Yet again, an angry storm was raging outside, and the rain drops battered loud rhythms on the weak windows of Bobby's house. The wind made the house creak and groan, and Dean could swear he felt the house moving, leaning away from the wind. He began to feel sea sick.
As he reached the bathroom, Dean steadied himself on the sink, realizing the urge to reject his food had passed. He rinsed his face with cool water, and pondered a shower. There was a nagging ache in Dean's left hip, which was running up in to the small of his back. Apparently being thrown across the room by an angry spirit didn't get any easier. Instinctively, Dean's hand ran across the painful area, whilst he looked at the sallow reflection staring back at him. He closed his eyes to shut out the stranger in the mirror. A cold, subtle gust of wind sent a chill up Dean's spine and made goose pimples rise across his body. Dean was distantly aware of a fluttering sound, but only opened his eyes and stiffened ready to attack at the sound of the shower curtain being knocked aside, and the faintest sound of a shoe scuffing on the old linoleum. The mirror reflected Dean's drawn face, and a scraggly nondescript black shadow behind him. The closest thing to hand was a bottle of mouthwash, maybe enough punch in that to burn eyeballs and give Dean a chance of escape. His knuckles turned white with the grip on the bottle, his other hand twisting the top loose. He turned.
A dark haired man stood behind Dean, blood trickling down his face from his hairline. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and Dean noticed he was holding himself up by leaning against the wall at the end of the bath. His sapphire eyes were circled with dark skin, and fixed desperately on Dean. The man licked his dry lips and rubbed his supporting arm gingerly with his free hand. Dean's eyes traced the other man's battered body, settling on the tattered, black Wings drooping behind him. Dean was transfixed by them. They were vast and magnificent, even in this weakened, damaged state. They were incredible beyond anything he had ever seen, and Dean felt his jaw loosen and drop slightly as he reached out to them, dropping the open bottle of mouthwash on the floor, the contents pouring across the tattered rug acting as a pedestal by the toilet, he couldn't avert his eyes, even if he wanted to. Dean eased himself backwards, feeling the sink digging in to his aching lower back, he grasped the cold porcelain of the sink in both hands to support himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to take in an empty room when he opened them again. He had to be dreaming. He had to be. He had no recollection of falling asleep, but these days Dean could barely distinguish real life from his nightmares anyway. Get a grip, Dean. You're hallucinating. You're losing it.
A warm hand touched his painful hip, and a tingling heat began to radiate through his body, he daren't admit where the heat was concentrating itself. Imagination. His imagination must be running away with him. So long without a decent sleep could do strange things to a person. Yes, he was hallucinating. He had to be. There was simply no way... It was his own hand he could feel on his hip, it must be. He opened his eyes again to confirm his suspicions. Dean could feel Castiel's presence; he knew he was there. He had always known when Castiel was near him. Even when he wasn't. Dean could feel Castiel watching over him. He felt safe and protected when his Angel was around.
A hand cupped Dean's hip gently, and it gradually smoothed round the small of his back.
Dean's breath caught in his throat, and he laid his hand on the other man's hand as if to check if he was corporeal. At the touch, both men froze and finally, blue met green and they looked at one another. Dean pressed his hand down on the hand on his hip, holding him still. "Cas?" His voice sounded alien. The blue orbs pierced in to his own as Dean reached out and touched Castiel's tattered Wings. The Angel flinched away in pain – in embarrassment – then he relaxed in to Dean's touch. The Wings felt like they were made of cashmere and silk, and Heaven itself, and Dean suddenly felt humbled at the realization of exactly what it was he was doing. He remembered their first encounter, when Castiel had shown his Wings, maybe in an act of dominance, in threat. But Castiel clearly hadn't shown him the full extent of their glory. And Dean had merely seen them, a shadow of them, and here he was touching them. His fingers crossed a sticky, warm substance. Blood. Dean could sense, and almost see something else. The only way he could describe it was like a brilliant, pure light; he could see every color he knew yet at the same time they blended to make an incandescent white. It was leaking through invisible cracks in between the satin like Feathers. His Grace. Cas was bleeding his Grace.
Dean's hand stopped, and his eyes returned to Castiel's. All he could manage was a weak repetition of his Angel's name, the affectionate nickname he had given to him. Affectionate? The word ran through his mind as he raised his hand and touched Castiel's cheek. Dean had no idea what he was doing or why. He just knew he was happy to have Castiel with him, even a little too happy in fact. Dean's eyebrows perked up, and he shifted uncomfortably. Unintentionally, he moved forward, closer to Castiel, close enough to feel the heat of his vessel's body. That heat and tingling didn't subside as Castiel moved Dean's hand from his face, Castiel looked afraid, much as he had done in the 'Den Of Inequity' Dean had dragged him to before their meeting with Raphael.
Now with both hands in contact, Dean followed his instincts and pulled Castiel closer to him.
Castiel did nothing to protest or pull away. His right hand was still on Dean's left hip, and as his vessel and his being filled with a strange electricity, he gripped tighter on to Dean's hip. He wanted to speak to Dean, to ask what was happening, what that strange stirring in his vessel's underwear was all about. He didn't understand why he wanted Dean to be this close to him. He had always been very protective of Dean, very tuned in to him, When Dean felt pain, Castiel knew it, when he felt fear, happiness, excitement, sadness even desire, Castiel knew. Castiel often visited Dean, unbeknownst to Dean. Often when the Hunter was sleeping; he didn't know why, but he just needed to be near Dean sometimes, especially when times were bad. Being near Dean offered him a kind of solace in the middle of an otherwise chaotic existence. He would get distracted and agitated if he spent too much time away from Dean. Simply watching the young man sleep would suffice. He often longed to touch him, to feel the soft, warm skin of Dean's handsome face against his vessel's hand, and he longed to reach out and touch Dean with his Grace, wrap him in it. Nothing had every felt more natural and right to Castiel as him and Dean together in that very moment. His hands now intertwined with Dean's, his breathing sharp and fast, his vessel's heart making itself known to Castiel for the first time, thundering in his chest, fluttering every few moments. His hips rotated and his pelvis pushed in to Dean's as Dean pulled him closer again. Castiel had been staring down in wonder at his and Dean's mushed hands, and he finally plucked up the courage to look nervously at Dean. Dean's emerald eyes looked up in to Castiel's, and he unknitted the fingers of his right hand from Castiel's left hand. The free hand now snaked up Castiel's arm and made its way to his ebony locks.
To Dean, Castiel's hair held the same delicate quality as his Wings, which were now draping lazily across the floor behind him, forgotten. That hair was still strong enough for Dean to grab a handful of, and he pulled Castiel's face closer to his own. The heat from Castiel's breath thrilled Dean, and he left his lips tingle. He bit his lips, his eyes instinctively dropped to Castiel's lips, and thrust his hips forward, away from the sink and in to Castiel, pushing the Angel back.
Castiel found his eyes dropping to Dean's lips, and their hands clenched together harder. A strange sound, somewhere between a purr and a hum escaped Castiel's lips, earning a lop sided smile from Dean. Cas didn't quite understand what was happening, what he was alloWing to happen. What he was alloWing Dean Winchester to do to him. He wanted this, he knew that much. He understood lust well enough, but he didn't understand the thundering in his vessel's chest, and the intense, electric, tingling heat that engulfed his vessel's body, a heat that seemed to center in the crotch, and was getting more intense with the new action of Dean's hip rubbing against it. Castiel glanced down and almost choked at the realization that it wasn't Dean's hip bone he felt rubbing against his own – his vessel's own – erogenous zone. Dean's soft lips made contact with Castiel's neck, and the strange purr-hum announced itself again.
Dean noted that Cas' Wings appeared to be emanating a rich golden glow, despite the Feathers still having the dull, charcoal like tone. Dean's hand returned to those precious Wings, and the ecstatic feeling he received sent Dean stumbling backwards.
The hammering masked the sound of Dean's fall and the flutter of Castiel's Wings.
Dean felt his heart sink.
Bobby yelled Dean's name in his growly, angry tone. "What the Hell is going on in there?" Flustered, Dean turned the shower on and set it to cool. His heart was still galloping in his chest, and his entire frame was trembling. Not to mention another problem he needed to rid of. "Can't a man have a shower in peace?" Dean's voice came out far more high pitched and shaky than he intended it to. He cleared his throat.
"It sounds like you're have a goddam rave in there."
"I tripped," He lied, his voice levelling out. He breathed a sigh of relief as the fall back to reality sorted out the problem in Dean's pants. He peeled out of his sticky clothes and climbed under the shower. The cool water felt refreshing against his prickling, electrified skin. Holy crap, what the actual FUCK just happened? As his mind raced, he just stood under the water trying to fathom some manner of sense from what had just occurred between himself and his Angel.
Okay so torn now, whether to keep it as a oneshot or draaaaaag it out a little more? Either way I hope any readers have enjoyed and hopefully agree with my idea of what SHOULD have been =p x x