Title : Warm Me Up
Disclaimer : I do not own any of the Characters of Supernatural.
Genre : Romance
Warning : Contains maleXmale content. OOCness.
Summary : Dean feels cold, and Michael offers to warm him up.
Dean rubs his arms again, frantically, to rid himself of the coolness leaking into the Impala. It's snowing. Dean has nothing against snow, but when he's on a hunt, particularly when using the Impala to chase a culprit, he'd like for the paths to be without snow, that way he won't end up getting stuck in the middle of practically nowhere.
Like he is now.
It's only been an hour since Dean veered off the road, chasing a Wendigo he and Sam were hunting, but he alone caught sight of. They are about half a mile from one of the crime scenes, where Dean suspected the thing might be. He was right, but without Sam, he has neither caught the monster or found a means to get back to their motel.
He's utterly stuck.
To make matters worse, there is little to no reception on his cell phone.
Sam is currently at their motel looking up case files. They originally planned for Dean look for further evidence, certain they won't run into any law enforcement at this time. After sunset. Just brilliant.
The tires of the Impala are half-way covered in snow, and Dean didn't think to bring a proper coat on his way out. If he had just stayed on the road, he could have driven away without a problem, but no, he went right after the thing as it dashed towards a wooded area where snow is high and abundant.
If Sam were indeed here, he would send Dean one of his nastiest bitch faces.
It makes Dean only a tiny bit happy he's alone.
"Hello, Dean."
Drop that thought.
The hunter spins around and spots a young man with dark hair sitting in the back seat, looking calm and sure of himself. There's only been one young man who keeps pestering him whenever he's alone, and that's Michael. No, Dean hasn't made mention to this unusual occurrence in which Heaven's most powerful archangel visits him for mundane matters like talks, some of which turn into one-sided scolding, Dean being on the receiving end.
It's annoying, most of the time, and Dean sees no reason to be pleased with Michael's presence today. Not yet.
"The fuck you want, Michael?"
Dean turns away, hoping somewhat to see the Wendigo come back out, so he can chase after it on foot and do so knowing they won't be far apart from each other, close enough for Dean to shoot its brains out. It doesn't matter if this doesn't kill it, Dean is mad enough to go into torture-mode.
"Nothing much."
Michael answers, looking as smug as ever. Dean can still see him in the rearview mirror, just sitting there, slightly hunched over, hands clasped together between his knees, and a small smile radiating confidence on his face. He's wearing his dad again, Dean notes. Despite their many conversations, Dean never asked why Michael keeps appearing looking like young John, instead he assumes he won't like the answer.
One can easily think Michael has a really naughty reason for it.
There's silence for a while. Slowly but surely Dean is succumbing to the cold and wishes he can just sleep without fear of dying. He needs to call Sam or get someone not hell-bent on killing him to help. He doesn't ask Michael, no no, he already told the archangel that he would handle himself.
Michael only laughed.
He's laughing again right now.
"I can help you, Dean. Let me?"
Dean bites his lower lip, contemplating. The thought of Michael producing fire reminds him of how Anna died, and it puts him off taking the offer completely. He doesn't trust Michael enough not to roast him only to bring him back and do it all over again, because he can.
This is without considering the lack of hostility shown during each of their encounters.
Dean just doesn't trust angels like that, except for Castiel.
"How?"
Dean barks, after a noticeably cool breeze hits the Impala and somehow manages to reach him despite there being no cracks or holes and the windows are locked. He prays he doesn't regret asking this question.
Michael leans forward, lips a mere inch from Dean's ear. Warm breath sends tingles down Dean's spine, causing him to shudder almost violently. He know he needs something, anything to warm his body up. Anything.
"I'll let you decide."
Dean turns to face Michael, and almost scrambles away with how close their faces are. He knows this is his dad's face, back when life was so much easier for the man. However, with Michael wearing it, coming to him looking like John from back then, Dean has slowly come to view this form as representing only Michael. The way Michael behaves also does not mirror John, which helps to put Dean at ease.
As their breaths mingle, Dean can only think of one thing that will put him out of his misery. He could ask to be zapped back to the motel, but with Michael so close, looking at him with a suggestive gleam in his eyes, Dean is quickly losing his sense of logic.
He kisses the angel.
Soon enough, Michael pulls the hunter into the backseat with him. They're fortune that Dean turned off the car out of pure frustration, and it's not like the Impala is going anywhere anytime soon. Dean crawls on top of Michael, and watches with a sense of pride as the more powerful, more dangerous individual lies himself down onto the leather seat, eyes looking up at him with sheer amusement.
He knew what Dean was going to decide.
He knew this was going to happen.
If Dean wasn't so busy caressing the archangel, he would've punched him. Broken hand or not, Michael deserves some rough teaching. Dean trails kisses allover the archangel's skin, smothering him with his need for the other. He seriously hopes Michael isn't just teasing him and will push him off before they reach the good part.
After Dean pulls down Michael's trousers, he becomes highly certain there will be no resistance.
Michael smirks at him, delighted with how Dean finally trusts him. The hunter does, but not with everything. He'll trust Michael to let him have his way with the archangel, but he will forever reject any suggestion that they share a body. There will never be that "yes".
Dean begins stroking Michael, causing the ever-smiling angel to moan, eyes closed. The hunter continues to kiss every inch of Michael exposed to him. He isn't going to strip them completely (as tempting as that sounds) not in this weather. Maybe Michael can handle the cold, but Dean can't and he needs as much heat as he can get.
The moans grow louder the harder and faster Dean strokes. He's got his other hand undoing his own trousers, the fingers moving with such eagerness he's slipped and missed twice. Once done, Dean brings that very same hand up to his lips and sucks, his eyes on Michael the entire time, still slightly worried he won't be allowed to go all the way. There's doubt regarding Michael's level of experience. Castiel is still a really old virgin, so that would make Michael pitifully old.
Hopefully, this will become a really good first time, if Michael shares Castiel's excuse of "never having the occasion", which sounds possible since he's the leader of Heaven, but what makes Dean suspicious is how calm he is about all this, how unflinching he is with every touch and kiss and everything else Dean does to prepare them both.
Michael simply groans when Dean inserts his index finger, and he finds the walls tight and inexperienced.
This quickly changes as Michael eases into the feeling. He's still not looking at Dean, preferring to keep his eyes closed like he's merely using his non-visual senses to enjoy this. Dean's had a few partners who do this too, so he doesn't bother complaining.
Whatever makes the archangel feel good.
By now, the inside of the Impala is warm, very warm. Dean can feel himself sweating as he coats another finger and pushes it inside the angel. He's probably going straight to Hell for this, for attempting to have sex with an angel of the Lord (which he already did, but she wasn't really an angel yet) who is also in the guise of his father.
He prays John Winchester doesn't find out, wherever he is.
After using three fingers, Dean leans over Michael and watches, intently, as the archangel slowly opens his eyes. Beautiful. His eyes, no longer the original green, are now a beautiful, dark hue. He's panting, looks half exhausted and no longer like the douchebag Dean knows him to be.
His initial plan was to wait for Michael to relax, but when a hand grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him down for a rough kiss, Dean throws this whole idea out the window.
Dean pulls back when it becomes too hard to breathe. Grabbing the angel's thighs, he pulls them apart and adjusts himself so he's in between and ready to slam right into the angel. Michael smirks, seemingly unaffected by how hot the car has gotten. It's a nice feeling, really.
"Take me, Dean."
It sounds like a challenge, hardly like a plea Dean tends to expect when he reaches this moment. So, without further ado, Dean pushes in, without pause, until he's fully inside Michael. The moan that erupts from the archangel...is glorious. Dean can almost hear the low-pitched, too-painful-to-hear true voice of Michael.
He thinks to himself, that despite Michael's dare, this was a little overwhelming.
True or not, it won't stop Dean from moving.
He does after a minute.
The pace starts off as rhythmic, perfectly timed. The kisses are random, granted to the angel whenever Dean feels like giving, or whenever the squeeze on his arms hurt enough to compel him. The faster Dean thrusts into Michael, the louder and sweeter the sounds become, but never back to that intense noise he heard when he forced himself in, causing tiny bleeding.
"Dean...Dean...!"
The sound of his name being called gets him to hasten his movements, even if he longs for this moment to last. He can barely control himself, and blames half of the reason on how good Michael looks in his father's skin with cheeks flushed red and appearing nothing but disheveled. So unlike the usual look.
Nails dig into Dean's arms as he releases into Michael, too soon for satisfaction but the overall event took away the coolness, leaving them both soaked and hot and with no need to carry on. Dean carefully pulls out, and thinks against lying on top of Michael, still somewhat afraid of what Michael - THE archangel - would do.
He's already done a lot to prove Michael not a threat, but Michael is just so hard to read.
Nearly pressed against the door, Dean watches as Michael begins to rise up, exhaustion written in his every movement and exhale. He extends two fingers to Dean's forehead, and before he has time to react, to realize the meaning, Dean is back at the motel, fully dressed, and annoyed.
Sam drops a stack of papers to the floor, eyes wide and mouth ajar.
"How'd you get here!?"
He asks, and Dean, from where he's sitting on the dining chair, can only think up a rather honest, yet confusing answer.
"I flew?"
The Impala arrives at the driveway, shortly after.
Owari