Title: Angel's Caress
Author: aisling_door
Pairing/Character: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Category: pr0n
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,691
Spoilers: YES.
Disclaimer: Alas, I don't own the boys. If I did, I sure as Hell wouldn't just be writing a short little snippet about them...although the snippets do conjure pretty thoughts...
Warning: Spoilers up to and including Season 4. Slash, explicit sex.
Beta: bellajayd , who has yet to give me a good THWACK upside the head though I've doubtless deserved it on many occasions.
Notes: This is the second story and follows Angel's Kiss. The plot bunnies have taken over; I now have plans to get quite a few stories out of this.
Summary: Dean's dreams get more intense...


Dean opens the motel door and walks two slow paces before promptly collapsing on the nearest bed.

He's exhausted.

It's been three nights since he dreamt of Castiel and he hasn't gotten much sleep since. He'd tossed and turned, worrying that the dream would come back. It hadn't, and for some reason that upset Dean even more so he ended up tossing and turning out of frustration and not actually sleeping. Add to that the fifteen-hour drive he'd undertaken by himself whilst Sammy slept and Dean feels like he's on the verge of losing all consciousness.

Sam looks down at Dean's prone form in the afternoon light and taps a foot that is lying off the mattress with his knee. Dean merely groans. Sam laughs and goes to the other bed to lay down his stuff. "If you're so beat, why didn't you let me take over driving when I asked?"

Dean's head hurts from the strain. How could he answer Sam? Sorry, Sammy, I needed to keep my mind off of an erotic dream I had involving Castiel.

Yeah, not so much. All Dean wants to do is lose consciousness and not have to think anymore. Thankfully, Sam seems to be fine with that.

"Okay, I'm off to do some research. I'll be back later." Sam picks up his laptop bag and makes sure he has his own key to the room. Just as he's about to leave he glances back at Dean, who hasn't moved an inch. "Make sure to get some rest." Dean grunts in response and Sam makes his way out the door, locking it securely behind him.

Dean realizes that he needs to move in order to breathe; his face is planted nose-first on the musty bedspread and he has to cock his neck at a strange angle to get air into his lungs. Well, he reasons, if I'm going to have to move anyway I might as well shower; I reek.

Dean stiffly lifts himself off of the sagging mattress and begins peeling his clothing off as he makes his way to the bathroom. He turns on the shower while hopping and trying to dislodge his foot from its sock and almost ends up ass-first in the tub. For the second sock he opts to sit on the closed toilet for some added support. No reason to be busting his head open. After slipping out of his underwear he steps into the shower. The warm water burns his cold feet for a second before they acclimate to the temperature.

He stands beneath the stream of steamy water and lets the heat penetrate his aching muscles. He puts his hand to his shoulder and is about to massage it when he feels the difference in skin texture. Without opening his eyes Dean traces the handprint burned into his flesh. His thoughts begin to stray to Castiel when he suddenly realizes that he's completely alone in a motel room...

Will the dream come back?

The thought makes him uneasy, as if his stomach is trying to do an interpretive dance. He doesn't want to dream about Castiel, wants only to fall asleep and get some much-needed rest. Still, he can't help but worry that his uneasiness seems a lot like excitement.

Dean brushes this thought off.

He won't dream, he's too tired. At some point he's going to pass out and it'd better be in a bed rather than at a crucial moment during a hunt. He turns off the hot water, missing its soothing heat for a split second, and grabs the nearest towel. The towel is course and stiff from too many frequent washes but Dean's become used to this texture by now. He wonders if he'd ever be comfortable using a soft towel.

After a thorough rub down, Dean staggers out of the steamy bathroom and pulls on a pair of worn cloth shorts before collapsing again on the mattress, only this time in a much more comfortable fetal position.

He's unconscious before the mattress stops shaking from the impact.

Dean slowly comes to consciousness with an exhaustion hangover. His head throbs and his eyes feel like hard-boiled eggs. He moves his neck to loosen the muscles and then shifts onto his back while his muscles groan and then sigh in relief. That's when he feels eyes watching him.

Startled, Dean jumps and his eyes fly open. Castiel lies on his side in the bed a few inches away. His chest is bare and the rest of him is again concealed beneath the bedcovers.

Dean is frozen in shock and other emotions that his mind can't untangle at the moment. Castiel remains with a relaxed face and waiting gaze. Dean's mouth has gone dry and he licks his lips. "I'm dreaming." It's a statement, a dare to the angel to argue.

A small smile plays at Castiel's lips. "Perhaps." With the smile still intact the angel continues to stare down at Dean.

Their eyes meet and Dean can't look away.

He's hyperaware of every sensory detail: the way the threadbare bedspread feels against the exposed skin on his back, the way the dim light casts shadows over Castiel's face, the heat radiating off of the angel that sooths his muscles the same way the shower had eons ago.

He should be running away, should angrily launch himself off the bed and mouth off. This may just be a dream but, come on, a man's got boundaries. Instead Dean finds himself frozen as Castiel begins to trace random designs on his exposed stomach. His sharp intake of breath is cut off as his entire body tenses painfully and he can't draw in any more air. Castiel's smile grows and Dean somehow finds the power to protest weakly, not completely believing his objections himself. "Don't worry," Castiel softly reassures him, "I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

His hand traces lower and the protests die on Dean's lips.

Keeping eye contact, Castiel bends down and flicks Dean's nipple with his tongue. As it rasps against the sensitive nub Dean's hand shoots up with blinding speed to grip the angel's hair tightly to restrain him, but he doesn't pull him away.

Dean's eyes are hooded, his breath coming in short gasps as a bitter war is fought behind his eyes. Castiel's hand continues it's exploration but stops when it comes to the top of Dean's cloth shorts.

Dean's eyes crush shut and he throws back his head with Castiel's hair still held in a death grip. The angel waits patiently in the captive embrace as his breath plays against Dean's now-moist nipple. His voice is barely a whisper as he asks, "Do you want me to continue?" His lips brush against Dean's chest as he speaks.

A strangled sound emerges from Dean's throat but he otherwise remains as still as stone. After a few endless moments Dean wordlessly and brusquely nods a quick yes.

Castiel smiles like a satisfied cat and tests Dean's grip on his hair. He's still held tight but Dean's arm allows him to move at will. He begins to lick his way up to Dean's throat as his hand lightly brushes over the front of Dean's shorts where his erection is straining the fabric. Dean whimpers and crushes the bedspread with his free hand.

Castiel begins to stroke Dean through his shorts, his touch becoming firmer and firmer with each pass. Dean lifts his free hand and crushes Castiel's shoulder in a harsh grip and uses both hands to drag his head up. Castiel laugh is a seductively heady sound. "Demanding, aren't we?" he teases.

"Shut up," Dean's growl is intoned into Castiel's ear as he begins to suck on the angel's earlobe. The knee-weakening sensation causes a jerk reaction and his hand convulses as it grips Dean. In answer, Dean moves his mouth down Castiel's neck and bites down on his pulse point.

Every action causes a reaction, and every reaction prompts another in answer. The two become lost in the sensations of mouth on mouth and teeth on neck.

They become feral.

Pain and pleasure become lost in one another.

Continuing to stroke Dean, Castiel starts moving himself against the side of Dean's hip. Dean moves in an answering and encouraging rhythm to Castiel's ministrations. It doesn't take long before Dean lets out a sharp shout as his hips jerk and he comes.

When Dean finally regains the ability to think he finds himself lying on the bed in much the same position he'd been in just a few minutes prior. Castiel has resumed his earlier pose on his side and staring down at Dean. The smile still plays at the corners of his mouth. Dean stretches contentedly and, in typical male fashion, begins to fall asleep. Half-conscious he mutters, "These dreams are insane."

Before he loses consciousness completely he vaguely hears Castiel reply. "Yes...dreams. They tend to be." Dean senses sorrow in the angel's voice but is too quickly falling into the dark to think anymore about it.

Dean wakes again as the motel room door opens and Sam walks through. The sun has just begun shining brightly in the clear sky. Dean stretches and yawns before sitting up in bed and lazily scratching his chest. He looks at Sam and notices the dark circles beneath his brother's eyes. "Dude, you look like shit."

Sam gives Dean a tired glare. "I feel like shit." He sits down at the edge of the unused bed and peels off his shoes before lying down with a groan.

Dean takes pity on his younger brother as he remembers just how exhausted he himself had been the day prior. His tone is low as he asks, "Did you find out anything useful?"

Sam throws his arm over his eyes and answers, "Yeah, I did," in a voice slurred with sleep.

Dean leaves his brother to his rest and gets out of his own bed to clean himself up. The dreams seem to be getting more intense but, for some reason, he feels calmer about that.

Confused, Dean heads to the bathroom.