"What do we do with him?" Amara asks Dean, though her eyes are on Castiel like a predator too sated by a good meal to bother chasing the sitting duck near its jaws. Castiel swallows nervously, an all too human gesture he picked up without his grace and can't get rid of, like phantom itches or cravings for food he can't taste anymore. He looks to Dean, and there is little shame left in him to stop him from silently pleading with Dean to step away from her, to come back to the Bunker with Castiel. He knows the battle was lost before he began. Dean wouldn't have been sneaking out this past month to meet with her if he could stop himself. (If he even wanted to, Castiel thinks, bitter from the way Dean refuses to meet his eyes and instead turns to press his mouth against Amara's neck. She smiles, pleased.)
"Just let him go," Dean says. "He's not going to tell anyone." He almost tilts his head up to look at Castiel, but he can't make it, bending down to kiss Amara's shoulder instead until his mouth meets the strap of her dress. "Right, Cas?" There's nothing Castiel can call it except begging. Dean's voice fills with more uncertainty asking Castiel to keep his secret than it did telling Amara to spare him when she caught Castiel spying on them. She reaches behind her to run her nails through Dean's hair. Castiel wishes he'd never gone to investigate where Dean was disappearing to.
"No," Amara decides, "I think I want him to stay. I want him to watch." Dean coughs out something that's supposed to be a laugh. Amara turns her head to look at him, her brow furrowed at his reaction. Dean quiets himself down quickly.
"You're serious?" he asks. "He doesn't want to-"
"He does," she says, all too knowingly, and Castiel's stomach plummets. Dean finally looks up at him, and all Castiel can find in his face is confusion, even a hint of disgust.
"Cas, really? Isn't she your aunt?" The sharp sting of rejection smooths out into the simple ache of Dean's continued ignorance. Castiel can't bring himself to say anything, not to play along with Dean's assumption or to confess and bring an end to it.
He's not sure he could survive it if he told Dean everything he felt, and Dean turned his face away into the crook of Amara's neck again.
"Barely," Amara answers Dean's question for Castiel. She's still looking at him. You reek of fear and self loathing. He can still hear her judgement loud and clear. Dean can't pull himself away from her, and she has no intention of letting Castiel go. Not before she makes an even crueler point. He's mine, she says with every kiss Dean presses to her skin and every affectionate touch she returns, he's mine and he will never be yours.
"Dean," Castiel says, weakly. It's all he can beg of him. Not even to come with him anymore, but just for acknowledgement. It takes Dean a minute to hear him, lost in Amara's touch, her hand cupping his cheek.
"We're not forcing him," Dean says, but even though he glances at Castiel, he's still talking to Amara.
"No. Of course not." They both turn their gazes on Castiel, and he feels minuscule in front of them. "Do you want to watch us?"
"I won't knock what gets your rocks off, Cas," Dean says, which is meant as a kindness and only drives the knife deeper into Castiel's heart, "so hey, free porn for you and a little excitement for us.
Castiel's lips feel numb. His voice feels like someone else's. The words still take shape. "Yes. I'll watch." He's a lousy guardian angel, but if this is all he will ever be able to do, than he'll have to take it and teach himself not to starve with scraps.
He sits down in the corner of the room, far enough away from the bed that he could be forgotten about. Dean seems like he'll do just that, his focus shifting back to Amara. He pulls the strap of her dress down her shoulder to kiss the whole span of it until she sighs. Her other strap slides down easily. She turns in Dean's arms, one hand keeping her dress clutched to her chest and the other pressing Dean back towards the bed. She wants Dean to see her, but she stands at the right angle to make sure Castiel has to see Dean. When her dress drops, revealing her soft breasts, Dean looks entranced.
She's wearing nothing beneath the dress. Why would a goddess bother with the difficulties of underwear? She strokes the back of Dean's head as he pulls her close, eager to get his mouth on her. Castiel watches him nuzzle up the curve of one until he reaches the Mark of Cain emblazoned on her body. Dean licks over the Mark, dragging his tongue along the bend of it before he kisses his way back down. Amara breathes softly, her lips parted as she encourages Dean with little tugs on his hair, bringing him to where she's most sensitive.
Castiel has felt Dean's hair under his hands before, during desperate and bloody scares when Castiel stole a few too many moments of contact while healing him. It's soft, even when styled with gel, just the right length for someone to get a grip on like Amara has.
He's never felt Dean's mouth against his nipples. Dean sucks on Amara's, eyes tilted up to watch her expression melt into pleasure in response.
Amara pushes Dean onto his back on the bed. He smiles easily when she does it, in a way Castiel has rarely, if ever, seen. Amara straddles him, but the only attention Castiel can spare her comes from his fear for Dean's safety. Being in the same room as Amara leaves him feeling hunted. He has no idea how Dean can look up at her and seem so relaxed.
"Woah," Dean says, hands on her hips, while Amara frowns down at him for holding her still. She allows herself to be stilled, but with the dignity of a perched raptor, ready to spread its wings at the slightest hint of movement. If Dean understands how close he's coming to talons closing around his fragile throat, he doesn't show it. But Castiel knows. He can't forget.
(He tries not to think about years and years ago, when he was a true warrior of Heaven and Dean Winchester was a stranger to him. And still, he became Cas.)
"I need to be naked if you want to get this show on the road," Dean says. His gaze very briefly falls from Amara to spot Castiel watching him. His smile falters. He swallows. "I, uh-" Amara touches a hand to his cheek, and Dean takes the offer, turning away from Castiel again.
Leaving would hurt worse than watching, Castiel thinks, because he would rather destroy himself than abandon Dean.
Amara taps Dean's chest. His clothes turn to dust, flaking off into thin air. He startles, one of his hands flying up to grab her wrist but it doesn't get halfway there before he realizes the damage is already done. He still takes her hand. Amara lifts them above his head, pinning his hand under hers firmly to the mattress. "I liked that shirt," Dean grumbles. Castiel's gaze, which should remain trained on Amara for both of their safeties, guilty fixes on Dean's naked body. He traces down from Dean's familiar tattoo, over the sparse hair on his stomach, and lower, to the rigid dick rising to meet Amara's core. It twitches as Amara presses down on Dean's hand.
"You want me more," she says, assured. Castiel's vessel is becoming aroused. He tries to stop it, but he's never been able to control that reaction. Especially not now, watching as Dean's chest rises and falls with his growing excitement and his hard cock strains to slips inside Amara. She doesn't allow it to, teasing Dean by allowing the head of his cock to grace her entrance before rising beyond his reach.
"Yeah, I do," Dean agrees. His voice, always low, takes on a flirtatious tone. That, Castiel is all too familiar with. He clenches his fists against his knees as his own dick hardens, demanding attention he refuses to give it.
"How much?" Amara asks. She takes Dean's hand from her hip and lifts it to meet the other, until he is even more helpless beneath her than he already was. She traps him, and Castiel can hear Dean's rapid heartbeat. He wishes it were fear. Fear would be so much easier for him to handle.
"A lot," Dean says. "Amara-"
"More than anyone else?" she pushes. Dean raises his hips, trying to brush his dick against her, but she moves away. He makes a frustrated noise.
"Yes, more than anyone," he says. Castiel's heart is already broken, but the pieces can still take a beating. "At least let me eat you out if you won't let me fuck you."
"I'll let you," she says, and Castiel watches her lower herself onto Dean's attractive cock, hiding it from Castiel's view. He mourns the loss as Amara sighs in pleasure. "Because you're mine. Because you belong to me. Because we're bound." Like a nail being driven deeper with every word, and Castiel can only take the pain. Still, he can't help but devote his attention to Dean's reactions. The way he tips his head back and groans, the way his arms flex beneath Amara's hold, the way he thrusts up into her, needy but still careful, like he thinks he can hurt her.
It's wrong, but Castiel can hardly call himself an angel nowadays.
Dean did invite him to watch.
Castiel grits his teeth against the noises that rise in his throat. He will take his shameful pleasure in silence. He doesn't want Dean to look at him again, knowing his eyes will fill with uncertainty rather than the affection he showers Amara with. Castiel watches as she rides Dean, taking him deep into herself. Her arousal shines along his shaft, marking him in a way Castiel can't ignore if he wants to look at Dean's dick while he strokes himself. Without words, she seems to tell him this is what you will never have, this is what you were too afraid to take and now it's gone, now it's mine.
"Let me up," Dean says. He strains against her effortless grip, and Amara bows to kiss him. Dean grunts, a sound Castiel recognizes as pain, and a moment later, he can see the way Amara has sunk her teeth into Dean's lip, nearly breaking the skin but restraining herself at the last moment. "Fuck, don't make me beg." He meets her movements with his own thrusts, pumping his cock into her as Castiel tries to touch himself while matching Dean's rhythm. He falters more often than not, distracted by Dean's beauty and his own wretched desire.
"You should," Amara tells Dean, her mouth nearly pressed to his. Castiel resents every inch of contact between them, every spot their bodies meet. "I like to hear you beg. Convince me to let you go."
"I-" A moment of pride gives way to need. "I want to feel you come. Let me up, and I can rub your clit, and suck on your tits, and- Son of a-" Amara seats herself fully onto him, grinding with small sways of he body. "You're killing me here."
She smiles and drops to hide it against his throat like a blade. "No, not yet," she murmurs, and Castiel's blood runs cold even as he can't stop himself from stroking his cock faster. He can't help but imagine that Dean would be as generous a lover with him. He'll never get to know, doesn't deserve to after all he's done.
Amara releases Dean, and the moment he's free, he pushes himself up, wrapping his arms around Amara's back. He lifts her like she weighs almost nothing, like she isn't the most powerful being in the universe, in order to find a better position, one where he can roll her down onto the bed and fuck her hard. Dean kisses her as she lays her arms over the back of his neck, ravenous for all the love he gives her.
Dean meets Castiel's eyes again accidentally as he moves her. Castiel freezes, his cock in his fist. Dean's fingers curl against Amara's back. She turns her head to kiss along his cheek, and Dean buries his face in her shoulder again as they fall back into the mattress together. All Castiel can see is the muscle flexing in Dean's back as he drives himself into her.
Dean moans louder than Amara does, but Castiel can't close his eyes and pretend it's for anyone but her, not when the name Dean is panting is always, "Amara." It's all Castiel can hear. "You're so tight around my dick, fuck, Amara. I can feel your clit twitching when I touch it."
Dean slows his thrusts to pleasure her. Castiel catches glimpses of her around his body, her hair in waves across the sheets, her nails scratching red lines down his back, her legs wrapped around him like she wants him deeper.
For a moment, Castiel wishes she woukd hurt him. He wishes she would try to take Dean's soul, so that he have any excuse to drag them apart. She doesn't, and he couldn't if he tried, and he instantly feels shame flooding him for wishing Dean pain. Hasn't he felt enough of that? Hasn't Castiel caused enough?
If nothing else, Amara doesn't hurt him. She might burn the world to ash, but she will never hurt Dean. How can Castiel condemn her for that when some days he thinks he would do the same thing if only it meant they were alone together, forever?
"Dean," she breathes. Dean chuckles. Castiel watches the minute flexes of his arm, knowing that they're leading down to his hand, his fingers, playing with her clit until she comes apart for him.
"Close, baby?" Her nails dig deeper into his back. Dean grunts in pain again, but just like last time, it doesn't make him pull away. He thrusts forward instead. "Fuck, careful with those."
"Why?" Amara questions, genuine but as if she's made up her mind already. She scratches him again to make her point, and Dean's hips jolt forward. "You like when I hurt you."
"Yeah, but not- Not in front of-" Amara gouges long lines down his spine in retribution for him even mentioning Castiel. Dean forgets all about being watched if the way he moans from the pain means anything.
Castiel's cock throbs. His jealousy burns in his chest. She gets to have everything she wants, no matter how monstrous she is.
But Dean has decided she is not a monster. Dean has seen all of her and thinks she deserves love.
It should be his, he thinks before he reels back from that statement in horror.
Amara suddenly cries out. She clutches Dean tight. "Yeah," he says, muffling them both with kisses as Amara orgasms. "Yeah, just like that. That feels so good. Squeezing the life out of my dick down there." He thrusts into her as she's coming, making her gasp. Castiel can feel himself getting close. He didn't want to come with Amara. He wants to come with Dean, only Dean.
He focuses on every breath, every movement, every noise Dean makes. He wants to see his face, but Dean seeing him now is his worst nightmare. He's so undone, pumping his cock with his hand like he's too pathetic to stop. Dean bows into Amara as he fucks her, moaning her name. The bed squeaks with his thrusts. Castiel doesn't make a sound.
When Dean comes, he does it shamelessly. He's not afraid of what might happen if he fills Amara with his seed. He spills it all inside of her, his body trembling as he manages a few short thrusts to finish.
Castiel shuts his eyes. He doesn't want to watch his own come splatter against the floor. It shoots across his hand, wet and warm and disgusting. There's barely any satisfaction in it.
Dean lets out a heavy breath. Castiel hears him kissing Amara before he rolls off of her. He falls limp into the bed, chest heaving. His dick flops up against the bottom of his belly, softening and so vulnerable. Castiel can't look away from him. Dean throws an arm over his face.
Amara sits up. Where Dean is exhausted and drenched with sweat, she looks perfect. Dean's come drips from between her thighs before she shuts them and forbids Castiel to look at the gift Dean gave her. She eyes the mess he made on the floor and then him.
Castiel can't meet her gaze. He lost this game before he stepped into the room. Amara is only rubbing his nose in his failure, his cowardice. (As if it would have mattered if he'd ever told Dean what he felt. What's their bond against the one Amara and Dean have?)
"You can leave now," she dismisses him. She runs her fingers up Dean's thigh, a small thing but so intimate that Castiel can't stand it. Dean's leg twitches towards her, spreading to make himself more vulnerable.
Castiel stares at him. He knows Dean won't tell him to stay, but all he wants is for him to say goodbye. He wants to know that it mattered that he was here, in some small way.
Dean doesn't move. His face remains covered.
Amara doesn't even bother to watch Castiel leave either. Why should she? He's no threat. Dean is all hers.