Title: Beneath A Moonless Sky
Author: HigherMagic
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2500
Spoilers: Um…S5/S6x03 ish?
Summary: Dean can't leave this life behind without experiencing the alternative, just once.
Notes/Warnings:Okay…Um…*doesn't have an excuse* I was listening to 'Beneath the Moonless Sky' from 'Love Never Dies' (Phantom 2) and thought 'OMG IT'S DEAN/CAS' and, yeah, my brain is an idiot. Shameless sacrilege and butchering of two fandoms simultaneously. Kind of wussy!Dean? Sex?

Phantom's part is in bold, Christine's is in italics. Um…God, I can't even *slinks away*


You came and found where I hid,
don't you deny that you did
that long ago night.

His breathing mists heavily in the cold, dark night, and he runs, panting, searching around. He can't see a thing but he can feel eyes on him, and he's running, towards the caves. The caves, where he is, and his body's shaking, sweating from exhaustion and exertion and anticipation, his hands are shaking and it's not just from the cold.

That night.

The caves on the side of the mountain range are cold and unwelcoming. Nothing lives here so far as Dean can tell, in so far as he's ever been here to see them, but the air feels alive, brushing against his skin like a caress he craves, and he bends his fingers bloody against the hard stone as he climbs. Sweat sticks his clothes to his skin, baring it, darkening the colors of black and green and blue, and he's climbing as fast as he can in the non-light of the moonless sky.

Once there was a night
beneath a moonless sky,
too dark to see a thing
too dark to even try.

I stole to your side,
to tell you I must go.

He can't let it end like this, to leave and never come back, to never know what could have been, what might have been. He has to try but he's afraid – his heart is beating out of his chest, making a home for itself in his throat and he's scared – he's allowed to be scared, just this once. There's no light to reflect in his eyes but he can hear him. Close.

I couldn't see your face,
but sensed you even so.

He's not a ghost. He makes noise, and Dean can hear his breathing. The soft non-light silhouettes Dean against the cliff face when he stands and greets the gaping maw of the largest cave pock-marking the side of the mountain, and his body is aware. Sensing the Angel – his Angel – nearby, something others fear and loathe, that he trembles in the face of greeting again, but he knows.

And I touched you.
And I felt you.

Dean doesn't fight back when he feels a warm body slide up behind his own, and a hand goes across his chest, thumb digging into the side of his face and pushing him away from another's, another's lips that find his bared pulse and kiss there, another's body that presses against him as though he's being welcomed home, and another hand goes under his arm, joins the first above his heart, and he's being held and he doesn't fight, can't fight, is a slave to his Angel once again, as he always was, entranced and taken over by the rhythm and beautiful music dancing in the air.

And I heard those ravishing refrains.
The music of your pulse.
The singing in your veins.

His body is alight, his eyes falling closed, letting the other touch him, caress him with gentle hands, lips brushing down and along his neck and then up under his ear, lets the hand around his chin drag lower down, nails digging just slightly, and lets the hand settle around his throat, so trusting, so willing, and his body arches into it, trusts his Angel not to hurt him, to love him as he claimed he did so often, so vehemently. The pounding in his head loses its fear and takes on a new kind of urgency, one that only awakens when he's around this other.

And I held you.
And I touched you.
And embraced you.
And I felt you.
And with every breath and every sigh.

"They can dress you all in white," the voice whispers, that smooth, hypnotic voice that sends lightning shards of pleasure down Dean's spine, and he bares his teeth and his neck, lets his Angel lay a mark there with his teeth and his hands. "And dress me all in black."

He's gone, suddenly, but he's not a ghost. He's not an imagining or a memory. He's real and he's here, finally, Dean found him, and when the body heat moves away Dean gasps, eyes flashing open even though there's nothing to see, and he tears off his shirt, making his body colder, hoping his Angel will have pity on him and make him warm again.

Like he'd hoped for, the Angel returns, this time to his front, and Dean would be able to see him if it weren't for this damned darkness. Dean's fingers find the smooth cheek and the stubble-rough jaw, trace the lines around eyes he knows are bright and brilliant as a morning star, icy and blue and capable of bringing him to his knees with just a look.

"Be sure, Dean," he says in a low, pleading voice, a hand mirroring Dean's on the other man's cheek, "for from this you can't go back."

Dean's eyes fall closed, leaning into the gentle touch and the warm, hard body, and he leans down, and his Angel meets him in something they've only shared once, twice, too few times to satisfy. It's ash and fire of their burning normalcy, of Dean's other life, the wife that waits for him at home and the man he left behind to get her. But he can't without knowing, just once.

"Won't you touch me?" he asks, begs against lips that are dry from winter air and lack of water, and he places his Angel's other hand on his body, around his ribs and the fingers tighten, as though just waiting for permission. Dean gasps as he's moved, away from the frigid air of the mouth of the cave, laid down on stone worn smooth and he shivers, cold and trembling, a sacrifice for his Angel. "Please, just touch me."

"I will, Dean, be still for me, alright?" A soft flutter of a laugh and the Angel's lips meet Dean's again, a lithe body falling between spread legs, and Dean's thighs trap his Angel in, lock him in place, his hands desperate and feral in the other man's thick night-black hair.

I felt no longer scared.
I felt no longer shy.
At last our feelings bared
beneath a moonless sky.

Dean gasps when his Angel's hands move to the rest of his clothes, and it feels like they just melt away. His Angel's touches are cold fire, he knows he will have brands on his skin that he will have to explain, and shards of stone dig into his back as he moves, tries to help, can't. His body is ahead of his mind and all he can do is gasp and cry out brokenly towards the sky as Castiel's mouth descends over his hard flesh, taking him in as deep as he can go, wet, curling heat, a nirvana that Dean's never known, his young body virginal and crumbling in the face of this onslaught.

And blind in the dark,
as soul gazed into soul;

He can't see a damned thing but when he looks down, he knows his Angel's bright sky-blue eyes are locked on him, and a hand drags up, rests over his heart, curls into a fist above the pounding, erratic organ and Dean whimpers, his head falling back, his body arching, pleasure unlike he's ever known flaring through his body, and he clutches at that hand, lets their fingers entwine and clench, and the pleasure and release is so intense, it's painful. He screams his Angel's name, unable to do anything else.

I looked into your heart
and saw you pure and whole.

Cloaked under the night
with nothing to suppress,

The Angel's lips meet Dean's again, tasting of bitter salt and loving sweetness and Dean relaxes, safe in his Angel's arms, unafraid, no regrets, as long, slender fingers pierce his body, open him wide like the Angel has done so many times in other ways, released him and given him flight and Dean spreads his legs a little more, too boneless to do more than kiss, but that, that he throws himself into, learning Castiel's mouth, their breaths misting along each other's skin because the night is so cold. His fingers card through blessedly soft hair that he remembers petting with fondness, remembers thinking about touching it just like this, remembers loving this man for so long before the wrongness got in the way. He's not allowed to love an Angel but that doesn't seem to matter, here, in the night, too dark to even see his beloved's face.

a woman and a man
no more and yet no less.

There's a flame in his Angel's kiss that speaks of 'Goodbye', that knows what this is and doesn't fight, but his words do; he whispers them into the skin of Dean's jaw as his fingers push deeper, reawakening Dean's body, making him hiss and arch and clutch at the Angel as though desperately searching for something to ground him and hold him together when he feels like he's shattering apart.

"What about this is wrong? The Angel or the man?" he whispers the words with hatred and malice for the society that condemns them for it, the ones on Earth that would ridicule and the ones in Heaven that would judge. "Do you think thatshe could claim you like I can?" Dean tries to choke out his words but his Angel won't let him – silences him with his mouth or a well placed stroke along his insides, the burn getting too much, too full and yet not full enough.

And I kissed you.
And caressed you.
And the world around us fell away,
we said things in the dark,
we never dared to say.

"Stay with me," Dean demands, when the Angel pulls his fingers out and shifts to move closer, to bring them together in a permanent, irrevocable way.

"Of course."

And I caught you.
And I kissed you.

So much sensation.

And I took you.
And caressed you.

Pressure, heat.

With a need too urgent to deny.
And nothing mattered then
except for you and I.

Dean's body opens graciously for his Angel, his beautiful, fallen, dark Angel that took him away and taught him, that seduced him and lured him into the nighttime, that showed him things he could never have imagined, and let that same Angel close to his body, inside of him deeper than anyone else can, has or ever will get. Dean gasps, shakes, legs trembling around his Angel's waist when the creature pushes in, forehead resting against panting mouth, mouth against neck, claiming and breaking them both apart, his hands and the wings Dean swear he can feel holding them both together. Dean's lost everything and is about to give up one more, but it's how it should be. His Angel cannot stay around forever and he's being called elsewhere, and Dean's got a new life waiting for him. But he can't bring himself to stop, not when his Angel seizes him almost roughly, kissing his lips red and swollen, pushing into his body with bruising force and eliciting cries that Heaven and Hell both will hear, wings caressing Dean with silken, incorporeal feathers and eyes burning yet another brand, his borrowed body flaring from the inside, alight, burning white, and when he finishes, he slaps a hand over Dean's eyes, commands that they close, and for a brief instant, the night is not dark, but Dean still doesn't see.

Again and then again,
beneath a moonless sky.

He won't let his Angel go. "Again," he whispers, pulling the other man close, wrapping his legs and his arms around him. "Again. Again. More. Please." And they don't have the will or the heart to deny each other, the sun can wait and while it's still dark, while they still can't see each other, it's safe. It's sacred and right.

Dawn's grey light is just making shadows of his Angel's face when Dean finally succumbs to sleep, exhausted and sated and wanted. He pulls his Angel close, lets arms wrap around him, can't bear to let them go, and his Angel kisses his bloody knuckles and sings to him as he falls asleep.

And when it was done,
before the sun could rise
ashamed of what I was
afraid to see your eyes.
I stood while you slept
and whispered a goodbye.
And slipped into the dark
beneath a moonless sky.

His eyes are green. The Angel knows this because he's stared into them for many, many nights in his dreams. When he first saw Dean's soul, first heard the cacophony of noise that was Dean's blade at work, torturing, turning, damning, he knew the man's eyes were green, and they were beautiful. They still are, but the Angel will not stay. Will not because he cannot. Because it is forbidden. He presses a kiss to Dean's forehead and rests his temple against Dean's, clenching his eyes shut to fight back his sorrow, and pets through Dean's hair once, and he breaks his promise, and takes flight, disappearing and leaving the cold to invade Dean once again.

And I loved you,
yes I loved you.
I'd have followed any where you led.
I woke to swear my love,
and found you gone instead.

Dean wakes up shivering and knows Castiel is gone. He sighs into the stone ground, swallowing because he knows this wasn't meant to last. He knows now…and the knowledge cannot be unlearned. He's empty, so empty, and he doesn't open his eyes for a long while after waking, because he can't bear to turn over and find the place where Castiel was laying to be empty. When he finally gets up the courage, he finds three black feathers left behind, torn out by his own hand in a crime of passion, and Dean swallows again and doesn't take them with him.

And I loved you.
And I loved you.
And I left you.
Yes I loved you.
And I had to
both of us knew why.

We both knew why.
And yet I won't regret
from now until I die.
The night I can't forget,
beneath a moonless sky.

"And now?" He has the nerve to show up in Dean's house and ask for help, a year later, like nothing happened, like nothing could happen. Like he didn't brand Dean's skin but take away his mark, like he didn't leave a stamp on Dean's soul that, when he dies, will make him Castiel's. Dean almost hates him, but he could never hate him, and if there's darkness in his Angel's eyes that is new and sad and full of unfulfilled promises, he ignores them.

"How could you talk of now for us? There is no now."