Inspired by a post on Tumblr.

Writing the SextersAnon verse is...hard. I needed a break. So here, have a ficlet thing. I didn't even edit it. So it's probably a mess.

Sorry. (Not sorry).

For alessariel.

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Characters: Dean Winchester; Castiel; Michael (Supernatural)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Bottom Dean; Top Castiel; Wing Kink; Grace Kink; Possessive Castiel; Mating Bond; Mating Cycles/In Heat

The wings were the hardest part.

No. No. Dean didn't mean…

The wings were the most difficult part. No matter how careful he was, the damn things simply wouldn't do what he wanted.

Repressing Michael should have been the most difficult part. Dude was a fucking archangel and there was no way that Dean should have been able to beat his Royal High Muckity Muck Douchiness in a battle of wills. Yet, somehow, when the dust settled and Lucifer was encaged once more and Sam was free and clear and Dean was still sharing his meat suit with Michael…Dean was in charge.

Except for the fucking wings!

"What am I doin' wrong here, Cas?" he pleaded desperately with the open air.

He'd been in his hotel room when an errant thought had suggested he'd rather be in a forest; next thing he knew, he was standing in an unfamiliar expanse of woodland. Now, try as he might, he could not get back to the room. All his shit was there. Hell, his fucking pants were there.

Nothing he thought, nothing he did, induced the wings to carry him back.

"Come on, Cas, I need you!" Dean snapped.

With a flutter of wings, Cas appeared. With his new-and-improved angel vision, Dean could barely make out the outline of Castiel's wings – enormous, ethereal, passing easily through trees and brush, flared wide, pinions pointing towards Dean. Dean's wings, recalcitrant as always, spread in reply, the tops lowered, the tips brushed along the ground.

"You're distressed," said Castiel flatly.

"Fucking…no, I'm not distressed, I'm pissed," snarled Dean. His wings lowered even further; Cas frowned, quirking his head to one side. The angel looked damn attractive that way, with his fucking blue eyes and his faint smile and his pink lips and his forehead and that goddamn sex hair. Dean's wings spread out further, straining, almost seeming to reach towards Cas, and Dean groaned in frustration. Cas' eyes widened.

"You're…attracted to me."

…AND his fucking sex voice…

"What? No! More like…more like…you're attracted to me," spluttered Dean. "Wait, no, I didn't mean that—"

His boxers were shit at hiding arousal.

"Yes, I am." With another flutter of wings, Cas was in Dean's personal space, far too close. "I have been interested in copulating with you for some time, but I believed you disinterested."

"What makes you think I'm—"

Cas brushed a hand over the powerful muscles joining Dean's wing to his back. The irritating appendages went instantly limp, lying on the ground, and a jolt of pleasure shot through Dean and finished the job of hardening him. A bizarre echo of bliss emanated from his ass, and he felt the strangest sensation, almost like liquid leaking free.

What. The. Fuck.

"Did you know that angels go into heat?" Castiel's voice was lower and rougher even than it had been, brought to Dean's mind an image of sex on a beach with a hot breeze and brilliant sunshine and sand in all kinds of awkward places despite lying on a towel and…wait, WHAT did Cas say? Before Dean could ask, Cas continued, skimming his hand down Dean's spine, tracing the joint where the wings met Dean's body. It was hard to think coherently while Cas did that; it felt incredibly good for no obvious reason. "That was one of the main roles of the archangels – they were our leaders, our generals, our…I suppose the closest analogy that is at all representative is queen bees. Heats were rare, but when they happened, angels lined up from before the very throne of God all the way to the pearly gates for their turn."

And yeah, there was definitely wetness in the, well, in the ass area and leaking on his thighs and dampening his boxers, and Dean should be grossed out but it was hard to think with bliss pelting his damn brain. If only Cas would stop touching him like that…wait, no, scratch that, Cas needed to not stop, Cas needed to never fricken stop.

"Of course, the archangels did not have human forms at those times," Cas continued as if he wasn't slowly driving Dean crazy. "The coitus was not gendered as you are accustomed to." A finger pressed into Dean's back and he gasped as unbelievable pleasure – more powerful than getting pegged in the damn prostate, not that Dean would ever admit to knowing how that felt – washed over him, through him. His wings swept forward, flexing, causing a burst of wind to blow through the woods and stir leaves with a rustling. "I have heard that doing the same while in a vessel amplifies the experience. Many angels will be…curious…about that."

As if in answer to Castiel's words, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of flapping. Dean fought to open his eyes, struggled to win through the waves of heat that inundated him, but he couldn't – he couldn't – and on reflection, he found he didn't really want to.

In the back of his mind, Michael chuckled.

Really, this is what you wanted all along, wasn't it?

"What the other angels do not yet understand is that times have changed," Cas spoke loudly, words aggressive, but his hands kept up their gentle strokes, occasionally pressing and circling that strange place that fired off feelings so powerful that Dean saw white, his cock jerking and leaking. "There will be no lining up. There will be no sharing. Dean Winchester might have Michael's grace, but he is not a mindless vessel for an archangel's breeding. He is brave and powerful, loyal and honorable. He is strong and selfless and noble. He is the Righteous Man. He is more and better than Michael ever dreamed of being. And—" Cas paused and ripped away the sleeve of Dean's ruined t-shirt (destroyed when the fucking wings burst out his back). The handprint seared in Dean's flesh tingled at being exposed to the cool breeze rustling through the woods. "And Dean Winchester is mine."

A powerful hand, hot and strong and tense, came to rest over the hand print and grace erupted through Dean's body, coursed through his veins, and he came, untouched, in his goddamn boxers.

Michael laughed at him.

Only Castiel's strength kept Dean's knees from crumpling. His body was ablaze, his wings were flared, his head pounding pleasure and need, and his fricken ass leaked, whatever the fuck was up with that.

"Don't I get a say in that?" Dean managed weakly. "Don't angels need consent before entering a vessel?"

Michael laughed louder.

"Of course," said Castiel, his voice running like sandpaper over Dean's over-sensitized body. "What do you want, Dean?"

I want a few minutes to think, I want this archangel to quit riding me, I want to know why the hell my ass is as wet as any pussy, I want to know why the fuck it feels so good when you touch my wings, I want to know just how many dickless sons of bitches are watching us…

…I want what I've wanted all along but never had the nerve to say…

Wetness oozed out of his body at the thought, his dick twitching back to full hardness.

"Fuck me, Cas," Dean moaned. Cas snarled wordlessly and Dean's boxers ceased to exist in a grace-driven act of annihilation. Hot flesh pressed to Dean's bare back – wait, wasn't Cas clothed? Wasn't I clothed? Aw, who fucking cares any more… - and hard cock pressed his ass and then slid in easily, uninhibited by any dryness. Dean tried to form thoughts, tried to form questions, tried to demand privacy or, well, tried to do anything, but it was impossible; Cas was on him, in him, thrusting and grunting, one hand on Dean's shoulders, the other rubbing unrelentingly at the pleasurable nubs on his back, and fuck if Dean wasn't fucking ruined for any future sexual partner. Steering Dean effortlessly, Cas pushed Dean's shoulders to the mossy ground, using the new angle to fuck Dean deeper, fuck him harder, fuck him positively fricken senseless. There wasn't anything that Dean could do but moan and give in. He needed this, and it wasn't just some bullshit angel heat, it wasn't just that he had Michael's archangel grace fucking with his biology. Having Cas in him was…was like finding something that had been missing, like rediscovering what feeling full was like after years of starvation, like finding an oasis in a damn desert.

Some part of Dean had been broken, gone, missing, since his time in his hell. He'd thought it was because of the things he'd done, the man he'd become, but he was wrong. It was this. He'd been missing Cas.

From the moment his lost soul had been rescued by angel, Dean had been in love.

With the memories gone, though, he'd simply not been able to realize it.

An unknown hand tentatively touched Dean's head, carded through his hair.

"No," roared Castiel. "Mine." As if the words could not be said without accompanying action, Castiel hitched Dean's hips higher and fucked him harder, deeper; tears leaked uncontrollably from Dean's eyes.

"Yes," he whispered. "I – I – yours, Cas, all yours."

Rich laughter tinged with joy hitched and broke with each thrust. One of Cas' hands vanished, but only for a moment; it returned to his back coated in something wet, painting a pattern only Cas could know. Each line Cas drew burned into Dean's flesh, drove him higher. He was past thought, past fear, past giving a shit that they were probably being watched by the entire fucking heavenly host. All he could do was rock back against Cas' cock and groan at how fricken amazing it felt.

The last line connected whatever Cas had been doing with the hand print on Dean's shoulder.

Dean screamed as unspeakable bliss, beyond anything he'd ever conceived of before, incinerated his fucking body, his mind, everything. There was nothing, nothing…

…except a glimmering will o' the wisp of precious light.

Castiel.

When Dean came back to himself, his wings were furled to his back, but feathers brushed his skin over and over, arms encircled him, a body curved protectively, possessively about his.

"Hey, Cas," Dean mumbled.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel whispered. "I may have gotten carried away. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," grunted Dean gruffly. "S'ok. I wanted this. And I never woulda fuckin' asked for it."

"Good," said Cas, relieved. "But you should know, I claimed you."

"I know."

"No, you don't," Cas reiterated. "I claimed you. With my oil. On your flesh. In Enochian. It cannot be undone. As long as you hold Michael's grace, and as long as I am an angel, you are mine."

"…are you mine too?" Dean asked uncertainly.

"Not until you do the same," said Cas, sounding embarrassed. "But I would like that, yes, if you are interested."

"Fuck yeah, I'm interested," Dean rolled his eyes. "Like, seriously, you need to ask?"

"I love you, Dean," said Castiel solemnly. Dean blushed and didn't reply.

What, not gonna tell you love him back?

Shut up, you wingless son of a bitch. There's no way in fuck all I'm saying that kind of ridiculous shit to Cas.

…he knows, anyway.

I said shut. the. fuck. up.

"So, uh, this angel heat thing?" Dean said. "How long does it usually last?" His ass was already growing wet again, his dick already twitching with interest, and all Cas was doing was brushing feather-light, tingling touches over Dean's side and arms.

"Hm," said Cas. "In human terms, I believe…roughly a millennia. However, it begins to taper off after the first decade or so."

"A decade," said Dean. He tried to sound flat but his voice came out depressingly whiny. Damn it, since when did he sound like such a bitch? "So…you're going to fuck my brains out for a decade?"

"I would…I would like that very much, Dean." Cas' voice was, somehow, even lower.

"Right," said Dean, surprised by how little this prospect bothered him. "We'd better let Sam know. Not the sordid details, I mean, but, yeah, we should warn him I'll be out of commission for a bit."

A terrifying thought occurred to Dean.

"So, does this heat breeding thing include, like, babies or some shit?"

Michael laughed uproariously.

You are in so over your head, Dean Winchester…

But the joke was on Michael.

Whatever the answer, Dean found he didn't really mind.

Then Cas was carding through Dean's wings, running fingers over Dean's muscled chest, teasing at his cock, and Dean didn't think about anything else for a long, long time.

For ficlets, fanart, lgbtqa, feminism, politics, rambling, and all kinds of other random-ass stuff, follow me on Tumblr: unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com.