The Nature and Kynde of a Lyon (5/6)

[whit_merule]

 

Backward. Forward.

“Cas!”

Dean barely registered the pad-pad-pad of Gabriel’s footsteps behind him, or the snick of the door as he pulled it shut, or the furnishings of the little antechamber leading into the chambers. He didn’t even dwell on the strangeness of seeing that table, that he’d often helped to stock, laid and set for him this time, for his body and the hunger that should arise from his exertions. He just barrelled on through it, heart thudding, following the trace scent of his Castiel. Through the antechamber, into the echoing hollowed-out atrium with all its little nooks and half-caverns, and the heavy round table in the middle that would fit nowhere else.

Too many people outside, too many smells and noises and he didn’t want them, didn’t like the way Balthazar had looked at him like he wanted to lick Dean all over or the way Dean’s own body had thrummed in response like he might just lie down and spread for him if Balthazar crooked his finger, but he didn’t want Balthazar to do that, he wanted Castiel. Castiel had been worried. Dean had to find him.

Castiel was there, where he should be, in the door of the little dark space that Dean knew in theory was the quiet room, with one hand hovering against the lintel and his eyes calmer but sadder, like he was ready to be hurt. Dean strode around the table between them and wrapped him up in arms and wings to keep him safe. From Castiel himself, if he had to. Dean was always the one who had to make sure Castiel didn’t get hurt, because Castiel hardly even tried. And he smelt good, warm and spicy in the corner of his neck, and he was Dean’s.

“Aww, look at him, he’s like a fluffy horny magnet,” Gabriel commented somewhere, for some reason.

Castiel’s hand curled around the back of Dean’s neck and stayed there, cradling him, making the skin prickle with delight. The weight of him felt warm and alive and familiar tucked in tight against Dean’s body, in Dean’s arms.

Home.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly against Dean’s temple, with whole sentences inside the word that Dean didn’t bother to analyse, because it was Castiel and he knew them all anyway, and words were tricky slippery things.

“Here’s an idea,” Gabriel drawled on in the background. “How about you learn how to stop looking at him and thinking I can’t?”

Castiel’s other hand spread firm and possessive over Dean’s hip, and he made that huffy little sound in his chest that usually meant he was perplexed and trying not to scowl. Dean twisted around in his arms to glare at Gabriel too, for good measure, body angled in against Castiel’s so their cheeks were almost touching.

Gabriel huffed out a sigh, and shoved a hand through his hair.

“So here’s how this is going to work. There are some things that, if I knew about them, I’d have to act. No choice. And in completely unrelated news, so far as I’m concerned, the only angel – the only angel,” jabbing a finger in their direction, “who did anything wrong to a kid is Azazel. Okay?”

Under Dean’s arm, Castiel seemed to shrink, shoulders curling in on themselves and eyes liquid and full like Gabriel was pronouncing his doom. Dean made an indignant trill at him and nuzzled in under his ear, because he obviously wasn’t listening right. Gabriel had just said they hadn’t done anything wrong. That was all. Dean had already known that anyway. Sometimes Castiel heard all the worst things.

Castiel made a soft noise under Dean’s lips. Dean pressed his mouth in there again, just to be sure.

“No one saw you come in?” Gabriel asked. He sounded gentle now, which was good, because Castiel was being all weird about this.

Castiel shook his head, chin bumping against Dean’s nose.

“Then so far as anyone else gets to know, you’re resting and you’ll follow us home later,” Gabriel said, brisk and bright and sly, and Dean lifted his head to look at him again, because he was up to something. “You can slip out the back way later on, when you and Dean are done, and soar in nice and public to join us officially.”

“You’re letting me stay?”

Dean tightened his arm firmly around Castiel’s waist. Of course Castiel was staying, no need for him to sound all incredulous like that. Gabriel arched an eyebrow at Dean like they were conspirators.

“Castiel,” he purred. “Who owns this space?”

“The gamma or beta in heat,” Castiel answered, slow and cautious like he was waiting for a trick.

“Uh-huh. And what consideration is at the heart of every decision and every rule that governs what happens in here?” He tipped a wink at Dean, who smirked back and decided that was a signal to nestle his hips in against Castiel’s body and taste the edge of his jaw.

Castiel’s voice stuttered for a moment. “The… the pleasure of that person. Long-term, if it is at odds with immediate gratification.”

As if Gabriel was delivering the punch line: “Dean, what do you want?”

“Castiel,” Dean growled into the softness of Castiel’s throat. Easy answer: it was always true, in heat or out of it. It was a different kind of wanting now to anything it had ever been before. Felt damn good.

Gabriel clapped his hands, the sound bright and sharp in the air. “Okay then. Have fun, guys! Call me when you want me.”

“Gabriel.” Castiel broke away from Dean and took a few steps toward Gabriel. There was something stubborn and lost in his voice that Dean didn’t like. “You can’t – I can’t.”

Dean hopped up onto the table, crouched there and whistled a warning at Castiel. He still didn’t like the idea of him getting too close to Gabriel. Gabriel gave him a “Seriously?” kind of look. Dean ignored him. This was a really good spot for jumping on anyone if something went wrong.

Gabriel stepped back towards the antechamber, hands in pockets. His voice was all light and casual. Dean barely bothered listening, because it meant everything was okay. “You think it’s really never happened before that an alpha hasn’t been able to see to someone’s first heat? Imprinting on a beta’s practically the same as imprinting on their alpha, you know.”

“Even spousal rights only apply after the first thirty-six hou-” Castiel broke in, and his voice sounded strange and tight. Gabriel didn’t stop for him.

“Besides, I’m not saying I won’t, just that you should first. Bring me in sometime before tomorrow lunch and we’re golden. I’ll be lying around gorging myself in the antechamber. Don’t rush.”

Castiel took another step forward then stopped himself. Dean flattened his fingers against the dark glossy wood. “Why?” demanded Castiel, like he couldn’t breathe properly.

“Because you two are like cute puppies in love, and I’m a sentimental guy?” suggested Gabriel; then, looking at Castiel again, “Hey. I trust you,” suddenly way more serious like something else was going on underneath that Dean couldn’t see. “I trust you with him and him with you, okay? Okay. Get to it. Don’t forget to give him the talk.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said again, and it shook. But Gabriel left.

Dean was pretty sure that meant he got to touch Castiel now. That was a satisfying thought, so he purred, to share it with Castiel.

Castiel glanced at him, then slid his eyes away quickly. His cheeks were all flushed and his eyes were too bright, like when he’d caught a fever that one time.

“Cas,” Dean prodded, and sidled towards him on the table, skidding a bit.

Castiel didn’t say anything. He never did until he knew exactly what he wanted to say anyway, and he looked like he was trying to work that out. Dean crouched on the edge of the table and watched hungrily as his throat bobbed, and his forehead furrowed up, and one hand curled itself into something like a fist. The sunlight from the windows somewhere up high reflected warmly off the red-cream curve of the walls and made Castiel’s skin glow. And Dean was very tired of waiting.

But Castiel still didn’t look sure, so he dug his nails into the wood and waited some more.

“This is not wise,” Castiel said softly.

Dean snorted. Gabriel had read all sorts of books and things that no one else could understand. He’d had years to read them, before he’d been an alpha and when all his first flock had been dead so he’d had no one to look after. If anyone knew, it’d be Gabriel.

“Didn’t hurt you,” he pointed out. His mouth felt dry as he reached out to touch Castiel’s arm, to make him look at Dean properly. “This is better.”

Castiel looked down at Dean’s fingertips where they rested against his skin, where Dean could feel his blood beating and the rough tickle of each hair. Then he looked up into Dean’s face. His eyes were hot and dark and the want rose and roared in Dean’s belly, stronger for waiting and so very sure now. All the worry was out of the way now.

Castiel was his.

Castiel’s breath stuttered hoarse out of his mouth. Then he swallowed, and gestured more or less towards the quiet room. “That’s the quiet room,” he said, wide-eyed. “A gamma typically goes - you go in there for the first few hours of your heat, to collect your thoughts and remember your body. Or any other time during your heat, if you need to be alone. A safe place. Gabriel and Balthazar and I can’t follow you in there. If it all becomes too much – any time at all – even if you just want time to think –”

“I know,” said Dean, voice thick, and slid his hand further up Castiel’s arm, up towards the shoulder, discovering the warmth and give of the skin like he’d never felt it before.

“Water is on the sideboard,” and Castiel was speaking quicker now, voice sliding deeper. “You have to remember to drink more than usual. Over there are couches and large floor cushions, and around the corner in that direction he keeps toys and other – equipment,” reddening up as Dean’s fingers wandered over his shoulder to touch the hot colour of his cheek, “but not this time, not – not for some time.”

Interesting, that reaction. Dean found himself wondering exactly what equipment it might be, that could make Castiel look like that. He rose onto his knees and curled the fingers of his other hand around Castiel’s belt. The stomach muscles jumped under his hand, and Castiel’s voice dropped even lower. “Bed is through the door behind me. Spring on the other side, because you – we – we’ll end up… messy, Dean, stop that.”

Dean smirked up at him through his eyelashes, at the wet stretch of his lower lip under Dean’s fingers where they were creeping into the heat of Castiel’s mouth.

“Dude,” he mumbled, fascinated by the white gleam of Castiel’s teeth against his fingertips and the damp flicker of his tongue behind. “I know.”

Castiel’s eyes went narrow and pissy, even as his hand brushed cautiously against Dean’s knee. “Dean, there’th a whole thpeech.”

His tongue was slippery, pressing up against Dean’s fingers on the sibilants, and strong. Weird. Dean had never thought of tongues as being strong. He knelt up higher, slid his damp fingers into the curls at the back of Castiel’s neck, and tugged him in between his knees with the hand at his belt.

“Later,” he suggested reasonably, and leaned in to test the strength of Castiel’s tongue with his own.

Castiel made half a peeved sound into Dean’s mouth and lost the rest. Hard, his hands were suddenly hard and tight on Dean’s back, like he’d stumbled and grabbed. Mouth so cautious and gentle, a terrain for Dean to discover, lush and wet. He explored it, breathless, little eager shoves and nudges and noises, and Castiel remembered himself enough to loose one hand and run it up and down Dean’s back instead. Up and down, firm, over and over until Dean wriggled against it because it didn’t soothe, it urged him on. Still Castiel wouldn’t lean in to meet him properly, his tongue wouldn’t push back against Dean’s, even though the pulse under Dean’s thumb was skipping hard and fast.

Dean wormed the hand at Castiel’s belt around his back to tug and pulled back to look at him. Only then he had to kiss him again, kiss his mouth, where it had slipped from tight denial to loose with bemusement.

So warm inside, but he needed coaxing.

“Cas. Cas, come on.” Fingers, slippery fingers hooked around the back of Castiel’s neck and tugging.

“Dean. I could… damage you. Damage your heart,” breathed out into the wet space between their mouths, and Castiel’s nose right there, bumping against the side of Dean’s.

“Didn’t last time,” Dean managed, laughed it against Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel went all stiff like he’d forgotten what they were doing and tried to pull back. His eyes were flickering back and forth over Dean’s face, deep and wondering, only they were too close to see properly and too far away to kiss, just a blur of blue and white and black and soft dark lashes.

“Freak,” Dean added, softly, because Castiel always thought he broke things and he didn’t.

“Dean, please be serious,” Castiel grumbled into the side of his cheek, and Dean grinned and made a noise like he was pretending to consider it and licked his mouth until it curved a bit at the corner. Castiel could never help laughing when Dean did, even if he didn’t know exactly what they were laughing about.

“Happy,” Dean suggested instead, and wriggled forward to the very edge of the table so that he had Castiel’s hips between his knees and Castiel’s stomach against his impatient dick and he was almost falling off and Castiel had to catch him.

Castiel said his name again. It was a scold, and it was kind of breathless, but there was half a laugh in it too like whenever Dean did anything stupid, and Castiel’s hands were strong and firm on the backs of his thighs which, damn. This was good. Dean looped one arm all the way over Castiel’s shoulders, just to be sure, and kissed his mouth again, to taste it. The edge of it, then, and his cheek, and his jaw, and that spot just near his ear where Castiel kept forgetting to shave. The smell and the feel, the heat of him, all the sounds he bit back and the startled little one that escaped when Dean opened his mouth and tested his tongue against the softness of his neck. Dean wanted to take and be taken and his whole body was singing with it, rocking back and forth against the length of Castiel’s, feet braced on the table and knees tight against Castiel’s sides.

“You are incorrigible,” Castiel gasped out, one of those things he said all the time and sounding nothing like any other time right now, and Dean grinned darkly into his throat and bit.

“Dean.”

All in a rush the table was gone from under Dean’s feet and Castiel had him, all of him, weight sliding forward until their hips were slotting together neat and tight and he was riding Castiel’s body and they were moving, quick hard steps. Castiel was kissing Dean, kissing at the side of his jaw, urging his face up to find him. And, hello. Dean knew Castiel and Balthazar were stronger than gammas, but it was one thing to give him the most to carry when they had to fly home laden or let him take the position in a hunt that took strength as well as the ability to dodge like a freaking mayfly, and it was something else to have Castiel just pick him up and – hell – shove him back against the wall, slam the breath out of him and shove in between his legs and go for his mouth like he was starving for it.

Dean lost the sound he made to the sweep of Castiel’s teeth and tongue. Satisfaction, deep satisfaction, the strength of Castiel’s hands and the authority of his body where it pinned Dean against the wall. Some desperate needy part of himself tore loose and begged deliciously, canted his hips so that he was open for it, Castiel’s to invade and claim. And there, that was right, the hot press of Castiel pushing between his legs with every roll of his hips into Dean, sweet friction building up against Dean’s dick where it was caught between him and Castiel’s stomach, and oh, the dig of Castiel’s fingers at the top of his thighs and the curve of his ass, holding him up or dragging him wider, Dean didn’t care. This, this was good, and why the hell were there pants?

Castiel panted out Dean’s name into his mouth, soft and wrecked and somehow astonished. It made Dean’s stomach do something warm and fuzzy.

He caught at the hair at the back of Castiel’s neck, buried his fingers in it as he slid his tongue over the demanding curl of Castiel’s. Fingers in Castiel’s hair always made him go soft at the edges. Clumsy now, scratching probably too hard at the scalp because he was right on the edge of something but Castiel didn’t seem to mind, just made another of those noises and slammed his hips up into Dean again, jolting a moan out of them both.

“Cas.”

Dean’s mouth was cold suddenly, without Castiel there, until two fingers pressed hard and gentle against where he had been and Castiel was holding him up against the wall with one hand and his hips and the look in his eyes, hot as a brand.

“You don’t need to talk, Dean,” voice low and dark and shaking. “I’ve got you.”

Something tightened in Dean’s groin at that. His body chased it, shoved down against the hard hot line of Castiel with a groan, opened his mouth against Castiel’s fingers then closed it again, and the world broke apart around him into bright splinters of heat.

Dimly, somewhere, he heard Castiel’s voice, felt Castiel’s forehead pressed against his. Warmth. Voice and touch, anchors, tethers, keeping him safe.

When the world came back it was sharper and clearer, just like it had been after each of the times before when it had only been Dean’s hand on himself and Castiel’s hand on his forehead. Only this time it felt… warmer. Softer around the edges, like the light had gone mellow. Like Dean should be purring, if he could remember how his throat worked.

There was cloth under his back, blankets over a bed, and Castiel’s hands running carefully down his chest, Castiel’s weight dipping the mattress beside him.

Also, his stupid dick was still hard. Dean wished it would stop doing that. It was getting freaking disturbing.

“Was gonna say,” he mumbled, because he never let Castiel get the last word just in case the whole beta thing went to his head and he started figuring he could tell Dean what to do, “clothes, man.”

Castiel’s eyes flickered up to him, flash of that weird darkness and maybe a bit of a smile. The hands mapping smooth, shivery paths over Dean’s ribs and abdomen didn’t pause.

“You are a peculiar mix of submissive and bossy when aroused,” he observed, and slid his hands down under Dean’s waistband to slide his pants down over his hips, like that was where they’d been meaning to go all along. “I suppose I oughtn’t be surprised.”

… Castiel looked wrecked. Mouth wet-slick and swollen, face and neck reddened and marks there that Dean didn’t remember leaving, hair even worse than usual, eyes too wide and open, fucking terrified even if his wings were cocked high and sure behind him and his hands were steady. And, shit, he was way ahead of Dean because he was already naked, and Dean had seen him hard a few times before but not like this, swollen and red and desperate for Dean, leaning over Dean on his knees with his cock so close to Dean’s thigh, easing Dean’s legs free of - oh.

Dean belatedly lifted his legs to help, one then the other.

He should have made a joke of it – would have, if his brain had been working. But Castiel was looking at him. Hot and dark and hungry, but sideways, eyes sliding up the length of Dean’s legs and body from behind the shelter of his lashes, like he had to convince himself not to look away.

Dean could almost feel the feather-brush of that gaze, the way it lingered on the insides of his thighs, and he slammed his head back into the pillow and groaned and spread his legs to give it space, spread his wings wide and flattened them against the bed, because Castiel wasn’t allowed to chicken out now. Dean was empty, aching empty, and he was still trying to work out what all these weird different sensations meant but he knew that he wanted something inside.

“You have no idea” slipped out of Castiel, gravel-rough, and was cut off just as abruptly.

Then there were fingers brushing at the inside of one knee, ghost of a touch. Something else higher up – mouth, holy shit, mouth, warmer and the puff of breath scattering over the soft skin there. Fingers of the other hand drifting up inside the other thigh, higher, until they paused just before they got right damn there and just pressed, gentle. Suggesting – oh.

He let Castiel move his legs, push them out and up, and nestle down between them with his shoulders under-inside the sprawl of Dean’s thighs. It felt ridiculous, weird and exposed, except when he dared to look down it was Castiel there, this strange new Castiel who was everything safe and everything delicious, and he was looking right back at Dean even though his mouth was inches from where Dean wanted it so that his breath was stuttering all over really sensitive skin, and Dean reached down and touched his cheek.

“Hey,” he sort of gasped out, and got half of his mouth to smirk. “Show me a good time, dude.”

Castiel’s mouth went loose-stunned and his eyes did the “you are irritating and ridiculous” thing, but he bent his head and got to it.

Dean’s brain basically left the building.

Castiel wasn’t cautious with this. Now, now he was pressing forward, lips and tongue urgent as his hands. Soft, clinging little kisses, up and down Dean’s dick, all around the base of it, over his hips and stomach and everywhere the mess had gone, down below it to rasp the flat of his tongue over Dean’s balls and back up again. Sucking him down, sloppy and desperate, a shock of heat that wouldn’t let up.

There were wet smears all over his face and Dean’s thighs and the hollows between hip and groin, cooling quickly in the air. Dean rode up into him and it was good, so damn good that he did it again until Castiel glared and pinned his hips down.

And hell, even better, held down while Castiel went to town on him, hot and sweet and so so wet and all Dean could do was shove his fist into his mouth and yell.

Hands at tops of his thighs holding them spread, thumbs rubbing rough little circles on the insides of his thighs, right up at the fucking top where Dean couldn’t get enough of it. The push of a tongue just under the head where something made the world light up in white-hot pleasure. The wet, strong tunnel of a mouth again, down and down, swallowing him in over the wriggling bed of the same tongue, and Dean just rocked helplessly in that little bit of space he had to swivel where Castiel was holding him still because he had to move somehow.

Then one hand moved, and Castiel’s fingers were right there, sliding in towards exactly where Dean wanted them. He keened, rocked into it, but the first firm push inside him still broke him apart, so slick and full and right that a sound ripped out of his throat and he lost himself again, pumping himself out into Castiel’s hungry mouth.

There was barely any come-down this time. Now Castiel had two fingers inside him, broad and deep, testing how far he could stretch his fingers and make Dean sob with it.

“Alright?” Castiel growled, and the rumble of it shook through Dean’s groin where Castiel’s mouth was pressed, breathing hard into the dusting of damp messy hair, looking like he couldn’t believe the world was real.

Dean managed something like a plea, and Castiel closed his eyes for a shaky second and pushed another finger in, easy as anything, the stretch bright and good. “Dean,” he whispered, incredulous as a prayer, then Dean was empty and Castiel was looming over him, nudging his hips in where his shoulders had been so that Dean’s legs locked tight around him, holding him close.

The gentle touch of Castiel’s mouth was a wondrous thing. Dean hooked an arm around Castiel’s back and the familiar dry-slippery warmth of his left wings and opened up for him, for the rough silk sweep of his tongue and then – then for the long, slow shove, one hot thick weight opening Dean and possessing him. Like last time but nothing like it because this time, this time Dean’s body wasn’t just bemused and a bit stretched. This time he knew exactly what to make of it, of every glorious inch.

Feathers, Castiel’s feathers all around him, arching over them so that the leading edge from the elbow down pressed into the mattress, swaddling them in a soft coccoon. Velvet blackness, against Dean’s sides and behind his eyes and deep inside his body, lit up here and there with startled flashes of silver.

Castiel wasn’t gentle. He was fierce, and deep, stuttering in his rhythm every time Dean groaned or wriggled underneath him, but the press of his mouth against Dean’s face was soft enough to be called tender. Every push of him against, over, inside, felt like a promise.

One hand shoved firm into the mattress at Dean’s side to hold Castiel up, to hold Dean where he was when the broad-flung brace of his own wings against the mattress wasn’t enough to hold him against the jerk and thrust of their bodies. The other hand careful, shaking with it, buried in the sensitive little feathers on the inside curve of Dean’s wing.

Castiel was just so freaking intense, he always was, but this way there was no getting away from it. No back-slaps or jokes to turn the weight of it away. Everything he was, every ounce of that terrifying laser-burn focus was all on Dean, in Dean, no walls, no stopping. Almost too much, too much to feel at once. The drag and shove of Castiel deep inside him, over and over again, shooting rough white-hot sparks through his belly and up his spine. His toes curling against Castiel’s thighs, jolted off onto the sheets with every other jerky bone-deep shove of Castiel’s body into Dean’s, all slippery with sweat and other weird shit but Dean was too stubborn to let them stay there when he could be wrapping them around Castiel and dragging him in. His mouth, wet and hot all over Dean’s jaw and mouth and chin and neck like he’d forgotten how to turn it into a kiss. His well-known (beloved) body become a strange wild thing, moving against Dean’s, driving him closer and closer to the edge. So very close to too much, but hell, it was Castiel and Dean revelled in it. If there was anyone he’d lose himself for, lose himself in, it would be Castiel.

Dean growled, buried his fingers in Castiel’s hair and raked them down his spine. They slid further, slick and wet with Castiel’s sweat and oil, down over soft skin and into the crack of his ass to snag there where Castiel was soaking wet like Dean. Castiel cried out, all dark sweet want, and his movements went ragged. Barely pulling out, just shoving in harder and deeper like he couldn’t bear to give up an inch, feeling impossibly thicker and fuller inside Dean. His hand clenched his hand in soft feathers, shoving deep into the down, and Dean’s hand went tight on his ass to drag him in as far as he could get and he lost all his breath down the side of Castiel’s neck and it went desperate, dark and messy, unravelling on every rough thrust until everything was so clear and simple.

They fell apart together, this time, fingers digging into each other’s skin and sliding on each other’s sweat, Castiel’s breaths sobbed out into Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s sounds muffled in the damp curls plastered against Castiel’s temple.

It ended with Castiel’s arm giving out on him and Dean’s left wing caught awkwardly between the two on Castiel’s right and Castiel’s mouth panting wetly against Dean’s ear. And the soaking warmth of Castiel deep inside him (as he lay sprawled under Castiel’s limp weight, sucking air into starving lungs) that felt like it was spreading through his body, warmth and safety and bone-deep satisfaction. Contentment.

Huh. So this was what people meant with all that romantic lovey-dovey storybook crap about your first heat, and how it made you feel like the guy on top of you had hung the moon and painted the sunrise.

Dean dragged a hand sluggishly down Castiel’s back. Good thing he was already used to feeling all sorts of mushy crap about Castiel and his stupid nerdy face, or this might actually be kind of freaky.

He purred sleepily against Castiel’s cheek, revelling in the feeling of full and sated, and let drowsiness curl in easily at the edges of his consciousness.

A bit of a lazy wriggle, enjoying the dull deep ache and the pleasure thrumming through his skin, trying to rearrange his wings so they wouldn’t get all cramped up. And an awkward sort of a tug between his legs, making Castiel twitch and groan on top of him.

Dean went carefully still.

“Dude.”

It came out as a croak, so he tried again.

“Dude. Did you knot me?”

Castiel’s silence turned shifty.

Dean wriggled again, more deliberately, testing, and yep, that was definitely…

He poked Castiel in the ribs. “You did. You sly son of a bitch. Thought you were meant to ask permission or something first.”

“Apologies,” Castiel mumbled, slow and slurred into Dean’s hair. “I. Ought not have. Haven’t lost control of it since m’second heat. I. No excuse. Apologies.”

“Hey.” Dean nuzzled in lazy and open-mouthed against the side of Castiel’s throat. “’S cool, man. Not like you can knock me up.” He settled in, tucking his wings in snugly under the looser sprawl of Castiel’s to take some of his weight, then confessed in a mutter, “Feels kinda nice, actually.”

One blue eye blinked grumpily open at him, iris still rimmed with a thin line of black. “You really only noticed it afterwards?”

Laughter huffed its way out of Dean’s throat, soft and contented counterpoint to the warmth swelling in his chest that had nothing to do with biology and everything to do with Castiel’s pissy sleepy face and the mess of his hair and the nudge of his bony knee against the inside of Dean’s. “Was kinda distracted at the end there, man. Don’t worry. Bet it’s an awesome knot.”

Castiel bit him. Dean yelped, and swatted him. Castiel narrowed his eyes, and pinned Dean’s hands to the bed.

… Dean’s dick stirred. Again. Greedy son of a bitch.

He rolled his eyes and grinned, cocky and sweet. “Hey, no, I get it, man. You just didn’t wanna get out of this fine ass any quicker than you had to.”

Castiel sighed, an exasperated puff of air out of a mouth that was all soft at the edges, and kissed him.

 

---

 

The next three hours were mostly spent with exploring.

Castiel’s body, long and lithe and lean, was as familiar to Dean as his own, or it had been. Now, though, they were both suddenly these strange wild things with secrets hidden in the strangest corners, swift deep currents under a still surface. Castiel, despite all his expertise, was curious too, fascinated: mapping every inch of Dean with his lips like he was a wonder, like Castiel still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch.

And Dean had his second wind now: he could think again, and experiment, and figure out exactly what movement of his hips would make him see stars when Castiel was right there inside him. Or, more basely thrilling, how to drag Castiel apart, how to bury himself inside Castiel and move there, to watch his face as he struggled to hold himself together, to give Dean his pleasure instead of letting Dean return the favour. Because Castiel was a stubborn idiot most days, actually.

About all sorts of things.

It wasn’t until later, when they were curled up together with Dean’s arm around Castiel’s waist and his nose sort of buried in the hair at the back of Castiel’s head, that Dean murmured, soft enough to be ignored if Castiel was feeling all raw about it,

“Hey. You know you didn’t hurt me, yeah?”

Because he was pretty sure, from bits and pieces he remembered through the red haze of lust, that the whole thing two years ago before they’d found Gabriel had had more to do with things today than just… Gabriel letting Castiel go first.

Judging by the way Castiel’s slow, sleepy breathing went careful and conscious and soft all at once… yeah. Dean knew his guy.

“I enjoyed it, okay?” he pressed. “So you don’t get to think that you damaged me, or screwed me over, or whatever bullshit you came up with after.”

“Dean, that’s not physically possible,” Castiel cut in, and the pressure of his fingers on Dean’s wrist was close to harsh.

“Screw you,” Dean tossed back easily, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t had time to think about this in two years. “Never got hard before today, you gonna say I never enjoyed anything in my whole life? I enjoyed it like… I don’t know, a really good back rub or something. Only with extra girly shit about being all close to you or whatever. You hearing me, Cas?”

He thought for a while that Castiel wasn’t going to say anything; and when he did it was muted, uncomfortable.

“I hear you.”

He didn’t sound right.

“Hey,” Dean murmured, softer, and nosed at the back of Castiel’s neck like he’d done so many nights when Castiel’s sleep was all broken up with bad dreams. “Sorry if I… you know. Made you do something you didn’t want to, back then.”

Castiel made an impatient noise. “Dean, you were a child, I was… mature. The responsibility is mine.”

Dean smirked into the back of his neck, because when had Castiel ever known him to give a crap about laws? “You’re six weeks older than me, dude. And you know damn well I can make you think pretty much anything’s a good idea if I really want to.”

Castiel grumbled at him in his throat and tugged Dean’s arm more firmly around his middle, wrapping it in both his hands.

Dean rubbed his cheek against the soft feathers over his shoulderblade, just above where his top left wing started, which was a bit weird by their usual standards but felt strangely comfortable now, with all these boundaries shifting and the dark throb of heat barely quiescent in his belly. The noise Castiel made was soft, halfway to surprised, but Dean liked it.

This, all this, all these new sounds in Castiel’s throat and expressions in his eyes – and Dean prided himself on being almost the only person who could always read Castiel’s face – the new knowledge of his body and all these new scents that he’d never been able to smell before: all of it felt like Castiel, but more, deeper, like part of him that Dean should have known was there but hadn’t known how to touch.

It was… weird, definitely. And Dean got why there were rules against anyone but the alpha and betas attending a first heat, even young gammas who’d had some kind of understanding with the new gamma before, who might go on to get engaged or married. It was one hell of a shift in perspective. Plus, going by the difference between that first time and every time since, Dean was pretty sure (even looking over that whole business with the knot) that Castiel had sort of lost it for a while there, forgotten most of what Gabriel had taught him about how to take care of a gamma (not that Dean was complaining), so how could you expect a gamma with one tenth of the experience to control themselves enough to see a virgin through?

But this was Castiel. No way was Dean going to get all scared or betrayed or anything by Castiel losing his cool, by finding out new parts of Castiel that he hadn’t got to see before. If Castiel got a bit wobbly, Dean would be there to lend him a shoulder, that was all. Not like Castiel hadn’t done the same for him before.

“I didn’t regret it at first,” Castiel confessed at last, quietly, long after Dean had thought he wouldn’t say anything else. “Not for some months. But my judgement was… clouded, at the time.”

Dean would say Castiel’s judgement had been pretty damn clear, actually. Even if he had been feeling all messed up inside. Of course he hadn’t regretted it for some months, not until Gabriel had begun to stretch his wings, take real command instead of just sort of filling in and mutely apologising for even being an alpha at all. Until Gabriel had started doing things like making the quiet room, where a gamma in heat could hide if they felt like it, and teaching Castiel how to care for gammas, and insisting, with that glint of fire in his eyes and the smirk on his mouth that meant he really wasn’t joking, that the one crime he couldn’t forgive would be sex that was forced or compelled, especially with children.

His arm tightened around Castiel’s waist, and his voice came out as something like a growl.

“Yeah, well. I never did. Not once. I liked it,” he added, softer, and pressed a kiss into Castiel’s hairline, just behind his ear. “Like the memory of it.”

They lay there for a bit, Castiel’s breath rising and falling soft and familiar against Dean’s ribcage and the scent of him that weird mix of familiar and salty tangy sex-heavy other, that Dean thought he might learn to like.

“Thank you,” Castiel said at last; and if it was a bit reserved still, a bit doubtful, well, Castiel was really good at holding onto the worst shit. Couldn’t expect him to let go of it all at once.

 

Backward. Forward.