Title: In The Arms Of An Angel
Author: shadowofcastiel
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: characters are not mine - they belong to Eric Kripke - I'm merely having fun with them.
Summary: Taken from the following prompt from The Plot Bunny Adoption Center - community.livejournal.com/deancastiel/365977.html

1) Castiel goes into heat.

It's a bizarre idea, yea, but gleaned from the film Michael, it's mentioned briefly that he smells like cookies when he's in heat. I thought that was an interesting idea. It's time we see some Cas jumping Dean. Potentially definitely followed with gratuitous humping.

I only hope that I have done the prompt justice. The fic itself turned out much longer and angstier than I anticipated.


When Castiel descended down upon the Earth with his garrison of angels upon God's orders, none of them knew, especially Castiel himself, the full extent of experiencing life on Earth. When last Castiel and his garrison walked amongst humans, life had been much simpler then, without all the trappings of modern life that so encompassed the modern human.

Things were more complicated nowadays, more intense, just ... more.

When Castiel descended into the depths of Hell to pull Dean Winchester from the pit and his own damnation, the noble angel did not envisage what his own future could hold, and how complicated it was about to get for him.

And it all tied up with the elder Winchester himself. It was in him that Castiel found his attention diverted to time and time again, like Dean was a human sized magnet, drawing the angel back again and again and again.

At first, Castiel did not understand the feelings coursing through his veins, why he felt such heat, such urges that an angel should not feel, and could not even begin to understand, other than to think it was purely human instincts.

When conversing with the rest of his garrison, he discovered at least two of his fellow brethren were feeling the same way about their human charges, but none as strongly as Castiel felt for Dean Winchester.

The words "in heat" were mentioned, which Castiel himself treated with some suspicion, as he understood the concept, as he understood all concepts upon the Earth, but had not experienced it himself ... until now.

Until now, he did not even think it possible for an angel to be in heat - that state usually reserved for animals, such as the members of the feline race for example, and to a certain extent, humans themselves.

Castiel glided away on wings of thoughtfulness, trying to contemplate his own station in life as it stood now.

He found he welcomed the feelings coursing through him - feelings he now recognized as the most basest and basic of all the human emotions - all directed towards Dean. They were even of some comfort to him, in his loneliest moments, when he battled demons alone for instance, for it gave him a sense of purpose, a reason to exist, to return to the hunter's side day after day, to see his face once again, to be in his sheer magnetic presence, to stare upon his face while he slept - especially when he slept. At least then, Castiel knew then that Dean knew peace.

Knowing this gave the angel himself some semblance of tranquility, which cut through all the tumultuous emotions burning up throughout his very being, leaving fire in its wake, leaving him breathless against the motel room wall. while the hunter slept on, and unaware.

Castiel felt like he was going to burn up where he stood if he could not relinquish these feelings, divert them elsewhere, sate them - and the only way he could do that was expend them on Dean himself. The angel's own desires would not let him think otherwise, and to let this carry on for much longer was akin to torture for him.

He would gladly face Alastair, the Picasso of the Underworld and his razor, rather than be denied the knowledge of Dean's flesh beneath his, to have Dean respond to the angel's touch, to kiss and be kissed in return.

So he continued to watch, to wait, looking for his chance to make his feelings, his intentions known to the brave, strong hunter, Dean Winchester...


Dean knew that Castiel seemed to be watching him extra closely of late. At first that had bothered him, but now it no longer did.

Maybe he'd grown accustomed to the angel's closer than normal scrutiny, maybe he even welcomed it a little, Dean couldn't even begin to explain it, even to himself.

All he felt deep within himself, if he looked deep enough, hard enough on those rare moments when he truly let himself think without fear of those Hell-thoughts invading his mind, he found the angel's scrutiny more of a comfort than he ever at first imagined.

Dean bowed his head under the weight of his own thoughts, letting the peacefulness of Castiel's presence, his memory wash over him, bathing in the angel's perfection, his quiet regard of his own self, and almost wept.

Never before in the hunter's life had he felt such attention, such devotion as he felt from the angel: had never had anything to truly call his own, that he could keep, and he wondered at his own ease at accepting these facts.

To Dean's mind, Castiel was a ... well, Cas was a guy, and so far, Dean was not the kind to swing that way, or so he had at first thought. But then he got to thinking that no one else but Castiel could fill the hole within Dean himself, the void left behind from the hunter's time in Hell.

If Dean could find peace, could find all that he wanted in Castiel, then so be it.

So be it.

Dean would welcome Castiel as warmly as he knew Castiel would welcome him.

Dean bowed his head once again, and wondered why he always thought of cookies whenever the angel was near.


Dean was dreaming again, Castiel could tell. He sat on the edge of Dean's bed, head bowed under the weight of Dean's dreaming state, feeling every wound that Dean dreamt about receiving, every wound that Dean dreamt about inflicting, and it pained him.

The angel wished that he could ease this pain, this grief away from the hunter, his hunter, but he seriously doubted that he could, at least immediately.

He bowed his head still further and a single tear tracked down the vessel's cheek, feeling, sharing Dean's agony.

In the end Castiel did all that he could do for the hunter, his hunter - he tapped Dean softly upon the hunter's scowling brow, sending blissful thoughts to him, before leaving.

This was the least that Castiel could do for him.

Dean would see this in times to come.

Dean would thank him for it - and how he would thank him, indeed.

Castiel went upon his way, his own burning feelings within him still unanswered, unabated, but at least he'd given his hunter peace.


The night eventually came when both gave into their feelings for one another - unplanned, unasked for, yet completely natural.

Dean was in trouble, and Sam was not there to help him. Sam was elsewhere, living the night up with the demon Ruby, leaving Dean alone to drink his sorrows into the ground alone in a bar.

Castiel watched in the shadows, becoming like a shadow himself, as he watched over Dean, making sure that the hunter, his hunter came to no harm.

Still, the inevitable happened anyway, as though Castile had no say in anything any more - one wrong word from a drunken Dean and a fight exploded, with Dean in the middle of it., coming the worse off for wear in the end.

Castiel waded in, trench coat flapping around his legs, as he raised hands, pushing people away from Dean with the force of his will alone. By force of will again, he erased the memory of their evening here, of ever meeting Dean, of ever witnessing his own arrival.

Dean lay collapsed upon the floor, blood marking his face, one eye swollen shut painfully, lips spilt, cheeks bruised.

Castiel's heart cried at the sight of him, and he lifted Dean gently in his arms, before ghosting them out of the place, back to Dean's motel room in the blink of an eye. Dean was still unconscious to the world, knowing nothing of anything, as the angel laid him gently upon his bed. He smoothed the hunter's forehead with a cool and gentle touch, which was a direct contradiction to the feelings raging inside him for the elder Winchester.

He planted the thought in Samuel's head to stay out for the whole night, not wanting the younger hunter disturbing them at all that night.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he stripped Dean of his clothes, marvelling in the perfect expanse of bare skin as Dean's well muscled chest was exposed to the air. Dean remained unknowing, unflinching as Castiel ran a gentle hand down the hunter's chest.

The angel wasn't entirely sure, but he could have sworn that Dean smiled at the contact, just a soft smile curling the edges of his lips, but it was there, and it gave the angel hope.

He gently unbuckled, unbuttoned, and then removed Dean's heavy jeans, gently lifting Dean to remove them. He let them fall to the floor, eyes roaming down the hunter's body appreciatively. He revelled in the hunter's warmth radiating out from every inch of his body and he closed his eyes against it.

He swallowed, before supporting Dean's weight effortlessly as he walked into the en suite bathroom, turning the shower on, just by waving his hand in just the right direction. He blinked and the water ran at just the perfect temperature, and Castiel almost smiled.

Things were perfect. He only hoped that everything would now work out perfectly, as he hoped. He had to diminish these urges somehow. They were taking over his every thought, making it impossible for him to concentrate on his orders.

Now that he had gone this far, he could not turn back now. He wanted Dean, wanted to know Dean in more than just a conversing sense, and he had the feeling that Dean wanted the same thing too.

He entered the shower stall fully clothed, feeling the warm water wash over him, soaking him within minutes, plastering his hair flat to his head, causing his clothes to cling to his body, but that meant little to him. All he was concerned about right then was cleaning Dean up, healing him, knowing him.

He supported Dean beneath the warm stream of water as he gently wiped hands across the hunter's cuts and bruises, wiping them clean from Dean's skin, so that Dean's perfect body was perfect and unblemished once again.

The warm water soon brought Dean round from unconsciousness, and he blinked large green eyes at the angel owlishly, not looking at all surprised at the angel's presence in the shower with him. In fact, Dean looked almost relieved that Castiel was even there, glad almost, and Castiel watched him intently, large blue eyes studying Dean closely, unflinchingly, lips half parted as Dean began to smile at him.

A flicker of doubt came and went in the angel's perfect blue gaze, and he looked down almost shyly, almost self consciously and Dean leant in, closer, closer, closer still, before his lips brushed gently against the smaller man's. Castiel held his breath for the briefest of instants, before he leant into the hunter, kissing him back urgently, hungrily, giving in to the desires that had been coursing through him for what felt like too long.

Castiel no longer could deny himself the pleasure of feeling Dean's body against his, pushing the hunter against the tiled wall, pinning him against it, pressing his body against Dean's. Dean didn't struggle, didn't protest, just went with the angel, responded to him, threaded urgent fingers through the smaller man's hair and rained kisses upon the angel's lips, nipping the skin of the vessel's neck with questing teeth, making the angel moan with need, and grow hard.

Dean slipped the soaked trench coat from the angel's shoulders, the dark suit jacket swiftly following suit, before Dean's trembling fingers struggled and stumbled with first Castiel's tie, then his shirt buttons. Castiel closed steady fingers over Dean's, helping him on his way; blue eyes hooded with need, as Dean helped him out of his dark pants.

Dean took in the sight of the smaller vessel, body not looking as slight as the hunter had imagined under the voluminous tan trench coat. He ran experimental hands over the angel's chest, and Castiel inhaled sharply, eyes closed as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

The angel steadied himself against Dean, sliding his hand over the hand print he'd left on Dean's shoulder, a memory forever burned into Dean's tender flesh, a mark of almost ownership on Castiel's part. He leant into Dean, hard cock rubbing against Dean's, making Dean cry out in undisclosed pleasure at the contact, head resting against the wall behind him.

"Oh, Cas .... please ... " Dean forced out between gritted teeth.

Castiel smiled triumphantly at that because he knew he had him then, knew that this was what he'd been waiting for, all the admission he needed to hear from Dean's lips, for Castiel to take him.

The angel gripped him about the waist, transporting them into the bedroom in the blink of an eye, before making a motion with one hand to dry the pair of them off. He leant in to kiss Dean again, letting Dean in, when Dean pushed his tongue against the angel's lips.

His wings unfolded from his back, stroking Dean, trailing wingtips down Dean's sides, across his naked back, caressing every inch of skin he couldn't reach with his hands, and Dean cried out Castiel's name with the sheer pleasure of it. He reached down and started stroking Castiel's hard shaft in firm hand, and the angel leant his forehead against Dean's shoulder, eyes closed, lips slightly parted and swollen from kissing as he thrust into Dean's seeking palm, hands gripping Dean tightly.

Castiel gave himself over to the orgasm soon imminent, spending himself with a cry of Dean's name onto Dean's hand, thrusting until he was entirely spent, before wrapping his wings protectively around his hunter.

They stood like that for a time, with Dean stroking Castiel's hair, kissing each of the angel's closed eyelids softly, until they opened once again to look upon Dean with wonder, blue turned darker with the intensity of his lust still trapped deep inside. Castiel's grip became firm once again on Dean's shoulders and he walked the hunter over to the bed, before pushing Dean face first upon it.

Dean didn't protest, merely went along with the angel willingly, a half smile touching his lips, a moan of desire trickling past them when Castiel's wings brushed up against him once again, green eyes half shut and heavy with lust. He wanted the angel, and wanted him badly, Castiel could tell.

Castiel murmured Dean's name, as he spat on his own palm, slicking it over his already stiffening cock, stroking himself with fast and firm strokes until he was hard again. Dean waited patiently enough, seemingly content in the meantime by being caressed by Castiel's wings.

Castiel, without warning, gripped Dean's hips possessively and thrust himself roughly into Dean, making the hunter cry out, equal parts pleasure and pain, which only drove the angel on, thrusting hard into Dean, taking him, marking the hunter as his with every thrust. He reached down and started stroking Dean's cock, meeting every stroke for every thrust, and Dean alternately pushed back onto Cas when the angel withdrew, before thrusting himself into the angel's sweat slicked palm. The angel's eyes closed against the world, feeling his time drawing near as he continued to thrust, and he surrendered to it, thrusting roughly into Dean as he came inside him, spending himself on waves of bliss and further marking Dean as his, shouting out for Dean as he did so.

Dean choked out Castiel's name as he came, thrusting onto Castiel's palm with the last of his orgasm, before Castiel laid himself gently beside the hunter. Dean crawled into the crook of Castiel's arms, snuggling in to the angel's body as the angel wrapped wings gently, protectively, around the elder Winchester's naked form. He kissed Dean's forehead gently, reverently, lovingly, as Dean slowly drifted into contented sleep, in the arms of an angel, his angel.