Warning: Smut, smut, and more smut. No real plot, just straight up smut. Don't say I didn't warn you. Reviews are the crumbs on which a writer survives – don't be stingy and the universe will reward you!
Probably with more smut…
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters represented therein. Sadly.
DEAN
Witches, man, why did it have to be witches?
He hated witches. Hated their goddamn hex bags and their familiars. Hated their creepy stashes of baby bones. Hated the whole "human pimping their soul for power" because, hello, been there done that. Kind of. Except they hadn't done it for the price of someone's life, for a loved one oh no. They were doing it for a goddamn lower mortgage or so they could get back at all the people causing petty problems in their petty little lives.
God damn, he hated witches.
Why couldn't people just leave things the hell alone?
"Dibs on the shower," he growled as the blood and dirt spattered pair trooped through the Bunker's door, a slightly smug and disgustingly pristine angel meandering along in behind them. How the bastard managed to always come out of things looking like a goddamn daisy Dean was never quite sure. It was probably some angel mojo crap that, to be honest, the rugged Hunter had found himself envying more than once. Dean had bone dust in his hair and somebody's shredded heart sticking to his clothes. He sure as hell was getting in that shower first.
Sammy rolled his eyes and promptly changed course to head for the kitchen. "Whatever man," he called. "The beer will taste better if I don't have to smell you anyway."
"Bitch," Dean muttered, striding down the hallway and not waiting to see if the younger Winchester would respond with the traditional dubious word of affection. He just wanted to get away from everyone and out of his gore encrusted clothes.
Dean shimmied out of his jacket and dropped it to the bathroom floor, loose button down and undershirt soon joining it in an untidy little heap. He hissed a little as the undershirt came off, pulling a scarce congealed scab with it. He twisted a little to get a half-decent look in the bathroom's small vanity mirror. "Shit," he muttered, prodding at the gash along his collarbone. The abrasions on his face he'd known about. How he had missed the inches long slice near the base of his throat was a little beyond him. This shit might even warrant stitches, or divine healing if Cas happened to still be around. When did it happen?
Probably when I got thrown into the china cabinets, he realized as he flipped on the shower and prepared to wait a small eternity for the water to get hot.
Damn witch. Perhaps that was the thing he hated most about them. Soccer moms with the pretty suburban living room and the antique cabinet filled with great-grandma Suzy's precious hand painted china shouldn't be cooking up spells with demonic powers, human hearts, and pickled fetuses. Having the broken shards of china – not to mention the cabinet – rain down on him hadn't been all kicks and giggles either. Why hadn't he checked for injuries beyond the usual rough and tumble?
"Sloppy, Winchester, you're getting sloppy," he muttered to himself.
But if he was being honest with himself he knew why he hadn't the injury or thought to look for it later. Cas had shown up then. That's why.
Shouldn't have really surprised him, but it had. It still startled Dean how quickly the angel responded to his prayers. Or summons. Or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. This time it had been a pretty straightforward: Fuck, Cas. Sammy's tied up and I could use some help so that I don't end up as mincemeat. Again.
Apparently that fell into the proper purview of summoning angels because half a second later Cas was there, smiting the shit out of the soccer mom witch. And god damn if the flashing eyes and whole Hi, I'm an Angel of the Lord and I will smite Evil bit wasn't a complete and total…
His cock twitched hopefully.
"Nope. Not going there," Dean growled under his breath as he climbed into the shower which, given the current trend of his thoughts, he would have done better to left turned all the way over to freeze my balls cold. It was bad enough that his brain kept his dreams on a continual loop of porn featuring Dean and the angel doing everything the hunter had ever heard of, let alone actually done. It was bad enough that said dreams had him jerking off so much that even his teenaged self would have been left speechless. It was bad enough that he even – occasionally – let himself get hurt as an excuse for the angel to lay his hands on him. But this, this was just fucking ridiculous.
Sure, the angel was good looking with those too blue to be true eyes, the thick head of black hair, and that deep, precise voice. Dean could admit that. He'd thought the angel attractive even back when he thought Cas to be a complete and total dick. He was man enough to admit that. Sure, girls were more his thing but he'd never been above banging a dude if the situation was right. Not exactly bi, more… heteroflexible. Especially when Cas trotted out his Angelness and that deep voice took on a special timbre that made Dean's bones ache.
"Stop," he told himself as he helped himself to Sammy's expensive shampoo – his brother could be such a chick. "He's a fucking Angel of the Lord…"
And damn him if that wasn't part of the problem.
Dean groaned as he fisted his hand around a cock that had blatantly disobeyed orders and was now standing at stiff, aching attention. Who the hell am I kidding? He thought to himself, biting back a moan as he leaned against the tile wall and began to pump up and down, up and down, giving a little twist at the end that made his breath hitch in his chest. Between the adrenaline from the hunt and Cas going all "Badass Angel" it's a goddamn miracle I didn't make Sammy drive and jump Cas in the backseat of the Impala. Hell, it's a goddamn fucking miracle that I just didn't come in pants right then and there…
Oh, he was so screwed. No, not just screwed. He was absolutely fucked with a side of a fries and a frosty milkshake and a goddamn cherry.
"Cas," he whimpered against the tile, lips barely moving as his hips jerked desperately. "Goddamn it, Cas, why do you do this to me?" I wish you were here, he added silently. But like that was ever going to happen. Because, let's face it – Dean was pretty sure he was going to be spending the rest of his life jerking off to fantasies and occasionally banging black haired, blue-eyed chicks when doing his hand became more empty than he'd like to admit.
Behind him, above the noise of the water cascading over his shoulders and pounding into the floor, his ears caught the unmistakable noise of the door opening and then clicking shut a second later. "Damn it, Samantha!" he yelled over the noise of the shower. "I'll be out in a minute, just…" Whatever words he had meant to come out of his mouth next died on his lips. In fact, Dean's pretty sure that every word he's ever known – English or otherwise – has been completely wiped from his brain. Words? What are words? Who cares about words? He's having a hard time breathing and he's pretty sure his heart has stopped.
God help him, he's still got his hand wrapped around his cock and the damn thing is twitching like a Mexican jumping bean. It sure as hell isn't Sam standing just inside the bathroom door. It's not even Bobby. It's Castiel, in that damn coat with his eyes that are so damn blue that Dean is one hundred and ten fucking percent sure that he is either going to pass out or explode right there on the spot. The angel stood in the steam of the bathroom, completely unfazed by the scene he had walked into, regarding Dean with a familiar, measured look.
"Cas…" The angel's name fell out of Dean's mouth in something between a moan and a growl. The side of Castiel's mouth twitched in an unmistakable flicker of a smile. Slowly the angel slipped off his trench coat and laid it, almost tenderly, across the small vanity. "Um, Cas," Dean stammers, startled by the angel's movements into regaining some of his ability to communicate. "What…what are you doing?" Whatever it is that he was doing, he needed to stop because Cas taking of some of the layers that he usually hid under was so not helping the situation at hand. Or in hand, as it were.
The side of the angel's mouth twitched again as he tipped his head slightly to one side. "I should think that it is obvious, Dean," he replied, his precise tone rumbling slightly as he loosened the tie around his neck and slipped out of the suit jacket. "You are the one who summoned me."
Well, fuck.