Series: Playing the Angel - While Sam and Dean continue fighting to prevent the Apocalypse, Dean inexplicably manifests a pair of wings. The brothers must work together to figure out what is happening and reverse the act before the changes overtake Dean completely.

Summary: Dean and Jo decide to live for today because there might not be a tomorrow. Wing!kink

A/N: This will be an ongoing series written out of order. This is obviously AU, but will follow show canon as closely as possible. Each story will be set in this 'verse, but the stories can be read as stand alones. Some of the stories will be gen only while others will have some romance (Dean/Jo.) The stories that are more interconnected, I will note for convenience.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.

She felt his presence before he had a chance to say her name.

Jo sat up in her bed and pulled the covers to her chest, more out of habit than anything else, as she peered into the darkness. Dean stood near the foot of her mattress. He looked like he'd just walked out of bed; his hair was disheveled, his chest bare, and he wore a pair of old ripped jeans that had seen better days. Despite the dark, there was a light sheen over his wings, like the glow from a halo, which seemed to pulse around him.

Jo hadn't seen Dean in months. The hunt to stop Lilith from breaking the final seals occupied most of his time. She found he called less and less and his visits had become less frequent. But she understood. They knew before this had started that their lives would keep them apart more than it would keep them together.

Now though, he was here, standing in front of her. She hadn't heard him come into her studio apartment. She didn't even know how or when he'd arrived, and by the confused look on his face, she didn't think he knew either.

"Dean" she managed to say. "It's been a while."

"The damn things won't go," he said.

She could see as much.

Before she had a chance to ask him any questions, he stepped forward and kissed her on the lips. She leaned into his kiss, relishing the soft touch of his lips.

Jo hadn't realized how much she missed had him. She pulled back and licked her lips, easing back into the pillows so she could examine his face.

He was still the way she remembered him. Quieter than he used to be before he'd gone to Hell, he still held some of that charm, that playful boyishness that he tried to hide behind his bravado. He held a mix of danger and darkness, but none of it could stamp out that sense of honor that had attracted her in the first place.

She reached up and caressed his cheek. He was burdened still, not just by the mystery of what was happening to him, but also something else he wasn't sharing with her. She didn't know what was happening between him and Sam, but she knew that it had to be at the root of what was distressing him.

Yet, beneath the fear, the fatigue, and all the emotional weight that was crushing him, she saw the desire peeking through his eyes. She wasn't sure if he was exposing that desire because he just couldn't hold back any longer, or if he'd finally come to accept his current state.

To her surprise, she found it didn't matter. All that mattered was he was with her right now.

They'd agreed to wait until he was normal again. It had been a silent agreement, not something either of them really felt comfortable talking about, but it was important just the same.

"Dean."

"To hell with it," he said and kissed her again.

Dean cupped her face in his hands as he lowered her into the sheets. She fell deeper into the pillows, moaning softly as his kisses trailed down her neck. His hands started to knead her skin, inching upward until he found her breasts.

Jo breathed out and arched her back, reaching her arms above her hand so he could pull off her tee. He discarded it easily and rubbed his rough hands down her abdomen. Before he could reach her thighs, she pulled him closer and fumbled for his waist. With her free hand, she went for his jeans and with a soft pop she unbuttoned them. Between the tender moments of tasting and touching, they managed to discard their clothes and bask in each other.

He flashed her a mischievous smile at her.

She found herself smiling back. Then, without a second thought, she reached up and started to stroke the underside of his wings. They were rigid and tight, full of the same passion that filled him, but the feathers themselves carried their own story. She started at the lining where the wings met his back and slowly moved her hand in an arc throughout the ruffled feathers that faced his shoulders. They felt soft, fuzzy, and comforting like her warmest sweater. And though she knew the feathers behind them were are sharp as blades, even they seemed to melt at her touch and left no mark on her.

Dean moaned into her neck as she continued to stroke his wings.

Just a few months ago, being this intimate with him, not fearing or wondering or being in awe, would have been a problem. But for whatever reason – luck, their passion, or maybe angels watching over them – tonight she felt completely at ease.

Gone was the awkwardness she had found in Dean when he'd first tried to romance her with his new addition. Gone were the worry and the hesitation and the shame and embarrassment. This was Dean, wings or no wings, and he wasn't going to let them hold him back.

He was just as tender as she imagined him to be.

They both kissed each other, deep and slow, as Dean started to work her body. She grabbed hold of his back, burying her hands into his feathers as he braced himself on top of her.

A small voice deep inside her warned her to stop. They both knew that this was wrong. Dean was wrong. They still didn't know why this was happening to him and if there were repercussions for all the actions he took.

Screw it, Jo told herself. She had waited too long to listen to some self-righteous voice tell her what to do.

Their lips met and once again she savored their sweetness. When they broke off, she inhaled sharply and moaned, hearing him grunt above her. The two quickly fell into a slow, rhythmic pace. And as they rocked, joined together, they both blocked out their worries, lost to the instinctual passion between them.

They moved together, harder and harder, faster and faster, but never lost that sweet gentle touch. The two of them remained together, bodies intertwined, as they pushed to the brink. She let out a cry as they both reached climax, a cry that almost was drowned by the swift clap of Dean's wings as they reacted. Once stiff and rigid, they finally relaxed as he collapsed into her, showering Jo with a light airy softness.

Jo held his sweaty body against hers, ignoring the handful of feathers that had dislodged from his flapping, and now were stuck to her damp skin. She knew they must be a strange sight, tangled in her sheets together, but she really didn't care. She was happy. He was happy. They were both content at least for this moment.

And in their lives, the present was all that mattered.