Castiel shakes beautifully in his arms, trembling like a tiny lost child.
"It's ok...I'll take care of you."
As he pushes into the tense body beneath his own, he tastes the skin of his throat, damp with sweat and mineral traces from their home. Castiel makes a sound that Dean would put down to agony if the angel's hands weren't holding him, pulling him closer.
He's already stroked every part of Castiel that he can reach, pressing his mouth to every curve of his limbs, to his feathers, the joints of his wings and the places they meet his vessels body. Chasing the tiny surprised sound that the other man made when Dean slid on top of him, following each whispered plea down the angel's throat. Castiel murmurs broken prayers, shreds of Latin and Hebrew and languages Dean has never heard on earth or even in Hell. At first Dean thought he was begging for reprieve, for Dean to stop his attentions, when enough English words came around again Dean realised Castiel was as lost as he looked. The parts of his speech that Dean understood were at once begging for more, for Dean to give him what he needs (whatever that might be) and simultaneously confused, semi-intelligible prayers for forgiveness.
When Dean pushed inside of him, Castiel went silent. His eyes closed and he wrapped his arms over Dean's shoulders, legs pressed up and open, wings twitching and beating limply at the ground. He whimpers softly with every movement, feeling Dean's tail wrapped around his thigh, tight, snake like coils squeezing the pale flesh. The tip flicks in the crease between his leg and his groin, rough skin rubbing him just shy of where he needs it most.
He understands very little of what is happening, though of course he knows about sex and about sodomy, and he can read the possessiveness, the promises in Dean's every action. He hadn't realised what it would feel like, could never have imagined it in his old position, a soldier, a warrior.
Now he's just Dean's.
The demon begins to move faster, moaning into the soft skin of his vessel's throat. Castiel closes his eyes and feels Dean's muscles twitch over his own, the slide of sweat between them and the clenching burn of his own body, closing around the part of Dean's vessel that intrudes on his own. One of his wings closes protectively over Dean's writhing back, the longest feathers reaching over Dean and down to brush Castiel's thigh.
Dean cries out at the soft weight of the wing, rubbing back against it, smooth on the down stroke, feathers ruffling upwards and prickling as he thrusts upwards. The other wing sweeps at his legs, feathers catching at his thighs, bunched with the effort of holding himself over the angel, they press between his legs and lightly touch there, the heavier joint and bones at the arch of the wing resting along his buttocks. Wrapped like that, cocooned in Castiel's wings and bearing down on the body beneath his, feeling Castiel shake with fear and ecstasy as he feels the pressure in his abdomen mount, his orgasm, his first, approaching, Dean feels a second of utter, vicious joy.
They have been abandoned and they do not miss their betrayers.
His body shudders over the angel's as his spills himself deep inside. The trembling creature gasps at the new sensation, his own release bursting hot over the skin of the demon's stomach. Castiel does not remove his wings, even when Dean moves out of him and lies on the ground instead. He holds him and feels the fragile bones of his wrists, the powerful arch of his wings. All his, always from now on.
"Castiel? If anyone tries to take you...I'll kill them." It's as close to 'I love you' as a demon can come, and he means it more than any human has ever meant the sentiment.
The angel kisses him fiercely, feathers ruffling upwards and standing on end.
"I would defy them...if they returned for me."