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The peace talks have been going for almost three hours, but Dean hasn’t heard a word of it. Strategic discussion was always Sammy’s job to begin with, but this time the source of Dean’s distraction is the angel hovering near the back of Heaven’s ambassadorial party. Most angels are cut from the same bland-looking cloth, but this one has blue eyes and dark, messy hair that contrasts so sharply against every perfectly-coiffed dick with wings Dean’s met (or killed, or tortured) over the past couple of centuries. Where have they been hiding this one?
“We will offer a tribute,” Zachariah says, and these are the first words to finally reach Dean’s ears. “As a sign of good faith.”
Knowing Zachariah’s fucking dull ideas, it’s probably something uninspired like some pious boring-as-dirt self-sacrificing human virgin girl, like there’s anyone left in Hell who’s interested in that anymore. Dean decides that this is his moment to supply some useful suggestions, so he climbs up to Sam’s throne and whispers in his ear.
“You’re kidding me,” Sam whispers back, making a royal bitchface at Dean. “There’s no angel in Heaven worth fucking. Haven’t we looked?”
“That one.” Dean points, and there’s no way anyone in the Grand Hall of Purgatory can mistake the meaning of his gesture. Heaven’s party turns to follow the direction of Dean’s finger and Blue-Eyed Angel goes pale.
“Huh,” Sam says. “Okay, you might have something there.”
“Don’t I always?” Dean beams.
There’s a lot of arguing, of course. Blue-Eyed Angel, whom Zachariah introduces as Castiel, immediately starts resisting, and then there’s a committee of feathers and wings closing in around him, more shouting in the angel’s inaudible language until Zachariah finally emerges triumphant. “We agree to the terms.”
“Boo-yah.” Dean pumps his fist while Sam rolls his eyes and draws up the contract.
Blue-Eyes stares at nothing, mouth a hard line that Dean can’t wait to fuck open.
“Welcome to Hell,” Dean says cheerfully. Castiel trails in after him, tiptoeing over blood and entrails. “Make yourself at home, because that’s pretty much what it is for you for the rest of eternity.”
Castiel is putting on a brave face, trying to push the self-sacrificing martyr angle like he hadn’t just been forcefully bartered over by his boss for a couple of years of ceasefire between Heaven and Hell (which Sam plans to break secretly and frame on a couple of fallen angels). When Zachariah had stepped forward to sign the contract, he’d surreptitiously whispered that Castiel was a scholar in the Divine Library, and it was actually his first trip out of Heaven. What luck, eh?
“Don’t talk much, do you?” Dean asks, bouncing on the bed. “I’m Dean, but you already knew that. My baby brother’s Sam, but he’s just the brains of this outfit. I’m the looks.”
Castiel, ignoring Dean’s welcoming speech, stands awkwardly in the middle of the room and warily eyes the chains that fall from the ceiling.
“You like those?” Dean asks. “We’ll have to make some new ones for your wings. Never had an angel in here before.”
Castiel’s wings flutter in distress. It’s a gorgeous sight – white feathers rippling like liquid muscle – that Dean really cannot help jumping off the bed and reaching out to touch them. Castiel flinches, but Dean gets his hand around the edge of one wing and pulls at it so that it unfolds.
Dean’s seen angel wings before. He’s ripped them from still-living angels, eaten their flesh (kinda dry, needs lots of ketchup) and even mounted a couple as trophies in Sam’s study. These, however, are different. He doesn’t know why, but he likes the way that they curve just so under his hand, the pulse fluttering when Dean tightens his grip.
Dean experimentally licks the outer vane, forked tongue dragging along the silken texture. The wing jerks, trying to get away, but that just makes Dean tighten his grip and bite down on the muscle.Castiel cries out at that, hands up and trying to push Dean away. He barely makes Dean rock on his hooved feet – Castiel is a scholar, hahaha, look at the nerdy little angel trying to take on Hell’s mightiest warrior.
Dean releases the wing and licks the blood from his teeth. Angel blood has always been bland to Dean, but he loves the reaction it gets. Castiel’s blue eyes have taken on the most beautiful shade of terror, so Dean pulls him in and kisses that blood into his mouth.
The angel struggles against him, wings flapping wildly in a futile attempt to get away. All that achieves is sweet friction of feather and flesh hitting either side of his body, and Dean is starting to get painfully hard. That won’t do, because they haven’t even started.
Dean pulls away and grabs Castiel’s throat. “You do remember the terms of the agreement, don’t you? Willing servitude?”
Castiel nods mutely.
“You call that willing?” Dean playfully pinches the bridge of Castiel’s nose. “You’re so tense, Cas. I think we’ll just have to get straight to the part where I fuck you.”
Castiel blinks rapidly, but says nothing.
Dean likes using chains. With them, he gets to concentrate on the bits he likes without having to worry about the object of his focus doing something stupid like gnawing off a body part to use as a weapon.
He’s got Castiel on the bed, hands bound to chains that draw tight to the headboard. Cas’ ass is arranged at the very edge of the mattress while his legs are lifted near vertical thanks to the chains attached to the ceiling. They have a very specific pulley system built into the chains – thanks, Jo – so with a few pulls of a lever the chains have Castiel’s legs splayed in a nice V shape that’s like an arrow pointing straight to his puckered little hole.
Castiel’s wings haven’t stopped twitching since Dean had pushed him on the bed. They keep moving in a tell of whatever Castiel’s feeling, and now they’re restless, wary. When Dean strokes hands up Cas’ legs, the wings go perfectly still.
Dean lowers himself down on his knees. The height of the bed is such that he’s level with Cas’ ass (seriously, thank you, Jo), so it’s really no trouble at all to flick his reptilian tongue along the skin and taste angel sweat. Cas’ wings tense further, tightening in close to his body. The angel seems to think there’s nothing but penetration in his immediate future.
Well, who is Dean to prove Cas wrong? He draws his tongue tight until it thins like a pencil of flesh before plunging inside.
The wings jerk, outer feathers flaring like helpless fingers clawing at air.
Dean smiles to himself. His tongue’s pretty damn long but he manages to get it all the way in before letting it unfurl. Now he’s free to let it undulate inside Cas, writhing against the inner walls that taste like the sweetest angel musk. Only the muscle near the entrance clenches down at the intrusion – further inside the flesh is helpless, and there Dean lets his tongue flicker and explore freely, curling through heat until it finds that lovely little spot and presses.
Cas is silent, but boy, are his wings telling a story. One flaps a few times, but the other is frozen, pointing straight upward like it is frozen in incomprehension.
Dean fucks Cas well and good, tongue twisting inside and finding all sorts of pressure points that get those wings to jerk and tremble.
He finds that he has to seriously re-evalute his opinion of angel flavor. Cas is something else – heady and savory, like well-aged wine, and Dean thinks he could do this for centuries. He wants to taste everything Cas has to offer, and everything he doesn’t.
Then Cas surprises him. The angel’s cock is stiffening, rising off his belly like a traitor until it grows thick enough to spit precome to the open air. Dean laughs deep in his throat, the vibrations going all the way up into Cas’ ass until he shivers and his cock becomes red and angry.
Well, this means a change of plans is in order. Dean would’ve been content to fuck Cas this way, but there’s something better he can do now. He pulls his tongue out, laving saliva over the hole as he goes, and then reaches out to touch that marvel of an erection.
“Look at that,” Dean says, amazed. He drags his fingers up the silken skin and then presses a thumb to the slit, laughing with disbelief when drops of pre-come ooze out, coating his fingers stickily. In all his existence he’s never seen an angel hard, and now he is rendered breathless by the sight.
Cas’ face is quite the sight, too. He looks horrified, on the verge of tears, wings in an arc over him like he wants to hide his shame.
“Have you ever been hard, Cas?” Dean asks curiously. “Are you a virgin? Well, were you a virgin? Come on, you can answer that.”
Cas swallows, and then nods stiffly.
“Well, I’ll be,” Dean says. He pumps the erection a few times, watching it swell until there’s nowhere else for it go. It’s beautiful, there’s no other word for it, and Dean feels like crowing his joy for all to Hell to hear. “Cas, you really are something else.”
There’s no way he’s going to waste this. Dean quickly climbs on to the bed, straddling Cas and reaching back to aim that miraculous angel cock for his hole. It goes in like a beauty, glorious in its meaty girth, and Dean sinks down in one greedy stroke until he’s pressed down firmly in Cas’ lap.
Cas is crying now, tears spilling from his scrunched-up eyes. Dean had no idea it would be like this, and he will never ever doubt his instincts ever again.
The door opens. There’s only one person who can enter these rooms without permission. “Dean, are you still playing with your angel?”
“Sam, get over here!” Dean calls out. “Look!”
Steps approach, and then Sam’s standing next to the bed, looking as shocked as Dean feels. “Are you riding an angel?”
“It’s amazing!” Dean says, starting a steady hump up and down. It feels better than anything Dean’s ever tried, and Dean’s tried a lot. “Sammy, you gotta try this, seriously. Try his hole, he loves it.”
“Really?” Sam sounds doubtful, but curious. He disappears from Dean’s line of his sight and makes a thoughtful sound. When Dean glances over his shoulder, Sam is studying Cas’ hole, frowning with academic curiosity. Trust Sam not to jump in immediately when an opportunity arises.
So Dean lets his tail fondle its way down Cas’ thighs, pass his balls and then to his pucker, pressing against the rim and sliding inside effortlessly. Dean then reaches back with his hand, finding that same opening and shoving a finger in. Tail and finger pull the opening apart so Sam can inspect it better. “You see?”
“Yeah, I do,” Sam says, sounding breathless. “Wow, this is... unprecedented.”
“So you are you gonna fuck him or not?” Dean asks, frustrated. “I’ve never seen an angel come before.”
Cas’ eyes go wide and his body tenses, resisting the very idea.
“Oh no you don’t,” Sam says, shoving a finger of his own inside Cas’ squeezing hole. “I’m getting in there.”
“Now we’re talking,” Dean says happily, and he starts grinding against Cas in earnest. In no time he’s bouncing up and down on Cas’ dick, pausing only once to allow Sam to shove inside the angel’s body and start thrusting. They set a quick rhythm, fucking Cas relentlessly until those lovely wings start thrashing all over the place, sensory overload for a creature that’s probably never felt anything significant in his life.
Cas’ cock is like pure silken muscle, sending wave after wave of pleasure through Dean’s body like it’s something completely new. He kinda wishes Sam didn’t interrupt so he’d get to fuck Cas with his tail while riding him, but there’s something great about both Lords of Hell screwing their prize at the same time – taking the angel’s virginity and forcing it to the pleasure it doesn’t want.
Dean’s laughing, because he gets to do this again and again and again, as many times as he wants as many ways as he wants, and he just knows that Cas is gonna be full of surprises.
When Cas finally comes, he doesn’t disappoint. The wings bend around them like a cocoon, feathers flaring, and then they explode.
The spurt of angel come inside Dean is so strong he is almost pushed off his ride, but he manages to hold on and that hot fountain just surges against all the sweet spots inside, gushing until there’s nothing left to fill up. Dean comes like that, screaming his pleasure while feathers fall all around them, Sam’s voice joining him soon after in chorus.
Minutes, hours, days, whatever later, Dean turns his head and grins at his brother, who is spitting feathers from his mouth. “Can I pick ‘em or what?”
They both look at the angel on the bed: a fucked-out collage of feathers and demon come. His wings are thinner, but there already new feathers pushing out to replace the ones lost.
“Why do I get the feeling that we’re not going to get much work done around here anymore?” Sam says.
“I know, right,” Dean says. “We’re going to have such a good time.”