Disclaimer: I don't own. A. N. So, I'm going to prompt 25, "candles", from notjustmom's list. This is obviously from the happy AU where things went like they should have gone...ages ago.
Blessed
"I'm going to hell for this...again," is a flitting thought that semi-regularly haunts Dean's brain. I mean, sure, they wouldn't let him. His boyfriend, for one. Cas got him out the first time around (even if he worded it way more grandiosely back then), and he's not going to just let him fall back, even if he should irreparably fail on a hunt.
Well, irreparably... Sam's a smart cookie. He'd figure something out. After all, now that Dean and Cas got their heads out of their own asses (to fill them with much more pleasant things), they keep getting pets...there's no need for Sammy to hit random dogs. Honestly, the amount of puppy eyes in the bunker is starting to reach a dangerous threshold. As if Sammy (and Cas, when he's in the mood) weren't enough.
And yeah, Dean has been told time and again to leave the judgments about sin to the professionals, because his tendency to self-flagellation is off the charts. If Cas has no qualms about something, it can't be that bad. Certainly not "go directly to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200" kind of bad. Still, the plans for tonight... As much as Dean looks forward to them, the details – on second thought – feel like they should earn him the hottest corner of hell.
Of course, at first Dean had taken the events like a sign that this specific fantasy had to happen, and when he'd heard all about it, Cas was...actually more into it than Dean himself, possibly. So he's not going to chicken out now. Disappointing his boyfriend? No thank you. Not adding any more black marks to his record.
It was one of these serendipity things: you go looking for a ghost, standard salt-and-burn, one of these things you can do in your sleep (or at least asleep on your feet), and interview the local priest. And so you're in the middle of a local saint's feast, and some nuns give you a candle for good luck. You ask, because you're curious, and because you wonder if your boyfriend's penchant for bees is some sort of holy thing. But the oldest nun shakes her head, and says, "Pure paraffin. " Which, of course, flips a switch in your brain.
Dean knows things – maybe not the same things that Sam does, but he has his own wealth of knowledge. And while beeswax runs too hot, pure paraffin is just perfect for what he has in mind. So maybe he's pilfered a few more candles. Yeah, he could have gone to a sex shop, or ordered online, or – but the good nuns were literally giving them away, so. Why not?
The ghost matter is long settled, Cas actually blew a light bulb when Dean asked him (it happens, occasionally, and Dean is stupid proud when he can make that happen) and the preparations are ready. Dean's squeaky clean and shaved the areas he's hoping Cas will pay attention to. He couldn't be bothered dressing back up, beyond a dressing gown (just not to parade around the bunker buck-ass naked), not with the way anticipation is curling inside him. When he enters his own bedroom, his breath catches for a second. The candles are already lit, tastefully spread around the room, and Cas is waiting, sheer adoration in his eyes. There's simply no other word.
A curled finger, and Dean's hesitation breaks. They're kissing before he's even aware of either of them moving, and forgive him for being a little out of it, but Cas's kisses? They do qualify as a mystical experience. The dressing gown pools on the floor, and Dean lets himself be led to the bed. Cas is still somewhat dressed – pants and a shirt, sleeves rolled up, and with any other partner he's had in his life, Dean would whine about 'too slow' and 'the fuck you doing fully dressed', but for him this counts almost as half-naked, because damn if there isn't a Victorian dude hidden deep inside Dean, just for Cas to unearth.
Then he's spread on the bed, and Cas looks down on him, takes one of the candles, and tilts it. Just a little. Enough for a drop of melted wax to hit Dean's collarbone. He gasps, staring at his beloved, as if Cas's eyes are his only tether, and it actually takes him a little to notice that Cas is mumbling under his breath. Enochian, and Dean's learned a few bits here and there, enough to recognize at least the vaguest lines of it - praise, and blessings, and now Cas is kneeling over him, which makes sense, maybe, but then Cas's lips find skin, a soothing counterpoint to the sting of wax, and Dean – well, he might have lost his sanity a little. In the best way.
There's more, more, more, wax drawing love emblems, tongue tracing protective seals, across Dean's panting chest, his stomach, fingers scratching the results so his angel can start anew, rolling and pulling at perked nipples. Dean's moaning, pleading – praying, or trying to, if he could actually finish more than one syllable, devolving into his beloved's name when he can actually will any kind of word out.
Cas switches to another candle, close at hand, and then another, his progress downwards steady...and then he's breathy and reverent at Dean's crotch. The double stimulation – merciless wax one second, soothing mouth another, swallowing him down, with the added, gentle spark of grace – leaves Dean completely powerless to do anything but give himself to a screamed orgasm. He looks up, boneless and with hooded eyes, but so, so in love it's a mystery how it doesn't bubble right out of him, like a diver finally coming to the surface, and offers, "I'll..." But Cas only smiles at him. "Yes you will. In a few hours. You need to recuperate...and I'll admit I'm rather proud." Oh well. "Stay," Dean mumbles, already half-out of it. "Always." Cas curls around him, dragging the sheet over them. Clothes? What clothes? It's convenient to have powers when you need something done in an instant. And this? The best way to watch over his beloved in the universe.