Dean lays on his stomach on the motel bed, his entire body vibrating. When he first walked in and saw that Magic Fingers machine on the bedside table, he grinned. That machine was the best thing that had ever happened to him - well, that is, until he found some real magic fingers.
"Right there," he moans into the pillow, hands fisting the bedspread. "God, just like that – fuck, Cas."
All of his muscles are coiled tight, twitching and trembling with each brush of Castiel's wings to his lower back. The feathers don't press or knead or massage, like Castiel's talented hands, but they send jolts of electricity straight through to his bones, and it's a form of pleasure unlike anything he's ever experienced before.
Cock swollen and leaking, he thrusts down against the bed for a little friction just as Castiel's right wing settles on his shoulder blades.
"Oh, fuck, just don't - don't fucking stop, Cas," he chokes out, eyes rolling back into his head. "Don't you dare stop."
"Dean," Castiel murmurs in reply, low and in the back of his throat, and it's an agreement and a promise and an assurance all at once. While his right wing stays up near the back of Dean's neck, Grace seeping through his skin and lighting up his nerve endings, his left wing trails down in the dip of Dean's lower back, and the hunter arches up with a cry.
"Please," he whimpers. "Please, Cas, I want - I need -"
Castiel hushes him with a palm to his cheek, thumb petting over the bone. The angel rises up on his knees, still clothed from the waist down, and straddles the backs of Dean's naked thighs. "Are you sure?" he asks.
Last time they did this, Dean blacked out completely, and it took him hours to come to. The recovery was hell, but the man wouldn't stop talking about it, wouldn't let it go, and had finally convinced Castiel to try it again.
"Yeah, c'mon Cas, I want it so bad," he pleads. He thrusts his ass up into the air, as if to emphasize his words. "Give it to me. Make me come."
Castiel growls at that, hands flying out to grip Dean's waist, holding him steady. He keeps one of his wings by Dean's shoulders, lightly tracing patterns down his arms and across his back, but the other curves back and delicately touches down on the hunter's ass, making him buck and moan.
The feathers are dark blue, so dark that they almost look black, but Dean has seen them and studied them enough times to know their true color. The edges are permanently singed from the angel's trip into Hell, and Dean should be ashamed that he's the reason for Castiel's tarnished wings, but he's not. He's proud. It's his mark on Cas, just like the angel left his mark on Dean.
Those same feathers that soar through time and space now cradle Dean's balls, flutter between his legs, and the hunter screams.
"Cas, now, you gotta do it now, I'm not gonna -"
"Yes, Dean," Castiel says, deceptively calm.
Suddenly the feathers along the tips of Castiel's wings are being thrust inside Dean, thin and light, but the Grace that they carry is filling him up, burning him from the inside out, and he's arching off the bed, bending farther than he thought was humanly possible, trying to ride out the overwhelming feeling but it's too much, still too much, and tears leave wet tracks down his cheeks as they fall down to the pillows.
Castiel stays inside, watching Dean convulse, breathless with the beauty of the hunter writhing beneath him. He soaks up every gasp, every cry, every scream, sees Dean's skin glow and pimple up with goosebumps. It's like electricity, when he's inside Dean, for both of them. His eyes stay glued to the side of Dean's face, just visible from where it's pressing into the pillows, as he quickly unzips and pulls out his cock, stroking one, two, three before he's pulsing hot come onto Dean's back just like Dean is spurting onto the bedspread.
When he comes down, sees Dean still bucking and sobbing, he gently pulls his feathers out and folds his wings into his back, out of the human plane of existence. Any more stimulation and Dean might be irreparably damaged. Castiel rolls him onto his back, gasping and shaking, and runs his hands along Dean's ribcage and arms, up over his neck and down his thighs. He wipes the tears away from Dean's cheeks and whispers in Enochian, trying to calm the hunter down. At least this time he didn't fall unconscious.
When Dean's breathing has slowed to the average pace of someone who just sprinted a few miles without stopping, Castiel smiles and tumbles to his side on the bed, tucking himself up against Dean. He still rubs his hands all over Dean's skin in an effort to soothe the last thrums of electricity running through his partner.
After thirty or so minutes, when Castiel has already defaulted into his trance-like state of meditation he occupies when the hunter sleeps, Dean whispers, "Cas…"
"Yes, Dean?" Castiel sits up quickly and searches Dean's face, kisses his closed eyelids.
"That… was awesome."
The angel smiles and presses a light kiss to Dean's lips. "I'm glad." Dean pulls his arm out from underneath Castiel and wraps it around his torso, fitting them together even tighter.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Dean."
Dean grins, feeling the last bits of Castiel's Grace streamlining through his veins, as he fades into sleep.