Author's Note: Do not worry, I started working on Under The Falling Skies and I'll post the first chapter in a few days. Meanwhile, here have some smutty fic ;)
Beta'd by Zana Zira.
"You came." Not a question but a statement.
"I couldn't not come." The visitor lets out a small sigh, shrugging. It's cold in the cell and he can hear distant sounds of water dripping.
In response, chains rattle, a sign that the prisoner has moved from his place.
"I've been warning you. Why…why didn't you leave the town, Dean?" The voice is full of pain and badly disguised despair. He had been warning Dean to be careful and stop brewing strange smelling mixtures in his house but being a stubborn fool Winchester wouldn't listen. All had been going well until one of his neighbors set him up and Dean found himself thrown into this dungeon.
"Cas…" The prisoner turns around and Father Castiel can't help but bite his lip when he's met with those enchanting, alluring and almost threatening green eyes.
"I couldn't…" A step forward. "Depart from the town and leave you behind?" A gentle touch of calloused and bruised hand on the cheek. "I could never do that."
"But…but you will die after three days. The court's verdict is to burn you at the stake." A single tear rolls down Castiel's cheek but before disappearing beneath his chin, Dean's finger catches it.
"Por favor, no llores, mi angel," he whispers, brushing Castiel's bottom lip with his broken and bloody fingers, the results of a three hour torture.
"Dean, I don't want you dead. Do you understand? I don't!" Castiel is shaking, trying to control his breathing and whimpers that are trying to break free and he is failing.
"Shh, calm down." Strong arms wrap around the smaller man, pressing him to his chest, as if wanting to hide him from the world's injustice and misfortunes. "You are risking your life and reputation by coming to me. You realize that don't you?" he whispers into Castiel's ear, caressing his back gently.
"If only it could help you stay alive," Castiel mutters, burying his face into Dean's chest.
"What if I tell you there is a way to save me?" Dean asks suddenly. "Would you help me, Cas?"
Those blue eyes throw a confused glance at him. "I cannot steal the keys from your cell if that's what you're asking for. Besides, you wouldn't make it out of the prison."
Dean lets out a throaty chuckle. "Oh, no, my naïve angel, I am not asking you to do that. There is another way to leave this cell but I want to hear your answer. Will you help me?"
Castiel gulps. He's been in love with Dean for more than a year, fallen hard until he is far past redemption. He's tainted his faith and belief in God because of the green-eyed warlock but then, he doesn't need Heaven if he can't have Dean by his side. Even the eternal flames and torture by his lover's side are better than one day spent in Heaven without him.
"What is it you need of me?" he asks finally.
"I want you to prepare a tincture from three herbs and bring it to me before the day of the execution. Ten drops of it in the water and I will leave my body for two days. The guards will think I died and inform the magistrates. My body will be taken out of the town and thrown into the Pit of the Damned. Now, here comes yet another very important part. To bring me back to life, after those two days you will need to feed me seven pink petals of Larkspur. Remember only pink, no other color."
"Then what?" Castiel's voice is hoarse and strained.
"Then I will rise from the dead, my love." Dean smiles at the young priest. He always hated clerics, those 'holy' bastards ruining lives of thousands innocent people accusing them of witchcraft. Not to say that he's innocent. He IS one of the most powerful warlocks, with tones of knowledge and experience, but he has never hurt anyone intentionally; only for justice or revenge. The first time he'd seen Castiel everything else had lost its meaning. There was only one thing left in the world: the gentle stare of those crystal clear blue eyes. And maybe from the moment their eyes had met, the row of hated clerics lessened by one.
"Are you ready to do this for me, Castiel?" Hot breath tickles his ear, as the fingers slide into the depth of velvety dark hair and the priest knows that he won't be able to refuse.
"Yes," Castiel whispers brokenly into Dean's mouth, surrendering to skillful lips and tongue.
At sunset of the day before the execution, Father Castiel visits Dean Winchester's cell one last time, claiming that the prisoner wants to make a confession. Castiel feels like passing out and his hands shake violently; Dean has to hold them in a gentle but firm grip.
"All will be well, I promise." He gives a last reassuring smile to the priest. He doesn't look away from Castiel's deathly pale face 'till all the ten droplets of the tincture dissolve in the water in his wooden cup.
Four hours later after Castiel leaves Dean's cell, the guards inform the town's judge and the magistrates of the warlock's death.
As predicted Dean's body is taken out of the town and thrown into the Pit of The Damned with hundreds of rotten and decayed corpses.
And all Father Castiel Novak can do is wait.
The stench is unbearable and it makes him gag, almost causing him to say goodbye to his supper. The pouring rain doesn't make the task easier either; he keeps slipping and falling down in mud and large puddles. Castiel is soaking wet, shivering and teeth chattering, but he stubbornly keeps descending into the pit to find and drag out the body of the man he has fallen for.
In the pile of mutilated and horrendous looking corpses he finally finds Dean's body, laying face down in the mud. Castiel rushes forward, stumbles and falls, crawls on his hands and knees until he reaches the warlock's dead, cold body.
"Dean, you have to come back to me. Do you hear me? You must!" Castiel stares at the green eyed man's face. Dean looks like a lifeless, marble statue. His features are still insanely handsome; even death couldn't ruin them.
It takes Castiel a lot of strength, panting and effort to drag Dean's body out of the pit. The priest's wet cassock hangs heavy and sticks to his skin unpleasantly, but Castiel doesn't have time to think about his own comfort, when he has a far more important task: bringing Dean back to life.
Castiel lays the warlock's body gingerly on the ground, resting Dean's head into his lap and unlaces a small bag around his neck.
The young priest hesitates for a moment, unsure whether to say a prayer or not. In the end he decides not to, as God probably wants to have nothing to do with them.
Castiel's trembling fingers open Dean's mouth and put the shredded petals of Larkspur in, adding a small amount of water from a flask he's brought with him to wash them down.
Castiel waits. He waits for five, ten, twenty, fifty minutes, sitting in the mud with Dean's head in his lap. When an hour passes and still nothing happens, Castiel starts to rock back and forth with the lifeless body in his arms. At first he doesn't realize that a gut-wrenching howl piercing through the dark veil of the night belongs to him.
He starts to kiss Dean's face, forehead, eyes, lips, cheeks, planting burning and mournful kisses all over it. Castiel curses himself for killing the man with his own hands. His sobs and whimpers are terrifyingly sincere and worthy of compassion.
Castiel's cries have turned into wheezing and hiccups when he feels a slight touch and raises his head from Dean's chest to look up.
"Why are you crying Castiel, guardian angel of mine? I promised I would come back." Dean's voice sounds otherworldly and chills run down the young priest's spine.
"Dean…" Castiel whimpers and clings to the warlock. "Do not leave me again, please…."
The old hut they stumble upon probably belongs to some hunter but it hasn't been used for a while and they're glad for it; they wouldn't want and don't need any witnesses.
Dean's hands are hot and impatient, his whispers promising as he keeps undressing the young priest, throwing sodden and heavy clothes into the corner of the room. The single candle found in the hut supplies enough light; they need no more than the dim glow.
He's holding Castiel like a fragile and vulnerable bird in his arms. No matter how much he corrupts him, Castiel still stays innocent; he will always be a saint for Dean's darkened soul.
Looking at the young priest, seeing how trusting Castiel is, Dean gets overwhelmed with emotions. He never understood how or why Castiel decided to put his fate into the warlock's hands. And now, looking at the kiss-swollen lips, pretty shades of pink dancing on the priest's cheeks and the blue eyes shining with mute pleas, Dean loses it.
The touch of their lips is fierce like thunder and lightning, hot like melting lava. Dean purrs like a cat, tasting Castiel's lips. For him they've always been luscious like ambrosia, sweeter than mother's milk and wishful like Elysian Fields.
A small, hard bed standing in the corner creaks under their weight. Dean interlaces their fingers, whispering sweet nothingness into Castiel's ear, as he rolls his hips lazily, drawing whimpers from the smaller man beneath him. Castiel belongs to Dean, only to him and they both know it.
Hot and wet kisses trail from Castiel's neck and down his body, leaving shining traces till they reach the pulsing heat between the brunet's parted thighs.
When Dean swallows him down in one go Castiel makes a tiny, squeaking noise. He looks so shocked and sincere with his wide-open eyes staring at the warlock that Dean has to stop for a second and kiss him reassuringly, murmuring that everything will be well. And Castiel believes him.
This is the first time they've gone so far. Dean wouldn't have risked Castiel's life, knowing how dangerous it was to be caught. Their short, stolen kisses in the darkness, concealed behind many shameless lies were the only things they had until now. And there's no stopping for Dean, not when he has the dearest person to his heart in his arms. Not even the legions of Hell will overpower him to let go of Castiel.
A delicate yet still painful pushing of his finger inside causes a small whimper from Castiel, but it's quickly kissed off and the blue-eyed man loses himself in the sweet taste of Dean's mouth upon his. A frown on his face disappears and lips part in a helpless moan when the warlock's fingers touch something deep inside of him, opening the gate to flooding pleasure. Castiel shudders and arches his back off the bed, letting out a sharp cry. Dean would have stopped if not for the brunet's "Please, more".
It takes all of Dean's willpower to go slow and gingerly as it's Castiel's first time. Sinking into the welcoming tightness, the amazing feeling of Castiel's inner muscles holding his member in a vice-like grip has Dean hanging on the edge of his sanity. He wraps the smaller man's lean, long legs around his waist and slides in all the way, grabbing Castiel's thighs and leaning forward to seal their lips together.
After what seems like eternity and a short nod from the brunet Dean starts to move carefully, picking up his pace little by little until Castiel asks him to go deeper and harder and he does.
He doesn't want to stop, just wants to drink in all those little whimpers and moans, screams and shouts Castiel makes, feel the burning and bloody scratches Castiel's fingernails leave on his bare back, feel the smaller man meeting his frantic thrusts, fucking down on his erection eagerly.
Dean's hand finds the brunet's leaking and neglected member trapped between their sweat-slicked bodies and curls his fingers around the length. Immediately he's rewarded with a broken and grateful moan.
Castiel comes with a cry of his beloved's name, spilling his release between their bodies. Seeing the brunet breaking so beautifully in his arms throws Dean over the edge. It's like falling into the depths of the fathomless blue lake.
Three hours before the sunrise they leave the town behind.
It takes them one more day to leave the country and 2 more months to reach their new home, where no one will find them and they can live without a fear for their lives – China.