Dean had always been close to Castiel.

A "profound bond," the angel had called it. Over the years that Cass had joined Dean and his brother on their monster hunts, the profound bond had sprouted to friendship, and then a begrudging, but undeniable, love. While Dean liked to put on the façade of being a ladies' man, those close to him knew that he played for both teams, though rarely. There had been one friend in high school, and a one night stand the year he knew he was going to hell, because hey, why not, right? Sex is sex, and as far as Dean was concerned, any sex is awesome. But after the abuse he had endured at the hands of Alistair in hell, being close to the same sex had somehow lost its appeal.

Until Cass.

The two were never exclusive. Cass never asked him to be, and Dean never wanted to be. So, occasionally, they would share a romp in the hay, especially after stressful missions, or, most often, after they'd gotten into an argument. Angry sex was Dean's favorite kind. In fact, that was how their occasional love-making had started, the first time. Cass demanding that Dean "show him some respect," and if respect involved being bent over the hood of Baby, then sure, Dean showed him some, and more.

But now, back from Purgatory, Dean's heart ached for Cass. He would give anything to hold the shorter, slighter body next to his, to run his fingers through soft feathers, to gaze into Caribbean blue eyes.

But Cass was gone. Lost. Dean couldn't save him. Once more the painful recollection of losing his grip on his best friend's hand stabbed through his mind, bringing a film of tears to his eyes. It didn't help that he kept having hallucinatory glimpses of him, first walking along the road, then standing forlornly outside the window, drenched in rain.

At least, Dean thought he'd lost him, thought that he'd been hallucinating him…until he looked in the mirror after washing his face at the sink to find a bedraggled, bearded Cass standing before him.

"Hello Dean."

"Cass!"

Sam jumped up from the hotel room bed, whirling to look through toward his brother and his sudden visitor.

"I…" He made eye contact with Dean and saw the longing, the hurt, and then sudden joy there. "I'll give you two a minute," he said, his long legs propelling him out of the hotel room to find something to do.

"How are you…?" Dean stammered, "I thought…" He stopped being surprised, dropped the face towel he was still clutching, knuckles white, and instead put his palms on either side of Cass's beard-roughened face. One corner of Cass's dry, cracked lips raised and his oh-so-blue eyes twinkled. Before he could respond, he found himself pressed back against the wall, Dean's lips smashed forcefully, desperately against his. Their tongues locked, probing lips, gums and teeth, until they both pulled back slightly, foreheads still pressed together, Dean's hand on the back of Cass's neck now, almost as if he were afraid that if he lost contact, Cass would disappear again. They both were breathing quickly, lust now filling in the small gaps left around the joy they felt seeing one another again. Cass was still wearing dingy white scrubs that looked browner now, than white, and that ridiculous, too-large tan trench coat. Most people, upon seeing such a dingily dressed individual, with a several-week old beard and stains of blood and other, viler substances spread over his face and body, would have gone out of their way to avoid Cass. Dean, instead, wrapped his arms around the angel…his angel.

Though he was exhausted, Cass clutched weakly at the front of Dean's shirt with both hands, breathing in deeply through his nose, taking in the hearty, warm smell of him, all cotton, sweat, leather, oil…Dean. Dean swept a stray hair from Cass's forehead…he badly needed a haircut…and a shower…but Dean didn't care.

"Cass," he said again, as though uttering the angel's name would further anchor him here, ensuring that he was, in fact, real. He gently tugged at the lapels of Cass's coat and nudged him toward the hotel bed.

When the backs of his knees felt mattress, Castiel bent to sit on the edge, gazing lovingly up into Dean's face, which was pinched into a look that told him that he was fighting back tears.

"I thought I'd lost you," Dean said, straddling Cass's knees before gently pushing the angel back so that he would shimmy further onto the bed. Cass obliged and now laid fully on his back on the bed, with Dean, one knee on either side of Cass's hips, hovering above him. Usually, at this point in their romps, Cass would "mojo" away their clothing, but Dean saw the desperate ache of fatigue in those crystalline eyes, and began peeling off his own cloths before gently tugging first the coat, and then the scrubs and underwear from Castiel's slim frame.

There was no sense of urgency as there usually was when they snuck a romp together in a hotel room shared with Sam; ordinarily if they took too long, they had to deal with his complaints later. But while Dean's movements were loving, languid; he did not waste time searing each patch of bared skin with a kiss, as was his usual style. Though he was definitely the "love them and leave them" style, with the notable exception of Lisa, Dean was a generous, thoughtful lover…usually. Now, however, while his movements caressed Castiel softly, he was focused on a particular goal…be as close to Cass as possible. So, now that they lay, skin to skin, Dean forced himself to ignore the obvious beating Cass's body had taken. There were slowly healing gashes, and angry, yellow bruises smattered over the pale skin on the angel's legs and abdomen, and his whole body was grimy and covered in a thin sheen of dried, fear-smelling sweat. His ribs protruded unhealthily, looking as though they were attempting to escape his chest. As Dean's eyes flitted over Cass's face, he saw the deep wrinkles surrounding Cass's eyes, and was mildly horrified to see those usually beautiful blue eyes sunken so deep into their sockets.

Apparently, when his powers were removed in Purgatory, it meant that Cass's body had slowly starved. As that thought cross the hunter's mind, he almost stopped, instead guiltily realizing that Cass needed to heal, and more notably, to eat. But before he could suggest this, Cass pulled him down into a searing kiss, a soft, gravelly cry of, "Dean," escaping his dry lips just before. Summoning all of his strength, Castiel flipped them over, so that now Dean was on his back sprawled on the bed, and Castiel was sitting on Dean's hips so that their hardened members were pressed bottom to bottom, balls pushed comfortably together. With a great, heaving sigh and a burst of light, Castiel manifested his wings, eager to feel Dean's fingers shuffle through the now-tattered feathers. Castiel leaned forward over Dean, grinding his urgent hardness against Dean's, eliciting a rough groan from the hunter's throat. He nipped at Dean's jaw and gave one great, slow flap of his wings to draw Dean's attention to them. Taking the hint, Dean reached up and ran his fingers over the stringy sinew and rough protrusion of bone to hard muscle, all covered by feathers.

Under ordinary circumstances, Dean would be hard-pressed to think of anything softer than the warm, grey feathers that covered the angel's wings, but now, the wings, like the rest of Castiel, were dirty, worn and in desperate need of repair. Still, he forced this thought from his mind, instead focusing on bringing Cass pleasure. He gently re-ordered the feathers he found out of line, zipping up ruffled feathers as he'd seen birds, and Cass, of course, do on many occasions. He slicked each handful of feathers down, like a magician riffling through a familiar card deck.

Castiel shuddered and groaned under this treatment, the first kind touches he'd felt in what seemed like years. There were so many questions that remained unanswered, and so much atonement he felt he still owed…who? God? The angels? Both, he thought regretfully. What was the phrase he'd heard Sam use before? "All of the above." Yes, that fit. But, for now he pressed those thoughts away, allowing himself this selfish pleasure, this warm human below him, so kind, so brave, so achingly beautiful.

Don't step on that fish, Castiel…big plans for that fish… He felt a sudden unwelcome lump in his throat and swallowed it away. Of all the people in the entire universe…this one was the most important to Castiel. He felt his chest swell with love and again leaned down, not for a kiss this time, but to gently rest his face on Dean's chest, just over his heart.

Castiel closed his eyes and let the steady lub dub lub dub lub dub relax away his guilt, pain, tears, all of it. That could come later. Now, now there was only Dean.

Dean was surprised, when next Cass made eye contact, to see the steady white-silver gleam of Cass's true form shining through the pupils. The intense look the angel gave him was almost terrifying, if it hadn't been so simultaneously beautiful. Cass looked away for a moment, bringing his hand to his mouth and reaching behind his own hips. Dean watched as Cass rocked back and forth on his own fingers, sighing as he sunk down on them, stretching himself to receive Dean's bulk. Dean tipped his hips upward, and moved his arms to pull Cass gently down by his wings. He let Cass set the pace, not pulling him down too quickly, but with enough force to encourage him to…well, get to the point, as it were.

Castiel and Dean both groaned quietly, Dean at the exquisite feeling of his dick being surrounded by warm, moist flesh, and Castiel at the full, almost painful feeling of pressure, and then the mind blowing explosion of pleasure as the head of Dean's member pressed into his vessel's prostate.

Castiel had never become accustomed to the feeling of having someone enter what was intended by nature to be an exit. When Dean had first suggested it to him, he'd nearly refused. It sounded ridiculous. But then he'd tried it, and he thought that perhaps he finally understood why so many religious figures insisted that this was wrong even though God had no problem with the behavior…if all human men found out how good having their prostate stroked felt, there was a strong possibility that humans would go extinct. Unfortunately, at least sometimes, sex had to have a purpose other than pleasure.

But now, pulling himself back into the moment and away from his usually musings, Castiel reveled in the tight, warm feeling of Dean inside him as he moved up and down the long shaft, first slowly, and then with more urgency, as he placed his hand over his own cock and stroked it to match the rhythm he was riding Dean. Dean threw his head back with pleasure, his hips popping up to apply more force, meeting Castiel's ass cheeks with a dull pop pop pop with every desperate thrust. Castiel used his free hand to roughly grab a wad of Dean's hair, his mouth pressed to Dean's as he grunted animalistically into the kiss. Dean cried out, first a non-committal groan, then a harsh whispered,

"Caaaaassssss," he hissed out as he felt fireworks going off in his belly. He was dangerously close to the edge, as Cass's movements drove him closer and closer. The angel's rough breathing in his ear aroused him further, and, pulling himself together for the last stretch he had in him, he removed his hands from Cass's wings and instead grabbed the thin hips, slamming Cass forcefully onto his lap over and over, both of them groaning, and then screaming in ecstasy. Cass's wings flared out, muscles flexing under feathers, pushing a dull breeze through the sweat and sex smelling hotel room. With a shriek of pleasure, Castiel felt himself coming first, the tell-tale flare of electricity through his abdomen, and then his balls, and finally his cock making his hand's movements over his own flesh more urgent. He sprayed his seed over Dean's belly as Dean followed him over the brink shortly afterward, burying himself deep inside Cass.

Castiel collapsed over Dean, letting his wings indolently relax over them, feathers rustling quietly. Sweat beaded on his brow and rolled down dirty skin before dropping onto Dean's chest, leaving a trail of slightly cleaner skin behind on his face. Dean wiped the droplet off and rubbed it between two fingers, smiling slightly.

"You need a bath, man, you stink," he said simply. "And that beard is really rough," he chuckled.

Castiel, more exhausted now from their efforts, simply nodded. Dean shifted beneath him and felt himself slip from inside Cass. They both groaned from the movement, and Castiel lifted himself off Dean, willing his wings away and sauntering to the bathroom. Dean thought that he was going to hop into the shower, but saw that Cass simply picked up a washcloth and wet it, wiping the majority of Dean's seed from between his legs before putting his filthy clothes back on.

Dean lifted a brow at him quizzically.

"Sam is back," Castiel answered the unspoken question. Dean nodded and yanked his clothes back on quickly. Sure enough, about thirty seconds later came a knock at the door.

"Come in, Sammy," Dean said. Sam entered, his face showing obvious concern, but also a fair bit of embarrassment.

"Are you guys, uh…done?" he asked awkwardly, his face reddening.

"Yeah, come on. We've got a lot to talk about," Dean responded, giving Cass a significant look. They may have made up a bit for lost time, but Castiel still had a lot of explaining to do.