Word count: 770
Genre: PWP, angst
Rating: mature
Prompt: Destiel; at Bobby's
He didn't know who had taught Castiel to be possessive - no seriously, Dean had no freaking idea. Yeah, sure, he got angry when he wasn't the first person Cas turned to for help (but that was different, it fucking was, because that had resulted in him to turn to fucking Crowley instead, for fucks' sake), and he saw red if anyone so much as touched his car without permission, but he sure as hell never gave Cas a reason, or an example, to act like this.
Yet, he found himself pressed hard against the headboard of the bed, Castiel's hip and hands pressing punishingly hard into him as he growled into Dean's neck, leaving marks on his skin with stubble and teeth alike, red and angry and sure to not fade within the next few days at least. The angel's right hand clutched at Dean's shoulder, the one where there used to be a mark, his mark, removed years ago by Castiel's own touch. Now, it seemed like Cas was determined to press a new hand shaped brand into Dean's skin, he was gripping him so hard.
Dean gasped with both pain an pleasure as Cas bore his teeth into his opposite shoulder again, hips matching the pace of his tongue on Dean's skin. Dean would be angry at the way Cas was disregarding Dean's arousal for the sake of making his point - whatever fuck that point was - if it wasn't for how the angel's pace and angle made it entirely impossible for him to even think; all he could do was to hold on tight, fingers digging into Cas' back hard, probably leaving dented marks of their own.
"Infuriating," Castiel mumbled into Dean's neck as he finally let go of the flesh of Dean's shoulder, causing the human to gasp as the action renewed the pain of the bite, and how the fuck was he still able to use such lengthy words anyway? Dean tried to answer, to inform Cas that fuck you very much because he was the one who was in the wrong here, not Dean. But all that came out was a strangled sound somewhere along the lines of "mmphaa-aah…!"
"Why won't you. Listen. To. Me." Each word was punctuated by another snap of his hips, dick aligned perfectly to put pressure on Dean's prostate. He was almost mad from the onslaught of sensation, the stinging bitemarks which were now covering most of his chest and right shoulder, the painfully hard grip of Castiel's hand on his right, pressing him into the rough fabric of old motel sheets against his back, the fullness of his ass…
It was too much at once, and Dean threw his head back, unable to even process what Castiel was growling into his skin as he pushed back against the angel one last time, gasping for breath around a silent scream as he came, hard, come splattering both his own and Cas' chests and bellies, causing the angel to moan against Dean as he pushed him even harder into the mattress, body gliding easily against Dean's slickened skin, face burrowed in the hunter's shoulder, and Dean could have sworn that he could hear Cas let out a harsh sob before swearing - something else Dean suspected he'd unknowingly taught him - and coming, almost as hard as Dean had.
Afterwards, Castiel got dressed again, fast and methodically, without sparing even a moment to glance back at Dean, where he lay spent and aching on Bobby's couch.
"I'm leaving," he said, as if that wasn't obvious. As he hung the ever-crumpled tie around his neck once more, he turned around and looked at Dean, face obscured by the shadows made by the warding sigils painted on the windows, eyes gleaming in the dark, pleading.
Dean said nothing.
Castiel sighed, eyes lowering to the floor, before there was a rush of air and he was gone. Dean finally let go of the air in his own lungs, and for a moment, his stomach clenched with a completely different kind of discomfort than that of having over-exerted his muscles. He pointedly ignored the feeling, the same way he ignored the little voice in his head that sang "hypocrite, hypocrite" as he shouted at Cas for working with Crowley, for wanting to spare Dean the pain of another war, for wanting to keep safe what he cared about most…
The marks on his chest and shoulder would fade eventually, but Castiel had left a more permanent mark on Dean already a long time ago, and that was never going to stop hurting.