Relax!

I know I'm a bit late, but a Blessed All Saints' Day to you all!

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 09:39:43 GMT

Whether you're cheerfully ignoring Halloween like me, plain Catholic or celebrating both, have a peaceful All Saints' Day!

Happy Halloween... to everyone celebrating!

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 19:20:41 GMT

Architect of Fate 7

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 21:15:11 GMT

Title: Architect of Fate. Chapter 7
Author: evdokya
Beta: riahpariah0725
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: AU/AR
Spoilers: none in particular
Warnings: angst
Word Count: 2,754
Summary: While alone together at the Grand Sand Dunes, Dean and Castiel get to know each better.

They spent their first night at the Grand Sand Dunes talking until nearly morning. After the more serious beginning, their chat took on more casual overtones as they traded memories of school, work and growing up. As he listened to Castiel, he wondered why such a bright and tenacious man had contented himself with being just another tax accountant. He could easily have led the company, had he put his mind to it. However, the more Cas talked, the more Dean realized the man had no ambition. He cherished simple things, had loved his family very deeply, and clung to his faith for dear life without being a bigot. He also had a kind of angelic sweetness and innocence about him, the kind that begged to be corrupted, but also elicited respect.

They fell asleep close to morning and slept till noon. After that, they settled into a certain routine: they wandered around during the days, exploring the vastness of the sand dunes or hiking in the mountains, and they talked the nights away. Physically, Castiel was just as fragile as he looked and Dean often found himself looking out for him, taking care not to leave him behind or let him carry anything too heavy. He didn’t mind; it had been a while since he had looked after Sam, and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. The fresh air and the physical exertion had given Cas an appetite and even brought some color to his cheeks.

Time flew by too quickly, and before either knew, it was Friday night, and Castiel fell asleep while they were talking. Dean smiled indulgently, figuring he’d tease him about that in the morning then turned off both their bedside lamps and went to sleep himself. He was woken up by a small whimper. Dean was not a heavy sleeper and he cracked an eye open. The room was still dark. The whimper turned to a whine.

Dean heard the sheets rustle as Castiel tossed and turned, sobbing softly. Dean slid out of bed and warily took the short trip to the other bed in the room. He turned the lamp on and dug his fingers in the comforter covering Cas’ shoulder.

“Cas, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”

Cas shuddered, his eyelids hesitating above his eyes. “Anna?” he called in a small, weeping voice.

Dean swallowed. “No, Cas, it’s me, Dean.”

Cas’ eyes were huge and uncertain when they finally opened. They darted restlessly around the room before setting on Dean. His expression was the most openly pained Dean had seen in him ever since he had found his sister was dead. Cas’ head did that weird tilting movement again and he rubbed on his nape, looking away uncomfortably. It occurred to Dean that Castiel was not only vulnerable, but the fool was also proud, and therefore self-conscious about any sign of suffering he showed.

“Hey, man, it’s okay.”

Dean rested a hand on Cas’ shoulder. Cas tensed a little, and then relaxed, shoulders slouching.

“No, it’s not,” Cas admitted pitifully, eyes lowering.

Dean kneaded gentle the thin muscles of the shoulder he was holding. He looked closely at Cas, at his dark hair falling in his eyes, at the slight stubble on his pale jaw, at his half-parted, dry, pink lips, and at his dejected posture. He raised his free hand to ruffle his hair in a motion that tried to be soothing. Castiel shuddered violently. Dean dropped his hand and Cas looked up, his expression haunted. He was so close that Dean could sense the clean, vaguely musky scent of his body. Without thinking, Dean reached and grasped the other man’s jaw between his fingers. Cas gasped and the small, soft sound was Dean’s undoing. He closed the tiny distance between their lips and kissed him cautiously, chastely.

Castiel trembled harder but didn’t pull back, his lips parting obediently when Dean swept his tongue over them. Dean groaned with delight as his tongue slipped inside Cas’ mouth to discover a taste of mint toothpaste and something that had to be uniquely him. He pushed Cas back on the bed, his body leaning over the other man’s smaller frame.

Needing to breath, Dean pulled back from the kiss and searched Cas’ eyes. “If you’re gonna say no, now is a good time.”

Cas shook his head, one hand grasping Dean’s hip almost desperately. “Don’t let me go,” he begged.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Dean assured and gently pried Cas’ hand off him and lifted it to his mouth.

He kissed each fingertip before taking the index into his mouth and sucking and nibbling teasingly on it. Cas sighed and tried to squirm under him, his cock hardening against Dean’s hip. Dean released the now wet digit and smirked. He pushed himself up and began to unbutton Cas’ ridiculous pajama top, revealing the smooth plain of an almost hairless chest. Ribs were still painfully obvious under the porcelain white skin. Cas was still not eating enough, it seemed.

Dean ran caressing hands on the other man’s chest, feeling the skin heat up under his palms. Cas’ heart was thumping violently in his chest. Bared this way, Castiel’s form looked even more vulnerable and strangely diminished. But Dean didn’t mind. Actually, he even found it hot. His thumbs flicked pebbled nipples, listening to Cas’ sharp intake of breath. Then his hands darted lower and he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Cas’ pajama pants.

Despite his body’s obvious pleased reaction, Cas’ face showed little excitement, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Cas, you with me?” Dean asked, hesitating to push Cas’ pants down. The fact that he was with a man seemed to finally sink in and Dean felt a burst of uneasiness at the thought of facing another male’s arousal.

Cas looked at him. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not very good at this.”

Dean withdrew his exploring hands. “It’s not that. What I really wanna know is if you want this.”

Cas sat up. “Do I seem unwilling?”

Dean shook his head, feeling the arousal leaving his body. “I don’t know. You’re weird about it.”

Cas leaned over. “What will it take to convince you?” He grasped handfuls of Dean’s tee and pulled him closer, his lips fastening over his in a hungry kiss, teeth digging into Dean’s lower lip.

Dean kissed back, opening his mouth for Cas’ tongue to plunder it. The kiss tasted of despair, but Cas’ mouth was hot and insistent when it fused itself to Dean’s, and his dick jumped as Cas clung to him.Things seemed to move in fast forward after that as fingers dug into flesh, short nails scraping, clumsy hands groping hungrily, mouths fastening on each other and insistent tongues tangling together. It was a great deal messier than Dean ever imagined. No longer caring that his partner was male, he shoved Cas’ pants past his hips and after a furtive glance down, he wrapped his hand around the other man’s dick. It was hot and heavy against his palm, the skin as soft as silk. Cas choked on what sounded like a a sob, his head rolling on the pillow as Dean began to stroke.

Cas was beautiful in rapture, dark hair seeming even darker against the pristine pillow case, head thrown back, kiss-swollen lips hanging open as he panted and made small, shaken ‘oh’ sounds. It was also very gratifying to know Castiel was letting Dean do this to him after a long time of going without. It looked a lot like the kind of submission Dean had craved when he had tried to blackmail Cas into going to bed with him, only that it was sweeter this time, because it was consensual. It wasn’t submission at all; it was abandon.

When Cas came—which didn’t even happen as quickly as Dean, knowing how long Cas had gone without, had expected—it was a sight to be hold. His entire body went lax, his expression completely blissed out, eye lids fluttering closed, only a soft whimper escaping his now ripe lips. He looked like a fallen angel—debauched and innocent at the same time.

Dean pressed his mouth to Cas’, licking his way in. Castiel stirred under him, his hands tracing lazy patterns on Dean’s back. Dean’s cock was so hard it almost hurt, his loose boxers suddenly feeling very constrictive. He reached inside and squeezed himself at the base.

He knew what he wanted. He had always been a bit curious about it, he guessed, he had read about it in certain magazines while he was still in his tweens. Cas looked nothing like those bulky, massive male models in those magazines and Dean was glad for it. He liked this slim, fragile body much better than any gay magazine model.

Still Dean didn’t want to push for something his partner wasn’t ready. His hand was gentle when it pressed against Cas’ hipbone.

“Dean,” Cas called, his low, rough voice an octave deeper. “What do you want?”

Dean swore under his breath, his stomach tightening.

“You. I want you. Can I?”

Cas looked at him with luminous eyes, teeth digging into his lower lip, and nodded. Dean wondered if Cas did understand what I was he asked of him. He hovered over Cas’ prone body and cupping his jaw. “You sure?”

Cas nodded again and Dean kissed him.

“Okay,” he said once they came up for air. “Hang on.”

Dean never left anywhere without his rainy days lube, and he always carried a condom in his pocket, right next to his ID. It all turned out to be very fortunate under the circumstances and he triumphantly returned to bed with the two items.

“Maybe you should turn over.”

Cas’ face fell. “If you wish.”

Dean frowned. “No, it’s not that. I just read it’s more comfortable this way.”

Cas’ tongue moisturized his kiss-swollen upper lip. “I’m… can I please stay like this?”

Dean stroke Cas’ thigh gently. “Yeah, sure. You’ll tell me if it gets too much, right?” he asked as he squirted a generous amount of lube on his fingers. “Right, Cas?”

Cas nodded and Dean helped him put a pillow under his hips. He took things slowly, running his slick finger along Cas’ crack before carefully dipping it in. Cas tensed instantly when the digit tried to pry the pucker muscles open and fully slide inside. Dean kept his free hand on the other man’s thigh, caressing soothingly.

“It’s ok,” Dean whispered. “Just relax.”

Cas was panting softly and before long, his muscles loosened slightly allowing Dean’s finger to go deeper. For his part, Dean could hardly believe how tight and hot Cas was. He couldn’t imagine fitting in and though he desperately wanted it, he vacillated. He didn’t want to hurt the man. But his finger kept worming its way inside, splitting Cas further. Once it had gotten easier, Dean lubed his hand again and pressed two fingers to Cas’ hole.

Cas’ face tightened with pain and a whimper escaped his mouth. Dean hushed him with a kiss. He fucked his tongue in Cas’ mouth in tandem with the fingers in his ass. Suddenly, he bumped into something deep inside Cas and he crooked his fingers to stroke the small bundle. At first Cas just gasped into his mouth, but then he broke the kiss to moan loudly, spasming under Dean, who could feel Cas’ cock twitch back to life against his thigh.

Cas dug demanding fingers into Dean’s shoulder and, taking it as encouragement, Dean began to scissor his fingers inside his partner, spreading him for his entrance. Cas was a great deal more relaxed now and Dean felt bold enough to add a third finger, beaming with pride when the other man barely noticed it, too busy to do anything but groan and push back against the now welcomed intrusion.

Much to Cas’ obvious disappointment, Dean withdrew his fingers and sat back on his heels. He quickly rid himself of his boxers and rolled the condom on his hardness, lubing it up generously. Then he met Cas’ eager blue eyes.

“You ready?”

Cas smiled and Dean was shocked at the sudden, unexpected trust painted on his face. “Yes, Dean.”

Dean parted his cheeks and slowly began to press in. Cas sucked in a nervous breath and Dean paused watching at the Cas’ head rolled on the pillow, eyes screwing shut. Dean was at a loss as to what to do. His body screamed to him to keep going and just bury himself into that tight heat he had just discovered, but his mind cautioned him to stop. He compromised and settled on stroking Cas’ half hard cock with a still slick hand while he pushed inside him until his balls were flush against the soft skin of the other man’s ass.

The feeling was amazing, even dampened somewhat by the latex of the condom. Despite the prepping, Cas was still vice-tight around Dean, but velvety, and the heat of him was simply scorching. Fisting his free hand in the sheets, Dean forced himself to be still, letting Cas adjust to having him inside. Cas was still breathing labouredly, pain evident on his features, and Dean hated it, missing the beauty of him writhing in pleasure.

Finally Dean started to move – slowly and very cautiously. Cas kept quiet, only his uneven breathing hinting to his discomfort. Dean changed the angle with a tilt of his hips and thrust a little harder. Cas’ eyes flew open and he cried out in what was both pain and pleasure. But as Dean kept moving, Cas’ expression only softened further, groans escaping him, as his cock hardened further in Dean’s grip. Dean grinned. He knew he got it now and moved more freely, steadily building to a rhythm.

Soon Cas began to push back, snapping his hips against Dean who was slowly loosing his composure. Reality wavered around him, as he was now only aware of the tightness of Cas squeezing him, and of the heaviness of his cock against his palm. He heard growls and loud grunts and realized with a start that he was the one making them. He didn’t want to lose control so soon, but his body was adamant as wave after wave of heat assaulted him.

Cas’ legs wrapped themselves around Dean’s hips, pulling him closer, and Dean relished Cas’ desire, and that only spurned him on. His misgivings forgotten, Dean slammed into the other man wildly, his fist jerking him off mercilessly. It was good, so good…. Sticky wetness spilled on Dean’s fingers around Cas’ cock, and Cas clenched around him so hard, his vision whitened out at the edges.

“Cas, Cas…” Dean called out before his whole world whirled away, washed in one steady wave of ecstasy, and he collapsed on the warm, sweaty body under him.

Dean blinked, boneless and mellow, his body keenly aware of every curve and bone of Cas beneath him. His softening cock was still inside Cas and he wouldn’t have been particularly inclined to move, had it not been for the fact that he was crushing the other man. With a sigh, he rolled to the side and lifted his head to look at Cas who still seemed zoomed out. He grinned and got out of the bed.

In the bathroom he quickly ridded himself of the condom and cleaned up a little. Then he dipped a clean towel in warm water and returned to Cas. He cleaned him cautiously and even lifted his legs a little, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could while he inspected him for any tears his enthusiasm might have caused.

“I’m alright,” Cas protested at last.

Dean’s eyes flickered to his face. Cas had propped himself up and was currently blushing profusely. Dean finished cleaning him up quickly and threw the towel on the floor. They’d deal with it in the morning.

“You’re still blushing like a virgin,” Dean commenting mischievously and leaned over Castiel to kiss him.

When he wanted to pull back, Cas grabbed his wrist. “Stay with me?”

Dean wasn’t a cuddler, but the vulnerability in Cas’ eyes compelled him to stay. He slid under covers next to Cas and gathered him close with both arms and legs. Cas melted in the embrace, his head resting against his shoulder.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmured softly.

Dean didn’t answer, just pressed a light kiss on top of Cas’ head.

TBC…

Architect of Fate 6

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 22:15:13 GMT

Title: Architect of Fate. Chapter 6

Author: evdokya
Beta: riahpariah0725
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: AU/AR
Spoilers: none in particular
Warnings: angst
Word Count: 1,769
Summary: Dean and Castiel reach their destination….

The rest of their trip was spent in a more or less uncomfortable silence. But at least Castiel was getting used to Dean’s musical tastes. Dean never offered to let Castiel drive – he was usually very possessive of his baby – and Castiel, unlike Sam during all those trips they had taken together back in high school and college, never asked. Cas continued to eat too little and drink lots of herbal tea. Dean, on the other hand, was getting used to his favorite junk food and coffee with actual caffeine in it. They spent the two nights on the road in crappy motel rooms with lousy decorations that made Dean wrinkle his nose in disgust.

A new problem appeared once they the Great Sand Dunes Lodge, as it turned out they only had a standard and a deluxe room available. Any attempts to convince Castiel to take the deluxe room fell flat, as Dean got his first up close and personal meeting with the strong will Ellen had told him about. Not wanting to be the spoiled rich boy, Dean refused the room, too, so before he knew how it happened, they were sharing a room with two queen-sized beds. The room was mostly okay and, above all, very clean. After dropping off his duffel, Dean stared awkwardly at the merrily-colored comforter then left to let Castiel settle in and, most importantly, find food.

The Lodge had a nice patio with white plastic chairs and tables. The view, for one, was spectacular. Rusty-brown sand dunes spreading all the way to the uneven silhouettes of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, their snow-covered peaks shining a bright shade of white in the late afternoon light. The air was chilly, but fortifying and fresh, making Dean hungry as a wolf. So he called to Castiel, who still hadn’t emerged from the room, and set onto spreading the home-made burgers, salad, jelly doughnuts and beer on the table.

Castiel emerged from the room looking scrubbed clean, his five o’clock shadow gone, his dark hair falling in his eyes. He smelled faintly of some bitter-scenting soap. His expression was strangely absent. Dean smiled and waved him over. He sank in a chair facing the mountains and didn’t even look at the food. The black turtle neck he was wearing looked huge on him. Dean grimaced and picked up a burger.

“You gotta eat, you know.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

God, Cas was worse than Sam, if anything! “You haven’t eaten since this morning and you only had two pancakes.”

Castiel gave him a long suffering look, and picked up a cabbage salad container.

“No, no, no,” Dean shook his head. “You’re so having a burger, too.”

He set an example of his own, and bit in his own burger. “It’s good,” he mouthed.

Castiel made a sour face and started chewing on a fork of cabbage.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like meat?” Dean challenged.

“Sometimes I do. Just not lately.” Castiel shrugged.

Dean set his burger back on the table. “You’re worse than a kid, you know that? You wouldn’t eat, you can’t take care of yourself, you don’t know what to say in a conversation. I’m shocked you’ve survived this long on your own.”

Castiel looked down dejectedly. “I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me, and all I do is cause you troubles.” His voice caught on the last word as a lone tear slid down his cheek.

“God, don’t cry. What’s up with you? See, I told you: you’re just like a kid.”

Castiel sloppily wiped his only tear with the back of his sleeve.

“Ok, ok, cut it out. Here,” he threw a tissue at Castiel across the table. Cas dried his eyes with it.

Dean tried to be casual about the whole but failed spectacularly. No amount of false humor forced into his voice could make up for the fact that he was at loss as to what to do while Castile did poor job out of concealing his suffering. “God knows I don’t do this touchy-feely shit, but I can see you’re down, man, so if you wanna talk about what’s going on with you, I can listen. So no problem. Ok?”

Castiel shook his head. “Even I don’t know how I feel. I just feel… this crushing emptiness inside. I just lost my sister. I should be in pain, but all I feel is numbness.”

Dean shifted his gaze from Castiel to the mountains. “Trust me, feeling’s overrated.”

When he looks at Castiel again, the other man had his head bowed, his hands gripping the ends of the table so hard the plastic all but creaked, his knuckled white.

“You should still eat, Cas. You’re so skinny, you look like you’d disappear into thin air any minute now,” Dean suggested mildly.

Castiel didn’t reply, but got up and suddenly disappeared into their room. Dean sighed heavily, and followed him inside with a one last, regretful look at the cooling burgers.

Dean found Cas staring at the drawn, greenish blinds, his shoulders shaking. “Oh, man,” Dean muttered. “You know, we might as well go do some sightseeing tomorrow. We’re here, aren’t we? We’ll go hike to the falls or something,” he added stupidly.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel murmured. “Please, forgive me.”

“Will you cut that out? Stop saying you’re sorry.”

Dean moved closer and put a tentative hand on the other man’s shoulder, frowning when he could feel the sharp edge of bones through the material of the sweater. Castiel whirled around so fast Dean blinked in surprise. He was crying, his eyes dry and his pale face agitated to the point of hysteria.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Cas whispers.

Dean dropped his hand and stepped back. “You’ve lost everyone you’ve ever loved. That’s what’s wrong! And it can’t be easy. I don’t know how it feels, but it can’t be easy.”

Castiel startled slightly when Dean’s first words hit, but then seemed to reel himself back.

“Dean,” he called, and raised a trembling hand to Dean’s right shoulder. The warmth of the contact was sudden and Dean frowned at it. His frowned deepened as Cas moved closer, invading Dean’s personal space, and leaning his messy heady on his chest.

“Cas, what you’re doing….”

Cas just gripped one of Dean’s hands with cool, steely finger and rested it on his narrow hip. “I just want to feel again. Help me, Dean, please.”

Dean jumped back, putting a relatively safe distance between himself and Castiel. His dick did not just twitch at the offer! No, his body didn’t care at all for that. His reaction seemed to confuse Castiel.

“You wanted me once.”

“That… that was…. Dude, this is wrong. You’re all messed up, you don’t even know what you’re doing.”

A flash of the determination Dean had glimpsed as they were bickering over rooms sparked on Castiel’s face. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw set. It was the most alive Dean had seen him since they had left.

“And back then it wasn’t wrong?” Castiel challenged. Dean flushed. He couldn’t help. That was his weak spot, and apparently, Castiel had no qualms about exploiting it.

Dean took a step back, bumped into something, realized it was a bed and stopped. “I’m getting my own room.”

Castiel looked sideways, looking dejected again--though rejected was more like it. “As you wish,” he murmured softly.

Just like that Dean realized he couldn’t leave him like that. He took a few wary steps in Castiel’s direction and raised a hand to pet his hair like one would to with a small, frightened child. His free arm moved to pull the other man in an awkward hug. Castiel leaned into him, burying his head in Dean’s shoulder. He cried then, heavy sobs wracking his fragile body, and Dean held tighter to him until his tears were spent. Castiel was quiet and eerily still for a while, before he started murmuring things like “thank you” and “I’m sorry” against the flannel of Dean’s shirt. Dean didn’t let him go until he calmed down again.

When Dean got to finally eat, the food had gone cold. He gave up getting Cas to eat anything else but salad, but at least he finished that one. The air between them was tense, fraught with uneasiness. Castiel was embarrassed about his earlier behavior and didn’t seem to dare speak. Dean had no idea how to reassure him, so he kept uncharacteristically quiet, too. When the atmosphere became nearly unbearable to Dean, he retreated to the patio to call Sam.

Their phone conversation was long, but it went on mostly about Jess, their parents and the upcoming wedding, both of them blatantly ignoring the huge pink elephant of where Dean was and what he was doing. When Dean returned to the room, Castiel was tucked in, the comforter covering him up to his neck. The light was left on, for his benefit, Dean guessed, but Cas had his eyes shut. Though Dean could tell by his breathing that he wasn’t sleeping. He had nothing to say so he switched off the lights and went to take a shower.

It was early, but Dean was tired and stiff from the long hours of driving, so following Cas’ cue, he turned in early, but couldn’t sleep. Castiel wasn’t sleeping either, Dean could hear it in his breathing, though he was very still. After a while, Dean couldn’t take anymore of tossing and turning in bed and sat up.

“Cas, you okay over there?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m fine, thank you.”

“You talk like an English text book. Anyone ever told you that?”

“Yes…my sister, mostly.”

Dean froze. “I’m sorry, man, I….”

“It’s okay. You can mention her to me.”

“Yeah, but….”

“I can’t feel, remember? I’m too numb. So it doesn’t hurt when I hear about her.”

“But you cried earlier. That’s a good thing, right? You got it off your chest.”

“It hurt then and it was so… crushing. I don’t know what I would have done if I had been alone,” Cas finished in a tight voice.

“Good thing you weren’t then.” Dean craned his neck trying to see Cas in the dark. “It’s still early. Wanna turn the TV on, watch something?”

“You can watch TV if you want. I don’t feel like it.”

“Yeah, but maybe you wanna catch a nap.”

“I can’t sleep.”

Dean turned on his bedside table lamp. “Want me to tell you a bed time story?”

Cas made a half choked, half snorting sound suspiciously resembling a huffed laugh.

“Dude, you just laughed. That’s awesome! I didn’t know you could do that.”

Cas turned on his lamp, too. “Can’t we all?”

Dean rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I dunno. You’re like the alien from ET. You look at everyone and everything with those huge, curious eyes and act like you’re from another planet. So how about that story?”

Castiel sat up and Dean’s jaw fell when he saw he was actually wearing pajamas. Honest to God, striped blue and white pajamas. Not even Sam wore that. Dean himself had gone to bed in an old white tee shirt and a pair of boxers.

“I didn’t picture you as the type to tell stories,” Castiel replied with a small head tilt.

Dean grinned. “Bet you I know the best type of stories. The kind you’d see on pay per view. As a matter of fact, we could watch an illustrated version right now.”

Castiel turned beet red to the tips of his ears and lowered his gaze, looking mortified. Dean found himself in one of those rare situations where he wished he could take his words back. He sobered up.

“Hey, don’t sweat it! You wanted comfort and they don’t call it comfort sex for nothing.”

Castiel looked away, still mightily embarrassed. Dean cleared his throat, hoping to attract his attention back to him to no avail.

“So… you gay?”

Castiel startled, blushing deeply again. “No… no, of course not.”

“Why? Because you’re a good Catholic?”

“It has nothing to do with my faith. I don’t think intercourse is a sin if it accompanied by love, but earlier… me… I just….”

“Hey, what did I tell you about wanting comfort sex? And who can blame you? Everybody wants the Dean.” He tried to laugh, hoping to stir the conversation towards lighter matters, but his attempt fell flat.

Castiel’s gaze briefly flickered to Dean. “You’re vain,” he said with both fondness and annoyance.

Dean smiled. “Color me realistic.”

“What about you?” Castiel asked cautiously.

“What about me?”

“Do you…” Castiel paused to stare intently at the floor between their beds. “Do you like men better?”

Dean scoffed, but it was forced, meant to cover for his own embarrassment and confusion. His eyes lingered on Castiel’s face. He had never before found a man attractive. The recent weight loss made Castiel’s jaw sharper, his ridiculously big Power Puff Girl eyes of a color of blue Dean had never seen before, and that he still found, much to his indignation, mesmerizing. He sported bed hair, but again, when did he not? And even now, discussing sexual preferences, he remained shockingly, almost painfully innocent.

“What? Like over women?” It was an effort to shake his thoughts out of whatever bizarre effect Cas had on them, but he did it, especially when he could see how flustered the other man was at being stared at this way. “Chicks are fucking awesome, man. They’re got boobs and sweet curves in all the right places and the things some of them do….” He trailed off seeing Castiel was flushing again, facing the far wall. “Oh no! Don’t tell me you’ve never been with one.”

Castiel rubbed on his nape still facing away. “I have been in love once… in college.”

“And you’ve never had any ever since?” Dean shouted before realizing the place had to have like paper-thin walls, and caught himself. “You totally haven’t, have you? Fuck, man, I don’t think that’s even healthy.”

Castiel finally looked at him. “Please, mind your language.”

His words barely registered. Dean had thought he was going crazy without getting any in three weeks. Maybe that was why Castiel looked good enough to eat right now. He was all confused, embarrassed and expressionless… at the same time. How the hell was that even humanly possible?

Dean shifted on the bed. “So was it a he or a she?”

“A woman, obviously.”

Dean lay back down, folding his arms under his head like a pillow. “What was her name?”

“She’s married now. It would be improper to gossip about her past.”

“You two didn’t work out, huh?”

“We had different priorities.”

“Lemme guess. You wanted something serious, she just wanted to have some college fun, if the college was a Catholic one.”

“She wasn’t going to the same college as I, but essentially, you are right.”

Dean looked at Castiel from the corner of his eye. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb any can of worms.”

“It was a long time ago,” Cas answered distantly.

Dean cursed his own idiocy. Cas had just lost his sister. Of course, he wouldn’t still agonize over a lost love from his youth.

“What about you?” Cas asked. “Have you ever been in love?”

Dean started and wished he hadn’t just then turned his head to look the other man in the eye. Something about his gaze compelled the truth. The words were out of this mouth before he could think of taking them back.

“No…I guess I haven’t.”

TBC…

Achitect of Fate [5/?]

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 16:24:20 GMT

Title: Architect of Fate. Chapter 5

They left Lawrence at dawn. Dean picked up Castiel from the lice-infested, pathetic excuse for a motel he had opted for, and together they drove out of town. Castiel was strangely quiet, sunken within himself. The few stolen glances in his direction had shown Dean how emaciated his companion had become. His skin was pale, his eyes still unnaturally wide despite the dark circles surrounding them. He obviously wasn’t getting much sleep or food.

As soon as Dean had started the engine, Castiel had just curled in the shotgun seat and sat staring outside the window at the fading indigo skies. It occurred to Dean that he was much more vulnerable now than when he had been willing to accept anything for 10.000 dollars. Because back then Castiel had had a purpose to believe in, now he seemed lost and hopeless, all but an empty shell. For some reason, that thought made something tighten painfully in Dean’s chest.

It was odd, really. He barely knew Castiel, yet he already missed the driven man he had met before, his spirit and his conviction. And it awed him how much trust Castiel had placed in him, the man who had tried to blackmail him into sex, that he had taken this road trip with him. Or maybe Castiel just didn’t care what happened to him anymore.

Their trip began under a dire omen, the silence in the car almost oppressing as Dean didn’t dare disturb the man next to him by turning on his favorite, generally loud music. And Castiel kept his back him, frighteningly still.

When Dean saw a gas station with a diner on the mostly deserted road, he breathed a huff of relief and pulled over. Both he and his baby needed fuel. Castiel followed him out of the car and, once the refill was done with, into the diner, without a word.

Eager to make up for all those long years of salad and ‘healthy’ food, Dean ordered himself a double bacon cheeseburger with extra fries, blackberry pie with ice cream, and coffee. Castiel went for a Caesar salad and herbal tea. When their order arrived, Castiel just held his tea in his hands as if to warm himself and stared at the salad as if it was about to eat him.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mouth watering, but he didn’t feel like wolfing down his burger when his table companion looked terrified of his own food. Fortunately, he could handle this. After all, he had been in charge of the world’s fussiest eater for years.

“Wanna a bite of my burger?”

Castiel looked up in surprise, his stare as intense as Dean remembered it, and nodded slowly. Dean signaled the waitress for a knife and cut the other man a rather generous helping. He added some fries for good measure and dumped the combo on Castiel’s plate.

“My favorite,” Dean assured with a smile reserved for particularly difficult younger brothers. “Want ketchup on those fries?”

“Thank you, but no, I don’t like ketchup.”

Dean snorted. “You’re a freak, you know that? Everybody likes ketchup,” Even Sam, he amended silently to himself. He didn’t want to parade his sibling in front of Castiel.

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t.”

And he took a wary bite of Dean’s cheeseburger. Dean took that as encouragement to bite as much as he could possibly chew from his own portion. “Good?” he asked, mouth still full.

Castiel chewed carefully and didn’t speak before he was done swallowing. “Yes, thanks.”

“Maybe we should order you one, too, then.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, this one’s enough.”

“You only got a small part of it,” Dean insisted, popping a ketchup-laden fry into his

mouth.

“It’s enough,” Castiel repeated and continued to eat at a slow pace.

He left most of his salad untouched, but Dean managed to get him to eat a slice from his pie and chalked the meal to small victory. Then he wondered if he shouldn’t get Castiel something more nutritious to eat than diner food. He didn’t want to clog the guy’s arteries or something. Castiel looked so fragile that a gust of wind seemed able to knock him off his feet.

Back in the car, Dean realized he couldn’t take a return to that suffocation silence anymore. So if he couldn’t turn on his music, he could at least talk. Castiel would have curled back with his face towards the window again, but Dean’s addressing him forced him to look ahead for a change.

“Castiel, that’s an interesting name. Haven’t heard it before.”

“It’s an angel’s name, the angel of Thursday and since I was born on a Thursday….”

“I see. I was named after my grandmother, Deanna. Didn’t get to meet her, though. She died before I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel murmured and Dean cursed himself for mentioning dead relatives to Castiel. He knew Mary had loved her mother a great deal, but other than that, he had no reason to miss his grandmother.

“That’s ok. I never met her, anyway. So… heavy weight name…. Doesn’t anyone call you Cas or something? It sounds less… angelic.”

“No, nobody has called me on any different name.”

“I like Cas. It’s down to earth.”

“You can call me that, if you prefer.”

Silence stretched again as Dean racked his head for conversation ideas he generally didn’t need. He talked a great deal, he knew that much, and so far it had been effortlessly.

“You like music?” Dean asked suddenly and quite stupidly in his opinion.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Touche. Dean grimaced. Castiel had a point. “Yeah, but what kind of music do you like?”

“Classic normally, mostly Baroque.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. You can turn on the music, if you so wish. It won’t bother me.”

Dean wondered if he had been that obvious. In any case, once given permission, he delved right in and the first notes of Stairway to Heaven invaded the space between them. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw clearly as Cas winced.

“You know what? Forget it,” And Dean turned the music off again.

“It’s alright. I just need time to get used to it.”

Dean cursed under his breath and drove faster. “Are you always this submissive?”

“I don’t understand…. Dean, slow down. We’re going too fast.”

“We haven’t crashed yet. Wait, did you just call me Dean?”

“Yes, is that a problem?”

“No, no, I just don’t think you’ve done that before. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re already making a great effort to try and give me something you think could comfort me. I don’t want to be an additional burden. Just like I don’t want you to hate yourself on my behalf.”

“I don’t hate myself,” Dean defended softly.

“You must feel terrible guilt.”

“And you don’t think I’m entitled to it?”

“I’ve already forgiven you. Now it’s time you forgive yourself. After all, you haven’t done anything.”

“No, but I sure came close it,” Dean dug his teeth briefly in his lower lip and slowed down. “Why did you forgive me, anyway? Because it was the Christian thing to do?”

“Because you deserved forgiveness. You’re a good man who has made a mistake and now is trying to atone for it. Don’t sell yourself short. You deserve better.”

“So do you.”

“You think perhaps it’s unfair that I’ve lost my family.”

“And you don’t?”

“It was God’s will. All I can do is bow before it.”

Dean slammed down his foot on the pedal and pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road. Castiel let out a startled gasp. Dean wriggled in his chair trying to see the other man’s face better.

“That’s bull! And you know it. You had to go through this horrible, useless pain after everything you did to save your sister. If there’s a God and this is His will, then he’s a cruel bastard and He doesn’t deserve your faith.”

When he looked at Dean, Castiel’s eyes were even larger than usual with fear. His lower lip trembled slightly. “Please,” he begged.

“If He is so righteous, then why didn’t he repay your loyalty instead of just torturing you?”

The fear in Castiel’s eyes morphed into terror. “God works…”

“Yeah, I know, mysterious ways, but those freakin’ shady ways of His leave good people in pain and that’s just… that’s just….”

He couldn’t finish, because Castiel clasped a cold, clammy hand on his mouth. Dean started, taken aback by the contact, Castiel’s skin soft and cool against his heated lips. He didn’t dare breathe even as Castiel panted, shaking hard. Dean gently peeled his hand from his mouth, his fingers lingering on the other guy’s wrist a moment longer than necessary.

“Ok, Cas, I got it. It hurts you when I’m talking about your God like this. Sorry… fuck, I’ll shut up now, ok?”

Cas nodded, not looking any more relieved.

“You can relax now,” Dean encouraged awkwardly.

Castiel reached for something he wore around his neck, under that ridiculously white shirt of his. That man had one weird fashion sense, Dean decided. Even now, he wore black pants and suit and jacket and his a bit too well-worn Columbo trench coat. Thankfully, there was no tie. Looking closer, Dean saw that Cas had pulled out a small silver crucifix hanging on a slim chain.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel finally spoke. “I overreacted, but God is all I have left.”

Dean rested a hand on Castiel’s left shoulder and this time he allowed the contact. “Not quite.” He squeezed the thin shoulder before letting go. “I know I’m probably not the kind of man you’d befriend, but… if you need… I mean… look, I wanna help you, I just suck at chick flick stuff.”

Castiel gave him a tiny smile. “I’ve never had friend before, Dean.”

“What?”

Cas shrugged. “I’m not good with people.”

In a flash of insight, he saw Cas as the clumsy, reclusive nerd the jocks picked on, the shy mouse who found refuge in his studies in collage and the man who couldn’t bond with anyone at work. Dean felt a tinge of regret, imagining the brunt of responsibility that had been placed on his frail shoulders when his parents had died and his sister had fallen ill and how hard the past two years had to have been for him.

Dean chuckled quietly to himself. “So I’ve heard. So what do you say? On the road again?”

Castiel nodded distantly and Dean started the engine.

“Thank you, Dean,” his companion said suddenly.

TBC…

Architect of Fate [4/?]

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 20:33:56 GMT

Title: Architect of Fate. Chapter 4
Author: evdokya
Beta: riahpariah0725
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: AU/AR
Spoilers: none in particular
Warnings: angst, mentions of character death
Word Count: 1,606
Summary: Dean and Castiel set on the road to Grand Sand Dunes….

That Anna chick sure was odd. Dean had expected her to want to go somewhere exotic or romantic or some other crap like that. Like Paris, Egypt, or maybe Rome, since they were Catholics. But no, she wanted to see some a couple of huge piles of sand. He raised his head and tried to sneak a glance inside the box from the other side of Castiel, who chose that moment to turn to look him in the eye. Dean drew back, flustered at being caught. But Castiel didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t think I can go,” Castiel said weakly, obviously not convince of his own words. “What about my job?”

“If you get fired, you’re in the very lucky position to have another one to fall back to.” Castiel opened his mouth to speak again, but Dean put up a hand. “Look, the only question here is whether you wanna go or not. I understand if you don’t wanna go anywhere with me, but I promise you you’re safe with me. I won’t lay a finger on you.”

Castiel’s eyes locked with his. “I know you won’t. And I want to go, but….”

“But nothing.”

“I don’t want to impose on you.”

“You won’t. This lil’ road trip is gonna do us both good. But I gotta tell you, I’m not getting on any damn plane this lifetime. We’re taking my baby, okay?”

Castiel’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Who?”

Dean chuckled. “My car. You’ll love the Impala.” He then stood up. Castiel was still staring at him with wide blue eyes. “I gotta go now. I’m picking my brother from the airport later on. Where…? Wait, do you have a place to stay this weekend?”

“I can still live here till the new buyers start moving in next week.”

“But you’ve got no furniture.” He crouched back next to Castiel, picked the envelope with the check from the floor and thrust it into the other man’s hands. “Here, you can still cash it today and go sleep at a hotel or something.”

“But….”

“No buts. Ellen told me you’re very religious. If I’m a sinner trying to atone for my sins, isn’t it your duty as a Christian to help me with that?”

Castiel blushed, a dull pink spreading over his cheeks and neck, as he awkwardly stood up. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

Dean grinned. “Just one of my many skills as a fierce negotiator.”

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. You just need to remember that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looked away, unable to bear the brunt of those piercing blue eyes anymore. “So what do you say? Meet you Monday morning?”

# # #

They celebrated his Mother’s birthday at the Alvamar Country Golf Club, to which both Dean and his parents belonged to for some unidentified reason. Dean hated clubs and his Father preferred softball. His Mother had nothing in common with any of the County Club patronesses and she usually made a point of avoiding them.

Their party was small—the four Winchesters had been joined by Sam’s girlfriend Jess, Bobby, Ellen, and her wayward daughter, Jo. But the atmosphere was merry, only the strange food dampening the mood a bit. Looking at his family, Dean could never remember a time in his life when he had felt so acutely aware of his luck. He had his family and their friends with him, all happy and healthy.

His Mother was radiating happiness and his Father was looking at her with those luminous, adoring eyes he saved only for her. Tonight he looked nothing like the ruthless businessman he was on every other day of the week. Tonight he was just a man in love with his wife of many years. His parents had been high school sweethearts and had married shortly after graduation. Dean couldn’t help feeling a little wistful. He wasn’t into any chick flick stuff, but sometimes just sometimes he wished he could have someone he could look at like that and who would look back at him that way.

He was wretched out of his musings by the annoyingly persistent sound of Sam tapping his fork against the rim of his champagne glass. Everybody looked up. His younger brother stood up to his full height. He smiled gently at his girlfriend of two years who made googoo eyes at him. Realization dawned for him. Sammy was getting married. Something tightened inside of him and he swallowed hard. His baby brother…. He couldn’t believe it. It seemed as if only yesterday he was in charge of making sure Sammy ate his vegetables.

Sam cleared his throat. “Mom, happy birthday! If anything, you keep getting younger.”

His mother grinned. “Smooth talker!”

“Jess and I have another surprise tonight.” He took his girlfriend’s hand in his. “I asked Jess to marry me and she said yes.”

Their Mother burst into tears, and her husband soothingly kissed her cheek, then stood and shook Sam’s hand. “Congratulations, son!”

They still looked uncomfortable with each other, but at least there was no tension between them. Dean could feel everyone at the table holding their breaths.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam replied.

Then John hugged Jess. “Welcome to the family, Jessica.”

The ice broken now, everyone took their turn at congratulating Sam and hugging Jess, except Jo whose friendly punch to the girl’s shoulder made her rub the spot for quite a while. Dean patiently waited his turn.

Dean shook Sam’s hand and clasped him fondly on the shoulder.

“Way to go, lil’ bro! I’m really happy for you.”

Sam eyed him carefully. “You feeling fine?”

Dean nodded. “Getting there, Sammy.”

The rest of the evening went by in a fury of overly enthusiastic chatter as his Mother and Jess planned for the wedding that was to take place in the spring. To everyone’s pleasant surprise, Sam and Jess had decided to be married out of the old Winchester house in Lawrence, which meant that at least Jess would be here busy with preparations at least a few months before the wedding. Dean was just happy he would get to see more of his brother.

# # #

The fireplace in Dean’s parents’ living room was ridiculously big and lavish, but it held various family photos in heavy, silver-plated frames. Mary and John’s wedding. Mary with him and then his brother at the hospital after having given birth. Him playing Minor League baseball. Sam winning a spelling contest. Graduation photos. Family vacations photos. His Dad playing softball. His Mom tending to her roses.

A sound behind him startled him into whirling around. His brother stood in the doorway holding two bottles of beer, his tie and fancy suit jacket gone. His shoulders were relaxed, though his face was deeply pensive. Dean smirked. He hadn’t seen Sammy quite this brooding and pensive since he met Jess. But then again he hadn’t seen much of Sam lately.

Sam walked up to him and handed him a beer bottle. Dean opened it and took a generous swig.

“Ok, Dean, we’re alone now. What’s going on with you?”

“Sam, this is your big night. I don’t wanna ruin it.”

“Then stop worrying me!”

Dean smiled sadly. “How did I end up with such an awesome lil’ brother? You just got the girl of your dreams and here you are, brooding over how I feel. After everything, that’s just….”

“Just what? And what everything?”

“You know, bailing on your graduation, sneaking your ATM card just to prove I could. Hooking up with your prom date on prom night. Though you should know she only went out with you to get you your very own Carrie moment once you and her were gonna be crowned king and queen. She and Dirk had rigged the contest.”

“What?”

Dean nodded. “I got it all from her good friend, Candie, using my special interrogation techniques.”

Sam pulled his patented bitch face and Dean resisted the urge to hurl with laughter. “Dude, that’s gross. I don’t wanna know. And couldn’t you just tell me?”

“Man, you were all over her. Hopelessly in love or something. I didn’t wanna break your lil’ sensitive Hulk man heart.”

“Jerk,” Sam said with a small grin.

“Bitch.”

They clicked their beers before Sam talked again. “So you’re still not gonna tell me what’s up with you?”

“Actually I’m going on a vacation starting on Monday.”

Sam looked positively appalled. “Does Dad know about that?”

“No, but he will pretty soon.”

“What are you gonna tell him, though?”

“That I haven’t had any downtime in years.”

“Dude, he’s gonna…. I don’t even know what he’s gonna do. Worse, I don’t want to know. You sure about this?”

Dean nodded before taking another gulp of his beer.

“Want me to come with you? You know, for back up.”

“Sammy, I’m about to give Dad some serious reasons to freak out. I don’t wanna give him reasons to kill on top of that.”

Sam shuddered visibly.

# # #

The next day was officially known in the Winchester family history as the day Dean talked back to his Father for the first time ever. John was so shocked that at first he couldn’t even find his voice to tell his elder son a vacation so soon was out of the question. When he did find his voice, however, his yells brought Sam and Mary running. Dean had the presence of mind to grab his brother’s arm and drag him out of the room, leaving his parents alone. An hour or so later, Dean got his week off.

TBC…

Architect of Fate [3/?]

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 09:21:31 GMT

Title: Architect of Fate. Chapter 3

Author: evdokya
Beta: riahpariah0725
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: AU/AR
Spoilers: none in particular
Warnings: angst
Word Count: 2,346
Summary: Dean regrets his behavior and Castiel loses a loved one….

Dean spent the night in his living room’s armchair, staring blankly at the darkness before him. Morning come, he scrubbed clean and put on a pair of jeans and his old Led Zeppelin tee. He hadn’t worn that in years, not since he had given up on his favorite old rock bands because they weren’t as hip as chill out music. He couldn’t help but wonder how come nobody had sent him to a shrink back then. But then, maybe it was for the better. He hated shrinks as much as chill out music.

Though his joints and muscles protested the long hours in chair, he didn’t feel tired at all. On the contrary, he was restless and edgy. He dug his faithful Impala from the underground garage of his apartment building.

“Sorry, baby, I’ve been a jerk to you, I know,” he whispered fondly running his hand over the black shining hood. “I’m gonna make it up to you.”

He opened the door to the driver’s seat and slid inside, took a moment to breathe in deeply the scent of old leather before turning the cassette player on. Back in Black never sounded quite so good than when he was in his beloved car, cruising the streets of a city he knew like the back of his hand.

Unlike his brother, Dean had never left home for more than a few weeks’ vacation. He had even gone to college in Lawrence, and had started working for his father in high school, working his way from a petty position to VP. Both he and his Father wouldn’t have had it any other way. At least he didn’t regret that. Everything he had was earned with the sweat of his brow. He had worked like none of his Father’s employees did—no vacation since he graduated, lunches at his desk, even weekends at his desk if he dealt with a particularly demanding order, no coffee breaks and, especially, no questioning of his Father’s dispositions. So much that Sam had more often than not accused him of having a blind faith in their Dad. But Dean didn’t see it that way. He was merely being a good son. Their Father hadn’t gotten anything for free and had worked very hard to get where he was now. All his life Dean had only wanted to do the same.

That was why when he had discovered Castiel trying to sneak money from his Father’s company, his first reaction had been one of extreme anger, bordering on rage. But then those blue eyes…. Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He couldn’t understand why, power hunger aside, he had been tempted in the first place. He wasn’t gay. He had never even been curious before. Son of God-fearing, all too Republican parents, he had always found the thought of gay sex gross and demeaning. Sure, lesbian porn was nice, but….

Dean shuddered. Now was not the time for any gay confusion, not with his conscious screaming at him for nearly raping a guy. He drove around for a while, not certain where he was heading. He yearned to go home, but not to that flashy mausoleum his Father had bought for Mom years ago. He missed his old childhood home. Their jolly green home with the nice lawn up front and ‘Uncle’ Bobby living right across the street.

He couldn’t go to their old neighborhood. His parents still owned the house, but it was empty now, devoid of any of the warmth he had come to associate it with. But above all, he dreaded meeting Bobby. Bobby had been his Father’s best friend since Dean could remember, and since he didn’t have any children of his own, he had sort of adopted Dean. Seven years ago, cancer had taken Bobby’s wife from him. Ever since, Bobby had had it rough. As far as Dean knew, he was still going to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

Dean sank his teeth into his lower lip, as he single-handedly popped a Metallica tape in the player. The thought wouldn’t let go of him. What if, instead of Castiel Milton, it had been Bobby who had desperately needed the money to save his wife? Just when he thought he couldn’t loathe himself anymore, he did. And he couldn’t go to see Bobby, because now he would be too much of a reminder of how low he had stooped with a man who had been just as desperate as his friend seven years ago when he had learnt his wife was dying of cancer.

# # #

For two weeks Dean deliberately kept himself away from the Accounting Department. No point in making Castiel Milton think he was stalking him. Two weeks after that hellish Friday, Dean could avoid the issue no longer. The reminder came in the form of a pristine white envelope containing a check for 10.000 dollars. It was signed Castiel Milton. Dean grabbed the check and headed for Accounting. Once there, he found Ellen easily, but no Castiel.

“He quit a week ago,” Ellen explained after he spent a few minutes on small talk. He didn’t want to make Ellen wonder, as he doubted he could stand her knowing what he did.

Ellen shook her head sadly. “Poor thing! His sister died. She was supposed to have a liver transplant but didn’t pull through. My heart breaks… really, for both of them. She was very young, from what I’ve heard. And he lost his entire family in just two years. I tried to persuade him to stay, but he wouldn’t have it. I have to say I was very surprised. He was always so shy and quiet. Turns out he’s very hard-headed when he puts his mind to it.” She raised her eyes from the coffee mug she was cradling in her hands. “You’ve asked me about him before, haven’t you? I didn’t know you knew him.”

“I didn’t. I just heard about his sick sister.”

Ellen made a face. “From Ruby, I’m sure.” She sneered at the name of her assistant. “That girl and gossiping, I swear. Though I must say I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about what happened at the last office party. That ought to interest her much more than family tragedies.”

“What happened at that party, and mostly importantly, where was I?”

“Cheating on Lisa Braeden, according to your assistant.” Dean grimaced and Ellen laughed.

“Well, long story short Chastity from Marketing—you might know her as the plum blonde with the rather indecent see-through blouses—tried to hit on Castiel and he went red to the tips of his ears, stammered something the eyewitnesses can’t seem to agree on and ran out of the room. Didn’t return again that evening.”

Dean frowned, his mind flashing back to when Castiel had pressed his lips to his. Back then he had chalked it all up to spur of the moment hysteria. Now he was less sure. “Maybe he’s not into women,” he offered.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What? We’re in the most Democratic city in Kansas.”

“From my part, anyone’s free to do whatever they please in their bedroom, but that’s just not Castiel Milton. He comes from a very strict Catholic family.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen around the building a few times. He’s like, what, 30? A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“Not someone like Castiel. I always wondered why he didn’t become a priest. I mean, he even went to the Benedictine College.”

“Say what?”

Ellen rolled her eyes. “A Catholic college in Atchinson.”

“You mean he studied accounting at a Catholic college. That’s what? Putting the bore into boredom.”

“It’s a good school,” Ellen chided. “He used to work as a messenger for the department when he was still in high school. Took his job so seriously, so I told him that after college he had a job here, if he wanted. It turned out he did and I’m not sorry I hired him. I’m only sorry I had to let him go.”

“Maybe he’ll come back when he starts feeling better,” he offered weakly. He hated to think Castiel left his job because of him.

Ellen sighed. “I hope so. The new guy sucks.”

# # #

Finding Castiel’s address in the HR files was no hardship, but Dean still didn’t fully understand why he took the trip to the neighborhood where the man lived. He even left work earlier to do so. The house bore a striking resemblance to the one Dean himself grew up in. It was a typical two-store pale brown suburb house with lawn up front. The driveway held a white early ‘90s Saab, the kind of car to buy when money is scarce.

Dean rang the door bell several times to no avail. After a few short moments of hesitation, he moved closer to the main glass door to peek inside. He had to have leaned heavier than intended, because the door creaked open. The hallway looked empty, all the furniture gone.

He shouldn’t have, he knew, but he went in, guided by the uneasy feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach. He found Castiel sitting on the floor of what once had to have been a living room. All the furniture was gone here as well, the far wall lined up with large boxes. A smaller one was on the floor next to Castiel. A quick glance inside showed Dean that it contained framed photos.

Castiel looked up, eyes blood-shot and weary. His expression was strangely calm, though his eyelids looked bruised and his lips were cracked. His usual unruly mane of dark hair now stuck up in all directions. Brief surprise brushed at Castiel’s features before dissolving into blankness once more.

“I’m sorry I barged in like this,” Dean began only to be waved off.

“You heard, right?”

Dean crouched next to him. “I did, but that’s not why I came.” He pulled the check out of his pocket and set it on the floor between them. “I don’t know how you got it, but….”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean. I sold the house. Don’t worry—it wasn’t about the money I owed you. Not entirely, anyway. I just couldn’t pay the mortgage anymore.”

“That’s because you quit your job.” Dean realized he had come off harsher than intended and immediately softened his tone. The guy looked like he was hanging on his last thread. “Look, what I meant is that you didn’t have to lose your parents’ house. And you don’t have to worry about me either. You can return to the company any time you want. Ellen would gladly take you back and I won’t bother you.”

Castiel stared blankly ahead. “It wasn’t my only job. When Anna got sick, I took a second one. I’ll hold on to that.”

“Yeah, but where are you gonna live?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’ll rent something.”

Dean pushed the check towards. “Point is, man, I don’t want this money. We both know I don’t need it. Hell, I bought a car I don’t even like that’s worth twice as much. So you keep it.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity, it’s… common sense.” Dean sat himself down on the floor too. “My Mom has a charitable foundation. If she gave you the money, would you have taken it?”

“Your Mother should give her money to those who are far worse off than me. I still have a job and a car.”

“Yeah, and no roof above your head.”

“I told you I don’t want your pity,” Castiel snapped. It was the most spirit Dean had seen in him tonight. But still, damn that man and his stupid pride! Why couldn’t he just take the check?

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself with me anymore. You already helped me when you gave me the money for Anna’s surgery.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry that turned out that way. I…”

Castiel shook his head. “It was my fault. My sister was only given to me for only such a short a while. I should’ve seen that earlier, because if I had, I wouldn’t have put her through that nightmare with the hospital. I could’ve used the money to take her to some place she would’ve wanted to see. I could’ve spent more time with her instead of taking two jobs to keep her tied up to a hospital bed….” His voice broke away in a muffled sob.

Dean raised a hand but didn’t dare touch him. “You couldn’t have known the transplant wouldn’t work out. You just did everything you could to save your sister.”

“But I couldn’t save her! She just died, anyway.” Castiel all but shouted turning to face him, his eyes a sea of blue and red shimmering with fresh tears.

This time Dean did touch him, laying his hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. Castiel stared at his hand as if it burnt him and Dean dropped it.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.

Castiel just squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his unshaved cheeks freely.

“Where would your sister have liked to go?” Dean asked, struck by an idea.

“Why?” Castiel cracked an eye open.

“The way I see it, you don’t want those 10 grand, I wouldn’t go near it. There’s only one thing we can do. Use it to go somewhere she would’ve liked. You know, like, in her memory.”

A sudden frown marred Castiel’s teary face. “What purpose would that serve now?”

“I dunno,” Dean replied feeling foolish for suggesting it. “It’s just an idea that came to me.”

“And why would you do that for me?”

Dean started at the suspicious tone. “Because I screwed up. Horribly. And if I can do something for you, then maybe it’s not too late for me. I’m sorry it sounds so selfish, but that’s just it.”

Castiel looked away. “The Grand Sand Dunes, Colorado,” he said after a while.

Dean nodded. “Ok, that’s where we’ll go then.”

TBC…

Architect of Fate [2/?]

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 22:05:21 GMT

Title: Architect of Fate. Chapter 2

Author: evdokya
Beta: riahpariah0725
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: AU/AR
Spoilers: none in particular
Warnings: mentions of non con, angst
Word Count: 2,636
Summary: Dean Winchester and Castiel Milton couldn’t be more different. While the first is the vice-president and heir to a major company and lives a life of privilege, the second is a tax accountant to whom life hasn’t been exactly kind. An unexpected twist of fate gets them acquainted….

Dean listened to the door slam after Castiel Milton before slumping on one of the armchairs by the coffee table. A second later it occurred to him that it was the one Castiel had sat on before, and he jumped up as if the leather had burned him. He sat on the floor instead. He was numb, ears ringing with a dull, most irritating sound, and the room around him seemed strangely foreign. Part of him still refused to believe the past two days had been real.

His curiosity had been aroused a couple of months ago by something that dickhead Gordon had said at a cocktail party that had bored him to tears. It wasn’t curiosity about men, but about wielding that ultimate power that brought another human being to his or her knees in front of you. Dean had wanted to be repulsed by the notion, he had been taught better than that, but that thought had turned out to be intoxicating. When that young man, in his cheap, supermarket suit had turned on him a hopeless, frightened, yet so intense blue gaze, Dean had sensed his chance. All sense of right and wrong had fled him as his body grew hard with the promise. That evening in the shower he jerked off imagining Castiel Milton kneel submissively before him, his chapped, pale pink lips wrapped around his cock. The memory made his stomach spasm. He swallowed over the bile rising in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut.

How could he have fallen this low? He had grown accustomed to his privileged life and to having his way. His father had taught him to fight for what he wanted, and just take it when it wasn’t given to him, but his father was also a good man with strong morals. A father Dean had always admired and whom he had now let down. What Castiel had tried to do might have been wrong, but that didn’t give Dean any right to blackmail him. And it only made it worse now that he understood why Castiel had done it.

Dean himself had a kid brother, one he had always looked after when they had been children, one he missed terribly after he had gone to college in California. Yes, Dean understood Castiel. If Sammy’s life were in danger, he’d not only steal, but he was fully convinced that he could kill. For Sammy, he wouldn’t just sell his body, he’d sell his soul. Oh God, Sammy…. Sammy, who had always, as a child, looked at him with those huge, worshiping eyes. What would Sammy think if he knew what his older brother had done?

Dean’s stomach churned again, and he sprang to his feet, running to the bathroom to violently empty the contents of his stomach in the toilet. He had disappointed everyone: his sweet-tempered, kind Mother; his Father; Sam; Bobby, who had been like a second father to him; his acting aunt Ellen… everyone.

He rinsed and splashed cold water on his face. Staring up at himself in mirror, he realized he could barely recognize himself. Where was the young, carefree, acting bad boy with a golden-heart? The Dean who loved his Father’s ’67 Chevrolet Impala, casual clothes, pie and beer and laid-back girls he didn’t think of as trophies? This whole nightmare hadn’t begun two days ago, but years ago, when he had started letting go of pieces of himself to become the hardened, shark-like Executive VP of Winchester Industries. And he’d started acting that part outside the office too.

Wild parties, expensive spirits combined with detoxing diets to keep himself fit. Hot, upper class girls, designer suits and a convertible dark green Jag he didn’t even like. Why, why, why? He didn’t care for any of the guys he hung out with and they cared even less for him, more interested in his money and fancy apartment. In the morning, he could never remember the name of the girl he slept with. He hated salads, soy milk and the decaf coffee. He even hated the pristine, ultra modern look of his apartment, but that pricey, annoying interior designer had insisted that was what suited him best after only one hour of acquaintance.

Returning to the living room, he fished out his cell phone. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to Sam, and it shamed him. He was so lucky to have his brother healthy and happy, albeit far away from him. Castiel would probably give everything to have this fortune. Dean’s hand clenched around his Blackberry.

“Yeah, Dean.” Sammy sounded surprised. Dean’s shame deepened.

“Hey, Sammy, how ya doing?”

“Looking over some papers for work. Did you just call me Sammy?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Dean sat back on an armchair popping his feet on the coffee table. Take that Miss Stuck-Up Interior Designer.

“Well, don’t,” Sam protested and Dean could almost see the patented bitch face Sammy had to be making.

“Why not? Brings back some memories.”

“Yeah, of being 13 years old, chubby, too short and picked on by the entire football team.”

“You sure showed them when you grow up into Sasquatch by the time you turned 17, though. Besides, I kicked the ass of every jock who gave you a hard time.”

“And got yourself suspended how many times in a school year for it?”

“Wasn’t my fault you were so geeky everyone picked on you.”

“You could’ve always stopped beating them up for it. It made me look like a total cry baby and they only got worse.”

“I wouldn’t have to beat them all, if only you had fought back every once in a while.”

“Dean….”

“What? You’re not gonna hit me with your politically-correct ‘violence is not the way’ speech? Oh my God, you totally are. Dude, Mahatma Gandhi is so not my style. By the way, how is the good fight going?”

“Fine, I think we’re going to the Supreme Court. Why are you suddenly so interested? Didn’t you and Dad think I was going dark side pairing up with the ecologists and all?”

“Hey, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, even if that means saving some overweight fish.”

“Dean, I know how you and Dad feel about this whole saving the nature hippie crap, as you call it. God knows he yelled it at me more than enough times. And if you….”

Dean sighed. “Sammy,” he interrupted. “I don’t wanna fight. Please. Sorry about what I said about the whales.”

“Dean, you ok? You sound out of it.”

Damn it. Despite the years apart, Sam still knew him better than anyone. “Yeah, ‘m just fine. I’m better than fine. I’m feelin’ awesome.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not nearly enough, Sammy.”

“Two things. Cut the Sammy part. And second, I hope you’re not doing drugs. ‘cause I told you--those new friends of yours are bad news.”

“No, I’m not doing drugs. And I’m not sure those guys are really my friends.”

“Somebody had an epiphany.”

“Oh, Stanford boy showing off his big words.”

“Dean, you sure you’re ok?”

Dean shifted in his seat. His brother sounded genuinely concerned. “Sam, have you ever done something really bad? I mean, despicable even.” There was a pause on the line so Dean continued. “No, of course you didn’t. You’ve got this mountain-high moral ground. You don’t even surf for porn, ‘cause that’d be wrong since you have a steady girlfriend and all.”

“Dean, what happened?”

Dean winced at the alarmingly high level of concern in his brother’s voice. “Nothing. I just… I just figured I hadn’t been myself in a while and you know what? I hate it.”

“Dean, I don’t know what you think you’ve done, but whatever it is, it sounds pretty big. Jess and I are coming over for Mom’s birthday anyway, so maybe I can arrange something with work and swing by a few days earlier.”

“No, man, it’s ok. Don’t sweat it! You go to the Supreme Court and fight the good fight. I’ll be fine.”

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t mean it’s too late to made amends….”

“That’s just the thing, Sammy. I can’t turn back the time and make it all go away. And, man, I’ve never actually thought I’d come to want to feel nothing. But I do. I wish I didn’t feel a damn thing.”

This time Sam didn’t protest the pet name. “Dean, man, you’re scaring me. You’ve never been like this.”

“It had to happen sometime, I guess.”

“Yeah, but what did you do that’s so terrible?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. And I don’t wanna hear any touchy-feely speech about how sharing makes it better, because it can’t. What I’ve done is done already and there’s no changing it.”

“Look, Dean….”

“No, Sam, just no!” He ground out heavily.

“Ok, I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it, so I’m not gonna push. But you can’t go through this all on your own. When you figure that one out, I’m just a phone call away. By the way, you could call more often than national holidays and birthdays, you know.”

“I know, Sam. If anything, I know that much.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ll be waiting.”

“I won’t let you down again, Sammy. I promise.”

TBC…

Architect of Fate [1/?]

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 21:40:25 GMT

Title: Architect of Fate. Chapter 1

Author: evdokya
Beta: riahpariah0725
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: AU/AR
Spoilers: none in particular
Warnings: mentions of non con
Word Count: 2,636
Summary: Dean Winchester and Castiel Milton couldn’t be more different. While the first is the vice-president and heir to a major company and lives a life of privilege, the second is a tax accountant to whom life hasn’t been exactly kind. An unexpected twist of fate gets them acquainted….

Each man is the architect of his own fate.

(Appius Claudius)

Up until two years ago, Castiel Milton’s life had been encased in a comforting routine that revolved mostly around his loving family and the dull yet steady job as a tax accountant for Winchester Industries. That had been before his parents died in a car crash and his sister, his last remaining relative and best friend, had fallen so ill that only a liver transplant her medical insurance didn’t cover could save her. Ever since Anna had fallen ill, Castiel had taken a second job and gotten two mortgages on their childhood home, to no avail. Anna kept getting worse and the bills kept mounting, until Anna’s doctor had one day told them with sickening sympathy in his eyes that the transplant was her only chance of survival. But that meant another 10.000 dollars Castiel knew he had no way of getting in the short time before the surgery would come too late.

The thought that someone could put a price on his sister’s life filled him with impotent rage and despair. Castiel came from a loyal Catholic family, and the very notion of theft was repugnant to him, but so was charging to save people’s lives. He knew he would never be able to pay the money back, and that he would go to jail, but he hoped he would manage to cover for what he did long enough to pay for his sister’s transplant. Then he would go to jail happy, knowing she was out of danger.

It had been terrible bad luck, or maybe a strange form of serendipity, that he had been basically caught in the act--and not by Ellen Harvelle, his kind-hearted boss who knew of Anna’s condition, but Dean Winchester, the Executive VP. Dean and Castiel had both been born 30 years ago in Lawrence’s suburbs and came from families that might as well have been good friends. But Dean was the elder son of John Winchester, a tough-as-nails businessman who had single-handedly built the biggest chemicals-manufacturer in the city. Castiel’s father had worked as an accountant at the Corpus Christi church and school and, though he had managed to provide for his family, he had never even dreamed of leading a different life.

All his life Castiel had only wanted the same: a nice family and a house like the one of his parents. Dean Winchester clearly had different standards, following in the footsteps of a feared but also well-respected man, working days and nights for a company so prosperous it simply defied the generally lousy state of the economy. And if Dean worked hard, he played just as hard, at the very least. Rumors of monster parties his luxurious penthouse hosted constantly bustled through the corridors, and people whispered there hadn’t been a beautiful woman he had laid eyes on that he hadn’t also bedded. Just a week ago, his secretary reported that a gorgeous brunette had been evicted by the building’s security after her visit to the Executive VP’s office had degenerated in a hard objects throwing fest.

So when Dean Winchester had caught him trying to whisk away company money, Castiel’s heart had sunk with the realization that his trespassing would be all for nothing, since he had twice failed his sister. He hadn’t been able to save her and now he would shame her, too, by going to jail. He was dejectedly waiting for the VP to call security or the police when the man’s olive green eyes had stopped on him, wide and surprised, all strictness fading from his countenance.

Dean Winchester, impeccably dressed in his light brown designer suit, faltered, blinked and then frowned. His lower lips trembled as he uttered the words.

“I have a proposition for you, Castiel. May I call you Castiel?”

Castiel nodded with a sinking heart. This was the end, he was certain. For him. For Anna. And as he listened to the VP talk, he grew increasingly sure that shock was making him hear things. Could Dean Winchester, Lawrence’s most eligible bachelor and notorious playboy, be truly saying that?

Castiel stammered something he failed to understand himself in response then thought back to Anna’s paper white face as she lay helpless on a hospital’s bed.

The other man made a dismissive gesture with his hand, a faint blush coloring his freckled cheeks, and Castiel forced himself to find his voice before he lost his opportunity. Agreement was reached quickly and Castiel took in the instructions he was given. As he turned to leave, he couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Winchester looked as stunned as he felt.

# # #

Friday evening was only a day away and time flew by in a hazy blur. Castiel spent every free minute with Anna until she begged him to go home and sleep. He had a hard time processing the latest turn of events. It just didn’t make any sense. Dean Winchester was a very attractive man, rich, successful and coveted… and straight. But even if he was curious about men, it would surely be no hardship for him to discreetly explore his curiosity. So it had to be the temptation of ultimate power over someone. When he had discovered Castiel trying to steal from the company and seen the obvious desperation in his face, Dean Winchester had had his entire future in his hands. How tempting it had to have been for a man with power and means to toy with the opportunity? But this… this was still too much.

As bewilderment started to slip away, Castiel found himself overcome with horror and disgust. Shame, too. At his helpless situation, at the thought of losing Anna, at the power a man like Dean Winchester had over him and at what he would to with it. But then he remembered what he had been taught all his life about the trials God bestowed on his creations and instantly felt even more shame for his rebellion. So he prayed for forgiveness and the strength to endure it all, as he didn’t dare to pray to God to soften Dean Winchester’s heart.

And so before he knew it he found himself in front of the high-ranking condo building where Winchester lived. He was still wearing the dark blue suit he had on at work today and his old yellow trench coat he felt most comfortable in, his tie slightly askew because he had been nervously pulling at all the way there. Winchester was obviously waiting for him. He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a white shirt with the upper button popped open, his hair slicked back as he had always had it on those very few occasions Castiel had laid eyes on him on the company’s corridors. He was holding a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid.

“Wanna drink?” his host asked.

Castiel shook his head. He felt as if he were underwater, everything around him strangely fuzzy and remote.

“Don’t drink?”

Castiel frowned at the new question. It had been far too long since he could afford not to be fully alert on his every waking moment.

“No, generally not,” he finally asked unable to grasp the meaning of this interrogation. He just wanted to get on with it so he could leave and return to Anna.

Winchester gestured towards one of the beige leather armchairs in the large living room with a plate window overlooking the city.

“Have a seat.”

Castiel sat awkwardly, and his companion took the chair opposite from him. “I looked you up, you know. And you seem like a model employee: you’re always on time, you’re good at what you’re doing, and up until a year and half ago you’ve never once asked for a raise, though you’ve been working for the company since you were in college. Ellen says you’re the most socially-awkward man she knows but you’re, if anything, too polite.”

Castiel looked the other man in the eye trying to decipher where all this was going. He felt flustered that Winchester had talked to Ellen about him, and wondered what exactly he had told her. It gave him hope knowing there was no way he could have told him the truth.

“Why, why would someone like you try to embezzle money from the company?” Winchester asked, his eyes seeking the bottom of his now almost empty glass.

Anger shot anew through Castiel. Why did it matter to him? He was about to exercise the ultimate power to get what he wanted and humiliate him to no end. Why would he want to know that?

Green eyes bore into his, curious and only a little restless.

“Why do you need to know? To you I’m nothing more than an overly paid whore.” Castiel spat angrily.

The other man looked taken aback, almost ashamed at his words. He took one last swig from his glass and set it on the glass coffee table by his chair.

“I’ve never had to pay for sex before,” Winchester admitted quietly almost as if making a confession.

“Is this what you think? Do you really believe that all those women you’ve been showing off with went out with you all for yourself?”

Anger blossomed on Winchester’s features, his fingers digging in the soft leather of the chair’s arms. Castiel hesitated. Had he gone too far? This man was practically holding his sister’s life in his palm. He couldn’t afford to cross him now.

“They surely didn’t come with a price tag, like you do.” The retaliation was swift and the contempt dripping in the venomous words stung.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice,” Castiel all but shouted, feeling tears prickling at his eyes and hating it.

“You have a choice. You can leave anytime you want. You didn’t get to take anything from the company so I wouldn’t report you.”

“That’s just it.” Castiel blurted. “I didn’t get to take anything.”

“Hey, man, chill. It’s just 10 grand. Not even enough for a set tour to some tropical island.”

Castiel sprung to his feet. He couldn’t bear to sit anymore. Apparently not the one to be towered over, his companion followed him up. “To you maybe it’s just 10 grand. To others it could mean the difference between life and death.”

Winchester had the good graces to look troubled. “Come again.”

“None of your business,” Castiel replied sternly, meeting the other man’s gaze evenly. He would not be intimidated by someone who thought money gave you the right to do everything you pleased.

“If I’m giving you 10 grand, I wanna know it’s for.”

Castiel sneered. “I thought you made it clear what you wanted in exchange.”

Green eyes raked all over his body in a way it made Castiel feel soiled without even touching him. Winchester moved closer until he got into Castiel’s personal space.

“Kinda pricey roll in the hay, don’t you think?”

Castiel’s eyes found the floor for the first time since he came. A rough hand sank in the hair at the back of his head and yanked determinedly up.

“Look at me!” Winchester barked. Castiel shook with fear for the first time tonight.

“Why are you doing this?” Castiel asked frantically, fighting with himself to stay put.

“Because I can.” The taller man sneered triumphantly.

“Then do it and be done with it.”

The hand at his nape let him go, but Winchester didn’t step back. “Not until you tell me why you suddenly want that money. What? The good boy got his hands dirty? Maybe it’s drugs? Or a bit of gambling?”

Castiel flushed. “No!”

“Then what? Mommy couldn’t pay up her rates anymore?”

“Don’t you dare mention my Mother!”

“So it is Mommy?”

“My Mother was a good woman. I won’t let you sully her memory.”

The man finally stepped back giving Castiel room to breathe. “Your Mother’s dead? I’m sorry.”

Castiel looked away, all the pain he had been keeping buried deep within him flaring anew like a painful tear in his chest. “No, you’re not,” he said softly. “You don’t know what that means.”

“Look….”

Castiel put a hand up. “Spare me!”

A large hand with impossibly hot skin grasped his hand and held it tight, a thumb pressing in the pulse in his wrist.

“You don’t want sex, you want a toy. Someone you can torment and humiliate.” Castiel said, realization dawning.

Winchester let his hand drop, looking as if he had been slapped. Castiel went on.

“What do you want? For me to beg you, to get down on my knees, maybe lick your shoes a bit?”

The other man stepped away from him, his eyes almost wild with fear now. It was strange for him to be afraid of Castiel. But Castiel couldn’t stop now that he had started.

“You want to know what the money’s for? It’s for my dying sister. I can’t pay for the surgery that would save her life and nobody would give me any more loans. I’ve never taken a cent from anyone, and it made me sick just thinking about stealing, but I can’t lose her, too. She’s my sister.”

Sheer horror replaced fear in the other man’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Then, he fled. He just vanished from Castiel’s line of sight, moving faster than he had thought humanly possible. Castiel just stood there short of breath and utterly convinced that his uncalled for sincerity had just killed Anna.

Winchester came back a moment later, looking as if he had just crawled his way out of some personal Hell. He bent over the coffee table and scribbled something down. Castiel’s vision was blurry and recovered little when a narrow sheet of paper was thrust into his right hand.

“Here, take it.”

Castiel blinked, the low timber of voice strangely unfamiliar to him. He lowered his eyes to the paper in his hand. It was a check for 10.000 dollars, signed by Dean Winchester.

“What?”

Winchester took several steps back seeming desperate to put some distance between Castiel and himself.

“Why?” Castiel said hollowly.

Dean screwed his eyes shut. “Just go… please.”

Castiel didn’t move looking from Dean to the check in his hand. He crossed the short distance separating him from Dean and pressed closed lips to the other man’s mouth.

“No,” Dean yelled, literally jumping back.

A shuddered racked through Castiel’s body. He didn’t understand.

“Please,” Dean panted turning sharply on a heel, shoulders slumping. “Leave.”

It made even less sense now. This was his house. Dean could just kick him out, but instead was begging him to leave.

“Thank you,” Castiel blurted out desperately clutching out at the check in his hand. “Oh, thank you.”

Dean whirled back to face him. His eyes were burning as if with fever. Time stood still, suspended for Castiel. He knew was vaguely hysterical, the exhaustion of the past month and the emotional roller-coaster of the evening taking its toll on him and his reactions. Ellen Harvelle was right. He was socially-awkward, but while he wasn’t good with people, he had always been certain of his path. Now for the first time since childhood he wavered.

“I’ll pay you back,” he said finally. “Down to the last cent. I promise.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Don’t. Just fucking go away!”

Castiel nodded and sprinted to the door. Once there he looked back once more. Dean Winchester, the confident heir to Winchester Industries, was staring blankly ahead of him looking as if his entire world had crashed down around him. Compassion tugged at the strings of Castiel’s heart, but he didn’t know what to do with it. Speechless, he opened the door and left.

TBC…

Fic: And So It Begins

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 19:28:10 GMT

Title: And So It Begins

Author: evdokya
Beta: riahpariah0725
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Slash of the Dean/Castiel kind
Spoilers: none in particular, only a slight reference to 5.04
Warnings: graphic content, pain kink
Word Count: 2,173
Summary: “Yes,” Castiel said, because Dean wanted him to be okay.

*Written for the deancaskinkmeme with the prompt: Dean/Castiel // Accidental non-con/Pain

It had begun with unpleasant cold sensations prickling his fingers and nose the night Dean told him to let him sleep for a few hours, when he was stranded, waiting by the side of the road in the cold, dark night. Then it had spread. Tight dryness in his throat. Cramps in his stomach. Weariness in his bones and muscles. The anatomy he had known before only gained fleshy substance slowly and theoretically. He understood that with Jimmy Novak gone when Raphael had killed him, he seemed to be forever stranded in an increasingly human body. Unless he found God. Yet his desperate quest had become more and more senseless now that his grace was fading, leaving him weak and vulnerable—almost unbearably so.

Only his insight into the souls of the humans he came in contact with remained. If anything, it was sharpening, even as he was losing everything else that used to make him an angel. With one exception. Dean Winchester.

The less of an angel Castiel became, the darker the colors of Dean’s soul grew, until soon enough he wouldn’t be able perceive the man’s emotions anymore. And that loss saddened him more than the loneliness and his new-found vulnerability.

When it had happened, Castiel supposed he shouldn’t have been all that surprised about it, even if, as far as he knew—and he knew it very well since he had been watching Dean all his life—the hunter preferred women, and had never had intercourse with a man. He only knew that, despite the shape of the first body the angel had ever had all to himself, Castiel was in truth neither male or female. So maybe Dean was attracted to him as a whole, and his maleness had counted too little when it had come down to it.

It had been a particularly bad day, and both he and Winchesters had retreated to yet another meager motel room, battered and bruised. Sam had sprung for a single room wordlessly and without looking at either Dean or Castiel. They had been together on the road for a while now, yet none of the brothers had addressed the issue of the angel’s abandoned quest for God or that of his fading powers. The silence between them was heavy, and sometimes guilty.

Both Sam and Dean were quietly helping him along, schooling him in the complicated and, for a former member of the heavenly Host, often demeaning ways of the mortals. Castiel, who could still read Sam, accurately saw his sympathy for the angel’s predicament, but that offered no comfort at all--it only shamed him more. Dean, whom he couldn’t perceive anymore, only darted half-concerned, half-guilty looks in his direction when he thought Castiel wasn’t looking, and kept showing how their restless, Heaven and Hell hunted life worked.

The glow of the parking lot neon bathed the narrow room in a bluish light. The stale air only deepened the weariness sweeping over Castiel and his reactions felt unpleasantly sluggish. Maybe that was why he barely registered the kiss. Bitter and tentative. He had never been kissed before and he had to admit that the steady, heated pressure of Dean’s mouth on his felt good. So when the man swept his tongue over his lips, Castiel opened to him and closed his eyes, letting himself be kissed and guided towards one of the beds in the double room.

Dean undressed him slowly, almost cautiously, his eyes uncertain, as if he kept expecting Castiel to deny him. But Castiel didn’t. He allowed Dean to strip and touch him, caress him, making his skin bloom with goose bumps as he shivered and sighed. He touched Dean himself with unsteady hands, exploring tanned, hot skin, and it was nice--comforting, almost. And when Dean stroked him between his legs, he understood why humans lost themselves in this.

He parted his legs wider for Dean and moaned softly when he spilled himself over his hand, his whole body going slack with sweet oblivion, his mind thankfully numb. He was dimly aware of Dean rolling him over, a slick finger pressing against the crease between his buttocks. It stung and he buried his face in the pillow, fighting the awakening from the stupor of his very first orgasm. But clarity returned all too quickly as Dean added a second finger.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, his hot breath caressing the shell of Castiel’s ear, the hunter’s free hand tracing soothing patterns between his shoulder blades.

“Yes,” Castiel said, because Dean wanted him to be okay.

But then he didn’t have to lie anymore as Dean rubbed a particular spot deep within him and he saw colorful stars explode behind his closed eyelids. He wriggled towards Dean, giving him permission to do more. To take more. The third finger failed to hurt and Castiel rubbed his front against the cotton sheets, feeling himself hardening again. It was decadently sweet again, and he yearned to let go and lose himself for a second time tonight.

Dean withdrew his fingers and Castiel whimpered embarrassingly at it, but the emptiness didn’t last long. Something bigger and blazingly hot pushed against his entrance and Castiel bit into the scratchy material covering the pillow. It burnt. Worse than the bite of cold. Worse than anything he had felt since sensation began to take over him. And Dean wouldn’t stop pushing, not until Castiel felt heavy flesh slap against his buttocks.

Castiel knew that no angel had fallen so low. Not since the Nephelin, who had been cast into Hell as punishment for lying with humans. He knew that after this he would be irremediably tainted, and would have no hope of ever returning home. As if on cue, Dean drew back, spreading the burn all over screaming nerve ends, but stopped half way to slowly push back in.

The tainted angel trembled, drawing the cotton of the pillow into his mouth, digging his teeth into it. Maybe the pain wouldn’t be so horrible if it weren’t for the shame he felt, but he didn’t want to let go of either, so he clenched around Dean, wrapping himself in the reality of it all. Dean groaned loudly, anchored himself with a hand on Castiel’s left shoulder and slammed into him powerfully. Castiel swallowed his cry of agony at the sensation of being split open. The throbbing inside him intensified, his erection of mere moments ago wilting. But he didn’t care. He lay prone on the bed, Dean’s for the taking.

At least it was Dean. If this was as inevitable as his fall from grace, at least he could give Dean what he needed as he lost his purity. He let go of the pillow case, resting his cheek on the wet cotton, his mind moving in circles. Dean was thrusting in and out of him steady and fast, but not roughly, grunting lowly as he moved. Then he leaned over Castiel’s back, hot and heavy, his tongue lewdly licking the shell of the angel’s ear.

Dean’s words were filthy, occasionally blasphemous, but flattering in an odd way, because he was telling Castiel how good it felt to be in him like this. He was calling him Cas and Cas whimpered at the nickname. Dean was right. He was no longer Castiel, an angel of the Lord, but a weak hybrid stranded between Heaven and Earth, losing his virginity on a cheap motel bed in the middle of nowhere. It would be undignified even for a human, and for an angel….

Castiel buckled. Stop, Dean, it hurts, he wanted to hurl but he remained quiet. His fingers grappled helplessly at the bedspread, but Dean just raised his upper body, holding him down with a hand on the small of his back. His other hand trailed gently on Castiel’s hip before sliding between his body and the bed, reaching for his softening member. Castiel gasped as a calloused hand wrapped itself again against his cock, pumping him slowly, his thumb brushing the tip. He was still too sensitive from his previous release and squirmed uncomfortably, only succeeding at drawing Dean deeper inside him.

Dean all but growled and slammed down harder, so hard Castiel could feel it in every bone in his body. But the burn was receding, the pain dulled to a slight ache, eclipsed now by the wondrous feeling spreading within him from Dean’s hand on his cock. The pillow was muffling the helpless sounds he made as he began to lose himself once more. He heard Dean shout above him, liquid warmth filling as the hunter collapsed on his back, driving him mercilessly in the mattress. Castiel didn’t mind the crushing weight on his back. It was strangely comforting.

It didn’t last. As Dean’s weight left Castiel, he found himself pushed on his back once again. Dean slid down his body and buried himself between his thighs. Castiel writhed at the teasing licks. His vision was blurring, the edges white and fuzzy, and his ears rang with the sound of his incoherent mumblings. Then Dean swallowed him, his mouth hot and wet around his straining member. Everything stopped and Castiel felt his ability to move time at will for a last time before it collapsed in a darkening void where only sensation existed. If anything, pleasure had made him more human. But he didn’t find it in himself to mourn as he trashed helplessly and whimpered his release.

He was still panting and dazed when Dean moved to the bathroom, only to return a few minutes later with a warm, wet towel he used to clean Castiel with long, careful swipes. When he wanted to leave again, Castiel grabbed his wrist and sat up to kiss him. Dean’s eyes were shining brightly in the weird light of the room.

“Cas, I… did I hurt you?” Dean asked suspiciously when they broke apart.

“No,” Castiel lied again. “But don’t go.”

Dean flung the towel to the floor. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” He climbed back in the bed and pulled Castiel in a one-armed embrace, his free hand pulling the comforter over them. Castiel shook hard against Dean’s hard, steady body.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

The concern was apparent in the other man’s voice as Castiel trailed small, open-mouthed kiss along his jaw.

“Cas, I don’t think I can get it up again so soon.” Dean protested, humor in his voice, as Castiel’s hands trailed clumsily over his body.

“Ok, ok….” Dean relented when Castiel wouldn’t let go. He leaned the angel back on the pillows.

“Let’s see…” Dean murmured and mouthed a nipple.

The second time Castiel wept bitterly through it, but wouldn’t let Dean stop, so Dean took it slow, exploring the angel’s body with licks, nips and tender hands. At the end, Dean didn’t bury himself again in Castiel’s still sore ass. He just grasped both of their cocks in a confident grip and brought them over with prolonged, ardent strokes.

“Seriously, man, you’re freaking me out. What’s up?” Dean asked again when it was all over and they were lying on their backs side by side, breathless and sweaty.

Castiel curled into Dean’s heavier set body. “It frightens me…” Castiel’s voice wavered. “It frightens me how I’m human I’ve become.”

Dean looked at him then, eyes wild and darkly remorseful. He gathered Castiel close once more. “I know being human sometimes…well, most of the time, sucks. But it’s got its perks.”

Castiel pressed himself closer against Dean, burying his head in the crook of his neck.

“Just don’t lose yourself.”

“I haven’t been myself in a while now, Dean, as I’m sure you’re well aware.” Castiel said grimly pulling back.

“Hell, dude, I’m not talking about what you were when we met, but who you are. And you’re more than some time-bending, flying dick. You’re clueless and weird and you’ve got no sense of humor….”

“None of these sounds very flattering, Dean,” Castiel protested before setting on nibbling on Dean’s already kiss-swollen lips.

“And apparently, a sex-machine, too. Dude, I’ve got to introduce you to jerking off or something. You’re gonna kill me with your appetite. Come on, you horndog, we should catch some shut eye.”

Castiel settled himself more comfortably in Dean’s arms. “If you say so.”

His heart felt surprisingly lighter. He didn’t know why Dean was so worried he would change. He could hardly be more removed from what he once was than now, but still, Dean’s care and the familiarity of his sarcasm warmed him. He was glad Dean had been his first, and maybe if he were true to his former charge, he would remain less soiled by his surrender to base desires.

“Cas,” Dean murmured sleepily. “We can tell people about the sex, but not the cuddling.”

Though he knew Dean had his eyes already closed, Cas smiled indulgently. “Don’t worry, Dean, you’re secret is safe with me.”

“Good to know.” And with that Dean pressed a small kiss to Castiel’s forehead.

~ the end ~

Before Dawn

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 10:47:41 GMT

Title: Before Dawn
Author: evdokya
Beta: riahpariah0725
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Slash of the Dean/Castiel kind, schmoop
Spoilers: heavy for 5.03
Warnings: graphic content
Word Count: 4,400
Summary: Yet another porny coda to the famous 5.03 fragment. I know there are a lot of such fics out there but I just couldn’t help myself. So I proudly present you Dean and Cas’ last night on Earth.
A/N: Inspired by Evanescence’s Before the Dawn song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adrGTcPCH4o

Last night on Earth. Dean remembers all too well what could have been his own last night on Earth if it hadn’t been for Castiel. Just as he remembers walking into Chuck’s house to find a ruffled, bloodied prophet who had told him Cas was dead. And he acutely remembers the exhilaration he has felt seeing him alive again, a feeling so deep and so intense it had drawn out even the pain of the stomach cancer Zachariah had temporarily given him. Temporary, thanks to Cas. Cas, who had killed his brethren for him, turned his back on Heaven and lost everything.

Dean tries to imagine for a moment killing two hunters on behalf of some supernatural thing, and shudders. Then his strides falter as he hears Castiel pause behind him, and turns in time to see the angel snatch the urn of oil he has brought from Jerusalem and clutch it tightly to his chest. Blue eyes look determined and just a little sad in the half light in the room. Breath stutters in Dean’s chest for a moment as he has this stupid urge to fling himself at Castiel and beg him not to summon any damn archangel. Like some clingy chick in a bad daytime TV show.

Castiel takes a step closer and Dean pulls himself together with a frown, continuing towards the Impala awaiting them outside. They drive in a somewhat uncomfortable silence. Castiel sits next to him, tense and stiff, still holding the oil urn pressed against his chest. Dean spares him quick glances from time to time. The angel’s eyes are focused straight ahead, his face as inscrutable as it used to be back in the days just after they had met and Castiel could still throw him back in the pit.

Thinking back, Dean realizes forgives Cas for that threat from over a year ago now, and he only feels mild regret at how far his angel has regressed from the powerful, otherworldly being he once was. Realization strikes on the heels of that thought and he figures he’s being an idiot. . Of course, he is so used to thinking of Cas as different from all the other dickless angels that sometimes he almost forgets that he still is otherworldly, if not so mighty anymore.

Speaking requires some throat clearing beforehand. And it’s not because he’s nervous. Not at all.

“You got any idea where we’re going?”

“I thought this trip was your idea, not mine,” Castiel says in a monotone voice.

“Yeah, but don’t you wanna know where we’re going?”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Cas nearly shrug. “I had assumed you were taking us to a place of ill repute.”

“Yeah, but do you wanna go there?”

“You do,” Castiel points out calmly.

“And you don’t?”

“I would rather not fornicate with a woman who sells her body, even if it is my last night on Earth.”

“Is this because you’re technically still angel, ‘cause I’m telling you, those sons of bitches don’t deserve you sticking to their rules after what they did to you.”

“I’m afraid you are misinterpreting the laws of my Father, which is understandable considering how men distorted His words.”

“So you’re telling me sex’s not really a sin?”

“Physical intimacy is not a sin, per se. It merely has to be consensual, and not for money.”

“Back to cryptic angel talk we go”, Dean sighs. “What’s the difference?”

“I think you know.”

Dean’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. He understands though he wishes he didn’t, because there is a constricting band around his chest now and it wasn’t there a mere moment ago. “So that’s what you want on your last night on Earth? To make love?”

A furtive look at the angel shows his expression hasn’t wavered yet his lips purse tighter together. Castiel pauses as if for consideration before replying in an almost hushed tone of voice. “I had not considered making any special plans for tonight, remember?”

“And why the hell not?”

“I have gone so long without wanting anything that I have not yet grown accustomed to being free to desire anything.”

If that doesn’t take the cake and make the band pressing on his chest suffocate him, Dean doesn’t know what does. Because the poor sucker is going to die without even fully realizing he can want something. Screw it! Just fucking screw it. Screw Heaven and their sadistic rule.

“Yeah, but now that you can want things, what do you want for tonight?”

“Some peace.”

Deans scoffs. “Aren’t you gonna have that in Heaven afterwards?”

“You are perhaps assuming I would be permitted entrance after everything I have done.”

“Hey, you’re the one who believes in God, not me. And if He’s really out there, why shouldn’t he let you in? After all, you’re the only angel who’s done the right thing this Apocalypse.”

“You have misunderstood me, Dean. When my Father breathed His divine grace into humans, He gave you souls that endure forever, and can be allowed into the Kingdom of Heaven after a virtuous life. But the grace He gifted us with, though it gives us eternal life, turns to ashes once we are destroyed. We simply cease to exist.”

Dean hits the pedal full force and violently pulls the car to a stop, his baby’s breaks screeching loudly in the quiet, dark night. If Castiel dies tomorrow, he won’t be going to any better place. He will be gone forever. For the first time since the angel came out with the ridiculous idea, Dean actually entertains the idea of helping him find God, because he aches to kick the cruel bastard’s sorry ass. He spins towards Castiel and sees only mild confusion in those wide, blue, all-too-innocent eyes staring at him. The angel is still gripping the urn like a life anchor.

“No,” Dean growls.

“It is merely the way my Father made all things.”

“Well then He’s an ass.” He ignores the horror spreading across Cas’ face. “And I’m not letting you go.”

“Dean, we have no choice.”

“I do, and I’m not letting you do this!”

“Dean, we have discussed this.”

“No,” he says stubbornly.

His fist lands on the steering wheel before he can catch himself and apologize under his breath to the poor Impala. Another blameless victim of heavenly schemes and impeding dooms.

Before the angel can say one more word, he flings the door open and goes out kicking at the road as he angrily stalks away. He had hoped stupidly that all of Castiel’s faith wasn’t for nothing, and there really was a God out there who could at least get one thing right. A tiny back water corner of freaking heaven for an angel with compassion. Would that be too much to ask for? He bangs his fist at the inky black skies above him. He should have known. Good things don’t happen, no matter what Castiel—poor, idiotic, martyr Castiel—believes!

Abruptly he comes to a decision and nearly runs back to the car to find Castiel patiently waiting for him, as though he knew his outburst was bound to cool off, if given enough time. Dean remains silent as he slides back behind the wheel, taking off like a bat out of hell.

The town is not much further ahead, but instead of driving to that place Dean has only a vague memory of, he slows on the outskirts as he spots a rundown motel of the kind he is most familiar with. Not far away up the street the spotlight of a 7/11 blinks. He parks in front of the store and goes out with a wait here thrown in Castiel’s direction. It’s not necessary. The angel isn’t going anywhere, and Dean knows it.

He quickly gets the needed supplies, unwilling to waste much of the few hours Cas has left. Next comes the motel. The room they get is crappy enough, but at least it looks reasonably clean and the king bed he asked for is big.

“You can let go of that urn now,” Dean says only half joking as Castiel remains rooted in the middle of the room, eyes fixed on Dean, who is seated on the edge of the bed taking his boots off.

Castiel carefully sets the oil on the nightstand and awkwardly sits himself next to Dean.

“What are we doing here, Dean?”

“Introducing you to the only true miracle known to man: Tennessee whiskey.”

He proudly pulls the bottle of Jack out of the shopping bag and the two cheap glass tumblers he bought along with it. There was no way he would serve Cas Jack in plastic glasses, not on his first and last time drinking. As he opens the bottle, he notices the well-worn trench coat hanging on the angel’s hunched shoulders.

“Dude, you gotta make yourself comfortable.”

“I’m fine this way.”

“No, you’re not. Not when you’re wearing that coat like some damned uniform. Off with it. Now.”

Castiel blinks, puzzled, and then stands and starts to tug clumsily at the trench. Dean laughs, and the sound comes out strangely mirthless, before helping the angel to remove his trench coat. It brings them close enough for Dean to feel the heat radiating from the other body. He licks his lips. Somehow he never expected that. He had expected Castiel to be cold like the icy heart of a comet. He distantly remembers Jimmy Novak mentioning that being possessed by an angel was like being chained to a comet. But Jimmy is no more. Castiel told him once he was gone the moment the archangel destroyed his body. When Cas came back, he came back alone.

Dean slowly pushes the black suit jacket off Cas’ slim shoulders. This body belongs fully to the angel now, and the hunter startles at how fragile it seems devoid of the trademark trench coat floating around him like a protective shield. Castiel’s eyes widen slightly at the liberties Dean is taking but he doesn’t protest. Not one bit. Then Dean unwinds the tie from around that pale neck and finally steps back.

The angel looks at the clothes strewn on the floor. Dean shrugs. His own jacket is thrown carelessly over a chair from where it well reaches to the floor.

“You care about that now?”

Castiel doesn’t reply--just sits himself back on the bed, watching as Dean pours both of them generous helpings of the amber liquid and then hands him one of the tumblers. Dean clicks his glass to the angel’s quietly. A toast seems ridiculous now.

“Bottoms up.”

He closes his eyes for an instant, savoring the burn of the potent liquid as it glides down his throat. Watery coughing interrupts him, forcing his attention back to Castiel, who is currently sputtering whiskey all over his chin and shirt.

“Oh crap, Cas…”

Good thing he happened to have bought tissues. He gently cleans the other man’s chin, trying not to think of the times he used to teach Sammy to eat. Sammy, who he doesn’t know anymore, who’s miles away from him, who…. He blocks the thought, folds it and tucks it away in a corner of his mind he doesn’t plan to touch again tonight.

“You don’t do booze, you don’t have sex, I’ve never seen you eat either. Why is it called Heaven again?”

“Because it is perfect. You have no need for food, drink or sex.”

“Yeah, and you go batty from all that perfection. Look what happened to most angels.”

“It is my only home.”

Dean bites his tongue, so as not to say that if he had a home of his own, he’d share it with Castiel. What is wrong with him? He didn’t do chick flicks moment when he was the one dying. Willing all and any cheesy ideas away, he lifts the bottle again.

“One more?”

“If it is all the same to you, I would rather not.”

“But you didn’t even get to taste it. You got it all on yourself.”

Castiel looks down at the dark golden stains on the pristine material covering his chest and he scowls slightly, his forehead creasing delicately. He looks genuinely confused and a little mortified. An unexpected surge of affectionate humor washes over Dean before he notices the way Cas’ dusty pink lower lip sticks out in a pout that’s almost sensuous. Dean finds himself licking his own lips then leaning forward pressing his open mouth to the spotted fabric and sucking on it lightly. He gets no reaction, but that means there is no protest either so he opens his mouth wider sinking teeth through the cotton into skin. Castiel makes a noise above him halfway between a yelp and a gasp. Dean draws back.

“You don’t have to do this,” Castiel says softly, understanding.

“What if I want to?”

“You have never been with a man before. The very notion must be very uncomfortable for you.”

Dean grins. “It’s good then that you’re an angel and not a man.”

“This body is male, though.”

“Yeah, I got that.” He searches the angel’s eyes. “Question is, do you want it?”

Castiel pauses, tilting his head. “I am afraid….”

“Dude, you might be dead tomorrow and you’re scared of fucking me?”

“I’m afraid of what it could mean to you.”

Dean gets off the bed, desperate for some distance from the angel, and runs a hand through his hair.

“It is not pleasant, is it?” That raspy voice holds just a trace of irony. “When somebody else is the martyr?”

Without thinking he flings himself at Cas, and, pulling him to his feet, he begins to shake him hard. The fact that he can do this only because the angel allows it is not lost on him.

“Don’t!” Dean yells. “Just don’t.”

“Don’t perform the ritual tomorrow, or don’t talk now?” The slight irony is still there, infusing every word.

Dean throws him back on the bed and climbs on top of him, straddling his hips.

“Don’t do this, Dean, please… for you.”

Dean is panting, head swimming and heart beating out of his chest.

“Tell me no for yourself and I’ll stop,” he spits bitingly.

Castiel looks at him with huge frightened eyes, his lower lip trembling, but his mouth stays closed. Dean smirks and dips his head closer. But before their lips can meet, Dean pauses. Their first kiss won’t be angry. So he closes his eyes and touches his lips to Castiel’s gently, fusing their mouths together with a soft caress. It’s chaste and hesitant at first, then the angel’s mouth opens under his with a small sigh and Dean swirls his tongue in, pausing only to rub against Castiel’s own timid tongue. Dean pulls it into his mouth, sucks on it and feels the angel go lax under him.

Dean breaks the kiss and sits back on his heels, his fingers idly undoing the buttons of Cas’ shirt. Blue eyes lock onto his, gaze still wild with despair. Dean smiles and run his hands over the plains of a smooth chest. The skin is soft, not as silky as a woman’s would be, but softer than his. He thumbs nipples into hard, pebbled nubs, enjoying the way Cas arches into his touch, more sighs escaping his mouth.

Licking and sucking a man’s nipples feels a bit weird at first, but Cas tastes unexpectedly sweet, honeyed somehow, and he runs his hands through Dean’s hair with such tenderness as he sighs some more, still too quiet and stoic for Dean’s liking, though. He doesn’t get anymore vocal as Dean licks and nibbles his ways down to his belt, sliding off the other man’s prone body and parting his legs so he can kneel between them on the floor.

Dean considers himself fairly tolerant of other people’s quirks, but he likes--no, scratch that--he loves women, and he never so much as looked twice at a man before not a month after Castiel thrust himself into his life. He had started having dreams he could barely admit to himself, let alone someone else. Though open-minded enough to try just about anything in terms of sex, getting on his knees before a man has always seemed lessening to him. Now he can’t tear his eyes from Castiel, who props himself up on his elbows to watch him ,and all he wants is to erase that expression of confusion and concern on his angel’s face.

Shoes, slacks and boxers come off in a blurry huff and Castiel is naked safe for the shirt hanging loose on his shoulders. Dean sits back and looks at him, really looks at him, for a long moment. No room for confusion there, Castiel is decidedly male, body lithe with lean planes and skin so white it almost seems translucent in the bleary light in the room. And way to make Dean eat his jokes about Ken dolls, because the writers of Dogma had it all wrong, and Cas’ angelic essence suppressed nothing of this body’s initial manliness as a half hard cock sits between the angel’s legs.

There is something so obscene about the image that Dean shivers in perverse anticipation as he bend and licks a long stripe up Castiel’s cock. The angel inhales sharply above him and Dean anchors himself with a steady grip of unexpectedly muscled thighs as he takes the tip into his mouth. It’s not half as undignified as he thought, the hardening flesh hot and vaguely salty in his mouth. He takes his time, experimenting with licking, sucking, and swirling his tongue along the other man’s cock until Cas begins to cave in, moaning, gently thrusting his hips forward and murmuring Dean’s name reverently, his hands tangling in Dean’s hair, holding him in place.

Dean can’t decide what would be hotter—letting Cas come in his mouth or finish him with his hand so he could properly see him come undone. He pulls back and his partner lets him, despite the whimper of protest falling off his lips. Dean smirks and wraps a hand over the spit slick dick and starts rubbing it hard, his thumb teasing the head. Castiel throws his head back and yells, actually, yells, loud and hoarse, a hand digging painfully in Dean’s shoulder as he releases, the thick spurts hitting Dean’s chest, soiling his t-shirt.

Dean strokes him until he has no more left to give, basking in the throaty groans Castiel makes. When it’s done, the hunter wipes his hand clean on his already ruined t-shirt and then gets rid of it. It’s only then that he realizes his own dick is actually aching in his jeans, and he recalls the twitch of intent it gave as Dead first came up with the idea.

Castiel opens his eyes slowly and Dean nearly gasps as blue irises are now tinged with a bright golden incandescence that can only come from the angel’s true form. A blink and it’s gone, Dean instantly regretting the loss. He wishes he could truly see the angel. He wishes he didn’t have to stop the end of days so he could afford to lose his sight for a mere glimpse. Just one time before he loses Castiel.

He is shaken out of his melancholy by the sight of Castiel pushing his shirt off his shoulder and rolling over to lie on his stomach, legs spread in invitation. Dean swallows hard, shamefully close to coming in his jeans and embarrassing himself before even managing not to let Cas die a virgin.

“Cas?” Dean makes it a question, suddenly uncertain but still unzipping his jeans, the pressure on his cock no longer bearable.

“Yes….”

And it’s all kinds of permission and Dean doesn’t think he can get any harder than he is right now. Or that he has ever been this hard, for that matter. Dean runs a calloused hand on Cas’ exposed back and the angel buries his face in the pillow. Dean falters at the display of trust, breath catching, and for a while all he does is massage Castiel’s shoulders in a soothing manner.

Only when he can no longer ignore the nearly aching need in his body, he fishes the lube he has recently acquired, but before he can slick his fingers, he changes his mind again, and kneeling between the angel’s parted legs, he gently spreads his cheeks open and runs his tongue along the crease. At first, the reaction is not what Dean expects, Castiel tensing momentarily but as he gradually begin to relax and sigh contentedly, Dean pushes his tongue deeper, enjoying the slightly wrinkled texture and the heat radiating from the angel.

Cas makes a broken sound deep in his throat as Dean pulls back feeling endlessly pleased with himself. He gently slides a wet finger inside his partner, pausing as the ring of muscles grips him tight, denying him entrance. But Cas is quiet, taking the pain he must feel more than the pleasure. Dean leans forward, tracing aimless patterns on the milky white skin of the angel’s back as his fingers slowly open him up. Suddenly his forefinger catches on a small bump inside that tight heat and Cas lets out a groan muffled by pillow, his body spasming under Dean’s fingers.

Dean teases the sensitive spot relentlessly, starved for that reaction, and Cas doesn’t disappoint, arching his back as his fingers grapple at the sheets. Noises—whimpers and grunts—escape him unrestrained until he buckles once and falls back on the bedspread with a soft moan that contains so much utter gratification that Dean beams. It may be the guy’s first time, but still he made him come twice in record time. Oh yeah, baby, he’s got it big time, and it works like a charm, even with angels!

The tide of pride ebbing away, Dean lines himself up and carefully slides into Cas’ now slack body. It must be the haze of the orgasm, because Cas doesn’t react at first. It’s not until Dean is all the way in that he lets out a small wrecked sob and shudders. Dean leans over instantly, blanketing him.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Please… don’t stop….”

Cas’ voice sounds small and catches on the last word. Dean hesitates, ceasing all movement. The last thing he wants tonight is to hurt Cas. He caresses his neck, fingers digging softly into dark hair that is as fine as silk, as he waits for Cas to relax around him. The waiting is torture, the slick, hot tightness driving Dean mad as it clutches at his stiff dick, but he remains locked in place, soothing Cas with soft touches until finally his partner pushed up against him. Then Dean starts moving, slowly gliding in and out of Cas, building towards a rhythm, stuttering and getting it embarrassingly wrong at first, but his thrusts grow steadier and faster and Castiel is soon responding to them with more than groans.

As Cas lifts his hips towards him, Dean sneaks a hand between his legs, taking a hold of his now flaccid dick. Cas hisses loudly, too sensitive apparently, but Dean carefully coaxes him into hardness again, and hisses dissolve into moans of pleasure and murmurs of Dean’s name. And that’s all it takes apparently, because Dean loses it, reality blurring to a wavering picture of white with fuzzy edges as he pushes and pulls, heat engulfing him and drawing him under. It feels so good, too good, and he can’t take the pressure of it anymore, which is just as well. He cries out—and he thinks it’s Cas’ name—and everything whites out completely as his orgasm burns his way slowly and sweetly through his veins.

Dean collapses on Cas’ slightly sweaty back as wetness coats his hand and his partner slumps limply on the mattress. Still panting, he gets a solid hold of Cas and rolls them to the side, careful not to dislodge his softening member from him.

“Stay,” Cas whispers.

Dean places a kiss on top of his head, refusing any thoughts of how sappy this feels. “Don’t sweat it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas relaxes against him and Dean closes his eyes. This feeling he gets right now is strange, foreign and he has the distinct impression it might be peace. Peace… what an unusual concept for a Winchester.

# # #

Castiel detaches himself carefully from Dean’s embrace. The position shouldn’t be uncomfortable to him, but he doesn’t want to let go of the vague soreness he feels in the aftermath of their recent activities. That means he also gets to feel any another discomfort his body might experience right now. Dean has fallen asleep, snoring softly. The angel looks at him and is startled at the serenity of the hunter’s features. Castiel has been watching Dean all his life, and he has never before seen him quiet this peaceful, not since before he lost his mother and home.

All too human emotion surge through him, and he feels his eyes burden with tears. He doesn’t want to leave Dean, but for him, he must. Careful not to move too much and wake his human, Castiel pulls the comforter over Dean’s body. For the first time in all eternity Castiel knows what it feels to want, and he wants to be human. He wishes things were different. He wishes he were an awkward human accountant and Dean were a mechanic or anything else he might like to be and they met under different circumstances, and had a house somewhere in a beautiful, green place and…. He so wishes the weight of the world weren’t on their shoulders.

He raises a trembling hand above Dean’s lax face but does not dare touch. Dean has a hunter’s instincts and is likely to wake up with the faintest touch, and Castiel doesn’t want him to. He wants him to be at peace at least for a short while longer. So he balls his hand in a fist and withdraws it, and it’s the hardest thing he has ever done.

Looking at Dean, Castiel thinks of his quest for God and how God is love, and wonders if maybe he isn’t closer to God right now than he ever was in Heaven.

NOOOOooooooo! WHyyyyyyyy??? What did I do?!? Oh wait, it could be worse.....

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 10:59:09 GMT

It could be Edward!

I'd rather have John, but this is good too :)

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 10:50:21 GMT

I'm evil, baby!

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 10:33:47 GMT

In Secret We Meet, Dean/Castiel Slash, Adult

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 12:29:47 GMT

Title: In Secret We Meet

Author: evdokya

Beta: riahpariah0725

Rating: NC-17

Genre and/or Pairing: Slash of the Dean/Castiel kind

Spoilers: Assumes knowledge through Season 4, but can be read as taking place after 5.01 too.

Warnings: graphic content

Word Count: 2,395

Summary: There were just interludes, brief moments of respite during an endless, unequal, bloody war that forced them to run from both Heaven and Hell.

A/N: Inspired by the words of Lord Byron’s When We Two Parted: “In secret we met / In silence I grieve”

Dean opened the door to daisy-pattern wallpaper room. He winced, remembered he had seen worse, dropped his duffel to the floor, and locked and latched the door. Sam would be a while. Officially, he had gone to get dinner, but the elder Winchester knew his brother suspected something, and it could his guilt over his role in busting Lucifer out or over his former demon paramour or maybe his college education in California; maybe all three. But he had never said a word, just discreetly stepped out of the way at all the right moments. Or at least, the vast majority of them.

When Dean turned back, Castiel was already taking off his trench coat, his eyes focusing on a vague spot between the two separate beds, a frown marring his brow, his profile turned to Dean. They never talked while it happened, or afterwards, or at any other time. There was no subject to breach, as this did not exist.

There were just interludes, brief moments of respite during an endless, unequal, bloody war that forced them to run from both Heaven and Hell. There were just moments when Dean didn’t have to think. About the odds, about the stakes, about the threat still brooding in his brother’s blood even after the withdrawal, even after all the promises Sam made. Moments when Dean felt less of the responsibilities and the weight on his shoulders. The weight of the world—quite literally.

And it was okay, since Castiel was already rogue and conserving his grace and powers that came with it only by the sheer chance that Dean was still Heaven’s champion in the fight against Lucifer. As long as the hunter kept fighting, the archangels were willing to overlook Castiel’s disobedience, allowing him to remain by Dean’s side like some kind of a super-powered bodyguard. And Dean, despite his disdain for Heaven, had no choice but to fight their battle, as their plans had become too entwined with the dwindling fate of humanity. The fate of the families and homes Dean treasured.

Maybe that had been the whole sick, heavenly plan all along. Dean didn’t know for sure. Cas claimed he had no idea, either. But whether it has been planned or it had happened by accident, Dean was now bound to do Heaven’s work, no matter how much he hated it.

So Dean was grasping at straws to keep his sanity amid it all, and sometimes it seemed he could only manage that thanks to these short breathers he got in anonymous, cheap motel rooms or in the back of the Impala or against the dirty wall of an empty, dark back alley or in abandoned warehouses…always on the run, always quiet, always as if they were engaging in some sort of dirty, guilty, forbidden act. And maybe they were. After all, this was an angel of the Lord he was using. Fast and rough and selfish.

Dean felt a tightening low in his belly as he watched Cas take off his clothes with quick, precise moves, baring pale, smooth flesh to his hungry gaze. The hunter had tried going back to his old ways once, picking up a cute girl in a bar, but something had stopped him right before taking her back to the motel with him. This, what he was doing with the angel, might be all kinds of wrong, but it was what he wanted, what he needed to get his mind off the things that would otherwise drive him mad.

The angel is nude now, the faint glow from the bedside lamp throwing slim rays of pale light on his even paler skin. Castiel’s borrowed body is slim and supple, smaller than Dean’s, looking most vulnerable in the crepuscular light of the room. Dean swallowed, his tongue adhering to the roof of his drying mouth. He shed his leather jacket and took a step forward.

Cas was still not looking at Dean, as if his actions and presence in the room with him did not affect him at all. The angel flung the flower-pattern duvet aside and lay on his front on pristine sheets, his arm stretching to switch off the lamp on the nightstand table. They always did it in the dark. Dean didn’t exactly know why, but he liked it this way.

The hunter drew a breath as he finished undressing. Frail moon rays slid through the half-opened window shutters, filtering the darkness in a flickering mix of shadows. Dean could vaguely see the body sprawled on the bed. His for the taking.

Finally naked, Dean sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed next to Castiel. “Turn over,” he said in a gruff tone he barely recognized as his.

The sheets rustled as Castiel obeyed. The angel was on his side, facing him. Dean scooted closer, swallowing again. His dick was getting hard. He reached over and felt blindly with both his hands, running calloused fingers on silky soft skin, brushing thumbs against slightly chaffed lips. Dean trembled when he felt the wet tip of a tongue on his skin. He cursed under his breath and dropped his hands lower.

His fingertips dug easily in the smooth flesh as he dragged them down a neck and then across a chest, flicking nipples as he went. Through it all Castiel remained silent, his breath barely speeding up as Dean started to knead him more aggressively, moving lower. Dean pressed his palms to a Cas’ stomach and the angel let himself be pushed on his back.

Dean moved and straddled Cas in one fluid motion, his palms resting on his shoulders, fingers gripping the flesh with enough strength to bruise. He slid forward, his cock hard and waiting. Breath erupted from his lungs, hot and strangled, as Cas’ tongue flickered on his tip. Almost mindless with need now, he pushed forward until he felt that hot, wet cavity slowly take him in. He bucked a little, thrusting forward, a hand lifting to bury itself in the mane of soft hair, while the other clenched against the head post.

Dean knew he could fuck Castiel’s mouth as hard and as fast as he wanted to since the angels didn’t really need to breathe, so he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sharp pitch of guilt out of his mind and thrust again as Cas sucked. He was in all the way now and it felt insanely good. Castiel’s mouth was tight and scorching hot, his throat constricting around his engorged cock. He felt a hand on his hips trying to slow down his moves but he just twisted his hands in Castiel’s hair and pulled harder, fucking his mouth relentlessly. That was okay too, since Cas hardly felt any pain, any discomfort at all.

The familiar tightening in his balls started way too soon, liquid fire pooling low in his stomach as pleasure rolled through him in waves too intense to resist.

“No,” he grunted. “Not yet.”

He pulled back with a frustrated groan and drew back on the soft body beneath him. He thought he heard Castiel pant beneath him and couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head and grasping the angel by the cheeks, he pressed an open-mouthed on those lips he remembered to be of the color of fading pink roses. The kiss was heated, raw, desperate and Castiel answered it with the fury of his mouth, moaning into it and arching himself into Dean.

Dean then separated Cas’ knees roughly, pulling his legs apart by the ankles. He sloppily wet a finger with saliva and stroked around Castiel’s puckered opening. Damn it, there was lube in the bag, but it was far away by the door and he wanted to fuck Cas now. He twisted the finger inside the tight, hot hole and added another one. Dry.

Dean cursed, realizing his mistake, as Cas’ hips came off the bed, a raspy moan escaping him. The guilt was back, deafening Dean and he stopped, his erection wilting.

“Did I hurt you?” Dean’s hand ran up Castiel’s right calf, stopping to pet a knee.

Cas wriggled a little and Dean let his fingers slip out of him completely.

“I don’t know.” The answer came in a soft, broken voice. “I shouldn’t feel it this way… so much….”

Dean frowned and swore again. Now he was really getting out of the mood. He leant over Cas’ body, wishing he could see his face for the first time since he had shoved him against the hood of the Impala and fucked him so hard Dean himself had been left feeling chaffed for days in a row. Cas, on the other hand, had been completely unaffected.

“But why?” Dean asked confused, thinking back with horror at his earlier behavior.

Cas tried to push him back with a hesitant hand on his shoulder and Dean let him. Then the angel rose to a sitting position. “You needn’t trouble yourself with it.”

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. “Say what? Look, man, I’m the one hurting you here. Why didn’t you tell how much you can feel?”

Dean felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, lips ghosting on his neck, nuzzling him. “I wanted to. You know, feel… your skin… your lips… your kiss….”

Castiel’s lips pressed against his lips, his tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, his finger unfurling over the mark the angel had left on his shoulder. Dean wondered, a bit hysterically, if Cas was by any chance seducing him. Cas’ tongue trailed on Dean’s jaw up to his ear. “And I don’t mind pleasing you.”

Dean shuddered. “Fuck,” he rasped out. “If you can feel pain, then why not pleasure too?”

Cas nipped gently on the shell of his ear. “Why makes you think I don’t feel pleasure?”

Dean fought for clarity. “You almost never come.” He drew back a little straining to see the angel’s face in the dark. “You wanna please me?”

“Yes,” came the slightly husky reply.

“You know what’d really please me?” Hardly believing what he was doing, he fumbled his way to the bedside lamp and switched it on.

The angel was looking at him with darkened blue orbs, his hair messy in all the delightful ways, lips swollen from kisses and…. Dean blushed and felt stupid for it. Castiel looked curious, almost confused. Dean inhaled sharply.

“What do you want from me, Dean?”

“I want you to jerk off. And I want to see you come.”

Castiel’s cheeks flushed scarlet, and Dean thought he had finally gone too far. Farther than when he got the angel to suck him. Farther than even fucking him. But Castiel didn’t deny him. Trembling slightly, he lay back on the pillows and raised his right hand to stare at it undecidedly before licking it and wrapping it around his flaccid cock.

Cas’s finger were shy, shier than he usually was when he was jerking Dean off, as he stroked himself experimentally, brows furrowed in concentration. Dean reached and guided him with a cautious hand as they tried to find the right rhythm together. Castiel’s breath grew labored and uneven as their hands worked his cock faster, Dean’s thumb leisurely caressing the crown. The flesh was growing hard and hotter. Cas’s hips rose off the bed, a sigh falling off his lips.

Dean encouraged him with the most enthusiastic curse words his lust-fogged brain could come up with, his cock pulsing and leaking in sympathy with his partner. Cas moaned, his free hand fisted in the bedding, his head trashing helplessly on the pillow. His hips pistoned his dick in their hands and Dean’s own grip tightened as he thought to keep his eyes open and his other hand off his own cock. He needed to see.

Castiel’s face went tight with pleasure, lips contorting awkwardly, beads of perspiration gathering on his brow. A low cry was wrenched from his lips as he spilled himself all over Dean’s hand and his own. He writhed a bit on the bed as aftershock tremors still shook his body, and then went very still, eyes still shut and breathing still slightly irregular.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” he asked after a while.

“Yeah,” Dean replied returning to bed with lube and tissues. He carefully wiped Cas’ hand before doing the same for his own. “But it won’t hurt a bit. I promise.”

Cas nodded distantly and spread his legs. “I believe you, Dean.”

# # #

Dean came out the motel room, hair still slick from the shower he had just taken. He was all dressed up and clean now, no trace of what had gone inside between him and Cas lingering on his body. Sam stood across the parking lot, leaning against the Impala, the light of a nearby lamp post falling on his face. He was munching on fries, his expression bland. Dean went back in, leaving the door unlocked in his wake.

Castiel was gone now, the bed they had used looking all prim and proper again. Dean plopped on it and breathed in a sigh of… he didn’t know what. Wordlessly, he took the bag of takeout from Sam and fished out a burger. His brother continued pretending to be aloof as he opened a bottle of beer and sat down on the empty bed. Soon they would be talking about the hunt for Lucifer, the job drawing out everything else.

“I’m fucking Cas,” Dean said suddenly.

Sam’s head snapped in his direction, wincing at Dean’s choice of words. “I know.”

Dean wolfed down another bite of burger. “And we’re getting our own room from now on.”

Sam fought his mouthful of beer down, eyes widening slightly. “Just don’t get hit by any lightening, Dean, ok?”

“Aren’t you worried the earth’s gonna pop open and swallow me whole, too?”

“Not funny, dude.”

Dean ate in silence for a few minutes as Sam played quite stupidly with his beer without showing any intention of taking another swig of it.

“So now that you’re outing yourself, ever thought about making it official? Canada’s only a few hundred miles away, anyway, and it might earn you a few brownie points with Cas’ Dad.”

Dean almost choked on his first bite of apple pie. He was so gonna kill Sam for this one.

~ fin ~

OMG!!! flails so hard

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 17:10:07 GMT

Not the one to get all over an actor once sucked in a TV show, I’ve never obsessed much about the real people behind the fictional ones I write tons of fanfic about. However, I stumbled accidentally over a bit of info regarding the talented and sweet-looking Misha Collins (aka Castiel, the hottest angel in the history of television, for those of you living under a TV rock this year). Apparently, drooling is only permitted when it comes to his fictional persona on Supernatural since he is as married as it takes to… brace yourselves… his high school sweetheart—a less than pretty, smart, history-writing, NASA scholarship recipient who picture is featured on historians.org. Her biography looks like this:

“Viictoria Vantoch's dissertation, “Ambassadors of the Air: The Airline Stewardess, Glamour and Technology in the Cold War, 1945 to 1969,” explores how airline stewardesses represented womanhood within the context of Cold War ideology. Victoria is the recipient of the 2006-07 National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) Fellowship in Aerospace History. Last year, she was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship from the Smithsonian Institution’s National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., where she conducted dissertation research. She received her B.A. in Anthropology from the University of Chicago and spent one year as a visiting student at Oxford University. She has also published more than 45 popular articles in national magazines and newspapers. Her research interests include: gender and sexuality, beauty, popular culture, and technology.”

And yes, her name is Victoria too….

*bounces with glee*

I knew it, sweet, handsome men still marry brilliant, less than glamorous women! ;)

I'm not the type who gets obssessed

Halo, SPN, NC-17, Dean/Castiel

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 15:40:41 GMT

Title: Hallo
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: just the existence of Castiel
Warnings: slash, hints of violence, graphic content, hints at dub con
Beta: just for the beginning (my thanks to Zelda for her help), the remaining mistakes are mine. I decided to finally post this since none of the betas I contacted in this fandom would get back to me. If anyone is so kind as to help me with future stories, I’ll be most obliged.
Sequel to Fallen Angel, a fic that can be read here: http://evdokya.livejournal.com/67927.html
Summary: Castiel had come to help him. After everything Dean did, Castiel still came to his aid.

# # #

Dean woke up on tangled sheets. He was alone. Castiel was gone and the bed beside his was empty too, unturned. He vaguely remembered Sam going to Bobby’s to help him find a piece of information. It seemed so long ago. A lifetime seemed to have passed between yesterday afternoon when they had rescued Castiel from a demon and this early, murky morning when he was all alone on a lumpy motel mattress. His mind wandered in search of memories of Castiel, the angel’s taste still lingering in his mouth, the feel of his skin, his nerves still jangling with memory of last night’s pleasures. The pleasures he had forced from Castiel, taking advantage of him when he had been weak, defenseless. Really why hadn’t the angel defended himself and smitten Dean? Was it that he was so important to Heaven that Cas hadn’t dared even push him off as Dean was violating him for fear of upsetting the chosen one? Or was he really so bound by his orders to protect Dean that not even his survival instincts could kick in? That was, if Castiel had any instincts.

Castiel sure had showed fragments of emotions over time and last night he had been able to experience and enjoy sensations. When Dean came to think of it, last night had been the most emotional Dean had ever seen Cas. He had seen him weak, confused, scared and in pain. All because of him. The most emotions Castiel had experienced on Earth had been negative. Bile rose in Dean’s throat and he scrambled to the bathroom.

Bending over the toilet bowl, he violently lost the contents of his stomach. Rape. He had raped an angel, broken and hurt him. All because he had felt his life spiraling out of control. All because his world had been knocked out of orbit when Sam had died. Sam, and had never righted itself again.

Last night Dean had finally had enough and he had lashed out at the being closest to him and that being had been Castiel. Castiel, who had rescued him from Hell. Castiel, to whom he should be grateful for all eternity. It had been Castiel that he had hurt and… raped.

Cold tears ran down Dean’s cheeks as he sat back on the tiled bathroom floor. The room was cramped and he felt the walls closing in on him. He was going back to Hell. If there was any justice left in Earth of Heaven, he had to after what he did. He wasn’t even frightened this time. Because this time he deserved it and he would burn gladly if only he wouldn’t have to see Cas’ wounded blue eyes in his mind anymore. They were his true damnation.

Castiel’s pain was now Dean’s downfall, his own private Hell that he was destined to forever carry within. Dean wiped his tears and thought back to the lonely one sliding down Cas’ pale cheek. No punishment would be too great indeed.

# # #

After that morning, Dean waited almost patiently for his return to the Pit, but it never came. Sam had returned from Bobby’s and they had set for Orlando, Florida, where a fire demon was wrecking havoc. Days faded to nights and blended together as time passed without Dean being ripped from his Impala, from near his brother and dragged back where he truly belonged. Even as the guilt tore at him, he couldn’t help but wonder why. Hadn’t Castiel, always the suffering martyr, told on him? Or was he truly that important that Heaven would let even defiling an angel go unpunished? For some reason, that thought rattled him above anything else.

Sam knew something was wrong. Dean was moody, snappish and quiet, the last part, if he was honest, probably the oddest of all. At first, his brother hadn’t asked, only shooting worried, questioning looks in his direction. Dean ignored those and hoped Sam wouldn’t demand to know more. Sam’s silence ended as they were coming out of a diner, Dean slamming the door behind him.

“Alright, when are you gonna tell me what the hell is wrong with you?” Sam asked.

Dean pulled the keys of his car from his pocket and didn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“This… whatever it is that’s got you tied in knots?”

Dean opened the door to the driver’s side. “Nothing’s got me tied in any damned knots.”

“Seriously, dude, it’s like you’ve got a bug up your ass and someone just killed your kitten all rolled up in one. What’s up with you?”

Dean gave Sam an ugly look. “I hate cats and it’s none of your damned business.”

“Really, Dean.”

Dean started the engine and took off at maximum speed.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“What do you mean? ‘Cept for that whole ghost sickness crap, I’ve always driven fast.”

“Yeah, and I kinda wish you’d have a relapse right now before you get us killed.”

Dean smoothly pulled the car out of the way of a gray sedan and hit the accelerator again.

“Dean, slow down!” Sam almost yelled at him.

Dean knew he was going too fast even by his standards, but only when he was in the driver’s seat of his baby, going at full speed, did the maddeningly accusing voices inside his head quiet down a bit.

“Dean, there’s a motel. Pull over! Now!”

He heard Sam’s voice as if coming from another world and the brakes screeched as he stopped the car. He got out as quick as he could, trying to avoid more questions from his brother, rounded the car and took his bag from the trunk.

“I think I’d like my own room this time,” he rasped through barely unclenching teeth, chancing a look towards a frustrated-looking, sincerely concerned Sam.

“Dean, what…”

But Dean wasn’t listening anymore; he just slung his bag over his shoulder and rushed towards the front desk.

# # #

He knew the angel was there even before he opened the door to a dirty green room more shadows than light because of the drawn curtains. The angel sat on the bed, his back to Dean, shoulders slumped.

Dean closed the door quietly behind him and dropped his bag to the floor. “Did you come to send me back to Hell?”

Castiel turned ever so slowly and Dean thought he saw those hauntingly deep blue eyes staring at him, though the semi-obscurity of the room should have prevented him from seeing so clearly. He should have turned the lights on or pulled the damned curtains from the windows to let the watery light of the late, rainy afternoon in, but he didn’t have the courage to look at the angel’s face.

“No, why would you think that?” The angel’s voice was noncommittal, the tone giving away nothing.

Dean ran his tongue over his upper lip, his mouth suddenly dry. Something painfully tight clutched at his heart. “Because I deserve it,” he finally answered.

“You deserve no such thing. I came because you and your brother will need help facing this demon.”

Castiel had come to help him. After everything Dean did, Castiel still came to his aid. Dean took a step back, colliding with the door. There was no moving further away from the figure on the bed.

“You came to help?” he stammered idiotically.

“Yes. It is my duty to protect you.”

“What about you? Who’s protecting you from me?”

The angel shrugged. “I am inconsequential. All that is important is the Plan.”

Dean swallowed past a constricted throat, realization dawning a second later. “They sent you here, didn’t they?”

“They merely reminded me of my duty.” The angel’s voice came in monotone, emotionless tones like a bizarre, lifeless form of chanting. “You needn’t fear me, Dean, or any kind of retribution.” He stood. “My mission is to be by your side and to provide you with everything you might need.”

In the space between one heartbeat and the other, the angel was before him, their bodies nearly brushing. This close Dean could see Cas’ face better and he froze. His expression was as bland as ever, only his eyes flickering with residual uncertainty and quite possibly, a twinge of fear. With a shudder, Dean understood that Castiel didn’t even have the luxury of avoiding his assailant. On the contrary the fucking sadists commanding him had sent him back to Dean, ordering him to lay back and take everything the hunter ditched.

Dean’s stomach lurched as sheer fury, unlikely anything he had ever felt before, coiled within him. He clenched his fists against the door, wishing he could storm up to Heaven and kick the asses of every winged bastard who had dared martyr his angel like that. Because Castiel deserved better. Because, despite everything, Castiel had always done the right thing. Because Castiel had doubts and moral standards higher than anyone Dean had ever known. And because he had hurt Cas and they wouldn’t even punish him for it.

“Cas….” Dean panted.

Delicate, warm fingers brushed Dean’s jaw as Cas drew nearer, his expression never wavering. Dean jerked as if electrocuted and shoved Castiel away from him, scurrying towards the center of the room and away from the door. The angel staggered only a little before whirling towards Dean.

“You don’t want me?”

The pressure in Dean’s chest became unbearable, almost not letting him draw breath, when he heard Castiel, his victim, wonder dejectedly if his rapist didn’t desire him anymore.

“Cas… oh God!” He scrubbed a shaking hand over his face. “It’s not like that. Look, this is wrong. Those motherfuckers should have never sent you do this. I raped you….”

Castiel hung his head in obvious shame. “I enjoyed it.” He said so quietly Dean almost missed it.

Dean was about to answer that, though he had no idea what he’d say when his cell phone stalled him. He tried to ignore it, but the damned thing was persistent.

“You should answer that. It’s Sam.”

“I know it’s Sam,” Dean huffed harshly and regretted it when he saw Castiel tremble every so slightly. Mother of God, what had he done?

“Yeah, Sam, what you want?” he barked in the phone.

“Still haven’t cooled down yet? Get laid or something, will you?”

That was it, the spark to the tinder, and Dean treated Sam to a wholly undeserved string of profanities. It was just as well. Dean seemed to be into tormenting those who didn’t deserve it lately anyway. Sam listened patiently until Dean ran out of curses. What the hell was wrong with everybody these days? Why didn’t anyone angry with him anymore?

“You about cooled down enough to hear about the case?” Sam asked, once Dean had finished.

“What about it?”

“I heard over the police scanner that the real FBI beat us to the scene of the last fire. There’s nothing we can do today.”

“So? We can swing by tomorrow when the place’s deserted.”

“That’s what I thought too. Of course, we can always break into the police station later on and see what they’ve got. Maybe there are witnesses.”

Dean frowned in all the concentration it took to think straight. “Yeah, sure. See you up front at three tonight?”

“Whatever you say, Dean.”

“Yeah…. Don’t watch too much porn tonight! Uncle Sam wants you sharp and ready for breaking and entering.”

“Maybe you should watch some. ‘Might take that edge off.”

Dean snapped his cell closed. Sam was not going to let this go, and sooner or later, he was going to figure out just how serious what was eating Dean up was, but no way in hell Dean would admit to raping an angel to his brother. Meanwhile, Dean had more pressing matters to attend to. Said angel was still in the middle of the room, his back ramrod straight, expression unruffled, contemplative eyes fixed on Dean. And it sent a thrill through Dean as memories of pale, soft flesh and sweet pleasure assaulted him, heat coiling low in his stomach. Dean swallowed, remembered that the angel was sent here to both help him and be his whore, let his anger at the situation wash over him and dispel the budding desire.

“Look, Sam and I have dealt with some pretty nasty sons of bitches in the past. I think we can handle a lil’ fire demon. It’s under control, so you can go and do whatever it is that you guys do when you’re not battling demons.”

Castiel shook his head. “It is often the smallest of trials that bring down the greatest of men, because they do not spare them all the attention they would have given to a bigger threat. You are in danger and so is your brother. I cannot leave now.”

There was a resolution in the angel’s voice so great, so full of all the certainties Dean lacked that at first the hunter, baffled, didn’t know how to how to respond. Then he decided on the casual approach. Pretending nothing happened would surely not set the record straight, but at least, hopefully, it would stop Cas from offering himself up.

“Well, since I’ve got some down time, I’d like to catch some shuteye. You can come back later, if you wanna, and help Sam and I break and enter.”

Surprise registered briefly on the angel’s face, as if he didn’t fully believe the dismissal, the implied rejection. His lips parted, but no sound came. Regret blossomed anew within Dean as he realized that he had hurt Cas’s feelings by refusing to fuck him again.

“As you wish,” Castiel said quietly and vanished before Dean could say another word.

Once alone, the hunter knocked over a bedside lamp, cursed himself, the angels, Hell, Heaven, his life and then himself again. Slightly calmer, he went to the shop around the corner to grab some beer. The light was growing weaker and grayer outside as the murky, rain season afternoon drew to an end. Back in the silence of his motel room, Dean showered and drank himself to sleep but not before settling the alarm clock for 2 AM. He could deal with a hunt and a hangover at the same time. No problem. What he couldn’t deal with, however, was this fucking mess he had gotten into with his angel. His angel? Now that was downright stupid. Castiel wasn’t his. He belonged to Heaven that had just given him the cruelest orders anyone could think of.

# # #

Dean woke up with a start, the room plunged into darkness now. The skinny, red figures of the clock on the bedside table said 10:21. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, realizing he wasn’t alone. Adrenaline startling him awake, he quickly and efficiently switched on the just restored nightstand lamp with one hand and slid the knife from under his pillow with the other.

Castiel lay by his side on the bed, on top of covers, all dressed up safe for his customary trench coat, tie and shoes.

“What in the…?”

Adrenaline receding, Dean set the knife back in its place under the pillow and met the angel’s blank eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Watching over you.”

“What? The demon gonna storm the motel tonight?”

“No, not as far as I know.”

“Then, dude, what are you doing back here?”

Didn’t Castiel even begin to guess what he was doing tempting Dean like this? Staring at him with those wide, mesmerizing blue eyes? Dean drew back on the bed, cautious, breathing evenly or at least, forcing himself to.

“You’re fucking playing with fire, you know that,” Dean rasped.

“You should not punish yourself for what happened.” Castiel intoned softly. “You needed me.” He imperceptibly slid closer. “It is alright. It is… only human.”

Cas was uttering each word slowly, didactically, as if he was reciting them from a text book. Maybe he was. Human Behavior for Angel Dummies. Heaven’s latest best-seller for all he knew.

Dean jumped off the bed, not able to bear even that relative closeness anymore. We could inhale the angel’s scent—a wisp of fresh spring rain.

“This is sick. Do you have any idea how fucking sick this is? What? Did they send you back here for a second try after I pushed you back earlier?”

The angel cocked his head to the side, looking almost offended. “I came here again on my own.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, the air in the room suddenly getting thin. “I thought demons were supposed to handle temptation, not the angels.”

“Some demons are fallen angels.” Castiel reminded him and for a brief moment, Dean thought he saw a hint of mischief in the angel’s eyes.

Dean blinked in confusion. The angel’s behavior made no sense. But then again it could be some form of Stockholm syndrome that made the poor bastard come onto his rapist all over again.

“Why?” Dean asked, hating the desperation coloring his voice.

Cas lowered his eyes and he was suddenly quiet. The silence in the room grew heavy, unbearably so.

“Because you need somebody.”

“So you’re following orders anymore. You’re sacrificing yourself to the cause all on your own.”

And Dean felt a revival of his old desire to take his fists to the angel’s face and pound it into a bloody pulp. He couldn’t stand his damned sacrificial, all pure attitude and hated the creature before him for it. So it wasn’t Stockholm syndrome, after all. Castiel was just being a good fucking soldier. Well, screw it! Dean didn’t want it. He didn’t need any sacrificial lambs thrown his way.

Without a word, he pivoted on a heel and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door in his cue. At least, the damned guilt stopped burning so dreadfully. He washed his face thoroughly with cold water.

“Dean…” he heard from the other side of the door.

“Fucking stalk somebody else!” Dean snapped.

The door opened behind him and Dean whirled around, ready to strike. Castiel stood in the doorframe, looking only slightly confused. Dean’s anger vanished instantly, miraculously.

“I don’t understand.”

“Dude, buy a clue.”

Dean would like nothing more than to shove Castiel away so he could get out of the cramped space but he didn’t trust himself enough to touch the angel again.

“What’s not to understand?” Dean finally exploded. “I raped you. I don’t do that. Or at least, I didn’t use to, ‘cuz I’ve done it plenty in Hell. But instead of smiting me, of sending me back or something, you… you just came back for more. And… that’s just wrong…. I’m trying not to hurt you anymore and you wouldn’t let me. Why? Why, Cas? Just ‘cuz you’ve been told to?”

Tears spilled from Dean’s eyes and he hated it, hated it as much as he hated the angel, almost as much as he hated himself. Castiel took a measured step closer, lifted a wary hand and ran a gentle forefinger over the mark on Dean’s shoulder. It was then when Dean realized he was still only wearing the boxers he had gone to bed in. He suddenly felt grossly and inappropriately underdressed as his skin rippled under the angel’s touch.

“I felt needed….”

Dean froze. Castiel’s voice came out almost choked. The angel entered Dean’s personal space tipping his head so close to the hunter’s that his warm breath ghosted over his lips. Dean held on, suddenly too drained to move away.

“I’m not allowed to feel… that.”

Cas’s words tugged at something deep within Dean and realization dawned. This, this pretending to be whoring himself for Heaven’s benefit was the only way the angel could be close to him. And maybe it wasn’t so much an excuse for his superiors but an excuse for Castiel himself who was struggling against his own needs and desires.

Dean stopped resisting and pressed his lips to the other man’s mouth, eyes closing as he kissed him. The kiss was wet, sloppy, messy, a mix of teeth, tongue and saliva. Cas pressed his hand to the mark on Dean’s shoulder and the hunter arched into him, an electric current shooting through him, going straight to his cock. He wrapped his arms around the angel and moved them until his back was flush against the bathroom wall.

Castiel broke the kiss, his lips trailing down to Dean’s neck, peppering the skin with brief, clumsy kisses and curious licks. It occurred to Dean that Cas was tasting him, basking in the novelty of the experience and wanting everything Dean had to offer. The sensation was different from everything Dean experienced the first time with Cas so he gave himself over to the angel’s explorations.

Castiel’s touches were gentle, awkward and almost childish in their innocence, but grew bolder fast as he pulled at Dean’s skin, kissed and nibbled it. Dean began to pant, watching the angel as he discovered him.

Cas’ hot, wet mouth closed around one of Dean’s nipples and when he felt a touch of teeth, he almost jumped, his hardening cock twitching maddeningly. Burying his fingers in Castiel’s hair, he pulled him up for another hungry kiss as he thrust against him, pulling the jacket off his shoulders. Castiel obediently shrugged out of it and then proceeded to remove his shirt and there was something absolutely endearing about the way he blushed under Dean’s heated gaze, his fingers shaking slightly as he fumbled with the buttons.

Dean wanted to pull Cas back to him once he was out of the shirt, but the angel resisted and instead kneeled at the hunter’s feet. Dean’s eyes widened in shock.

“Cas, what are you doing?”

“I enjoyed this when you did it to me.” Castiel’s harder shaking hands pulled awkwardly at Dean’s boxers.

Dean was horrified even as he couldn’t help but notice how unbelievably sexy Cas was, on his knees before him, bare-chested and hair sticking up randomly.

“You don’t have to repay me for that,” Dean said quickly before he changed his mind.

Castiel didn’t listen, however, running a finger up and down Dean’s erection. Dean jerked again, his body oblivious to any noble intentions on his part.

“So soft, yet so hard,” Cas murmured, blushing profusely even as he explored Dean’s most private parts with strangely tender hands.

It wasn’t what Dean would normally cal a great hand job, but the delicacy of Castiel’s explorations and the sight of him touching him was driving the man wild, his hips restlessly bucking forwards. Finally Cas touched his balls and Dean moaned.

Castiel looked up with wide, excited eyes. “You like this?”

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice and Cas massaged his balls gently even as he bent and licked the cockhead before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it. A bit clumsily, but Dean didn’t care. His head was swirling with pleasure and need and he couldn’t have imagined this being more perfect as his eyes devoured Cas, hardly believing that all this was real and happening to him.

That tight, warm, moist mouth took him in deeper, not too deep, though, as Cas still hesitated about what to do and Dean banged his clenched fists against the tiles. Cas sucked again, his hand wrapping around the base of Dean’s dick, pumping him smoothly. Dean knew he wouldn’t last and it was a damned pity, because this felt so good. So fucking good. He braced himself against the wall as best as he could, fighting to keep from thrusting too hard into Castiel’s mouth.

Finally he could hold on no longer and letting go, he came with a loud, strangled cry he didn’t think he heard himself make before. The world tilted around him and he dug his fingers into Cas’ shoulder, anchoring himself.

When he pried open eyes he didn’t know he had closed, Cas was still on the floor coughing slightly.

“Oh, crap, Cas… you didn’t have to swallow.”

He felt his own cheeks burning as he knelt near the angel and it was so stupid, because Dean Winchester never blushed. He helped the angel up, showing him how to gag to clear his mouth.

“Lemme see.” Dean said, running a wet, cold hand over the angel’s heated forehead. “You ok?”

Castiel breathed in deeply. “I never knew giving pleasure could be so pleasurable in itself.”

Dean grinned. “Boy, have you got a lot to learn.”

He stroked the side of angel’s face. “I’m sorry about last time. I really am.”

“I’ve forgiven you, Dean.”

“Why?” He asked, fully aware he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

Castiel moved closer pressing himself against Dean’s body. “Because you only took what I would have given you freely sooner or later.”

Dean pulled back from the kiss he was about to be given. “That’s no excuse.”

“It is enough of one for now. Later we’ll talk.”

Castiel tried to kiss him again and this time Dean let him, feeling the bulge in his pants press against his leg. Of course…. He had been selfish. Cas needed release as much as Dean did.

Dean took them back to the room, to his bed, not before first ransacking his bag for some damned lube. Dean then lay on the bed pulling on top of him a now nude Cas. They kissed some more, rubbing against each other, Dean’s softened cock giving a twitch of renewed interest at the feel of the other hard dick pressing against it. Dean grunted and broke the kiss to breathe.

“Here I’ll show you how,” Dean said uncorking the lube bottle. Cas only looked at him puzzled, but Dean ignored him and poured some lube over the other man’s fingers before guiding his hand at his entrance.

“Now slip one finger in.”

Dean hissed at the burn as the angel obeyed him. “It’s ok, just press deeper. It’ll get better when the muscles loosen up.”

Dean commanded himself to relax as Castiel pushed in him vigorously, trying to force him open with unskilled moves.

“I don’t want to cause you pain.” Castiel whispered leaning over him to kiss him.

“It’ll pass,” Dean said a bit guiltily, remembering how he had hurt Castiel before. “It’s already better,” he lied. “You can put a second finger in.”

Castiel did just that and Dean reflexively tensed. Castiel speared him more forcibly than he intended then scissored his fingers deep within him, stretching him hard and fast.

“Should I stop?” Castiel asked panting above him.

Dean was about to say no when Castiel suddenly brushed his prostate and he arched off the bed, a splinter of sheer delight flashing through him. “No, please, don’t stop.”

It turned out to be all the encouragement Cas needed and he added a third finger, stroking Dean relentlessly. The discomfort was already gone and to Dean’s amazement, he felt his cock harden again. He quite embarrassingly whimpered a complaint when Castiel’s fingers were withdrawn only to be replaced with the thick head of his cock a moment later. Dean gasped as Cas pushed into him and then bit into his lower lip to keep the yell at bay as he was fully breached in one long, hard shove.

It hurt like a bitch, but Dean bored it down, eyes glued on Castiel’s ecstatic face. Eyes closed, head thrown back, breath coming out in raspy pants through kiss-swollen lips, Castiel began to move in him, his face contorting with pleasure at each stroke. And that sight made it all worth it.

Dean curled a leg around Cas’s hips and let him take whatever he needed from him. It was painful at first, Castiel’s thrusts unsteady and unsure, the rhythm fractioned, but then it became more fluid and even more intense if that were possible, jolts of electric pleasure spiking through him every time Cas’ cock drilled into a certain spot within him.

He bucked against Cas, his hand reaching between his legs to pump on his cock. He could barely believe he was climbing towards another high so soon, yet here he was almost mindless with pleasure, stroking himself harder and harder as his body tightened like a bow ready to snap any moment.

Cas shuddered, slumping forward, his fingers grasping onto Dean’s shoulders. That moment Dean came, spurting all over his fist and clamping hard on the dick inside him. Castiel flung his head back and made a sound so deep and guttural it was nearly a howl. The bliss etched on his face was so complete, so perfect that Dean was happy he wasn’t so overwhelmed by his second climax that he got to see it and smiled as a hot flush of come filled him.

Dean wasn’t a cuddler, but when the angel rolled off him and wrapped his arms around him, he didn’t resist, thinking he owed the man for everything he had put him through. It was actually kinda nice, Castiel’ body warming him up, the arms around him giving him a strange sense of security. The safety was a sham, but the warmth wasn’t. The steady heartbeat so close within his hearing range was lulling him to sleep. Dean was already drifting when he heard the words whispered in the darkness.

“I love you.”

~ the end ~

Brand new Dean/Cas comm

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 21:32:57 GMT

This time with stills:

deancas_stills ;
A Dean/Castiel Icon Challenge Community.
Because God commanded it.
Join | Watch/Add | Participate

Flayed, Supernatural, Dean/Castiel drabble

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 20:53:45 GMT

Title: Flayed

Author: Evdokya
Beta reader: bellajayd
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: it all belongs to Mr. Kripke. No infringement intended!
Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, graphic content
Word Count: 200
Summary: interlude between Dean and Castiel

Witten for the drabble 123 comm with the table Angst
Prompt # 16: Broken
See table here

They were the only nights when Dean didn’t dream of Hell, the only times he didn’t feel the choking emptiness within him, the only moments of oblivion.

And what a sweet oblivion it was!

He kneaded Cas’s flesh mercilessly; washing away the blood-drenched memories with kisses, licks, and bites that left purple marks on milky skin. Cas was always so quiet through it all, barely letting out small gasps and sighs, but also so pliable in his hands. His eyes only showed acceptance.

Dean manhandled Castiel onto his hands and knees, delighting in the whimper he heard as he shoved a slick finger into the angel. It was the loudest sound Cas had made in a while.

He was sloppy about preparation, need driving him wild.

Shaking with barely restrained lust, he grasped himself and thrust into the body so openly offered to him. Teeth clashed and breath hitched in his throat. So damned tight every time!

He reached between Castiel’s legs stroking the angel’s cock with quick and hard strokes matching the desperation of his rhythm. Because Dean Winchester might be broken in too many pieces scattered all over Hell and Earth, but he was never a jerk in bed.

the end

Writer's Block: Investigations of a Female Nature

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 11:16:04 GMT

Who is your favorite lady detective from movies, books, or TV?

View 506 Answers

C'mon, you know this one.... Victoria Vicki Nelson, the mouthy, stubborn, impossibly to live with, impossibly to live without Toronto cop turned PI and hooked up with a vampire.

Drabble: Inured, SPN, Dean/Cas

Sun, 19 Jul 2009 10:28:12 GMT

Title: Inured
Author: Evdokya
Beta reader: bellajayd
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: it all belongs to Mr. Kripke. No infringement intended!
Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 200
Summary: Coda to On the Head of a Pin. Castiel still struggles to convince Dean he is the savior the world needs.

Witten for the drabble 123 comm with the table Angst
Prompt # 18: Ache
See table here

“I told you it’s not me, you son of a bitch. Why won’t you listen? Find somebody else!”

Dean’s punch hit the wall near the angel’s head full force, paint cracking under the impact, chips of it sticking to the newly-injured skin as he withdrew his hand.

Castiel looked up at him with a mixture of sadness and regret. “Why do you insist on hurting yourself when you’ve just been released from the hospital?”

“I do what I fucking want and not what some heavenly errand boy tells me to!”

He went to the bathroom and put his aching hand under some cold water, aware that Castiel was right behind him.

“Why me?” He lifted pained eyes to the angel leaning against the door frame. “Is it some sick circle in which the one who started it all gets to finish it? Or is this just that bastard you call God’s way of having fun?”

“Dean.” The reproof was gentle and the celestial being moved in the cramped space, opened the compartment behind the mirror and retrieved some bandages and proceeded to help Dean dress his wound.

“I can do this myself, you know.”

“I know, but you don’t have to.”

Persistence of Memory, SPN Drabble

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 16:31:28 GMT

Title: Persistence of Memory
Author: Evdokya
Beta reader: bellajayd
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: it all belongs to Mr. Kripke. No infringement intended!
Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mentions of torture
Word Count: 200
Summary: Dean remembers Hell… all too well.
Witten for the drabble 123 comm with the table Angst
Prompt: #2: Cruel
See table here

Everything was red.

Unnatural shades of red that all resembled blood. It smelled of blood, too, blood, rust, sweat and pain. Cries resounded around him endlessly, pitifully. Dean didn’t even mind them anymore as he set about his task for the day: putting a brand new body on the rack. Alistair had told him this one was special and Dean was to be a good host to him.

Dean callously stared down at a pair of widened, terrified eyes and smiled. “We’re gonna have such fun, you and I.”

The man shuddered and his mouth opened to speak, to plead most likely. Dean was tired of hearing the same old pleas for mercy so he spared his victim no attention as he turned around to put on his gloves and take a heated iron bar out of the fire.

The scream rose in time with the awful odor of burnt flesh. The man writhed and Dean nodded approvingly, picking up a knife.

Dean sat up in his bed, drenched in sweat and heart racing. His mind was still buzzing with the aftermath of the nightmare. He blinked. Nightmare? Dread gripped at his heart at the memory of Castiel on the rack. That wasn’t a nightmare. It was a memory.

the end

Happy Birthday, Char!!!

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 18:51:22 GMT

Happy Birthday, France!!

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 13:44:32 GMT

Writer's Block: Duos

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 09:19:12 GMT

Sam and Diane, Ross and Rachel, Chuck and Blair—who is your favorite TV couple?

View 506 Answers

Who on earth are the losers mentioned above?! If you wanna see smoking chemistry, twisted circumstances and great lines, tune in for:

Henry/Vicki (Blood Ties)

Dean Winchester/Castiel (Supernatural)

Paul/Madeline (La Femme Nikita)

Relax!

I know I'm a bit late, but a Blessed All Saints' Day to you all!

Happy Halloween... to everyone celebrating!

Architect of Fate 7

Architect of Fate 6

Achitect of Fate [5/?]

Architect of Fate [4/?]

Architect of Fate [3/?]

Architect of Fate [2/?]

Architect of Fate [1/?]

Fic: And So It Begins

Before Dawn

NOOOOooooooo! WHyyyyyyyy??? What did I do?!? Oh wait, it could be worse.....

I'd rather have John, but this is good too :)

I'm evil, baby!

In Secret We Meet, Dean/Castiel Slash, Adult

OMG!!! *flails so hard*

Halo, SPN, NC-17, Dean/Castiel

Brand new Dean/Cas comm

Flayed, Supernatural, Dean/Castiel drabble

Writer's Block: Investigations of a Female Nature

Drabble: Inured, SPN, Dean/Cas

Persistence of Memory, SPN Drabble

Happy Birthday, Char!!!

Happy Birthday, France!!

Writer's Block: Duos

OMG!!! flails so hard