A/N:This is the first fic I've ever finished – EVER! Also my first SPN, so be nice :)Erm, I'm actually really not a fan of one-shots...but meh, I had a dream about these two bad boys and I had to write it, whether it be short or long. But hey, who knows, maybe I'll write a sequel? ;)

Warnings: I'm not sure where I'd place this on the supernatural timeline...it seems to be just after Cas saves Dean and Sam from Zachariah's stage 4 stomach cancer shenanigan...so, spoilers for 5.01? Idk. Oh and there's some references to Dean's time in Hell (not half as bad as some I've read but still, better safe than sorry) and Dean gets a little...mean with Cas, but not too mean...oh fuck I'm giving the plot away ¬.¬ Just read and enjoy .Disclainmer: I don't own anything, sadly, well just the fucked up plot ;)

Itching

It was pure, undulating need that finally sent Dean Winchester teetering over the goddamn edge.

He'd itched as he watched the angel earlier, his skin crawling with a sensation that he was all too well accustomed with when around busty barmaids, only intensified. He'd watched Cas gank those so-called-holy sonsofbitches with his shiny angel sword and he'd itched.

Itched to grab the feathery bastard by the lapels of that ridiculous trench coat and mould his chapped lips to his own.

Ok, more than just his lips, if Dean was being honest with himself – which he so wasn't.

The truth was fucking scary.

It was later, in the motel, long after all the angels had done their freaky Exploding White Light shit at the mercy of Cas's sword that Dean finally realised that the angel was back: that he could count on Cas popping up unexpectedly with his beige coat and his blue tie askew and his gruff voice and his unruly hair...and God did Dean have to fight hard to stop himself from gripping the angel tight right there and sobbing with relief into his holy shoulder.

He didn't of course; Dean Winchester did not do chick-flick moments.

Instead, he just watched.

Sam was out doing Lucifer knows what, it was 3.14am and Cas had dropped by to soothe Dean's never-ending nightmares of his time in the Pit – a regular night nurse. He had woke Dean up when he placed two cool fingers to his forehead and Cas had looked like a fucking deer caught in the Impala's headlights when Dean's eyes flickered open.

The angel was standing in front of the window now, a cool breeze making the curtains swish beside him, the night sky a starry black backdrop for this ohsofuckingperfect picture of pure angelic beauty.

Dean didn't know when he's first begun to think of Cas as beautiful: maybe it was when he'd first realised he was part of Team Free Will a.k.a. A Good Guy: maybe it was in the hospital when Cas'd rattled off a list of sacrifices he'd made – I did it, all of it, for you, he'd hissed, blue eyes sharp and intense – Cas was a scary sonofabitch but Dean couldn't deny that the otherworldliness added heaps to the angels appeal.

Or maybe, Dean thought, it was when I first clapped eyes on the winged bastard in that goddamn barn.

Regardless of when, Dean was admiring Cas's beauty now.

And Cas was looking at him with such as puzzled expression that Dean wondered if he'd grown two heads.

Shit, he must've been staring.

"Dean?" The angel's gravelly voice raked over Dean's nerve endings, sending them into a frenzy.

The angel was answered with Dean's sharp intake of breath and two flushed cheeks. He looked away from Cas's intense stare – it was too much, too fucking much; Dear God, Dean was gonna lose it. His eyes searched the room for something to stare at, anything other than Cas and his holy sex appeal.

The brown stain on the fading wallpaper became the victim of Dean's death glare; he thought it vaguely resembled Jesus.

Ha-fucking-ha.

"Dean."

Cas tried again. It wasn't a question this time: it was a command and Dean felt the surge of angelic power pull the hairs on the back of his neck to attention.

Dean's eyes stayed glued to the mocking Jesus stain.

Fuck this holier-than-thou bastard and his almighty Grace.

Fuck, fuck, fuck him.

A sigh sounded throughout the room and Dean couldn't help but think it was such a human gesture. But then Castiel was around the other side of the bed that Dean sat on, crouched down to his level, right in front of him, all up in his personal fucking space, head tilted and Dean couldn't think anything but: Oh-Fucking-God.Which was totally inappropriate.

"Look at me Dean."

He didn't, he closed his eyes instead, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

Cas smelled of strawberries. Sweet, sweet strawberries laced with some sort of heavenly mojo and a tinge of aftershave. Which was ridiculous 'cause Cas didn't shave; Dean was certain that if he opened his eyes – which no way in fucking Hell was he gonna do – he would see the stubble lining that tilted, confused, puppy-dog face.

If Dean moved his face an inch forward he was certain he'd feel that very same stubble scratching across his own jaw.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm going back to Hell for thinking of stubble rubbing an Angel of the Lord.

"Dean, please..." Cas trailed off, sweet scented breath blowing onto Dean's face causing an involuntary shiver to erupt across his skin. He was concerned for him.

Fuck.

He jumped when Cas's smooth hand cupped his cheek. It was smoother than expected, warmer too. And that warmth seemed to radiate right through Dean, caressing the handprint on his shoulder – Cas's handprint – causing it to heat up to an almost unbearable level.

It itched.

But Dean didn't push Cas's hand away to be rid of the heat; he moved it.

Eyes still closed, his rough hand covered Cas's smooth one and slid the angels long fingers down his neck, past his exposed collar bone, over his shoulder then up and under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Two gasps melted into one as Cas's hand was pressed firmly against Dean's shoulder, fitting perfectly into place over the searing, itchy handprint. The relief was immediate and extreme; Dean felt soft waves of calm spreading outwards from the handprint all through his body, lapping at his very soul, searching out some of the broken shards that his time in the Pit had scattered, hidden throughout his being and replacing them into the gaping, empty holes of his soul.

Cas was healing him and one word was flowing freely throughout Dean's mind: mine.

Cas let out a moan and Dean's eyes snapped open.

The angel, Cas, Castiel, his angel, was...well...he was panting. A furious blush had claimed his pasty cheeks, his mouth was open, shining blue eyes unfocused, hooded by heavy lashes, but aimed in the general direction of Dean's own eyes and he was puffing out short, raspy breaths of air onto Dean's face.

It was one of those moments of pure madness, when the Earth itself seems off kilter and sensibility is a distant memory of a lost world.

Dean didn't hesitate – his breath hitched, frightened and excited in the back of his throat and the sensation of Cas's hand snug into the handprint on his shoulder was sending something like volts of heaven enhanced electricity coursing through his fragile human body – but he didn't hesitate.

In one fluid movement Dean's mouth was pressed firmly against Cas's parted lips and he began to kiss him hard and needy.

The angel didn't respond, didn't even seem to be breathing; he had turned to stone underneath Dean's lips.

No, fucking no! Dean thought.

Rejection caused bitter determination to arise within him. He was going to break this angel, he was itching for it, fucking itching to have this angel on his knees in front of him, giving his holy self over to Dean.

Like a man possessed, he slid his hands roughly in Cas's shirt, popping open the buttons, ripped the angel's tie from his neck and tossed it insensitively onto the floor, rammed the goddamn trench coat and shirt down over Cas's shoulders, dug his fingers into the angel's back, blunt nails and desperate fingers scratching white lines of pressure into Castiel's pink skin, all the while his mouth still working to soften the marble of Cas's lips. He pushed and pulled the angel, sucked and bit his neck, raked his fingers through his hair, stood them both up and yanked him impossibly closer, their hips grinding together.

But. Nothing.

Cas's eyes stayed firmly shut, his mouth as silent as a fucking statue and Dean was coming to the end of his tether.

"Damnit Cas!" he spat, all but throwing the angel halfway across the room, their connection broken.

Castiel's eyes opened slowly and he backed off from Dean a little, he looked startled to say the least.

"Dean..." The sound of the angel's voice caused something to stir in Dean.

Then breathing heavily, he looked at him properly, took in the sight of his angel: he was covered in bloody red marks from Dean's angry hands, his shirt was open to the waist, still tucked in his trousers and it was pushed over his shoulders, down to his forearms along with his coat, his lips were swollen – the bottom one bleeding where Dean had bit down, his hair was seriously roughed up and his hands were curled into twisted fists of despair. But none of that was what caused Dean to close his eyes and the fucking tear of guilt to curl over his eyelashes: it was Cas's eyes. They were hurt...no wait, not just hurt but...scared.

Cas...oh fuck...I scared him...fuck, fuck.

Sure Dean would be the first to admit he'd been trying to get that stick out of Cas's ass and tilt his halo a little since he first met him but damn, this shit was something different; the way he'd treated an Angel of the Lord, his Angel of the Lord - the way he'd forced himself upon him, broke Cas's skin with his nails, leaving bloody trails, dug his teeth into the soft, sensitive skin of his lips - it was all too reminiscent of Dean's happy torturing days in Hell and that scared the holy hellfire outta him.

Dean took a step towards him but the angel turned his back swiftly, head bowed.

"Please don't..." came the broken voice and that tear of guilt fell gracelessly down Dean's cheek in time with his dropping heart.

"I don't...Dean...I..."

Cas was finding it hard to form words. Well, shit, that was bad news; the angel was nothing if not coherent.

Dean continued towards him, swiping furiously at his eyes which were filling up like a fucking overflowing river. He stopped a few feet short of Castiel and tentatively reached out a hand to touch the angels back; Cas stiffened. Dean's heart dropped a little lower in his breast.

"Cas..." Dean started, "Cas I..." What? I what, Dean?

He couldn't finish, didn't know what to say to the angel, only knew that his shoulder was burning again, that itching sensation back with a vengeance because of the rapidly broken connection and Cas - pure, innocent (to an extent), angelic Cas – was the only person who could stop it, who could stop everything Dean was feeling by just one touch of his hand.

Dean smoothed his hand over Cas's flawless skin, he had healed himself then, finding his hands rubbing soothing circles into the angel's flesh and the muscles underneath which were tense and taut a moment ago were slowly but surely relaxing under his touch. He moved his hand up Cas's back, resting both hands on his shoulders and massaging the angel's neck with the pads of his thumbs. Cas sighed and Dean thought he'd hit a breakthrough. He inched closer, pressing his body up against Cas's back, hesitantly now, careful not to startle him again, and then ever-so-gently rested his head on the angel's shoulder.

Im not here to perch on your shoulder, Dean.

No, but evidently Dean found he liked perching on Cas's shoulder, liked being close to him.

"Cas," Dean started again, more sure of what he wanted to say now. "I...I need this, I need you."

Selfish bastard, his mind screamed at him. But Cas could take it, couldn't he?
He wasn't altogether sure what he was asking for: kissing? touching? a fuck? or just to know that the angel didn't hate him? that he hadn't abandoned him, that he wasn't going to?

He'd bet on the latter.

Cas's head dropped forward and Dean felt him tense up once more. No, please...

He opened his mouth to explain what he wanted, to ask again, to plead, beg, say he was willing to do anything just to feel Cas's warmth caressing his soul, clearing away the memories of Hell and torture and screaming, to see the angels eyes light up with the usual fucking joy that was obvious whenever he set his eyes on the older Winchester, but nothing but a quiet, shattered sob came out and before Dean knew what was happening, tears were spilling from his eyes and dropping onto the angel's bare shoulder.

Drip, drip, drip.

Dean buried his head into the crook of Cas's neck, full out blubbering like a sissy now, his body shaking with the bastard sobs. His head swam with images of dirty, bloody knives and hooks piercing flesh and eyes filled with terror and pain, himself reflected back in them, ugly and broken and evil and then he saw Cas's eyes...Cas's hurt, scared eyes, only now Dean saw him in Hell, strapped to a dirty metal table, himself over him, driving knives into his flesh where all those pressure marks from Dean's hands had been on his skin earlier, ripping open the angel's chest instead of his shirt. Dean felt the ground waver beneath him. His arms snaked around the angel's waist and his hands twisted themselves into the front of the his shirt that was still tucked into his trousers and hanging loose and he crushed himself into Cas's back, trying with all his might to repress the shuddering and sobbing and the fucking images.

And Cas just let him. Just stood there, statuesque, letting Dean hold him, letting him hold onto the one person who hadn't abandoned him, who – and Dean didn't know this yet – never would abandon him.

It felt like hours but was only minutes, before Castiel swiftly turned in Dean's vice like grip and pressed two fingers to his forehead to send him into a dreamless sleep. Cas had caught some of the images swarming around Dean's mind after he tapped into his thoughts on a distant level; he was worried about this foolish human who blamed himself for the worries of the world and was crushing himself into Castiel's back, hoping to make himself disappear. He wrapped him arms around the still shuddering human and lifted him to the bed, placing his head gently on the pillows and pulling the sheets over his goose pimpled body.

Dean awoke to the sound of glass being smashed. Reflexes as snappy as a fucking ninja cat he grabbed for his gun that was usually placed on the nightstand. He came up empty. "Shit..." he breathed, ice cold fear settling beneath his ribs, heart pounding. His eyes scanned the room, his brain calculating: no Sammy + bed unmade + shiny black shoes on the floor far too small to be Sam's + beige trench coat hanging on the back of the door also too small to be Sam's = Sam isn't home and holy shit! I'm sharing a motel room with an angel who I almost sexually assaulted and who saw me break down like a goddamn sissy.

The positive thing was, Dean's heart slowed down its frantic fucking work out.

He lifted himself off the bed, noticing vaguely that he was still fully clothed and headed for the kitchen. The angel was sweeping shards of wine glass that glittered the floor into the dustpan. The scene was so clumsily human that Dean had to bite back a laugh.

"Why Cas, you look like a 1950's housewife," he joked, noticing how the angels face snapped up to meet his own at the sound of his voice. His eyes seemed back to normal, the joy was there, even if tinged with something else Dean couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Good morning Dean," was Cas's deadpanned reply. There was no trace of the broken angel or the marble statue from the night before and Dean had to give the sonofabitch props for composure, the guy...err, angel...was freakin' good. "I trust you slept well?"

Dean nodded in response and headed for the sink, picking up a plastic cup from the counter and filling it with ice cold tap water. "Cas," he said between gulps. "About last night, I...uh...I'm sorry."

Dean's neck went red and the blush crept up his cheeks and tainted the tops of his ears bright pink.

Cas just smiled, the sonofabitch smiled.

"Dean, I was fully aware of your intentions last night, even if you were not. I stopped you, not because I wished to distance myself from you, but because I felt that you...that..." He had started off firing his words at Dean like heavenly missiles, so sure of his angelic self but then he began to slow, not sure how to phrase his next words.

"I...felt that you would regret your rash decision in the morning and I could not have you look upon me with regret. I could not bear to have you view me as a mistake, to have your eyes regard me with disgust." The angel bowed his head and broke contact with Dean on the word 'disgust' and Dean's heart bled for the guy err, angel- whatever, his fucking heart bled.

De ja vu swept over Dean as the angel turned his back to him, head bowed and Dean approached cautiously. When he got within a few feet of the angel he stopped, feeling that familiar itch creep up on him, onto his shoulder, burning the handprint. Surely that thing was glowing with the amount of heat it was generating? The close proximity of the holy tax accountant that was Cas, his Cas, got to him more now that he'd had a taste of that warmth.

"I thought you hated me...I thought...shit, Cas I thought you were gonna leave me," he said, eyes closed, voice shaky. He blew out a puff of air before resting a hand on the angel's shoulder and spinning him to face him.

"I think I might brake if you left me Cas, I meant it when I said I need you."

"I would never leave you Dean, if you did not wish me to."

The voice was gruff and gravelly, just the way Dean liked it, but it was speaking to the floor; the angel would still not meet his gaze. Dean laid a hand of the angel's cheek and pushed his chin up gently with his thumb; Cas had to look at him now, that or shut his eyes and that had got them nowhere good when Dean had done it the night before.

Sapphire met Jade as the two men locked eyes. Dean felt a weight he hadn't known was there lift from his heart. His Cas was back

He brushed a thumb over the angel's bottom lip, back and forth until Castiel's chin began to quiver and his eyes closed halfway seductively – he probably wasn't even aware of what he was doing to Dean's dwindling self control, never mind what he was doing to Dean's body.

Oblivious, innocent bastard, Dean thought as he leaned down to cover the angel's lips with his own.

Cas responded this time, boy did he respond. His hand twisted into Dean's short hair at the base of his neck, scratching the skin softly then running his long fingers over the spot behind Dean's ear – his weak spot; fucking angel knew him better than anyone – his other hand crept up Dean's arm and the itching intensified to a fucking unbelievable level. Dean thought he was gonna pass out if Cas didn't fucking touch him there right now, if he didn't sustain this godawful itch with his holy warmth. The angel held off a fraction of a second longer, sliding his tongue into Dean's mouth and kissing him deeper, pulling Dean incredibly closer to him, before his hand slotted into the handprint.

Dean was instantly calmed, all his worries, nightmares, all the evil he'd seen, killed and become, was washed away in a blissful tidal wave of pure golden warmth.

His Grace, Dean thought, he's giving me some of his Grace.

One hand still firmly pressed against Dean's shoulder, warmth radiating between the two, Cas brought his mouth up to Dean's ear and Dean shivered in anticipation.

"Dean..."

"Is that all you say, Cas?"

"I think I'm in love with you..."

"Oh..."

Finis.