched scream.

"As you said, Campbell." Castiel shakes his hand out, that hurt more than he thought it would. "He's not mine yet."

Benny and Castiel help Dean from the room, protecting him from the almost riot that's broken out. Castiel watches as Dean's father and brother descend on Christian like a pair of avenging angels. First, they have to lift out of the way a petite blond girl who's kicking him ruthlessly in the side as though she's trying to snap each of his ribs in turn. They pass Crowley as they leave, standing watching from a distance. He doesn't attempt to stop them, just smirks knowingly as though he planned the whole thing. The man is insufferable.

"That was awesome," Dean sniggers as they almost run down the hall.

Castiel looks at him in disbelief.

"What?" Dean say, all wide-eyed innocence. "You telling me you didn't enjoy that even a little bit?"

"You're an idiot, Dean Winchester." Castiel deliberately avoids the question then tries not to join in as Dean's respondent laugh echoes down the hallway.



Later that night, Castiel wishes he could hear Dean's laughter again. Rufus had attended to Dean in his room, effectively banishing the lightness in the air. Filling him with alpha semen, plugging him up because there hadn't been time or thought given to it earlier. Making him take long sips of liquid, more alpha come than water, forcing him with gentle hands and encouraging words, not to run straight to the bathroom and throw it back up afterwards.

He'd left them alone not long after. Castiel slumped in an easy chair by the side of Dean's bed, knuckles proudly bruised and Dean drifting off to sleep, painkillers easing the way.

The painkillers are not enough.

At first Castiel thinks that Dean is having a nightmare. It wouldn't be the first he's witnessed. Castiel, napping lightly, jumps awake to the sound of Dean groaning. He's curled on his side on the bed, knees tight to his body, blankets kicked to the floor, and sweat glistening on his skin.

When Castiel says his name, Dean doesn't answer, doesn't even seem to hear. He wraps his arms around his belly and whimpers. Castiel drags the back of his hand across Dean's forehead, swearing out loud when his knuckles touch fire-hot skin. Dean is burning up.

Benny's off duty tonight, ordered by Dean to sleep before he falls over. It's Cain, fierce with righteous purpose, guarding the door, accompanied by a row of Winchester guards standing weary watch in an even-spaced row down the hallway. Cain snaps to attention, looking for invisible threats when Castiel bursts from the room, panic in his eyes. "Doctor, we need the doctor," he manages to choke out. "Get Rufus here now." He runs back into the room, as Dean whines high and pained in the back of his throat.

By the time Rufus gets there, threadbare robe tied haphazardly over pinstriped pajamas, Dean is sobbing, his muscles trembling and skin mottled, and Castiel is frantic. He almost punches Rufus when he takes one look and says there's little he can do. It's the turning process. Dean's body under siege, battling to change, fighting to remain the same.

Cool damp cloths and an injection of hydromorphone are the best the doctor can do. The painkiller is the strongest he has. It doesn't stop Dean from writhing on the bed delirious from the fever. Doesn't stop his chest from heaving as he tries to catch his breath through the pain. When he goes rigid, shuddering and shaking, Castiel thinks his body is losing the fight to survive. It's a seizure, the doctor explains, unbelievably calmly, rolling Dean on to his side, and ignoring the spreading patch of urine as Dean's body fails him in another way. It's the only point that Castiel is glad Dean's too wrapped in misery to realize what's happening. It's not the last fit he has. Twice more Castiel's heart almost pounds out of his chest in fear as Dean convulses in the middle of the bed, muscles contorting into pained cords. Twice more Castiel wordlessly helps Rufus clean Dean up and change the bedding.

All night Castiel keeps watch. Swapping out warm cloths for cool ones. Talking to Dean as though he can hear every word and isn't lost in a world of pain and delirium. Time passes in stop starts. Seconds that tick by so incredibly slowly that Castiel thinks the world has ended. Minutes that skip by in desperate prayers. When morning breaks, so finally does Dean's fever. Benny comes barreling through the door just as the doctor declares the worst of it over, Dean asleep rather than comatose.

Castiel almost weeps in gratitude.

Dean looks suddenly younger, his face relaxed in sleep. The white bedsheets almost match the pallor of his skin. But pale, Castiel now knows, is so much preferable to flushed with fever. Vulnerable isn't a word often used to describe Prince Dean of Winchester. He's a warrior, smart-mouthed, brash and brimming over with coiled energy. Accustomed to being on display in front of adoring crowds from too young an age, he has an air of confidence that can be mistaken for arrogance. A smile that breaks hearts and hides a million secrets. Now, unusually still and silent, he looks fragile and defenseless, nothing like the man who would kill for his country, or his family. He doesn't look a day over his twenty two years. Barely even that. A boy. A boy who's suffered horrific injury and terrible injustice. Every instinct Castiel has, demands that he curl himself around Dean's sleeping form and protect him from any more hurt.

He's saved from Benny punching him in the face for trying to lie down with the sleeping prince without his consent by Rufus scraping his chair legs across the floor.

"He'll be out for hours," the doctor says, packing his supplies back into his bag. "I'm going to sleep. I suggest you do the same Prince Castiel."

"Is it over?" Castiel asks. "Is this the end? Is the ritual complete?"

"Nearly. Tonight should be the last night. Then tomorrow he should have his first heat, and the two of you should mate as soon as possible. In fact if I was you, I would get the arrangements in place. The kid isn't going to want to hang about when his heat hits. The first one is always intense." Rufus snaps shut the clasp on his bag and tries to smile reassuringly at Castiel. Considering his usual gruff manner, it's rather unnerving. "He's more omega than alpha now. One final push and this will all be over. Get some sleep, Prince Castiel. He'll need you later."

Benny literally shoves Castiel out of the door an hour later. Dean hasn't budged, hasn't even twitched in his sleep and Benny insists that if Dean knew Castiel was watching him sleep he'd think it was creepy as heck.

Half-dead on his feet, Castiel almost stumbles into King John as he wanders the hallways trying to remember where his room is. The king takes one look at him, grabs his arm and leads him in the opposite (and correct) direction, worry darkening his eyes. Castiel explains how bad the night had been, how close they are to the end. The king stops in his tracks for a moment, closes his eyes and inhales deeply. Castiel isn't sure whether it's relief or sorrow the king's feeling. Mind you, he's not sure how he's feeling himself.

"Castiel," the king lowers his voice and looks around them furtively as they finally reach the familiar door to Castiel's guest room, the glance he gives his guards firmly requesting they stay back. "You should know, Raphael has been speaking to our interrogators. In fact we can barely shut him up, he's been so keen to confess. He's laying blame at Zachariah's door. Says the king's advisor planned the assassination of Queen Mary, that he aimed to kill my whole family. He's insisting that Zachariah wanted a full scale war. It's not just my family he planned to kill, Castiel. He has inflated ideas of ruling Heaven. Not personally, but through a puppet king. He wanted rid of your brother, thinking you could be molded into a king he could control."

Castiel stares silently at King John, the words should be shocking, unbelievable, but they're not. They make sense in a twisted insane kind of way.

"Castiel, your father and I have talked."

Castiel's eyebrows raise of their own volition. "You talked...to my father?" He pinches the skin on the back of his hand, wondering if he has perhaps fallen asleep on his feet and is having a rather strange and unusually vivid dream.

King John quirks a half-smile, looks breathtakingly like Dean just for a heartbeat. "I know that sounds unlikely, but well...things have changed, are changing. Because of you and Dean mainly. Anyway, we've buried some of our differences. Are trying to find compromise in others. I know he threw Zachariah out, but we don't know where he is now. Or what he's planning. You need to be careful. I doubt he's going to take the unraveling of years’ worth of scheming calmly or rationally. Watch your back, and watch out for Dean. Please."

Castiel has a lot to think about when his back finally hits his mattress. Still, he's asleep within minutes.


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Dean feels like he's been hit by a tank when he wakes up. In fact, he feels as though he's been hit by a tank that then reversed back over him to make sure it hadn't missed. He actually takes a moment to figure out if that's possible, and is pretty damned relieved when he slowly - slowly because his brain has turned to mush and may be leaking out of his ears - comes to the conclusion that it's logistically unlikely.

Every single bone in his body feels bruised. From the ache spreading down his spine and radiating across his ribs to the pain throbbing in his fingers. Even the marrow inside his bones aches. There's a pounding in his head that explodes into a blinding agony when he briefly attempts to open his eyes, but that's nothing compared to the cramps pulverizing his guts or the pressure squeezing in his groin. He tries to ask what the fuck is going on, but it comes out more of garbled groan.

When someone presses pills to his lips, Dean swallows them down unquestioningly, chokes down the water tipped into his mouth too. Then, with a prayer of thanks, welcomes sleep with open arms when it comes to steal him away again.

The next time he wakes is not nearly as traumatic. His joints are stiff, his muscles aching and he's a little groggy, like he drank too much whisky then slept like the dead for too long. The sour taste in his mouth and whiff of stale sweat drifting from his own body backs that theory. Thankfully, the slicing pains and unbearable cramps are gone though, now he's just drained and limp from exhaustion.

There's no blinding headache when he open his eyes this time, only sunlight diffused through the curtains and Benny's face peering down at him.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Benny greets him. "Bout time you woke up."

"Does that make you the beast, asshole?" Dean croaks.

"Wrong fairytale, brother. And I sure as heck ain't your Prince Charming."

"Where is Cas?" Dean asks without thinking.

Benny laughs, loud and explosive. "Don't worry, Cinderella, your sweet prince is just catching up on his beauty sleep. He'll be back soon to sweep you off your feet."

"Fuck you," Dean grumbles, too tired for a snappy comeback.

Benny takes pity and lets it go, standing quietly as Dean shuffles up the bed until he's sitting upright. "Coffee?" He asks hopefully.

Benny hums noncommittally. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Dean responds automatically, adjusting his answer to "like shit" when he takes a moment to think about it.

"U'huh," Benny nods and holds up a glass of water. "Think we'll stick to the water for now then. I don't fancy cleaning up coffee puke."

Dean's stomach rolls dangerously at the thought, and he takes the water with only a cursory grumble. He sips from the glass, ignoring the tremor in his hand, listening as Benny talks him through the night’s events. Dean remembers diddly squat. Thankfully. The tale does explain the residual ache in his limbs though. And the absence of Cas and Rufus.

Dean's not stupid; he knew this had to happen eventually. It's what they've been waiting for after all, the whole point of this bullshit ritual; his body to begin the transition. And sure Dean had noticed a few subtle changes happening; the hair on his face growing in more slowly and lighter, the darkening of his nipples, the softening of firm muscles, but he knew that at some point, the change was going to hit him hard and fast. He's not quite happy, but he does feel a sense of relief at sighting an end to the process.

Now, apparently, he just has one more night to get through. Dean looks at Benny, who stares straight back at him with an expression that says he knows exactly what Dean is thinking.

"You want me to see if it can be someone else, Dean?" His stance stays purposefully casual, his tone even, trying not to sway Dean one way or the other.

Does he? It might be selfish, in fact, there's no doubt that it's selfish, but no...no he doesn't. "Not really," Dean admits. "If you can't do it, I'll get it, man, but honestly, I'd rather it was you than anyone else."

"Sure thing, brother." And that's the last word Benny will say on the matter.

Benny stays while Dean lazes around and dozes for a couple of hours. Cas appears at some point with food for everyone. One of Ellen's fruity herbal tea concoctions for Dean along with tomato rice soup and some toast, pure comfort food. He doesn't even grudge Cas and Benny their chicken steaks when he smells the familiar aroma of tomato soup. The tea tastes like ass, but the tomato soup is delicious. The best thing he's eaten in days and gentle on his stomach. It's not until he's scraping the last smears of soup from the side of the bowl, that he feels Benny and Cas both watching him.

"What?" He says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth in case he has a tomato moustache.

"Nothing," Benny says, eyes flicking away guiltily.

"You looked like you enjoyed that?" Cas says, but in a weirdly gentle way like he's talking to a kid.

"Yeah, it's tomato rice soup, man. Food of gods and kings I'm telling you. It was freaking delicious. Ellen makes-" and then Dean remembers. All his food and drink is laden with alpha come. All of it. The soup was no exception, that much is clear from Cas and Benny's non-too-subtle reaction. Well, shit. No getting away from the fact now is there. Dean's certainly not an alpha any longer. Cas and Benny are kind enough to change the subject when Dean catches up with their train of thought, but there's a sudden weight in the air, pressure like an approaching thunder storm and all of them are aware of it.

Later, after Benny leaves, Cas helps Dean to the bathroom. Dean tries to shake him off, but when it's clear his legs are as supportive as overcooked noodles, he sulkily accepts the support.

The changes to his body become apparent in the shower. The loss of muscle mass is obvious, his toned-flat belly is soft, his biceps and triceps smaller, his thighs slimmer. His legs are just as bowed as they always were, but now his hips are a little wider and his waist a little more defined. The loss of his body hair is startling, it was already patchy in places, but this time when he's finished scrubbing himself clean, his skin is butter smooth and there's a mass of hair circling around the drain. His dick....his dick is definitely smaller....the swelling around the base completely gone...and his balls are as small as a prepubescent child. Dean has to lean against the wall to stop himself from sliding to the floor.

He's omega, or as good as. It hits him like a knockout blow. He'll never be the same man again. There's no denying this, no hiding it, or hiding from it. It was one thing knowing it in theory, but actually seeing his own body change into one he doesn't recognize sends Dean reeling. His heart races in his chest, pounds in his ears, and before he knows it tears are dripping down his face and his whole body is shuddering.

Cas helps him from the shower silently. Folds a towel around him, eases them both to the floor and holds him as he shakes and weeps, passing him toilet tissue to blow his nose and wiping the tears from his face with the corner of the towel.

"Fuck," Dean gasps when the tears subside, the shock easing. "Look at me, Cas. Look at me."

"You're beautiful, Dean." Cas says, his arm remaining locked around Dean's shoulders despite Dean's half-hearted effort to shrug him off.

"I'm a fucking omega."

"And you're just as gorgeous now as you were when you were an alpha."

"I don't even recognize myself, man."

"That's ridiculous, Dean. You're just the same."

"Then you're blind," Dean spits petulantly.

Cas sighs. The kind of long suffering sigh Dean hears all the time, usually from Sam. The sigh that says 'why are you such an idiot'. "You have the same sparkling eyes that got you out of so much trouble when you were a child. You have the same slightly crooked nose that you've had since Benny accidentally caught you in the face with a baseball bat."

Dean narrows his eyes at that. When did that traitorous rat tell Cas about that?

Cas smirks knowingly, leading Dean to believe that's it's not the only story that Benny has shared. "You've got the same sandy hair," Cas continues. "The same pouting lips and the same riotous freckles. You've definitely got the same smart mouth and prickly attitude."

"Hey," Dean complains elbowing Cas in the ribs.

"As you would say; I'm just telling it like it is," Cas teases.

Dean relaxes back against Cas, lets himself be held. "I get what you’re saying, Cas. I do, it's just… I spent so long being strong, being a soldier. Training every single day to be the best, the fastest, the toughest. It was my job to lead my men, to protect my family, protect Sammy. Now, I'm weak and...and...vulnerable. What use am I to anyone like this?"

"What use-" Cas stares at Dean incredulously, then shakes his head. "Sometimes Dean Winchester I don't know what goes on in that stubborn head of yours."

Dean stiffens.

"There is nothing about you that is weak. You're still the same person who protects every one he loves. Who defends his country, his family. You're still the same strong man who sacrificed himself for the good of his people."

Dean looks away, refusing to believe the words. Not when he can see the changes in himself with own eyes.

Cas grabs his chin, forces Dean to look straight into the swirling tide of emotion in his eyes. Their mouths are just a breath apart. Cas's hand a burning brand on his cold skin. "Listen to me. You are not defined by the shape of your body or the size of your muscles. Your strength is in your heart, Dean. It always has been." Then his lips close the distance between them, crashing into Dean's, and they're kissing and Dean can't think about anything but how perfect Cas tastes, how delicious he smells, how much he wants him.

Cas pulls away, a flush high in his cheeks, his breath coming out in harsh pants. "One more night, Dean. Just one more night and this will all be over."

Or just beginning, Dean thinks. "Yeah," he exhales. "Yeah, let's do this."


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Cain and Cas escort Dean to the ballroom for the last time. There's a buzz of excitement in the air, more people stuffed in the hall than ever before. News has spread that the turning is almost complete. That this will be the last night.

Dean doesn't search out familiar faces, doesn't look for his father or Sam. He focuses on placing one foot in front of the other. Concentrates on not leaning too heavily on Cain's arm. Doesn't want anyone to see a hint of frailty in his steps. He may be more omega than not, but he tells himself, he's still Dean Winchester.

He shrugs off his heavy robe and climbs up onto the breeding bench unaided, stares straight ahead at Cas, soaking in the sight of his worried frown, startling blue eyes and misbehaving hair. Cain straps Dean down, spreading his legs wide and his ass in the air. He's proud that he doesn't flinch when Benny steps up beside him, his hand stroking down Dean's side like he's calming a frisky pony. He tugs at the stubby handle of Dean's plug and it slides out easily, leaving Dean feeling exposed and weirdly empty. Then, without preamble, Benny's pushing inside. Inching in gentle, carefully. His cock slipping in easily despite its weighty girth. Dean's ass is not the tight impenetrable muscle it once was, the alpha spunk trickling from his hole easing the way.

Benny mumbles in his ear, reminding Dean it's him that's there. Not a stranger fucking into him, but a friend. He's tender, almost reverential, his large hands spreading over Dean's skin, caressing him like a lover. He doesn't pound into Dean. He starts out slow, angles himself like an expert, hits something in Dean that elicits a low moan and a shiver. Benny concentrates on nudging that spot again and again, building up a steady rhythm until for once Dean can feel pleasure racing through his body. Although it's Benny pounding into him, Dean's eyes stay steady on Cas's, watching as sky blue is eaten up by dark desire.

Benny's pace quickens, his hips slamming into Dean, his balls slapping against Dean's, and then Dean can feel it, Benny's knot swelling, filling him up, catching at his rim.

"You," Dean gasps. Cas inches closer enough to hear. “You," Dean repeats on a grunt. "Want it to be you."

Benny comes with a drawn out groan, dragging Dean's orgasm from him at the same time, his cock spurting watery drops of come onto the floor below him. Cas's mouth covers Dean's lips swallowing up his moan.

For over a minute Benny comes, thick pulses of spunk filling Dean's belly. Much more than anyone else. And his swollen knot holds it all inside.

Crowley steps up as Benny pants over him, catching his breath and chanting Dean's name on every exhale. The glass in Crowley's hand is small, a shot glass, but full to the brim with alpha come. Dean's stomach turns at the sight of it. He's had enough of swallowing the spunk from faceless alphas. There's only one alpha's come that he wants in his mouth.

"No," Dean growls, looks as Cas. "Want you. Want to taste you."

"Oh," Cas says, shocked understanding evident in the drop of his chin. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Cas, please," Dean begs.

Without hesitation or a hint of embarrassment, utterly disregarding every other person in the room Cas stands and frees his dick from his pants. It's fat, long and gorgeous, the head leaking pre-come and shining obscenely. Dean licks his lips and breathes in the scent of Cas's arousal. Cas jacks himself off, slides his erection through his fist, his eyes never leaving Dean. It takes less than two minutes until Cas's movements become jerky and Dean whines in anticipation, his mouth open, tongue hanging out, pleading to taste.

Cas comes in creamy ribbons, hitting Dean's mouth, coating his tongue, his lips. Dean swallows desperately, almost chokes on the greedy desire not to waste a drop. It tastes divine. Sweet and salty and....just like Cas....absolutely perfect.

Next Chapter >

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