Chapter 69.

After supper, Dean sent Anael to their room and then went to the Impala to collect the champagne they had bought on the way home. He stopped off in the shower room, just to freshen up.

He was nervous, he realised and he hadn't really felt like that in a long time. He felt like an anxious, self-conscious teenager and he had never expected to revisit those days. It wasn't that he doubted his abilities in the bedroom, but simply that this time, it mattered. This time, there was more at stake than a slightly awkward atmosphere at breakfast.

He looked in the mirror, seeing his face a little differently. For once, the shame of all his mistakes wasn't his first thought. Instead, he remembered her hand on his face and her gentle kisses. He picked up the bottle of champagne and headed to the kitchen.

Sam was there, washing dishes. "You should leave that for the morning." he said, "Go be with your wife."

"My wife is having a long soak in the bath." said Sam. He noticed the champagne. "Let me guess, glasses?"

"Yeah. I know it seems dumb ... "

"It really doesn't. Look, you don't need to worry what I think ... what anyone thinks. We're happy for you."

"I know you are. I never ... I mean, with Lisa, I guess, but even then ... "

"It never felt like this?"

"No, never."

"Which suggests Anael is the one."

"If there is a one for me, which I doubt."

"Then why is this happening at all?" said Sam, "Not that I'm suggesting it shouldn't. You want this. You want her. It seems like the only one who doesn't think you deserve to be happy is you."

"It's not that." said Dean, knowing that it was at least partly that, "What if I can't make her happy? What if I hurt her? What if the angel thing destroys everything?"

"What if you can? What if you don't? What if it doesn't?" Sam took two glasses out of a cupboard and handed them to him. "Don't think, Dean. Don't stress about the future. I have a good feeling about you and Anael."

When he got to the bedroom, Anael was already in bed, naked and covered by a sheet. She had lit candles and they provided the only light. She was even more beautiful by candlelight.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming." she said.

He put the glasses down and opened the bottle. As he poured the champagne, he said, "I had to find glasses, that's all. He gave her a glass, raised his own and said, "To us and whatever comes of believing we can have this."

She raised her glass and said, "We are going to have this. We are going to make this work." They looked into each other's eyes for a moment and then both drank. Dean put his glass down again and began to undress. Her eyes never left him and he rather liked that.

His clothes discarded, he took his glass and got into bed beside her. They took longer drinking that glass of champagne than either ever had over a glass of whisky.

Their first night together had been hurried, even desperate, irresistible mutual attraction and he suspected, a fear of thinking too much, of giving themselves a moment to ask whether it was wise. This time, it was different. They had faced their feelings, even put them into words, no more denial and a lot less fear. There was just the underlying certainty that nothing this good could belong to him.

"More?" he suggested, when their glasses were empty.

She took his glass from him and put both glasses aside. "Maybe later." she said. She drew him closer and kissed him. Eagerly, he returned the kiss, his earlier anxiety fading. Kissing came easily to him, always had and whatever doubts he had about the future, he had none about tonight.

He gently moved the sheet aside and took a good, long look at her body at the same time, exposing his to her appreciative gaze. Then, he took his time, using the skills of a lifetime to excite and arouse her. She was less practiced, but just as passionate and her instincts, or those of her vessel, made up for the lack of technique.

Then, she froze, staring at the ceiling, seemingly unable to move. It took him a moment to understand what was happening, then he remembered what Jules and Cas had told him about overload situations.

"Anael," he said, "It's okay."

Only her eyes moved, looking at him. She said nothing.

"It's sensory overload." he said. He stroked her forehead and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "You need to focus on one thing at a time. What do you hear?"

She blinked slowly. "Your voice." she whispered, "I love your voice." A faint smile appeared on her lips. Slowly, she was coming back from the confusion.

"I love you." he said, "Maybe we should stop."

"No," she said, "I need to learn to deal with this. If Castiel can handle it, I can."

"You're doing great," he said, "You came out of it pretty easily."

She reached out a hand to touch his lips. "I love you too." she said. She breathed slowly and deeply in and out a few times and then said, "I'm ready."

"You're sure?" he said.

"I'm sure, only ... "

"Only ... ?" he said.

Her fingers traced the line of his jaw. "Don't regret this tomorrow."

He took her hand and kissed the palm. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I gave you good reason to doubt me. I'm not gonna regret this. All I'm gonna do tomorrow is cook you a good breakfast, I promise."

She smiled. She ran her hand over his chest. He was beginning to wonder whether humans might also suffer the same debilitating effects from sensations so intense.

He took it even more slowly, working up from soft, tender kisses to ardent caresses and she loved them all and returned them. The lights didn't flicker, but he was fine with that. Every angel was different and Cas was more different than most. So, in her own lovely way was Anael, his beloved rebel. She wasn't like the other cloud-riders. She didn't feel like an angel, didn't want to be one and she couldn't help an occasional overload, but maybe, on some level, she was able to dampen the other effects of her celestial nature and he was starting to feel he should be glad of that. Best of both worlds, immortal, unbreakable, but human in every way that mattered.

"I love this body!" she said and he didn't know whether she meant his or her own.

Nor did he know which one he meant when he answered, "So do I."

"Is lust a sin?" she said.

He grinned. "It is if you do it right."

She kissed him, open-mouthed and hungrily. Then she looked into his eyes and said, "Do it right."