Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan.

Future

Set during season four's "The End"

WARNINGS...WINCEST sort of. Dub Con. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

A/N... I wrote this not long after 'The End' aired and I only just realised that I had never posted it on here. I never could come up with/decide on a better title...So...enjoy...I hope.

==000==

"You can bunk down in here, if you want."

Dean looked around the small, barely furnished room then back at Castiel who was lounging sleepily against the door frame. Once again he felt he had to adjust his vision at what he saw. The figure was wrong, definitely not what he was used to. He was so…human. And a drugged up, peaced out one at that.

Dean peered at him again. He was leaning there with a sleepy smile on his face, which, under his regard, altered. Dean stood back, straightening up. Now that countenance, expression, was making him uncomfortable. He must be imagining it, surely?

Cas' head dropped and his intentions were made blatantly clear, "If you want some company…?" lifting a brow and a hand.

A torrent of images rushed through Dean's head, most of them disturbing. He gave the former angel a 'what the hell?' look and Cas just laughed lightly, languidly pushing off from the jamb and taking a step forwards, biting his bottom lip and leaving no misinterpretation. He moved in closer and placed the raised hand over Dean's, suddenly, rapidly beating heart.

"Leave him alone." The voice was harsh and adamant. Dean relaxed but Cas froze, seeming to curl in on himself without moving other than hastily pulling his hand away.

Dean just watched as his future self moved to stand next to the smaller figure. Cas shrank away from the other but still did not leave. Crowding close behind him, the future Dean used his right arm around the man's waist to pull him back tight against himself, his left hand coming up to hold the unshaven throat, fingers spread and digging into the jaw threateningly.

Pulling Cas' head back, the other told him, "Go back to your 'acolytes' and orgies. Then…." and he spoke directly into his ear. Dean could not hear what he said, but Cas became liquid in the imprisoning arms, his mouth opening to allow a finger to slip inside. He became flushed and groaned in supplication.

Dean just stared.

The other one, him, the other him, crap, whatever, was looking straight into his eyes as he continued to torture the man trapped in his arms with his words. Dean felt himself grow warm. The sight before him, so strange and unbelievable was having an effect alien to him. His belly began to flutter and flip and he gazed right back into those blazing green eyes only ever seen before in a mirror, a photograph never being able to truly capture the fire.

But he had seen that guise before, had held people with that stare, just like that, but the reflection in the mirror was nothing to the power he now felt emanating from the intense gaze promising forbidden things. He had heard people try to explain the effect his eyes, his looks and expressions could have on them. Now he experienced it for himself and he was beginning to tremble.

Cas made a sound that went directly to Dean's prick as he was released, pushed and then practically fled from the room. The older, colder version of himself just turned and shirked out of his jacket, throwing it onto the worn wooden chair. Proceeding to remove guns, knives and other sundries, he kept glancing across at Dean who stood moving his weight from one unaccountably nervous foot to the other.

Turning around, pulling his t-shirt from his jeans, the older set to looking directly at the younger.

Dean took another step back, feeling cornered. He could not help it. That was another aspect he knew. He had used it numerous times through the years. It was not the patented grin, the one that made a girl giggle or a grown woman smile. Nor was it the one that promised fun times and that just maybe he would stick around for breakfast. No, this was the one he used on men. Used those times when he felt the need for something more….. something a little more… aggressive.

The other figure was fixing him in place with the look that told him he was going to fuck him now and the only thing he could do about it was to hold on and enjoy the ride. Or not. It was telling him that he would be cool with either.

Breaking the almost hypnotic stare, Dean said, sounding flustered, "I'll.. I'll leave you to it, then," ducking his head as he moved to leave the small room.

"Like you've never wondered," it was not a question and Dean stilled his movement, watching the other from the corner of his eye as he stripped off the worn t-shirt.

So he had changed. He had wondered, that in five years he somehow still had the same haircut, appeared as if he had not altered, not aged except for the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw. Slowly Dean turned back to him being unable to tear his eyes from his, the other's torso.

There had been pain, and his fingers hesitantly but inextricably stretched out to trace the marks, angry and still reddish pink from new skin. He could almost feel the reaction on his own flesh. The muscled torso shuddered under his touch as his nail caught the edge of one particularly ragged tear. He did not want to know how he was going to come by that, if he was going to come by that. Would knowing help when he went home, would his knowledge prevent the damage or would it be inevitable?

He had been unable to change anything in his past, but what of his future? Would he have a future separate to this? Would he get to go home? Of course he would, that was part of the plan. All this was part of a plan. Except possibly, the way the breath was warm against the side of his face, the lips so close to his temple. There were hands grasping his hips, fingers firmly pressing in as the other had silently moved closer.

And he just stood, mesmerised by his own fingers on that tormented flesh as the other began to speak slowly, huskily, breath caressing his ear. Now he knew why Castiel's knees had gone weak. "You can't tell me that you've never wondered. Wondered what all those women felt when you smiled at them, when you touched them with your fingertips…. your lips. Those lips that have spent a lifetime being watched, as they smile, as they pout…. as they….. lick. Wondered if they are really as soft as they appear. If the flesh will give beneath your own. If they would taste of anything. And now? You're wondering what those lips will be like as they catch up the skin on your neck, kiss that place by your ear.

"But, no. You'd want to know what it'd be like if, when, those lips kiss the flesh of a spread open inner thigh, that sensitive place behind a bent knee, the one that so seldom gets attention. Remember…." as he grinned, moving his hands up to Dean's waist, smoothly snaking under his shirts, kissing at that spot on the corner of his jaw as Dean's head remained bowed, "I know all the places that you like to be touched…. caressed….toyed with." There was a nip to the tender smooth flesh just under his ear.

"But this is wrong. This is worse than….." he gasped out on shaking breath.

"Than what? Thinking about the Angel?" Laughing, he told him, "you can't hide from me. I know what goes on in that head of yours. Been there, remember?" His hand left behind the smooth undamaged skin of his torso and he used gentle fingers to cradle Dean's jaw as he kissed by the ear. Small, light, dry kisses all along the shell of his ear, then, with just the tip of his tongue, he licked his way back down to capture the lobe between his lips, sucking it into his mouth.

"I can make an Angel beg….. scream….. and whimper on my command. At my….touch. Do you think you have a chance against that? Against me?"

And as Dean's prick pushed against the confines of his jeans, he knew that he did not.

It would be nothing but a lie if he denied he had wondered. Looking in the mirror, he had not been blind to his appeal or remotely modest about it. He had used it all his life. He had a brief flash of long ago as he was preening in the mirror before heading out for the evening, Sammy sat on his bed, text book in hand. Laughing his brother had told him, "Dean, if you could, you'd date yourself."

"No," he had replied, grinning at the high school kid, "I'd fuck me!"

Guess he was about to, after all. Or more actually, from the fingers now digging into his hip under his jeans, he was about to be fucked by himself.

And just where the hell was Sammy? But now was not the time to ask. That mouth was now sucking on his neck as he stretched it away, inadvertently bearing himself.

No one would know. Soon he would be back in his own time. This other Dean would not even exist. He would just be part of a dream. Not a very bright happy one but a dream none the less. His Castiel would not know what the thought of him 'whimpering' did to him and he had always wondered….

He stepped back before insanity completely claimed him.

A hand holding the back of his head, an arm around his back trapping him and he found himself consumed by the sensation of those lips harsh on his own. So the lips, the mouth on the other one did have a taste different to his own. This other Dean tasted of bitterness and anger and a kind of desperation.

And Dean had no doubt right from the first touch as to who was in control here. As he found himself kissing back, or rather trying to, he knew it was not to be him.

He found himself suddenly released and falling backwards onto the narrow bed. Before he could sit up or even regain his bearings, the other was on him. The body heavy on top of him, moving as his hands were caught and forced to bed by his head. That mouth was immediately at him, kissing his mouth, his cheek, his chin. Then the skin on his neck was sucked up and bitten as the other's groin ground into his own.

His feet were on the floor with his knees wide and the other was moving on him constantly. There was urgency and desire. He tried to free his hands, wanting either to fight 'himself' off or to grab hold tightly and give as good as he got. It was a brief fight and Dean just collapsed back to the bed, that mouth biting into his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, still convinced that this was so wrong, but he could not deny what his own body was telling him. And it scared him. He knew what he was like when he took a man like this. He could not imagine that in the five years between them, that his other self, that hehad changed, that he had suddenly become a sensitive caring lover of a man's body.

And this future self was angry at him. He knew it. Not just from his words but from the way he looked at him. From his reception. This Dean blamed him for the state of his world. For something that he had either done or not done. This was going to be rough. Hell this was going to be painful. He knew because he realised now that, if he was to fight the other it would be long and hard. Evenly matched, it would be like that old Star Trek episode, the two halves fighting for eternity, neither one ever getting the upper hand. But mainly part of him did not want to fight.

Part of him thought he deserved to be hurt, blamed for his failures. But there was another part of him that wanted to be able to do something for this future version of himself that he had so obviously disappointed, let down somehow. So if he, in the future, wanted to take it out on his ass from the past? He just hoped it would not hurt too much and that tomorrow his other self would explain. Everything.

He had been told on numerous occasions over the years to, 'go fuck himself', and he laughed lightly at the thought, guessing it was finally happening. But he was frightened. Not only of the whole clash of parallel universe stroke two bodies existing in the same space at the same time thing, but mainly he was about to be fucked, by himself and he was obviously going to be the 'bottom'. Something that he had never allowed.

The hands on his sides, pushing up underneath his shirts, proved the older man's words true. They knew all of his happy spots, all the places that made his hips surge upwards as his prick became so hard in his jeans. The pinching of his left nipple, hard. The caressing of his right. The sucking still on his neck, under his ear. The fast forceful pushing of prick on prick.

His hands now loose, he let his nails scratch hard across the other's bare shoulders making him rear up and stare down at him. He saw it again, the anger, the almost hatred but it was quickly covered as he continued to run his nails over the skin on his back, moving down along the spine. His hands then held onto the waist and a glint appeared in those shadowed green eyes above him and a knowing smirk appeared on the mouth.

The man knew he had him now.

Those already swollen lips were suddenly on his stomach, his shirts pushed out of the way. Each time his skin was sucked up and let go, his hips rose up. Then there were teeth biting at the line of hair descending from his navel as the body moved backwards off him, sliding to kneel on the wooden floor between his feet.

Dean had given blowjobs before, but nowhere in comparison to the amount that he had received. His prick hardened even more at the thought that he was about to find out just how good he was. It never occurred to him that he was not.

Swiftly, his jeans were unfastened and fingers grasped and pulled his pants and briefs past his knees, down to his ankles, sharp nails catching and marking his skin. He hissed at the sharp scratching, sitting up only to have a powerful hand on his chest, knocking him back. "Dude! What the..?" but there was the first touch of heated breath across the head of his prick as it was grasped in a firm embrace.

His older self had not lied. Of course he knew just how and all the places and pressure that would turn Dean on the most, would have him thrusting his hips up into the warm moist suction. The mouth completely surrounding him, the tongue licking with its fullness up and down the side repeatedly as the fist gripped, enclosed and twisted at the base. Then lips tight as the mouth was pulled up the length to hold onto around the hood, the tip of the tongue teasing, pushing against his slit.

It was frenzied and almost brutal contrasted with the fingers delicately caressing the mentioned ticklish place behind his right knee. He wanted to grab hold of the head, to hold it still as he fucked up into that so talented mouth but he knew how he hated it. He threw his hands back over his head, a groan escaping his mouth as the same mouth suddenly took him into its throat.

The hands had moved and now lay, one each on his inner thighs caressing yet holding him down. Still he tried to thrust up into the hot mouth, enjoying the suction and constriction. But he could not relax, not let himself lose himself completely in the sensation as he knew what was coming next.

It had always worked for him in the past so why not in the future too? Sure enough the hands began to creep along his thighs, one to begin fingering his balls, the other to slide down his thigh to capture his knee and push it wide.

Dean pushed himself up, looking at the other to be met by knowing green eyes. They both knew what was going to happen next. Dean could not look away. It was unbelievable watching himself sucking on his own cock. If his life was not as mixed and fucked up as it already was this would guaranty years of confusion and therapy.

Seeing from this vantage point, the way his lips caught and pressed against his prick, the way they were stretched and squashed around the root of his cock, the way they were dragged along the slick skin as they pulled back, all under the cold hard emerald stare.

Dean came. Under the harsh cold stare of his own eyes, seeing that mouth, his mouth stretched tight sucking on his prick as he took him in deep and he came shooting down into the other's throat.

Collapsing back, he expected distain but then the future Dean did something he did not expect. Lurching up from his knees, he pushed Dean down onto the bed and using those same lips to smother his mouth, thrust his tongue in pillaging it, sharing Dean's taste and cum with him.

This time he fought back, gave as good as he got. This he could do forever, a hand griping his head tight, the other toying with his semi swollen, ultra sensitized, prick. His own were clutching at the bare skin on his 'lover's' back, his feet pushing against the floor seeking leverage to push up against the none too light body.

The hand left his prick as the mouth pulled back and Dean found fingers dipping inside of his. Before he could make a complaint, the mouth was latched to his again and he was pinned down once more as his mouth was thoroughly fucked by that tongue.

His hips bucked up at the first touch over his arsehole, the moistened fingers rubbing, circling pushing at the tight ring of muscle. He knew that feeling, did not everyone? He had tried it, fingered himself while he masturbated, just to see what it was like. There was nothing wrong with that, having self sex. Hey, was it still masturbation if the self you were having sex with was five years older than you?

The thought fled from his mind as the other shifted to be hovering over him, one knee on the bed by his hip. He looked up questioning into the gaze still fixed on him, the man's hand still holding his head tightly. There was a grin then the finger caressing his arsehole pushed right in as far as Dean's muscles would let it.

He would be lying if he said it did not hurt, it hurt like a son of a bitch and the grin above him told him that the other knew. And that he liked it. Then that grinning mouth was descending again and Dean could do nothing but hold on, hold on to the rough bedding wadded in his hands as that mouth tortured his own.

He could hardly breathe, his gasp swallowed as that finger continued to invade, to push to the limit of Dean's rebelling arsehole which wanted the intrusion out. He could not relax. Not at this sensation of invasion and demand, because his other self was demanding, demanding entry, too impatient to give him time to relax and accept him.

Dean used all his strength, pushing up with his feet from the floor, no thought involved as his arsehole tried to expel the intrusion, his hips lifting up, a strangled pleading noise smothered by the other mouth still filling his with its tongue. All he got for his trouble was a shifting of the body hovering over him and a second finger forced into his arse.

This time, the future Dean pulled back enough to allow the scream through clenched teeth to escape, his eyes watching avidly the pain in Dean's features. The bastard was getting off on it, he was convinced. He also could not deny that his own body was too, no matter what his mind was screaming at it. His prick swelled again at the sensation, precum leaking, dropping onto his stomach making him hiss as if burnt by acid. He stamped at the ground once, twice, then panted, begging his body to relax, accept the digits and go through the 'pain barrier' and get to the pleasure. There had to be pleasure surely or why would millions of men want this, want to be fucked up the ass?

But now all he could do, was buck, stamp his foot and curse the bastard as that mouth began to explore his stretched neck as his head struggled to move, held down by the hand no longer in his hair but splayed over his face. Fingers slipped into his mouth as the ones in his arse began to move and separate, stretching the sides of his anus.

"Arrghhhnnuurrrahhhh!" as the pad of a finger rubbed over and over again at the same spot, pressing and pushing at the wall of his rectum. Oh, that was good, that was so much better. His hips did not so much buck now as began to sway, push against the digits embedded inside of him. Now both fingers began to push, to smooth over the same stretched place.

His tongue licked at the fingers in his mouth and the other must have taken it for, not permission as much as capitulation as he rose up more, resting on that bent knee on the bed, half standing and his fingers buried deep in Dean's arse began a serious widening, opening of his passage.

The hand left his face and was dragged down onto his chest, down his stomach to once more push up onto his skin under the shirts, rubbing, clutching, pressing all over Dean's undamaged flesh. A "Nurrggguh.." from Dean, a chuckle from the other as the two fingers were separated wide and slowly pulled to the rim of his arsehole holding it open and taut as a third finger entered into play.

His feet came off the floor as his knees rose, opening himself up wide to the other, all pretence of reluctance gone as the other hand dragged onto his prick, surrounding, tugging, pulling, the thumb pushing in and tormenting that so sensitive spot just behind the head.

Damn it! He was going to cum again, so soon. His hands reached down trying to grab hold of the other, to make him finish him off or to make him hold still and wait but he did not know which. All he did know was that he no longer had a coherent thought in his mind, or any control over his own body.

He uttered a noise he had only ever heard before, heard from the men he had fucked. It was a primal noise of denial, want, lust, pain and pure tormented pleasure as the other drove the fingers into him right up to the third knuckles, twisting them in and out. Over and over and Dean knew nothing other than that sensation, the hot stretch on his ring, the knuckles pushing over and over again along the walls. The hand that had stilled on his prick holding back his orgasm suddenly released him once more pumping and Dean's whole body, from shoulders and feet pushing from the edge of the bed, lifted up as he came hard, sobbing out as his spunk hit the other on his mangled, scarred stomach.

No time to wallow in the after glow as the hand was still moving in his clenching channel, still pushing twisting against the constricting muscles forcing sounds and groans out of Dean he would be ashamed of if he could be anything other than a wanton slave to the hand once more fisting his prick making him spill again.

The hands were suddenly removed and Dean slumped back to the bed boneless, licking his lips and lazily reaching a hand up to run through his hair.

It never made it as his hips were lifted and spun over so quickly he did not have a chance to even try to protest never mind resist. Face squashed into the bed, legs hanging off the end of the mattress and he felt one of the weirdest sensations ever as cold lube was squirted straight into his arsehole. He managed to force his face to the side as he heard the bottle hit the wooden floor. Then his hips were raised, forcing his arse to be held high in the air, and he felt the first blunt pressure at his ring. He only had the time and wit to force his hands by his head, to press against the bed so he could hold on as a prick, he knew well, burst through his ring and impaled itself in his still twitching channel.

Nothing, nothing had ever prepared him for something like this, for this. His hands clutched up the bedding, his mouth open in a silent begging scream as the prick pushed straight into his ass. He thought he would be wrent apart, he felt so weak. In no time at all he felt the burn of friction as the prick he had always been secretly proud of was withdrawn and thrust back in harshly.

He knew, he knew what he was in for and could only hold on and realised that he was enjoying the ride. He laughed out hoarsely as his future self set up a punishing rhythm, pounding into him over and over, his hands so tightly gripping his hips. The laugh altered something in the man fucking into him so desperately. Maybe he had not wanted him to find enjoyment, had not wanted him to enjoy the ride.

The hands moved, sliding down to his thighs, circling to gain a firmer grip and he was hoisted higher, the man now stood almost straight behind him, muscles bulging in his arms as he thrust in again and yet again each time seeming to want to destroy Dean.

But Dean understood now, understood why those millions of men allowed this, wanted this. But even as he panted and begged and moaned as his shoulders and face were pushed repeatedly into the mattress, even as sparks seemed to be chasing each other around his body, he knew he would never be able to allow anyone else to do this to him. To have him so at their mercy, to have him so needy and wanton, so weak and submissive he would never be able to allow.

Suddenly nothing. The prick was pulled from his arse, the hands from his thighs. "Wha…?" as he twisted around, pushing himself up from the bed, his feet slipping back down to the floor. It was all the other was waiting for and the hands were back leaving bruises on his sides as he was pulled back to standing on feet as wide as his pants would allow and then hand pulling his buttock to the side, the prick surged back in.

Dean's arms went back, over his shoulders grabbing onto the other for balance, for dear life as each new, slow, but so strong thrust hit him so hard he rose onto tiptoes. An arm encircled his waist and he was pulled back to met each thrust. He bit at his lips hard trying not to make any pathetic mewling noises, not uttering the 'fuck fuck fuck' that was running through his mind.

The man behind him was silent except for the hitched grunt each time he thrust into him and the gusted breaths behind his ear. The other's free hand moved to use fingertips along the length of Dean's throbbing, quite painful prick. The touch was tantalisingly delicate against the already abused organ and a juxtaposition to the semi violence being perpetrated on his ass.

This could not last surely? But he knew, he was good, he was experienced and knew how to make his pleasure last. So he was aware that the man fucking into him had stamina, had longevity and being on the receiving end Dean was about to discover why he had been able to make so many women sob out and orgasm repeatedly and why so many men had cursed him, called him names and begged him not to leave.

His other self pushed up into him and stilled. Dean did not know how he could do that. He knew well the feel of tight anal and he knew he would be the tightest virgin arse he, the other one, had had. His hand, spread on the back of the other's head, tightened pulling it forwards as he twisted, turning his head, his own mouth now an inch from the other's face.

"Kiss me!" he demanded.

The arm just tightened around his waist, the fingers continued to play with his prick, up and down along the length and he was ignored. Dean's other hand came down and reached back to spread and grasp hold on the hip and the tense thigh.

"Kiss me..." he begged.

There was a disgusted laugh and the other pulled his face away then began another slow gliding back and forth rocking into him almost gently. It was excruciating. The friction, the feel of that silken skinned hard member sliding back and forth, up and down, in and out of him, so slowly now, so all consuming.

He was trembling, his legs felt like they would give out at any moment and his belly, stretched tight in this position, was fluttering worse than any school girl on seeing her idol. His balls felt fit to explode with his prick quivering waiting to fire once again so soon that it hurt. The gentle fingers pressing, caressing were hurting him. He needed harder handling, he needed the man to start to fuck him again.

But he had begged once, for a kiss of all things and his pride would not allow him to ask, demand or beg again. Not even in front of this man. Especially not in front of this man. The last person that he would ever admit what he wanted, what he needed would be to this man holding him so tight, loving him so 'vindictively'. The last person he would admit his weakness, his longing and desires to was himself.

His fingers tightened in the short hair and he twisted more, attempting to force the other's head around so he could take his kiss. The other let him get as far as his cheek but then he found himself moved again, bent forwards, his head and shoulders forced down to the bed and he got his wish as his older self began to thrust into him violently, no longer being gentle but thrusting into him hard as he took his own pleasure from him.

But Dean knew, could tell that the pleasure the man was taking was not so much about the sex as he was deriving something from torturing him. Because he truly was. The hand was now gripping his aching cock in an almost vicelike grip. Just holding it as he slammed into him again and stilled. He could hear cursing and knew that the bastard was finally nearing the end.

All Dean could do now was grit his teeth. It was an exquisite torture. He wanted to cum again but it was beyond even him. He had just shot twice in under half an hour and he felt himself to be almost broken. The sensations in his ass were amazing, unbelievable but he knew he was going to suffer for it as soon as this ended and from the hand now in the centre of his back holding him still to the bed as his prick was released and the man reared back, he felt a warmth flood his arse and grunted out in surprise.

The prick juddered slightly then was ripped from his arse and he let out an involuntary hiss not just at the pain but at the sudden loss. He was pushed down to the bed and knew he had just been thrown away. Discarded.

Standing back, fastening up his jeans, quickly retrieving and pulling on his t-shirt, the older one stared down at the man he used to be as he slowly rolled onto his back and gazed up at him. He saw the look of almost betrayal. He shrugged his shoulders. "What? You want to snuggle?" and started collecting his gear.

Dean struggled to sit up, conscious of being the one abandoned to sit there wondering if this is what all those men had felt, all those women as, once satisfied he had left. Sat, still clothed but his pants around his ankles and spunk leaking from his burning arse he glared up at the cold man he had become, would become.

The Dean of this time grabbed up his jacket, laughing without joy, "Tell you what, I'll do you a favour. You want to know how to make an Angel beg for you?" putting on his jacket. "Course you do." He moved closer, grabbing Dean's head, pulling it to his mouth as he bent over him and whispered into his ear.

Going warm, Dean actually blushed at what he was told. Nothing he had not done before but thinking of doing that to an Angel, to Castiel made him tremble. It made him hard. He was released as his other self walked to the door saying, "Trust me, that's how he likes it."

Turning, he looked back, "Oh. And just so you know… the first time I made Cas ..whimper? he still had his wings."

And with that was gone.

Dean flopped back down to the bed, feeling painfully sore but sated. His muscles hurt, his arsehole was on fire and his heart was heavy. And he was tired, so tired. His eyes closing, he curled onto his side, banishing the sight of those burning cold eyes. Before long he fell asleep to visions of 'his' Castiel as he…

==000==

He found that sleep did not linger. Waking up, his whole body letting him know its displeasure at the abuse it had so recently been subjected to, Dean forced himself up to sitting, immediately regretting the action, and slowly stumbled to his feet getting himself caught in the jeans around his ankles.

He felt fucked. Completely and utterly and could not help the slight embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. It was sick what he, they, he, had done. But damn, it had been an experience. A fucking he would never, could never have imagined but one he would never be able to forget nor want to. If this is how those men had felt after he had left them, well good for them. He knew he had skill and he was grateful for it.

He was thirsty and decided he needed to find the 'conveniences' as there was a trickling sensation coming from his ass which he could really do without. Slowly he walked, realising it was not the thing he wanted to be doing right now, from the room in search of what passed for a kitchen.

It did not take long, and realising that the taps were useless, he rummaged around until he finally came up with a lukewarm bottle of hopefully fresh water. Leaning back against the counter he took a long pull on the bottle and wiping his mouth realised he could hear low talking. No, not talking, moaning.

Thinking back to the comments about acolytes and orgies, he looked around him as if he was about to be caught doing something he should not then moved hesitantly closer to the sounds, knowing that he was going to watch.

Approaching and peeping around the corner to peer into the main part of the cabin, his smile froze as he came to realise there was no bevy of willing females. What he saw in the light from a nearby lantern was himself wrapped in the arms and legs of the former Angel.

He knew he should turn away but he was mesmerised by the look of sheer bliss on the unshaven face and the look of sorrow and love on his own. He pressed his body and face against the wall as he continued to watch. He had never been that tender, never been so considerate a lover as the version of himself he was seeing now. The way he caressed the man under him, the way he kissed him, his eyelids, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. And he spoke to him too.

Dean never talked during sex. Sex was just that, but this was something different, this was something more. Cas' head and shoulders arched back almost in slow motion, the look on his face one of intense joy as Dean pushed into him gently, his mouth grazing soft kisses under his jaw on the exposed stretched neck. "So beautiful. Always beautiful. Mine, Cas. You were always mine."

"Always?"

"Always. From the moment you 'gripped' me. You became mine."

"Yes…..s. Yours. Always yours."

There was so much emotion, so much love in their voices that Dean thought his breath would stop, that he would actually cry as he felt his throat tighten. He backed away, wanting to leave them the dignity of privacy, but in reality he could not face that the man in Castiel's arms was not him. That such a beautiful and faithful creature should be so obviously in love with the cold and brutal man he had, would become.

When he returned to his own time, to 'his' Cas, he was going to make sure that he never became the callous bastard that he was in this time. But as he heard the lovers whisper such private and personal endearments, he knew that right now, at this moment, that hate filled future version of himself truly knew love, how to love and how to receive it.

He quickly made his way back to the bedroom.

==000==

Looking down at the blissful face of his truest ever love, Dean could not hold back the silent tears of regret. There was no other choice. He was fully aware that no matter what he said, what he showed his former self, that he would never do as he told him and say 'Yes' to Michael. He would still end up in this hell on earth. He would still be seeing what was left of his brother tomorrow.

He raised up onto his forearms, having to work to get Cas to focus on him. "Tell me you know that when I say, I love you, you know I mean it."

Castiel tilted his head and smiled up at him, his eyes glazed with drugs but also with the sight of the man he had given up everything for. He giggled, causing a tear to leave Dean's eye. "Of course I do."

Dean continued to gently rock into him, caressing his face, making the 'man' smile. He kissed him, catching up his bottom lip, sucking it gently just as he had that first time he had ever kissed him. It had the same effect as always. Castiel moaned.

His fingertips playing across Dean's back and shoulders he said, "And I love you. I always have. Even before you ever laid eyes on me, I was yours." He reached up to place a kiss to each of Dean's eyes. Dropping back, he laughed. "Tomorrow? After we get back from the raid? Can we just sit under a tree together? I'd like that. Sitting under a tree. Watching the sky go by," and his head went back once more, leaving his throat open and vulnerable to Dean's caress.

Tears fell unimpeded as he lied to his lover, "Sure, Cas. After we get back, we'll sit under a tree and just let the world turn."

========= End============