Teeth dig into lips, fingers bite into skin. Castiel gasps, eyes flying open when Dean grips him hard and rubs a tight circle under the head of his cock with a calloused thumb. Dean's still snarling, still biting and fighting and running through the memories of Purgatory and every battle after.
Castiel, powerful and endless and ancient, allows the human boxing him against the wall to overpower him. His head falls to the side in submission and contrition and Dean eats him whole.
His fingers lace into Dean's hair, in awe of the reverence of the prayers that won't come from Dean's swirling tongue and fluttering throat. Not this night, anyway. Castiel is already here, after all.
When it started, Castiel had been soft, gentle kisses to Dean's neck and begging hands open for holy water to pour across his palms in the form of Dean's sweat and cursing. Instead, Dean shoved him away, but it only made him more determined to bow and worship at the altar of a broken Plan.
Dean's voice had shaken as he saw an angel on its knees. "You don't have to do this, Cas."
Castiel quirked up one side of his mouth, a gesture he knows is entirely learned and nowhere near as smooth as when it comes from his teacher. "No, I don't. But, I've never had to do anything I've done for you, have I?"
That was all Dean was willing to hear, breaking off the proclamation before even the second line of the hymn was sung. Castiel had been yanked up and shoved back, boxed in and overpowered, revelling in every second of surrender.
For too long he's tried to remain in control, to keep himself together, to keep them away from you, Dean. Now, to just let himself be, it's the most free he's felt in longer than he can recall.
His skin won't break or tear the way a human's might under the same treatment from Dean's teeth. The bites to the sharp blades of his hips make it almost seem as if Benny had found Dean within the gang of vampires instead of finding him fighting his way out. Bruises blossom on Castiel's thighs and pelvis, rosettes and halos of mortal make, but they'll be gone in seconds. Dean growls and swallows him back down, drinking from him until white communion wine stains both their tongues, bitter and salt. Fruit of ardent worship instead of fruit from the field.
They kiss, Dean's hands clutching his hips and under his thighs. Castiel leaves himself lax, able to bend and break with whatever whim Dean expresses. The bed is soft under them, like sapling leaves from an elder tree in spring. Though, the scent here isn't of a hanging man and silver, it's of a Righteous Man and his pleased sighs.
Their fingers lace, hands clasped, asking for exaltation with every stroke and every oh yes, like that, angel. Dean no longer cares what Castiel is so long as he can be named family.
White drips between their fingers like consecrated oil ready for a blessing in His name. Dean sags and hums lowly, pressing warm kisses to Castiel's jaw that do more to purify than any baptismal fire. Castiel draws the salt of their labor to his mouth and licks them both clean, tasting the weight of Dean's life in every flash of tongue and curl of lip.
After, Dean kisses him again, plucking a heavenly harp as his tongue catches on the edges of Castiel's teeth.