mf_luder_xf | New Fic: Dean/Castiel

So, according to my tags, the last time I posted a fic was just over a year ago. The last time I posted a Supernatural fic? 2.5 years ago! Well, hell. I'm going to hope this jump starts the muse for my two SPN WIPs (actually, I had started over the summer and then got distracted again). But it might have to wait until Thanksgiving; school's a bitch (God love grad school). Isn't that always the problem, though?

Whatever, I'm excited I wrote something and it's all thanks to Castiel.

Title: Hi, I’m Icarus; I’m Falling
Author: MF Luder
Pairing: Dean/future!Castiel, future!Dean/future!Castiel referred to
Keywords: slash, dub-con, PWP, angst
Warnings: asphyxiation kink, dubious consent (these are both so small I say only those very weak of fanfic heart should worry), drugs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,443
Spoilers: 5x04, “The End”
Disclaimer: They belong to the CW and all the producers.
Archive: My LJ, anywhere else, just let me know.
Summary: “You are, though. And you’ll never change. If there’s one thing I learned about you, it’s that. You’re a stubborn bastard. Just try not to take me down with you this time. Not to say it hasn’t been fun. Generally.”
Feedback: skin.walker2y5@gmail.com
Author's Notes: I’d had a 5x4 tag in mind. This is not it. This is merely porn. Carry on. Title from Regina Spektor’s song, Lacrimosa. Because I still can’t come up with titles on my own. Big thank you to my beta,

rhymephile who was very quick and very good at fixing my awkward phrasing.

Companion fic to Lacrimosa.

Cas corners him after his little argument about his other self shooting someone in cold blood—Croat or not. Dean’s still pissed at Zachariah for sending him here—like some errant child—but now he’s more pissed at himself. Future him, whatever. He can’t believe he ever let it come to this.

“Dean. We need to talk.” High he might be, but Cas’ rough growl is reassuring. Dean’s not sure how he feels about that. He follows him anyway.

Entering Castiel’s personal whorehouse-slash-Buddha shrine, Dean feels the need to break the awkwardness with a joke. Thumbs in his pockets, smarmy grin on his face he asks:

“Where’s your harem?”

“I sent them home,” Cas responds with that strangely musical laugh that erupts at odd moments.

“Without their orgy?” Dean raises an eyebrow and gives a leer.

“I have more pressing interests at the moment. They understand.”

“I see. The holy talk makes you their god…”

Cas glances at him askew before a smile slides across his features. “Dean. Always with the humor.”

“What else you got in the apocalypse?”

“People, for one. Some of us have stayed by your side, Oh Fearless Leader.”

Dean grimaces. “Really, if you could save that for the other me, I’d appreciate it. It’s…weird.”

“As you wish,” Castiel inclines his head, looking just like Dean’s Cas if it weren’t for the hippie clothes and the far away glaze to his eyes.

“So, you wanted to talk to me?” Deans prods. He’s not really sure where this is going.

“Mmmm. Talk.”

Castiel’s eyes take on a new light as he appears to measure Dean from head to toe: calculating, sad, and…well, the only word Dean can use is hungry.

He’s seen that look before. Not the sadness, but the rest. From men, whores, the truck stop waitresses who don’t usually see anyone with all their teeth. It’s a look of lust.

And whoa, what is going on here?

“Uh, Cas?”

Castiel takes a step towards him, one hand stretching out as if to touch.

Dean takes a startled step back. This isn’t right. Castiel doesn’t look at Dean like that. He’s a dick with wings; friend, yes, but still a dick. More importantly, he’s an angel. Holy. Pure. And even if it doesn’t apply anymore, there’s still something wrong about that look.

The hand stays up, placating now, gentle like Castiel is trying to settle an animal.

“I realize how strange this is to you, Dean. I admit I didn’t expect it myself.” He laughs again, lilting. “But then you showed up and you’re you, the you I used to know. I just…please.”

The plea comes out whispered and the man in front of him shudders and takes another step forward.

“Please, what?” He’s not playing entirely dumb. While he gets what Castiel is asking, asking of him, this is entirely new and he’s feeling entirely out of place. Dean is flustered and he doesn’t like it.

“It’s been so long.” Castiel has crept closer now and there’s a hand on his sleeve. The hand moves up slowly—Dean watches it all like it isn’t him, like it isn’t Castiel’s hand moving—until it curls around the point where shoulder meets neck. The hand isn’t gentle anymore. Instead, the pressure of it flutters, like Cas is nervous or barely restraining himself. The expression on his face indicates the latter. The sadness and hunger is now mixed with determination, with a wildness that Dean isn’t entirely sure is brought on by the drugs.

Dean can’t say he hasn’t thought about this. Well, not this. But when Castiel has gotten too close to his face or the night when he woke up with Castiel perched on his bed—and instead of being creeped out he was reassured—in those times he’s wondered. Abstractly.

He’s distracted from his train of thought though, when Cas’ other hand rubs him through jeans and underwear. Dean lets out a gasp he never meant to.

“Cas. I don’t want…please stop. This isn’t right. It’s not you.”

Even as he says it though, his body is betraying him, leaning just the slightest bit into the touch, wanting more. He refuses to acknowledge it, stepping away until he hits something solid behind him.

He’s backed up against the footboard of the bed. Castiel drops to his knees and then his mouth is right there, rubbing and mouthing wantonly against Dean’s crotch, moaning lowly, whimpering slightly.

“Let me, Dean, please. Please. Please, Dean, let me be your whore, I want to be your whore. It’s been so long since you’ve let me touch you.” There’s desperation in his mumbled tone as well as the words.

His hands are now on Dean’s hips, crushing hard and Dean’s wondering if he’ll have bruises. That mouth is wicked even through layers of fabric and he can’t help it, he’s getting hard.

“Castiel. What are you doing? Stop, please.” Because he can’t be at fault for ruining an angel, his angel. God can’t want that, right?

But Cas doesn’t stop. His long fingers slip up the hem of Dean’s shirt, smoothing right over hip bones, tickling almost, and only then does Cas’ so long since you’ve let me touch you sink in. Castiel knows him. They’ve done this before. The thought simultaneously sends a rolling pitch through his stomach and the first burst of real desire to Dean’s gut. He’s going to Hell. In fact, he thinks he’ll be there for five eternities at this rate.

Castiel looks up at him, eyes glazed and pupils blown. “Please.”

But even as he’s speaking, he’s unzipping Dean’s jeans and pulling his cock through the gap in his boxers. He doesn’t wait for Dean to actually give permission. He starts going to town, licking and sucking at the head. And so help him God, Dean lets him.

Castiel is apparently a pro and he’s fully hard now. He’s slowed down his initial ferocious attack and is taking him in slow and soft, wet and hot. He sucks at the tip, tickling the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the head with his tongue. It feels amazing and Dean’s breath is definitely coming quicker now.

Then Cas takes him all the way into his mouth, nose brushing Dean’s pelvis, and swallows.

Dean keens in the back of his throat. His hands flail for purchase, ending up in Cas’ hair. It’s grown out from his what he’s used to and the angel’s bangs hide his eyes until Dean tugs them and forces Castiel to look at him.

His eyes flutter between half-shut and closed, and he’s making noises around Dean’s dick, sending vibrations up and down the shaft. Dean’s not going to last long, struggling to keep his own eyes open and keep his hips from rocking forward too much. Cas has different plans though, and the insistent digging in of his fingers into Dean’s hipbones tells him it’s okay to fuck his face.

So Dean stops holding back. He’s moaning out loud and breathing hard, rocking his hips in and out slowly, one hand trained along Cas’ jaw to feel himself there. The other hand is still tangled in his too-long hair, forcing his face into his crotch. The angel’s nose keeps a beat as it rubs against Dean on every intake of his cock. Dean speeds it up, moving faster, thrusting harder and Cas has tears shining in his eyes and he probably can’t breathe but he isn’t complaining and he isn’t choking so Dean takes and takes.

He pulls out in time to come all over Cas’ face, name on his lips exhaled in a groan of pleasure. Come is dripping from the angel’s dark eyelashes, shining on his lips where he licks it off. Dean hauls him to his feet. Castiel’s lips look abused, red and raw and full. Dean kisses him anyway, catching his own taste as he does.

He tugs off his shirt and gently wipes the stickiness from Castiel’s face as the other man practically purrs and melts into Dean. He gently paws at Dean, not really in a sexual manner; more in ownership, as though he hasn’t had any human contact in awhile.

Dean can’t help but wonder if he’s another in a long string of replacements for the Heavenly Host. Booze, drugs, sex, Dean. It saddens him, knowing Castiel has—quite literally—been brought to his knees, mired in all of humanity’s filth and sin.

He turns his head a little and lays a small kiss on the side of his angel’s head, right above his ear. There’s gray there now, he can see. It makes him feel even guiltier when all he smells is sex, generic soap, and a whiff of weed. In his own time, whenever Castiel invades his space he somehow smells of wind and the beginnings of spring. Dean’s not sure if he should be angry at Castiel, himself, Lucifer, or God for the mess Castiel is now.

Before Dean can properly move, Castiel is sliding a hand up along his neck, pressing his thumb into the hollow of Dean’s throat—and that’s the first indication that they really have done this before; it’s not accidental—kissing him and holding onto Dean’s pants by the belt as he shuffle-walks them around the bed, sprawling out and pulling Dean on top of him. Somehow, he’s also undone the top of his own jeans and he isn’t wearing underwear.

Dean leans up, not really comfortable. “What are you doing?” he asks softly.

“What do you think?” Castiel responds in a colloquial manner and it sounds wrong. Two days ago he still talked in clipped sentences. This sudden shift to human Castiel is giving him whiplash.

Dean’s trying to think but Cas is rubbing up against him, and his dick is bobbing up against his stomach. It’s thick and long, something Dean can’t cover with one hand. In the fading light shining through the windows, Dean can see it’s flushed a nice dull red. He spares a thought that Jimmy was hiding that beneath his tax accountant suits and religious beliefs.

“Cas, stop,” he pleads with the last remaining thread of dignity and resolve he has.

“I don’t want to, Dean. Neither do you.” Castiel drags his thigh up against his already hardening cock as proof.

He shifts, placing his elbows on either side of Cas’ shoulders, heaving a sigh that doesn’t really fit the situation but fits his circling thoughts and drops his head to the angel’s chest. He’s got a tattoo now, too, showing through the open collar. Dean kisses it, absently.

“Do you have…anything?”

Cas grins and it’s beautiful and so unlike him it shoots a stab of pain through Dean’s chest. He shimmies up the bed and reaches into the nightstand drawer.

It’s wrong that someone should have so many condoms. Especially considering it’s the apocalypse.

But Dean gives in. Was he really going to do anything else? Maybe this was always the next step. For him, at least. He can’t imagine a non-fallen Castiel wanting Dean to fuck him senseless. But he’ll take what he’s being offered. And when he gets home and can’t look his angel in the eye, he doubts Castiel will guess why.

Dean stands and quickly disrobes. Castiel is leaning against the headboard, pants about his thighs; shirt rucked up about his waist, cock jutting up. His hands are running up and down his chest slowly, clearly enjoying the sensations if his little puffs of breath are anything to go by. Dean wonders what kind of drugs he might be on now.

He pushes that thought away though and crawls up the bed to where Cas is waiting, pulling the angel’s pants off and tossing them over the side on his way up. He sits in Cas’ lap so that their cocks line up against each other. Cas moans as Dean’s weight settles and immediately moves in for a kiss.

The kiss is slow at first. Cas’ tongue is immediately in his mouth, though, and they kiss forever: wet and hot. Cas slides his tongue along Dean’s lips, smiling as he does, then dives in and they battle for control but it’s still leisurely like they have all time in the world. Dean’s hands glide up beneath Cas’ shirt working it until it’s bunched at his armpits. Once there, he flicks at apparently sensitive nipples, Castiel shuddering up and into him. Their cocks move in tandem and Dean bites back a whimper.

Cas’ lips manage to be chapped even five years in the future, but they’re still full from his expert blow job and Dean finds himself nipping at them constantly in between trying to shove his tongue as far down Cas’ throat as possible.

He can’t imagine his version of Castiel kissing like this, with wild abandon. But while he knows his Cas is a virgin and this one’s a slut, there’s something about the idea of a still-angelic Castiel kissing him hard and with inexperience. Dean shoots out a hand against the headboard to control himself as he visualizes it, knuckles turning white at the image. He bucks into Cas and it’s time to move this party along.

He tugs at Cas’ tunic until the other man lifts his arms and he can throw it onto the floor. He keeps Cas’ arms pinned up against the wall, leaning in to bite at his lips, missing, then diving in again. Cas lets out these little broken off noises as he struggles against Dean. Not hard enough to get away, but enough for Dean to have to use both hands, shifting himself closer, cock now rubbing against Cas’ stomach and chest as he stretches down to nibble ears and run his nose through dark hair.

Castiel smells like the faintest traces of day-old sweat. For some reason that turns Dean on more and he noses a bit behind Cas’ ear, mouth open and breathing hot.

“Dean,” Castiel moans out and Dean lets him go, gliding his hands tight over the angel’s buttock on the way, sliding him down the bed.

Now that Cas is completely naked, he stretches out, shifting his body this way and that, performing. It’s one hell of a sight. The angel is miles of pale slender and supple muscle, dark hair dusting his crotch and his legs. Even his feet are graceful. Dean wonders if Jimmy was this graceful or if it’s all Castiel. Doesn’t really matter now.

His eyes flutter open: vivid blue, lust-bright, searching.

“Dean,” he moans out again. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Dean, please.”

His lips are parted obscenely, his chest heaving with breath, dick jutting up even as his hands stroke up and down the shaft.

He lets out a growl in the back of his throat before manhandling Cas over onto his stomach. Cas just follows his lead smoothly, staring back over his shoulder, hands splayed on the sheets. His eyes are lidded, his tongue swipes his lips.

But Dean is distracted by something else. His fingers follow one of two thin lines that are obviously scars down Castiel’s back.

“What happened?”

In a tone far more reminiscent of his own Castiel than this one, Cas replies flatly, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are these…are these from your wings?”

Dean is shocked. His stomach turns. He knew it—Cas had told him—but still. To see evidence that the angels have left not only humanity but their own brother too by apparently ripping off his wings. It makes him sick.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. Just fuck me.”

Dean’s not sure he wants to continue, confronted by this travesty. It pulls him out of the moment. But he lets his hands slip down Cas’ back, following the scars until they slide over his round and muscular ass.

“Yes, Dean. God, yes.”

Blasphemy now, too. Even as Dean’s spreading the angel’s butt cheeks in the back of his mind he’s calculating all the things wrong with this scene, with this future. It can’t happen. Even as he prepares to fuck his friend, his guardian angel, he knows this can never happen again. He won’t let it. Not in this life.

He looks down at the picture he’s made: Castiel up on his knees, face mashed into the bed, moving his hips so he can get pressure on his dick all while Dean is holding him open, vulnerable. It’s a beautiful, debauched sight.

He bends down and nips at the base of Castiel’s spine. He moves lower until he can practically taste Cas on the back of his tongue. He takes a good solid bite—not enough to break skin though—and gets a face full of ass as Castiel jerks in reaction.

He laughs even as Castiel grunts at him to get a move on.

“Got any lube stashed in that drawer, too?”

“I don’t need any,” comes the mumbled response.

“Excuse me?” Dean blinks.

Cas turns his head. “I said, I don’t need it.”

“Are you sure?” This is fucked up enough already; he doesn’t need to cause pain.

“Dean.” Castiel’s tone conveys a lot of things. Confidence for one. “I’m fine.”

Dean nods. He spits generously into his hand, however, before gliding it along Cas’ crack, making it slick. His thumb goes in easy. The body beneath him shudders with the action.

He dips it in again then alternates, running his fingers through his own spit, over Castiel’s ass. Gentle, teasing, never in one place for long. He’s rewarded by sighs that get louder and transcend into moans. He keeps going, sliding in his middle finger to find and rub against that bundle of nerves. With that Castiel bucks and begins a litany of godyesohgodohDeanDeanDeanohgodyes…

Dean can’t take it anymore. He’s fast losing his cool and he needs to feel Castiel’s heat wrapped around his cock before he comes. He hastily puts a condom on, letting its wrapping fall to the ground.

He shifts and grips tighter at the junction of pelvis and thighs, positioning Cas so that his hips are high in the air and his back is one long concave curve of spine. He keeps one hand pressing Castiel down so he doesn’t uncurl as he enters him, long and slow. After the first moment it’s a tight fit and he can feel Cas trying to shift his hips to get used to the pressure. They’re delicious, those little rolls.

Dean uses his thighs to spread Cas’ legs open further, getting himself closer, shoving in deeper. He pauses when he’s all the way in. He can feel Castiel trembling beneath him; hear his harsh intake of breath. Dean’s trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself. It’s been a surprisingly long time since he’s done this and his body is so overwhelmed it wants to climax now.

As he acclimates to the hot pressure he palms at Cas’ cock, keeping it hard. He finds one of Castiel’s hands there and instinctively wraps their fingers together, jacking him off in tandem.

“Mmmm, Dean…”

“That’s it. Oh, God, you feel so good.”

He falls back on cliché lines—even if it’s true—because he can’t voice his actual feelings. Partially, he has no idea what the conflicting thoughts in his head indicate. And partly, he can feel himself growing attached. To the sex, to the man. Cas is like steel beneath his hands: pliable and giving. But beneath the sex, beneath the drugs, still lies the heart and soul of an angel of the Lord and its terrifyingly exhilarating.

It should be just sex. After all, he knows where Cas has been (or rather, he doesn’t know). But it’s Castiel and that somehow makes it special. The angel raised him out of hell and while he wasn’t the greatest help, he had been their only help for over a year now. Castiel had given up so much for Dean.

If he and Cas were lovers, he can’t imagine giving him up, even this fallen, broken version.

Then again, he’s met the dick of himself.

Having composed himself, he draws his hips back, slipping all the way out, gripping Cas’ buttocks tight before driving in quick and fast. That receives a choked gasp and Dean is pleased.

He keeps up a brutal pace, wanting to leave his mark, fingers digging into giving skin. He knows there will be bruises tomorrow and it’s pathetic, but he doesn’t want this Castiel to forget this version of himself.

Castiel is writhing beneath him, straining his neck, curving his back further than Dean thought was possible. There’s a keen coming from somewhere in his throat. Dean can see the flush that’s settled on his cheeks; see the sweat sprinkling across his brow making his bangs damp. It’s incredibly visual and Dean almost forgets that he can feel it too, so wrapped up in the image of Cas brazenly shoving back against his dick. He doesn’t seem at all guilty or like he feels shame. He’s lost in the moment, Dean’s name a constant breath on his lips.

Dean changes positions, feeling the slow burn travel through his limbs as he gets closer to coming. He leans over Castiel’s body, stretching his arms along the other man’s until he grips hands tight in his. He’s got far less maneuverability and he can’t fuck as fast, but the new angle is obviously just right for Castiel as he lets out a yelp and then a groan of pleasure.

“You always know what I want, Dean. What I need.”

Castiel’s voice is low and deep and Dean can feel it rumble through his chest. It’s sexy as hell, even if it shouldn’t be. His words are punctuated with another loud groan.

He pulls out as far as can, rolling his hips as he pushes back in. Castiel catches his rhythm and they grind together as Dean nips at what bits of neck and ear he can reach. He lets out a whimper as the fire builds in his veins.

“Are you going to come, Cas? Can you come without touching your dick? With me just shoving my cock in your ass? Come for me. Cas, God, want you. Want you to come. Come, come for me.”

“Yes. Going to come. Dean…!”

He feels Castiel tense up underneath him and he tilts his hips just a bit more at the last moment and he feels Cas come apart under him, shudders racking his body, ass closing tighter around his dick.

That’s enough to send Dean over the edge, gripping Cas’ hands tight as his head falls to rest between his shoulder blades as he comes in a blinding flash of pleasure.

When it’s passed and his hips have stopped stuttering, he presses a kiss to the skin beneath him before sliding out and collapsing onto the bed, one hand on his chest. He lazily runs the hand up and down over still sensitive skin. He slides the condom off. He reaches out to smooth his hand over Cas’ side and flank. His eyes follow the scars again. Bastards.

“Wow, Cas. That was…amazing seems to be putting it lightly.”

He hears the other man give a choked off laugh, turning on his side in the process—away from Dean.

“I guess those girls taught you a few tricks.” He’s uncertain now and joking always seems to make it better.

Especially when you’ve just had sex with a former angel.

Castiel doesn’t say anything back. Which might be expected of his Cas, but this one has been pretty chatty. He’s shaking, too. Just a little. More like a twitch to his shoulder.

“Cas? Everything ok?”

He turns his own body, propping himself up on his elbow and presses another kiss to Cas’ back in front of him. It gets no reaction, though. No words. No grin or laugh.

It isn’t until Dean puts a hand on Cas’ shoulder, and actually looks at Cas that he gets it. Cas is crying. There are fresh tears rolling down his face, pooling in the dip between cheek and nose before dripping onto the pillow.

“God, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“Not yet,” Castiel chokes out in a tone bitter and mocking. He shrugs Dean’s hand off violently, sitting up, hunched over. He reaches into the nightstand and pulls out an already rolled up joint.

He ignores Dean as he lights it, taking a puff. Two. Three and he’s a lot calmer. The glaze begins to creep into his eyes again and his mouth pulls into a twisted smile.

“Now there’s the expression I’m used to from Dean Winchester. Disgust. Disappointment.”

Dean wipes his face blank. Whiplash, again. This isn’t Castiel. It isn’t even the man who was begging to touch Dean. He doesn’t know what went so wrong and it hurts worse than a punch to his gut. He wants to make this right. He has to.

“Well, Fearless Leader, I’m ready for another round. How ‘bout you?”

Dean stands and dresses quickly, feeling sick. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

This is Cas without drugs: broken and bitter. The real world has crushed his faith. He’s got nothing left and somehow, Dean’s at fault for it all.

Cas grabs his wrist before he can leave. His blue eyes are shining when Dean looks into them and he appears lucid. “Tell me. Is it the drugs or the sex that bothers you? That make you look at me so disgusted? Or is it that I can’t fight your war for you anymore? That you failed—you waited too long before saying yes to Michael—and I’m the eternal reminder?”

Dean speaks quietly. “I’m not him.”

Cas laughs, bitterly, before taking another drag.

Dean will never be able to stand the smell of weed again.

“You are, though. And you’ll never change. If there’s one thing I learned about you, it’s that. You’re a stubborn bastard. Just try not to take me down with you this time.” He stabs at the top of the nightstand with the joint, putting it out and letting Dean go in the process. “Not to say it hasn’t been fun. Generally.”

The stoned grin is back on his face. Dean doesn’t have the heart—or the balls—to tell him he looks better when he’s got his panties in a bunch over Dean’s sheer incompetence. He just sighs and walks out. Out of the cabin and into the dank, pale sunlight.

He will change this. He won’t make the same mistakes. For Sam’s sake. For the sake of the world. For Cas.

Current Mood: happy

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You rocked this one, my dear. :-)

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New Fic: Dean/Castiel

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