Author's Note: SPN posts tonight, everyone. Well, I guess I was asking for it. I was poking around on the kinkmeme, and this bunny from two years ago was going begging, and it just leapt all over me. The original prompt ran thusly: "REQUEST: Dean/Cas, crazy flapping feather sex. Cas is embarrassed by his wings during sex, specifically because they just won't stay hidden during sex, no matter how hard he tries. As soon as his concentration is broken by Dean's hands and mouth on him, his wings explode out from their hidden realm. Lots of flapping, wing-spreading, ruffling happy-wing-sex ensues." That's... pretty much the summation of this piece. You know how sometimes prompts morph, and take on lives of their own, and are horribly ill-behaved and end up looking nothing like the original goal? Yeah, that didn't happen this time. About the only part that wasn't explicitly from the prompt was the whole angel-taboo thing, but hopefully it works for the prompter. I figured, with how un-self-conscious Cas usually is, there would need to be a damn good reason for him to be embarrassed.

Warnings: Smut, M/M, wing!kink, fairly explicit slash.

Disclaimer: Lamentably, I most certainly do not own Supernatural.

A.N.2: Fic title is a line from the gorgeous song "Lady of the Lake" by the insanely talented Heather Dale. The song has no bearing whatsoever on the fic, it just happened to be stuck in my head when I was writing and I realized that line would make a great title.

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It wasn't like Castiel wanted to be the pathetic, nerdy angel who couldn't get laid. Every time Dean cracked a joke about virgin angels, or Sam sent him another painfully sympathetic look, Castiel kind of wanted to take flight and just get away from everyone who had ever heard of sexual intercourse. It wasn't that he was unattractive, neither his vessel by humans standards nor his true form by angelic standards could be judged as unappealing; indeed, in the beginning, he had had many angels complimenting his looks and seeking to court him. Those offers and appreciative glances had died off, however, once word got around Heaven about the handsome angel with the black wings.

The big, wild, perpetually-ruffled black wings that just would. Not. Stay. Put.

In angelic culture, showing your wings was a very personal and intimate thing. Angels raised in the same flock groomed each other when they were very young to establish strong familial bonds, and once they reached maturity, mated pairs would do the same to strengthen their ties of attraction and love. One of the most important rules, though, concerned the display of wings during intercourse - the submissive partner's wings could be displayed at any point after the initial proposition, but the dominant was expected to restrain their wings until after they had already entered their partner.

This was where Castiel started to have trouble.

His wings were extraordinarily sensitive, even by angelic standards. Moreover, their wild appearance seemed to carry over into their basic nature, because they simply refused to obey him. Having come from a very small flock and not having been acclimated to physical contact as well as other angels, Castiel got distracted easily by the sensation of Grace on Grace or skin on skin, and the moment he lost focus his wings burst into the visible spectrum in all their messy darkness. Had he been a submissive, that sensitivity might even have been a desirable trait, but as a indisputable dominant? Good luck.

More than once, Castiel had tried desperately to contain them, hoping against hope that this might be the time he succeeded - then his partner would kiss him just a shade too deep, or slide a hand along his bare skin before he was expecting it, and that was all she wrote. Also more than once, the partner in question had reacted with mingled disdain and pity, and no matter what the emotions displayed they always walked away. Always. Dominants were supposed to be tough, overbearing, protective, indomitable - for a dominant angel to be so overwhelmingly sensitive and unable to control himself was simply pathetic, in the eyes of the Host.

So, Castiel stopped trying. He told himself that it wasn't that bad, that the other angels might seem to think it was a tragedy but that really, he couldn't miss what he'd never had: he was a virgin, and not overly used to affectionate touch anyway, so it wasn't like he would spend his life pining over it.

Then Dean Winchester came tearing through his carefully constructed life like some insanely gorgeous whirlwind, and it all went to Hell. Literally.

Because when he looked at Dean, Castiel wanted. All his preconceived notions about humans were shattered into dust, and for the first time, it wasn't an angelic being that he contemplated as a prospective mate. His Grace ached, desperate to reach out and touch, to pull the hunter close and never let him go. He wanted to wrap Dean up in his wings and keep him safe from everything that wanted to hurt him, to steal the hunter away from the world and lock him up somewhere safe and warm where no one else would ever glimpse the beauty of his exquisitely crafted flesh or know the brilliance of his breathtaking soul. He wanted to cradle Dean's soul in his arms again, Grace threading through every inch of flesh and spirit to stitch him back together and make him whole in spite of all he'd suffered: he wanted to pin Dean down in a nest of cushions and silks and feathers from his own wings and make the hunter scream his name in ecstasy. He wanted Dean in every way possible, more ways than he had known existed before they met, and he could have none of them.

He wasn't a fit dominant for a common angel, let alone the Righteous Man.

But then, wonder of wonders, Dean began to respond to Castiel's involuntary overtures. The glances that lingered a little too long, graduating into full-blown staring contests full of barely-repressed heat and wordless longing: the complete lack of personal space when it came to each other only, edging up as close to the other as they could get without actually touching; one watching the other in quiet moments, supposedly unnoticed, pretending that they weren't staring like lovelorn fools even when they both knew the truth. For a time, Castiel let himself get swept up in the romance and bliss of it all, content to forget that there was a line drawn in the sand that not one of his relationships had ever crossed. Lady Fate, it seemed, had other plans though.

To his credit, Dean brought up the subject with extraordinary tact.

They were stretched out on Dean's bed together, half-entwined and sharing lazy kisses as they came down from the adrenaline high of a successful hunt. Sam had packed himself off to the library an hour ago, declaring that he was sick of Dean and Castiel's eye-fucking and that he would be getting his own room when he got back, so don't wait up. Aside from doing a lot to soften Castiel's attitude on the whole 'demonic blood-drinking abomination' issue, this heroic gesture had won Sam a grateful grin from Dean and the promise of a diner that actually served non-deep-fried options for breakfast in the morning. No sooner had the door closed and locked behind Sam than Dean was across the room and pulling Castiel down onto the bed, wrapping the angel up securely in his arms and settling in for a good long session of making out.

Castiel was amazed at how willing Dean had been to go slow so far, never pushing or asking for more than Castiel was ready to give, and so he was less surprised that it happened and more that it took so long when Dean's hand stilled on Castiel's waist and the hunter pulled back from the kiss a little to study him. Dean's spring-green eyes were warm and soft as he murmured, "So, Cas..." His breath was grazing warm over Castiel's lips, and the slow circling motion of his thumb on the angel's hip was terribly distracting. "Not tryin' to rush you, angelcakes, but when do you think you'll be ready for a bit more?"

Castiel felt heat rise to his cheeks, a sensation he'd never experienced - even in a vessel - until he met Dean. The endearments that Dean used to address him never failed to make him squirm a little, warmth blooming inside his Grace; among angels, only mated pairs were permitted to use such terms of affection, and it made him feel almost giddy to think of himself and Dean as such. He dropped his gaze, eyes wandering over the lines of Dean's sculpted chest beneath his worn T-shirt as he gnawed on his lower lip anxiously, voice coming out softer and more timid than he had expected. "I... Dean, there's something you should know."

He could feel Dean frowning, and the hunter's circling thumb slowed, the motion more soothing than arousing now despite how low on his hip Dean's hand was resting. "What is is, sweetheart?"

Castiel's blush deepened, and he forced himself to look up and meet Dean's eyes as he said, a bit shakily, "Dean - part of the reason I'm still a virgin is because... Icantcontrolmywingsduringsex."

He blurted out the last bit in a frantic rush, feeling like a vice had just closed around his chest. Dean just stared at him, blinking; finally, he managed, "Could you run that by me again?"

Castiel bit his lip hard, eyes falling shut as he mumbled, "Dominants aren't supposed to display their wings until after they have already mounted their partner. To show your wings any sooner is considered a sign of poor etiquette at best, and at worst a lack of self-control that is regarded as absolutely shameful for a dominant angel. My wings are very sensitive, though, and I get distracted too easily: I can't even keep them in long enough to get fully undressed. I only tried once or twice - the last time, in ancient Egypt, my prospective partner laughed at me and said that no one would want a dominant who couldn't even control themselves. That's when I just... stopped trying."

"Oh, Cas." Dean sounded like he'd had all the air punched out of him: Castiel's cheeks were burning now, feeling as though he might self-immolate from shame, but Dean's gentle fingers under his chin tilted his head up and brought him eye-to-eye with a beautiful green gaze absolutely brimming with compassion.

"Cas, that's... I'm so sorry. If I could get my hands on that feathered dick right now... but you know that stuff doesn't matter to me, right?"

Castiel hesitated a little, gazing up at Dean in dawning hope. "It doesn't?"

Despite the fact that Dean as human - the first human Castiel had ever so much as kissed - it had never really occurred to Castiel that a human might not care about wing protocol. Dean's eyes held only a mixture of warmth and sympathy, though, no mockery or disgust.

"Of course not, Cas." the hunter said, smiling fondly as he ran a hand gently down his angel's side. He leaned down to press a soft kiss onto the angel's mouth, murmuring against his soft lips, "Somehow, in spite of all the awful things I've done, I got lucky enough to win you, Cas. You're a literal angel, and the best thing that's ever happened to me to boot. You think I care about a few minutes' difference in when I see your wings?"

Castiel allowed himself a long, soft sigh, body relaxing immensely as the tension bled away. His lips quirked into a smile, and he looked up at Dean, a teasing light glittering in his eyes as he whispered, "In that case, I think I'm ready now."

Dean's green eyes lit up, and his plush lips curled up in a dazzling smile. "Are you sure?" he murmured, conscientious to the last, even though his hands were already stroking along Castiel's ribs and waist, smoothing down his flanks in strokes that were somehow both calming and arousing at once. Castiel drew in a shallow, hitching breath, shifting languidly into the delightful touch as he breathed,

"Oh, yes. Definitely."

A soft chuckle echoed between them before Dean moved in and down, warm lips sealing neatly over Castiel's. The kiss started gentle, almost chaste - then the hunter's lips parted, and a skilled tongue slicked over Castiel's lips and coaxed them apart, and the angel's blood ignited.

Without conscious thought, Castiel surged up against his hunter, rolling them over effortlessly. Dean's startled huff of laughter was lost in Castiel's eager mouth as the angel straddled his mate and settled himself across Dean's thighs, hips twitching in unconscious little abortive rolls as he licked deep into Dean's mouth and pulled the hunter into a series of long, deep, drugging kisses. Dean gave back as good as he got, mouth hungry and demanding: Castiel flattened his palms out across his lover's chest, shivering a little in appreciation of the hard-won, hard-coiled muscle beneath his touch. He curled his fingers in a little tighter, reveling in the feeling of Dean warm and hard beneath him as he sank into pleasure.

Meanwhile, though thoroughly distracted by the feeling of Castiel mapping out his mouth with a questing, eager tongue, Dean hadn't lost sight of his original goal of relaxing the angel and showing him just how much Dean didn't care about angelic propriety. While Castiel was efficiently distracted by Dean's tongue curling hot and slick in his mouth, the hunter's hand crept down and slid up under the angel's shirt, finally getting to feel silky skin stretched taut and smooth over the chiseled lines of a lean ribcage.

That was all it took. Castiel arched against his mate, crying out into Dean's mouth as his wings exploded into view. There was a loud crash as the feathered appendages buffeted against the bedside table, a hideously tacky lamp toppling to the floor and shattering noisily: Dean didn't even seem to notice, riveted as he was by Castiel's wings.

The huge, messy appendages had burst from Castiel's shoulders, ripping through the angel's white shirt and exploding outward like a feathered storm cloud. They arched out in great swathes of dark feathers and sturdy bone, too wide to even fully extend inside the motel room, the tips of the sweeping pinions curled against the walls on either side. The proud arch of the leading edge brought to mind the silhouette of an osprey, and Dean's breath caught in his throat at the majestic sight: the feathers themselves were silky black, the edges so uneven and soft that they seemed to be formed out of pure shadows and smoke, each feather almost prismatic with the way they caught the light and reflected it in shards of purple and blue and green. Breathless, Dean let out a choked sound and tore his eyes away, meeting the wide and tentative gaze of the angel who had stilled atop him. Dean's voice was hoarse with emotion.

"Cas, they're... they're fuckin' gorgeous, baby."

Castiel actually moaned a little at that, the thrill of his wings finally being found not only adequate but attractive by a mate sending a heady surge of want through his veins. His body beginning to tremble ever so slightly, he folded one wing back in slightly and dipped it, leaving the vulnerable underside unprotected as he brought it within Dean's reach and whispered to the wide-eyed hunter, "You can touch them, if you want to."

"Oh, hells yes." Dean breathed, reaching out.

The second he touched the silky feathers Castiel whimpered, jerking slightly at the waves of fiery pleasure that burned through him at the hesitant contact. Dean stilled, startled, and Castiel made a soft noise of impatience low in his throat: he stretched the wing out again and pressed it down, shoving into the warmth of Dean's hands as he groaned, "Don't stop, please, don't stop, Dean..."

Dean's green eyes glowed with sudden wickedness as he realized what had prompted the angel's earlier reaction. Abandoning his caution, he sank his fingers deep into Castiel's feathers - and, in the same breath, bucked up hard against the angel and ground their hips together.

Castiel let out a choked cry, body seizing up involuntarily at the two conflicting sources of nigh-overwhelming pleasure. The growl welled up again, rougher this time, and without thought he had slid his hands up to Dean's shoulders and slammed the hunter down into the bed. "Don't do that." he snarled, vivid blue gaze wild and hungry as he stared into Dean's heavy-lidded eyes. "Do you have - any idea - how hard it is to control myself when you- ah!" The end of his sentence was lost to another brutal roll of Dean's hips, and the human arched up enough to whisper in the angel's ear, lips tracing the shell as his hot breath tickled over the delicate skin.

"Try and stop me, sweetheart."

Castiel snarled like a wildcat and pounced.

It was nothing like the idealized, solemn, almost meditational angelic version of intercourse. As he wrestled with Dean, trying to pin the hunter down so he could finally claim him, Castiel realized in amazement that this was - this was fun. Rolling over and over in the tangled sheets, tussling playfully with his lover in a mock battle for dominance, trading teasing touches and messy kisses and ridiculously high-pitched noises of startled pleasure: it was invigorating and enjoyable and made his heart beat so fast it seemed it might burst from his chest, and suddenly Castiel understood something of why Dean had shared this with so many women. Making love could be slow and meaningful and loving, of course, that was the point of having a partner for whom you had genuine feelings - but this was a side of it that Castiel had never known of before, physical pleasure for the sake of indulgence, dancing higher and higher in ecstasy with each other not for the sealing of some grand mating ritual but just as a means of sharing something joyous and wonderful with each other. It was irreverent, and lustful, and so base and carnal that it made Castiel's wings tremble.

He loved it. Far more than an angel should.

Finally, he managed to roll Dean under himself and pin the hunter. Dean lay there, languid and indolent and heartbreakingly beautiful, gorgeous green eyes sparkling up at Castiel as he panted, "Alright. You win, sweetheart. Now, you gonna fuck me through this mattress, or am I gonna have to take steps?"

A low, vibrant sound roiled up inside Castiel's chest and burst forward to pour from his throat: halfway between purr and growl, it was deep and feral and dominant and made Dean's eyes widen in shocked arousal. Bending down over his hunter, Castiel gave in to his instincts and allowed his wings to mantle, spreading wide and curving down to press the tips against the bed and cage the man beneath him as he rumbled, "As you wish, beloved."

Dean shuddered, lips parting on a low groan of helpless desire. "Fuck, Cas..." he moaned, writhing a little in the angel's hold, arching his hips up and wrapping his legs around the angel's waist as he gasped, "C'mon, angel. Need you."

The plaintive desperation in Dean's voice ripped through Castiel's patience like tissue paper, and he decided that he could try preparing his lover the human way another time. A judicious application of Grace, and Dean was moaning like he was being paid as his clenching muscles relaxed themselves, body slicking itself from the inside out. Castiel wrapped his hands around Dean's muscular thighs, tugging the hunter closer and higher against him as he pressed almost into the hunter's body, every thread of his Grace blazing and humming as he growled a single word.

"Mine."

Then he thrust.

Dean keened for it, arching into his angel as Castiel hilted himself in his lover's body with that one, powerful shove. Castiel froze for just a moment, overwhelmed: his mind had gone utterly blank, senses overwhelmed with a blinding surge of mineyesgoodsogoodhottightpleasuregoodyesDeanMINE, but the pathetic noise Dean made shocked him out of it and he drew back and thrust again.

His wings had gone wild with the first push into Dean's vice-tight, silk-smooth, lava-hot body: they thrashed behind him uncontrollably, dark feathers sweeping the other hideous bedside lamp from the bedside set onto the floor with a crash, but neither man noticed.

Virgin or not, it didn't take much for Castiel to get the hang of things: Dean was writhing beneath him, shouting and moaning and wailing and clawing at his shoulders and clutching at his hips in a vain attempt to force him deeper, harder, faster, more. The hunter's expression was slack with pleasure, his eyes so lust-dilated that they looked almost demonic, only a thin ring of brilliant green burning around the rim. Castiel gave him what he wanted, withdrew and thrust in a brutal rhythm that a human would have struggled to maintain, plowing into him mercilessly until the hunter was literally sobbing with pleasure. Only when Dean was outright begging, please and God yes and so good, Cas, please, make me come, all yours, please baby please, did Castiel reach down and mold his hand over the print seared into Dean's shoulder before gasping, "Come, Dean."

The tension snapped and Dean arched his back completely off the bed, screaming in pleasure as he came without a single touch to his cock. Castiel cried out as Dean's body clamped down around him even tighter, almost painfully close - then Dean reached up and drove his hands into Castiel's wide-spread wings, snaking fingers between the long feathers and tugging sharply, and that was it. Castiel's back arched, a ringing cry tinged with his true Voice erupting from his throat as the world exploded in light. For a moment that seemed to last for a small eternity, he was drifting, afloat in a blind haze of nothing but ecstasy and completion. Gradually, he felt himself settle back into his body, and opened his eyes: he was sprawled across Dean's heaving chest, both of them sweat-slicked and gasping, their bodies still thrumming with pleasure. His wings were played out over the bed on both sides of the entwined pair, spilling over the edges onto the floor - and a small storm of feathers were swirling slowly to the floor, having come loose from his wings during those last few moments of all-consuming bliss.

After a few long moments, Castiel mustered the strength to gently slide free of his lover's body and shift to the left, rolling over and landing pressed up against the warmth of Dean's side. They lay there for a while, their thundering hearts slowing, until Castiel mustered the breath to ask, "Was that... good? For my first time?"

Dean made a strangled sound and twisted his neck just enough to look at the angel, eyes wide and incredulous. "Cas, that was, hands down, the best sex I've ever had in my life. You get better with practice and you're gonna kill me!"

Castiel was startled into a laugh, the last bit of tension fading from his body and leaving him boneless with satiation. They curled up together for a while, Castiel's wings still splayed out across most of the bed and draped over onto the floor: this time, it was Dean's voice that eventually roused the angel from a light, almost dozing daydream.

"So, what's the refractory time for angels?"

Castiel let his lips curl in a slow, predatory smirk. Gathering his renewed strength, he pushed himself upward then rolled over in a single smooth shove and braced himself, arms on either side of Dean's chest and caging his lover in as his wings mantled with a fluid rustle. Dean stared up at him, wide green eyes already beginning to darken again as Castiel leaned down and purred, "I wouldn't know. Why don't we find out?"

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

When Sam knocked on the door to Dean and Castiel's room the next morning, and heard Dean calmly yell for him to come in, he found himself wondering disappointedly if they had actually failed to take advantage of their time alone last night and were still engaged in their ridiculously long courtship of lingering touches and longing looks. He opened the door -

And found the entire room six inches deep in feathers.

They were everywhere. All over the floor, on the tables and chairs, clinging to the walls, some of them even stuck to the ceiling somehow. The bed nearest the door was all but buried under a mound of the sleek black things, and the other bed had a healthy coating of them as well. The feathers were of varying shapes and sizes, some slim and over a foot long, some rounded and barely two inches around, but they were all the most remarkably iridescent black that Sam had ever seen, rich midnight darkness highlighted with sapphire blue and emperor purple and even the odd hint of emerald green. Sam stopped dead in the doorway, just gaping for a moment, before he choked out, "Dude, the fuck?"

Dean laughed. He was sitting in a chair at the little kitchenette table, the chair tilted back on two legs and his feet propped on the table: the table was strewn with feathers, and Sam could see some poking out from the chair where Dean was sitting on them. Dean was happily munching a giant frosted donut, looking like the cat that had drank the cream, eaten the canary, and gotten laid all in the same night. Castiel, on the other hand, was sitting primly on the end of the less-feathered bed; he was mostly dressed, but his crisp white shirt was only half-buttoned and he was missing the suit jacket and trenchcoat, so he looked almost naked compared to his usual attire. He also looked more relaxed than Sam had ever seen him, a contented little smile playing at his lips. Dean, in answer to Sam's stunned question, snorted.

"Relax, man, Cas is gonna clean it up before we head out."

"Yeah, but why are there feathers all over the-" Sam caught himself at the last moment, turning faintly green as he shook his head rapidly. "No, wait, scratch that. I just realized that I really don't want to know."

Dean and Castiel just looked at each other and grinned.

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There we go, second Destiel fic and third Supernatural piece in total. Next piece is going to be Wincest, another of my Supernatural OTPs. Feedback makes me a very happy dragon, please feel free to leave a review, be it gushing praise or constructive criticism!