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Chapter 36
Trapped between the four walls of his chamber, Dean feels like suffocating. Too many chaotic thoughts roll through his mind, driving him insane. The truth that's been revealed by Bessabel's help is truly shocking, and it should make him hate Castiel with his whole being, but the green-eyed barbarian just can't bring himself to do it. The brunet's helpless, terrified expression when he realized his role in their past lives had convinced Dean that he would never be able to raise a hand to Castiel for it.
To calm himself a little and clear his head, Dean decides to take a bath. After filling up a wooden bathtub with lukewarm water the young chieftain of Battle Shadows crawls into it, surrendering to the instant relaxing effect the heat has on his body. He inhales the minty flavor of herbs thrown into it, grabbing the edge of the bathtub and shifting into more comfortable position. He rests his head against the wood, the glistening water droplets that cover his chest sparkling brightly with each breath he takes. The small crease between his brows smooths out as his mind finally stops replaying the disturbing images pulled out of his subconscious.
Dean does not know how long he's been in the bathtub, enjoying the silence around him when there's a suspicious rustling noise, as if someone's sneaking into the chamber.
"Who's here?" Dean sits up, squinting and looking around in to the semi-darkness of the chamber. There's no reply but the older Winchester's perfect hearing can catch the notes of heavy, subdued breathing, as if someone's trying to hold their breath but failing.
"I know you're here. I can hear your labored breathing. Show yourself!" the young man demands, his hand instinctively reaching for his unsheathed sword lying near the bathtub.
After a few seconds of silence a figure steps into the dim candlelight.
"Cas?" Dean gapes at the prince, who looks so pale that it's noticeable even in the dark. "What are you doing here?"
"I-I…" Castiel stammers, his throat clicking as he swallows hard. He looks around in search of answers, for the right words of what to say to Dean, but nothing comes to his confused mind.
"Did you want something? And… and why are you barefooted?" Dean asks slowly, as his gaze falls on Castiel's feet.
The prince feels how panic spreads its roots through his body. His mouth is opening and closing like a fish cast ashore, every nerve and cell screams at him to say or do something, anything! And he breaks.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Dean. Please, forgive me. Please!" Castiel keeps repeating frantically as his fingers begin to unlace the robe he's wearing. It falls down on the floor with a soft rustling, pooling around Castiel's feet 'til the brunet is standing stark naked in front of the barbarian who has suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Dean blinks, slowly rising and coming out of the bathtub. The drops of water are running down his chiseled body, strong arms, chest and legs as he makes a few steps towards Castiel who blushes furiously and averts his eyes when he notices the half-hard cock of the man before him.
By this time Dean has realized why Castiel has come to him: the guilt is eating him and the poor man's soul is on fire. But he needs to hear it from Castiel!
"Why did you come, Cas?" he asks again, cautiously, not wanting to frighten the younger man.
"I wanted to see you," the brunet mumbles, and it's true.
"For what?" Dean circles him, noticing how tensed Castiel looks; his shoulders and back are like a drawn bow.
"I thought… I realized that I feel something for you too."
Dean lets out a small laugh at Castiel's words.
"No, Cas. You came here to offer me your body, hoping you would redeem yourself by doing so. But you forgot one thing." The green-eyed man touches Castiel's chin with two fingers, lifting it up so they're looking into each other's eyes.
"Which is?" the prince asks hoarsely, his heart leaping into his throat after realizing that Dean does not buy his lie.
"You're doing this because you feel guilty. Would you still do it if the circumstances were different?" Dean murmurs, tracing his fingers down Castiel's neck, touching his rapidly beating pulse tenderly.
"I-I don't know. I've never… I've never done it before," Castiel admits reluctantly.
"You mean with a man?" Dean asks gently. Instead of an answer he gets a flustered and mortified look.
"Really?" The barbarian stares at Castiel, bewildered.
"I have kissed a lady before but I've never gone farther than that. I never had time for it. I was busy with more important things." The prince tries to justify his innocence but the only thing he achieves is making himself feel like a complete fool.
"Relax," Dean tells him with a gentle laugh, sensing the young man's discomfort. "I am not judging you. And I want you to know one thing. I am not going to hate you for who you were in the past. It was not really you who did those things. Would I kill past you? Gods, yes! I would claw Cassius' rotten heart out and make him eat it! But you, Castiel, son of King Uldred, are innocent, and I want you to know that I do not blame or hold a grudge against you. You have nothing to beg forgiveness for."
Castiel's eyes begin to sting and water after Dean's words. He feels like he'd been underwater for too long and his lungs were screaming for air, and suddenly he's been pulled out.
"Thank you, Dean," he says sincerely, voice full of gratitude. And before the green-eyed man responds, Castiel lunges forward and hugs him.
Dean lets out a small shocked gasp before chuckling and returning the hug, enveloping the brunet in the firm circle of his arms.
The scent of melted wax and minty herbs from the water mixed with Dean's own natural musk make Castiel's mind swim. The warm flesh pressed tightly against him, leaving a wet trace on his thigh, stirs something odd and primal into the brunet's soul and soon he realizes that it's desire. Dean's rapidly beating heart and the hot breath against his neck make Castiel shudder and lean his head against Dean's shoulder. He realizes how much he yearns for closeness with this man.
"Cas?" Dean asks questioningly, catching the signs of interest from the smaller man. To test his doubts, the barbarian slides his palm down Castiel's spine, gently and gingerly, 'till it rests on the prince's waist.
Castiel makes a choked sound in the back of his throat at the contact, feeling the desire to touch and be touched by Dean grow in intensity.
"Dean," he pleads quietly.
"Yes? Tell me what you want," Dean whispers as he nips at the brunet's earlobe.
"I-I want… I need…" Castiel mumbles, getting lost in his sensations. "Please touch me."
This is all the encouragement the young chieftain needs. He takes Castiel's hand, squeezing it slightly.
"Come with me," he tells the brunet, guiding him towards the bed. "I want to show you the pleasurable sides of this life which you've been lacking, but only if you want it. Do you want it, Cas? This is your last chance to refuse." Dean studies the younger man's face.
After a short silence Castiel nods, slow but determined. "Yes, I want it."
"Alright. We will take it slow then," Dean says hoarsely. "Sit on the bed."
Castiel feels like screaming from everything that he's feeling and seeing. Dean is kneeling between his open thighs, the hot and velvety tongue licking and teasing his swollen cock as it drips with precum. Castiel is biting his fist to hold back the sounds that want to rip through his mouth, unable to keep still on the bed sheets as he thrashes around.
"Don't," Dean growls. "I want to hear those pretty sounds which you make. Tell me, do you like my mouth on you?"
"Yes… yes… ah… Dean…" Castiel moans brokenly as his hand comes to rest on Dean's head and he bucks his hips up into the welcoming wet heat that is the green-eyed barbarian's mouth.
Dean takes his time, ravishing and taking apart Castiel piece by piece. His hands reach up to Castiel's sides, fingers raking down his ribs, leaving pink lines stretching towards the brunet's thighs that are opened helplessly and wantonly welcoming. They seem unable to stop quivering from the downpour of feelings and consuming sensations delivered by the skillful mouth, which currently is sucking at the head of Castiel's cock.
Placing his warm palms against Castiel's thighs and digging his fingers in to the sweat-soaked skin, Dean inhales the musky scent before taking the erect flesh into his mouth again, hollowing out his cheeks to resume sucking.
Castiel's fingers scratch the bed sheets desperately, feeling a warm pressure building up in the pit of his stomach. His orgasm is approaching like a crashing wave and there's nothing that can stop it.
"Dean!" Castiel exclaims brokenly. "I-I'm close. I can't… I can't hold it back!"
"Good. Let me see it. Let me see you come for me, Cas," Dean murmurs, biting the inside of Castiel's thigh and it's too much.
Castiel, who looks like a butterfly caught in the spider web, arches his back off the bed, feeling his whole body burning like fire. The prince moans something brokenly, combined with a loud whimper as he empties himself down Dean's throat in thick white spurts.
Dean gladly swallows every drop, licking the sensitive head afterwards. He neglects his own throbbing erection, stretching and towering above Castiel's wrecked and exhausted body.
"How are you feeling? Was it enjoyable?" the older Winchester asks.
Castiel is panting, his lips are parted, and his hair disheveled and sweaty, small strands sticking to his forehead. The brunet's eyes flutter open to meet Dean's expectant gaze.
"Yes, it was very enjoyable. I didn't know it would feel so pleasurable," the blue-eyed man says with a blissful expression on his face.
"I'm glad you approve of my skills," Dean laughs heartily.
Castiel sits up, leaning on his elbows and giving Dean a somewhat concerned look. "I believe I should return the favor and help you…with your problem." His gaze falls on Dean's crotch and his neglected cock. "I may not know how to do it properly but I will try my best to please you."
Dean shakes his head. "No, it's alright. Don't worry about it," he assures the prince. "Tonight is all about you. Not me."
Castiel does not respond, thinking about everything that has happened lately.
"What are you thinking about?" Dean's voice drags Castiel out of his thoughts.
"Maybe not today, but I certainly will return the favor." The brunet's intense gaze makes Dean shift nervously.
"Cas," he begins. "I do not want you to feel obliged to do something that you do not want to do. Just because you feel you have to do something does not mean you should."
"I don't understand," Castiel squints with a puzzled expression.
"To put it simply, do not come to me just because you think you owe me. Come to me only if your heart tells you to." Dean stands up and before going to the bathtub to pick up his towel, adds: "Only if you will want me."
None of them speak for a while, 'til the silence and tension get tangible and uncomfortable.
"I should go," Castiel mumbles finally, picking up his silk robe and wrapping himself in it.
"Yes, it's late," Dean agrees, not knowing what else to say.
"Good night, Dean," the prince tells him before leaving the barbarian's bedchamber with quiet footsteps.
"Good night. Sleep well, Cas," Dean responds, watching the younger man walking out into the corridor.
As soon as the door closes after Castiel, the chieftain of Battle Shadows slams his fist against the wall in frustrated rage as the words "Please don't go!" echo like screams in his mind.
To be continued
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