Dean screws his eyes shut, his ears filled with his own wrecked voice shouting his angel's name. The one Dean gave him.
Cas.
The few lights they had left on in the motel room seem to go out behind his eyelids as Dean hears his own name shouted back in a deep gravelly voice.
Dean keeps his eyes closed, focusing on the sensation of Cas riding him through it. After a while he feels Cas shudder and collapse onto his chest, their stomachs making a wet, sticky sound as they collide. Cas rests his cheek on Dean's, still breathing heavily, straight into Dean's ear.
They lay there for a while, catching their breath, happy and tired and intertwined. Dean finds a shoulder and plants a chaste kiss on it, and smiles against the bare skin when he hears Castiel sigh. Eyes still closed, he sprawls one hand on the small of Cas' back, and lifts the other to twine it through the curling hair on the back of his angel's neck.
But something stops his hand. Something warm and alive and feathery. Dean opens his eyes.
Castiel's wings fill the room. They are spread lazily wide, covering the ceiling and ghosting the walls on either side of the room. So that's the reason for the lights. Good, Dean thinks, no front-desk explaining to do about busted bulbs. Dean turns his head to get his lips at Cas' ear.
"Does this happen every time?" he whispers heatedly into it.
Cas had gone into his drowsy morning-after mode, so the only reply is a rumbling, "Mhm" into Dean's neck.
"Huh," Dean breathes in response.
He looks around Cas' shoulders at what he can see of the wings, examining them.
The feathers are a deep brown, the color of Cas' hair at its darkest, with a fine dusting of grey towards the edges like they had been brushed with volcanic ash. The light from the lamp on the table shines through a group of longer ones, making them glow a muddy golden.
Looking up, Dean can clearly see against the cream-colored ceiling how frayed they are, messy like Cas had been flying for too long, messy like Cas' hair when he wakes up.
They shift as Castiel does, mirroring the slight movement of his back and shoulders as he fits himself more snugly against Dean's chest. Cas' breathing has almost slowed into the deep sighing of sleep, but Dean isn't done quite yet.
He slowly moves the hand that had been on the angel's back, tracing Cas' spine with his open palm, to join the other at the base of the wings. Experimentally, he starts massaging, working his thumbs under the coarse outer feathers to get at the soft down and skin beneath.
His efforts are rewarded when Cas almost purrs, his whole body reverberating with the small, pleased sound as he let his wings and shoulders relax under Dean's touch. Dean chuckles happily, deep in his chest.
At the sound, Cas props himself up on his elbows, one on each side of Dean's head, and looks down. Even in the shadow of his plumage and half-lidded eyes, Castiel's blue irises shine through his dark curling lashes and lock onto Dean's green ones in that particular soul-searching way they had.
Dean doesn't pay the stare any mind. His focus is on how blown his angel's pupils are, giving the normally icy blue a darker tinge. Dean can't stop thinking of how he had helped make them like that, black with want and desire. The best part is that those eyes are for him. Cas seems to read his mind, smirking down at him suggestively, one corner of the angel's mouth twitching up as if to say, Yes, you did that. And I'd love for you to do it again. Dean swallows hard.
Cas blinks, breaking the connection, and closes his eyes. He arches his neck slightly, and Dean hungrily traces the curving line of it. A languid smile spreads across Cas' face as he rolls his hips forward in time with the lazy, circular rhythm of Dean's thumbs. Dean smiles.
"I could get used to this."
The next morning over a breakfast of cereal, Dean enthusiastically investigates the eruption of feathers. He asks if it hurt, if Cas can feel what the edge of the feathers touch, can Cas control it? Somewhere in the middle of the questioning, Dean had taken to calling it "a feather frenzy." Cas doesn't like that.
Dean's face lights up when he thinks of a particularly good inquiry.
"So do all angels have a feather frenzy when they—"
"Next time you should keep your eyes open," Cas cuts him off, deliberately.
Dean looks irked, his mouth hanging open with the unfinished question. He furrows his brow and lets his hand, which was raised in excitement, fall on the table with a dissatisfied thud. Dean regains his composure to pose yet another question.
"Why?" he asks, bringing a spoonful to his mouth.
"I'm told it's quite a sight to see, the unfurling and all," Cas replies simply, idly stirring his cereal.
"Oh, so you're bragging now?" Dean chides, muffled by the food in his mouth and the spoon hanging from his lips.
"Am I?" Cas looks across the small motel room table at Dean.
"A bit, yeah."
"I'm just restating what most of your culture has said about angel wings."
"Well, what do you think?" Dean asks as he points his spoon at Cas.
"Hmm?" Cas murmurs quietly as he reverts his gaze back to his bowl of cereal.
"Do you think they're beautiful?"
Cas looks up at Dean through his lashes, slightly surprised at the ease Dean had finding the word, then straightens and tilts his head. He thinks for a moment.
"The paintings do lack a certain something."
"Never been one for old art. I like to see for myself." Dean lowers the volume of his voice as he continues. "And I think yours are beautiful. Better than any bird I've ever seen."
"Understandably, seeing as birds are not exactly Heaven-sent…" Cas stops himself, realizing he'd just been paid a compliment. "Oh."
"…'oh'?" Dean looks over at him. Cas looks anywhere but Dean, and when he does look back, it's almost shy, and the beginnings of a blush have appeared on his cheeks.
"…thank you."
"Don't thank me. Show me again," Dean almost whispers, smiling at his angel.
Cas' blush deepens. Dean's smile widens.
"And I'll keep my eyes open."
Cas comes out of the bedroom in a faded Styx t-shirt and jeans that are a size too big, his socks hanging loosely around his feet and dragging as he walks. He hears Dean turn on the kitchen faucet, so he heads in that direction across the motel room.
Dean hadn't bothered with a shirt, sticking to his favorite grey-blue sweatpants. Only sweatpants, Cas notices as he leans on the doorframe. He sighs appreciatively and stares.
Without turning around, Dean says, "I can feel that, y'know."
"Sorry."
"I'm not a trophy wife. Don't just stare, help me with these," Dean orders as he looks over his shoulder at Cas, flicking his eyes toward the pile of dishes next to him. Cas smiles at Dean's act of being serious.
"Sure," he says as he slides across the tile to run his hands over Dean's shoulders. They travel down, washing over the taut muscle and coming to rest at the curve of Dean's hips. As his fingertips slide under the elastic band of the pants, Dean forgets what he's doing and drops a plate. The clatter brings him out of the trance, and he clears his throat and dips down to get Cas' fingers out.
"Hey, work," he says as he shoves a rag into Cas' chest. Cas poorly suppresses a chuckle.
They stand over the sink, side by side. Dean washes and Cas dries the pair of bowls and spoons, along with a few other dishes from previous days. Their arms brush often as they work.
Cas half-heartedly does his part, more interested in sneaking a peek at Dean's yet-to-be-covered chest, lingering on the tattoo above his heart, or watching Dean's calloused hands work a sponge over dirtied plastic. Suddenly Dean stops scrubbing and looks straight up at the kitchen wall in front of him. Cas glances up at his profile, confusion outweighing worry.
Dean turns to him, a distressed look on his face.
"Does this mean I can never be on top?"
Cas just laughs and goes back to drying a fork.
Dean sits on the bed, fingering the ties of his sweatpants, waiting for Cas to finish taking his shirt off. His angel looks over at him.
"Okay let's try it."
"But what if they get all crumpled or something?"
"I'll be fine. They'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Quit worrying," Cas says as he sits in Dean's lap, tossing the shirt aside.
"You know I can't," Dean replies, looking away from Castiel. His hands tighten around Cas' hips protectively. Cas puts a finger under Dean's chin and turns his head back to face his own. Cas looks straight into his eyes, serious.
"It's fine," Cas reassures him, thumb smoothing Dean's jaw line. Dean looks away for a moment, and when he looks back Cas places a kiss on his nose, giving him another freckle. Dean turns to lay him down on the bed. Still not fully believing, but knowing he can't win, he sighs.
"Okay."
"Good."
"But if it so much as itches, you let me know."
"Agreed," Cas says, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck.
Dean leans down, flush against Cas' warm and waiting body. He runs his hand through the angel's hair, staring intently at Cas' mouth. Dipping his head down, Dean traps Cas' bottom lip between his own, gently sucking it into his mouth. Cas sighs as if he'd been waiting for a long time. Dean tries to start off slowly, still thinking about the wings, but Cas turns his head, opening his mouth.
Dean feels a hand grab the back of his neck, and he is pulled into a much deeper kiss. Cas opens Dean's mouth with his tongue, licking his lips apart, trying to get Dean to do more. Dean responds with a groan, parting his mouth as per Cas' demand. Their rhythm picks up, tongues sliding over each other, teeth clashing every so often.
Dean shifts his hips so they align with Cas', making them both gasp. Without breaking the kiss, Cas twists his head again and puts his hands on Dean's hips. Cas' hips jerk upward in time with his pulling down on Dean's sweatpants, moaning every time Dean thrusts his hips down in response.
At some point, Dean remembers that he needs to breathe, and he slows the kiss down and lifts his lower half off of Cas. He ends up with just Cas' bottom lip between his own again, and they stay like that, Dean unwilling to break contact.
In the end, he puts a bit of pressure on Cas' mouth just before pulling away, staring at it as he does so. Cas notices the gaze, and licks his bitten-red lips, slowly sliding his tongue over them. Dean knows Cas can feel his reaction, and he licks his own lips hungrily. He flicks his gaze up to Castiel's eyes.
"Hello, Dean," Cas pants, and it's almost sinful how far gone he already sounds. Dean promptly goes along with the business of getting Cas out of his pants.
The "feather frenzy" vaults Cas' body up to meet Dean's. Their chests slap hotly, faces inches apart, the force of it making them grunt. Cas wobbles on his wings, so he grabs at Dean to steady himself, his right hand automatically going over the scar on Dean's shoulder, his left wrapping around Dean's back. Steadied and still panting, Cas looks up at him.
"Hello, Cas," Dean growls.
They sit in their boxers facing each other, legs crossed on the bare mattress. Dean looks at Cas' wings with wonder in his eyes, and Cas tries not to blush under the scrutinizing gaze.
"They're really awesome," Dean says simply after some time.
"Thank you, Dean."
Cas smiles at him, but Dean still hasn't met the angel's eyes. He reaches his arms out while Cas watches with curiosity. His fingers brush Cas' shoulders before settling behind them on the wings. He tugs at them slightly. He finally looks up at Castiel.
"That's fine?"
"That's fine."
He tugs a bit harder.
"That too?"
"Yes, Dean. They're sturdier than you seem to give them credit for."
Dean drops his gaze apologetically. Cas notices some unknown emotion building on what he can see of Dean's dipped face. When he looks up, though, it's easy enough to place. Dean looks sad. Cas examines his drooping expression, trying to understand why he'd feel that way. Before he gets the chance to, Dean pulls him into a hug.
It's abrupt, but not unwelcome. Dean is holding on quite tightly, fistfuls of feathers in each hand. Cas wraps his arms around him, trying to soothe Dean by rubbing his back with one hand, still unsure as to what Dean is thinking about. Cas is immediately worried when he hears Dean let out a shuddering breath, so he pulls back to get a look at the hunter's face. His cheeks are wet.
"Dean. What's wrong?"
"I love you."
Cas' wings flex, mirroring the fluttering of his heart at the words. It isn't the first time Dean has said this, but each time is special. Unfortunately, this one is particularly strange.
Cas looks back at Dean, confused as to why this emotion would elicit this response. These weren't happy tears. He tries again, cupping Dean's cheek with his hand.
"I love you, too. What's wrong?"
Dean looks away, composing himself, then glances at Castiel's wings.
"They weren't there once," he starts. Cas feels a faint ache in his back at the memory, and his hand falls.
"I remember. Why are you thinking about this now?"
"Because what if they aren't there again one day? And you leave because you think I only love you because you're an angel?"
Ah. There it is.
"Dean, I would never suspect you of that."
"But what if I didn't get the chance to tell you how much you mean to me? And not just your vessel or your grace, but everything. The way you are, just…your everything…how you tilt your head, the way you talk, your smile when you mean it, how much you care about me. Whatever angel manifestation leaks out is beautiful, sure, but it's not you. It's you right now but maybe one day it won't be, and I don't care. You're so much more than an angel, Cas, you're my friend, you're my life, you're my—"
"Dean!" Cas has to shout over the growing distress of the man sitting in front of him. He puts a reassuring smile on his face. "It's okay. I know."
Dean looks up at him, his expression lighter as if a small weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Cas grabs Dean's hands, tightly squeezing them. Dean squeezes back.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. And if I become human—"
"Don't say that."
"…if I become human, you're the first person I'd want to have massage my empty shoulders."
This sentence must have been too much for Dean, because he buries his face in Cas' chest. He murmurs something that Cas can't make out.
"What?"
Dean lifts his head, a bright smile on his lips. Cas is incredibly relieved, and a matching smile forms on his face. Dean closes his eyes and leans forward, putting his forehead on Castiel's.
"I'll be there. I give good massages."