50. Timestamp - Mating Season

Day Zero

“I can’t believe you’re asking me about this.” Dean would roll his eyes if he wasn’t focused on watching the road like a hawk. Thank God for speaker phone, because if he hit one little patch of black ice he’d probably end up in the ditch. “ Just because I might sometimes enjoy  freaking you out with my sexual exploits, but I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of Cas’s mating season.”

“I don’t want a play-by-play.” Sam makes a noise that sounds a lot like he just shuddered. “I just want to know how it affects him. You should’ve just let me ask this stuff at the cabin.”

He groans and carefully turns onto the road toward the tree-gate. “That would’ve made things weird. Couldn’t you just be happy learning about Silvanus? I even let you touch Cas’s wings, and you saw him fly, and he talked about their agriculture and bullshit. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

“But there’s so much more about Angels to learn from him, Dean!”

“I don’t care. You’re not harassing my boyfriend with your sicko questions.” Dean huffs, inching along the cleared ruts Silvanus must’ve taken care of. The silence over the line just screams puppy face and he caves just imagining the wide eyes. “Fine. You can ask him about it in general, but don’t ask about his mating season. It’s personal, okay?”

Sam whoops and Dean wants to bang his head against the steering wheel. “It’ll have to wait until the New Year. I don’t want anything interrupting. Y’get my drift?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just call me if you end up breaking your pelvis or something. Someone’s gonna have to come out there and get you.”

“Ha ha, fuck you. I’m in my prime. A week of sex isn’t going to make me break my goddamn groin.”

A snort of laughter makes the line crackle. “It’s not a week, Dean. It’s ten days. He’s going to be hopped up on hormones and endorphins and God knows what else. If you don’t pull something during all of it, I’m going to be seriously impressed.”

“Prepare to be impressed, bitch.” He flips his middle finger at the phone propped up on the dash before bringing his hand back to the wheel. These kind of road conditions require the ten-and-two positions with a white knuckled grip. “Now shut up, I’m almost there and I need to focus on these roads.”

“Fine, you jerk.” Sam huffs, but there’s still laughter in his voice. “Seriously, though. Call me later. Just to let me know you survived?”

Dean sighs and quickly reaches for the phone again, easing his foot off the gas as he does it so he’s only coasting at a crawl. “I promise. Tell Jess I said ‘hi’.” He hangs up and tosses the phone on the bag next to him before putting his foot back to the pedal.

Cas is sitting on the snow dusted tree-gate, waiting for him. He’s spreading and folding his wings rhythmically while kicking his heels against the trunk. The mating colours are back in his feathers and it almost takes Dean’s breath away to see them like that again. His wings spread wide when he looks up and smiles. Dean can’t resist waving through the windshield.

Once the tree is moved, Dean pulls through and continues on down the small road. Cas has made it clear that he doesn’t ever want a lift to the clearing, but even with having to move the gate back into place, he still manages to sprint ahead and beat Dean to what he’s been calling ‘the parking lot’. It’s just as cleared of snow as the rest of the place and the shelter Cas grew for the Impala is standing off to one side, the door wide open with Cas waiting right beside it.

Dean helped build that door not long after the cabin trip when Cas surprised him with the garage. It’s only a bunch of closely grown bamboo, bent together at the tops and covered with a bunch of straw mats, but it keeps the Impala clean of snow. Dean’s been looking into getting his hands on a solar-powered generator (or building one of his own) to keep the block-heater going. He hasn’t found one yet, but he wants one so the Impala doesn’t suffer during his longer winter visits.

It’s the afternoon of the day before the solstice, which means that Cas should only should just barely be starting to feel the effects of his heat. Despite that, he’s still on Dean the moment he’s out of the car, pushing him up against frozen metal and kissing warmth right back into his mouth. His wings fold forward and cage Dean in against the side of the Impala.

“You’re here.” Cas breathes into the kiss, his mittens fumbling for a grip on Dean’s jacket before they give up and cup his face. “You’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” Dean smiles and slides his hands under Cas’s poncho-coat, circling around his waist. “Like I would let you go through this alone again.”

As excited as he is for ten solid days of sex, Dean’s actually is a little worried that his stamina isn’t going to hold out. Hell, he knows it’s not going to for the later days, but dear sweet pie-filled heaven, he is going to try. This is not an experience he wants to miss two years in a row. And he remembers how much Cas had been hurting during those few moments he was here last time. He’s not going to let Cas be like that again, not if he can help it.

“I was worried you weren’t going to make it.” Cas mumbles, nuzzling his way under the collar of Dean’s coat to press his cold nose against his throat. “If you came at all.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. I’m here.” It’s taking a huge amount of willpower not to sift his fingers through Cas’s feathers right now. “How about we get my bags and go inside where it’s warm and we’re not going to get frostbite on my ass? I’m pretty sure that’s going to kill any chance of using it.”

Cas huffs a small laugh against his neck and steps back slightly. “I would be devastated.”

His wings shuffle restlessly against his back while he helps to unload the car and Dean can’t help watching the nearly liquid shift of the colours. “Cas, I wanna start now. Can we start now?”

“I’m afraid not.” Cas glances over his shoulder and gives Dean a small smile, a blush rising in his cheeks. “We need to hold out for as long as we can so you don’t get overwhelmed or overstressed. That’s what the Human mates said when I checked with them last week.”

Dean concedes because damn, that’s a good point, but it doesn’t stop him from whining at least a little as he follows Cas outside.

Day One

Cas woke up before Dean did. He didn’t get out of the nest, but before Dean opens his eyes he knows that Cas is sitting up and running his hand through Dean’s hair. When Dean cracks open one eye, it’s to find Cas staring down at him with that look. It’s something Dean’s still not entirely used to seeing. He’ll never, not in a billion years, get sick of seeing it, but it still throws him for a loop whenever Cas looks at him with all that warmth and affection in his eyes, like Dean’s the only person in the world who matters.

“Mornin’.” Dean yawns and stretches, curling closer around Cas’s legs. “How you feeling today?”

“I can feel the heat.” He murmurs, stroking his fingers along the shell of Dean’s ear and over his cheek. “It’s not uncomfortable yet, but it will be later. We should get up and make bread.”

That was not what he was expecting his morning to consist of. But Cas apparently has energy he needs to burn, otherwise it’s going to build up and he’s going to start wanting things. And Cas made it clear last night that they’re not going to be doing anything today.

“I can usually hold off from touching myself on the solstice as long as I keep busy.” He explains while rolling out the bread. “That’s why I like to spend the first day making all the food I won’t be able to make later. I’m almost mindless by the last days and having a store of bread helps.”

“But it’s going to be different this year.” Dean points out, shoving the first batch into the oven. “I’m here. Even if you’re mindless, I’ll still have enough of my wits left to at least fry up some bacon or something easy like eggs.”

Cas nods and gives him a small smile. “It will be appreciated, even if I might not be able to articulate that later. I just hope you won’t be too exhausted.”

“I won’t be.” He hopes.

*

By midday, Cas has started avoiding the fire. He sits on the opposite side of the room and works on his mat. Dean takes up the whole couch, within reach if Cas needs him, and reads. He’s got a book light with a crank charger, because it’s easier than trying to read by candlelight or the weird green glow of Cas’s glow-in-the-dark mushrooms.

When Cas starts panting, Dean looks up and frowns at the sweat beading on his forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want to –?”

“No, Dean. I’m fine. This isn’t even uncomfortable yet.” He shrugs and his wings twitch in small flaps against his back. “I’m just hot.”

“I’ll say.” Dean doesn’t even mean that ironically.

Cas ditched his shirt while they were still cooking and he threw his pants across the room half an hour ago, claiming that clothing is starting to irritate him. He’s down to nothing but his loincloth and he’s still too hot. Meanwhile, Dean’s wearing socks in his slippers, sweats and a sweatshirt. This is more serious than he thought it was.

Dean leaves his book on the couch and ducks into the cave, grabbing a bowl and cloth off the shelf on his way to the spring to fill it. The first sound Cas makes when he puts a wet cloth against the back of his neck is nearly pornographic. Cas makes all sorts of great noises while Dean wipes his back down, swiping under his wings and around his sides. He leans against Dean’s chest and lets his head loll back against his shoulder when he reaches around to rub the cloth over his throat and collarbone.

Before Dean can refresh the cloth and wipe it over his chest, Cas turns around and tugs him into a hard kiss. It’s a kiss that ends up with Dean on his back and Cas pressed up against him in all the right ways. Dean keeps the rule about not doing anything today in the forefront of his brain. It helps a lot with keeping his hands from grabbing Cas’s ass and pulling him down against him properly or, heaven forbid, getting his hands on his wings.

Cas kisses him until he’s satisfied, sliding away almost sheepishly. Dean shrugs it off, but he keeps the bowl of water close for the rest of the day. Any time Cas starts getting too hot, or too sweaty, Dean wipes him down to cool him off. It always earns him an appreciative kiss and that seems to keep Cas happy for the rest of the day.

Day Two

There’s a hand on his hip when he wakes up the next day. Cas’s nose brushes Dean’s and his fingers dip under the waistband of his boxers. Dean smiles into the first tentative kiss brushed against his lips and he throws his leg over Cas’s, drawing him in. A mumbled greeting gets lost in the slick slide of kisses as Cas’s wing folds over top of them. The already dark room goes pitch black and Dean fumbles in the darkness, following Cas’s lead when deft fingers slide into his underwear.

It’s a hell of a lot harder to undo the knot of Cas’s loincloth when he can’t see it, but Dean makes do. Bras are harder and he’s had plenty of experience undoing those one handed without looking. Cas makes the best, most appreciative sound ever when Dean finally gets his fingers around him, squeezing and stroking to match the pace Cas’s own hand has already set up on Dean’s dick.

All in all, lazy kisses and languid hand-jobs are an excellent way to start the day. Cas is loose and happy against him afterward, laying heavily against his side with his face tucked into the crook of Dean’s neck. It’s a damn good thing that someone had the foresight to remember to store a bunch of towels and cloths up in one corner of the nest. Dean has trouble rememberingexactly who did it, especially after coming so soon, but thank God he’s still got enough wits about him to give them both a wipe down.

Today feels like an underpants day for Dean. While Cas still skirts around the fire and consumes his weight in tea and bread and whatever else Dean cooks for him, Dean ends up shuffling around the place in his slippers and boxers with a blanket around his shoulders. He's not as resilient to the cold as Cas and there's a draft somewhere that neither of them has been able to find. Cas actually likes it since it helps with his whole overheating thing.

Dean would wear more clothes, but he feels overdressed with Cas going around in his underpants. It's not fair to him that Dean covers up when he's dressed down almost to his bare ass and he's still sweating. It gets bad enough that by the afternoon, Cas pulls on the pants and shirt that he calls his warrior outfit, and runs out into the snow without a word.

He leaves Dean scrambling to get up from the couch and find some fucking clothes before he can follow after him. Dean’s annoyed right up until he steps outside. Everything goes up in a puff of smoke and he tries not to laugh at the sight Cas makes. He's spread eagle on his back in the nearest snow bank, wings shifting and fluttering against the powder.

“Need a hand, Cas?” Dean calls out, tugging his hat firmly over his ears and making sure his mittens are tucked into his sleeves.

“Please, Dean.” Cas gives him a desperate, nearly pathetic look that wrenches at something deep in Dean's chest.

He starts kicking and shoveling snow onto Cas's wings, half burying him at his request. “If it's bad enough for you to want to take a snow bath, why don't we just -”

“No.” The snow gets all knocked off when Cas sits up sharply only to flip onto his stomach. He rests his chin on his arms and spreads his wings for Dean to do it all over again. “I have to hold off for as long as I can. I don't want to take more from you than you're physically able to give.”

Dean snorts and kneels in front of Cas, feeling the snow seep into the knees of his pants and ignoring it. “I'm pretty sure I've shown you over the last year that there are plenty of other things we can do to help you besides straight up fucking.”

Cas frowns up at him, nose wrinkling unhappily. Ever since Sam explained the different connotations 'fucking' has when talking about sex, Cas hasn't liked saying it. Dean’s pretty sure Sam taught him the term ‘making love’ just to get back at Dean for vetoing any chance of Jess being allowed to take home a feather after the cabin trip. What can he say? He’s a selfish bastard.

Sighing, Dean sits down and pulls off one of his mittens. Cas immediately closes his eyes and tilts his head into Dean's hand when he starts sifting his fingers through his hair. “I'm here for you, Cas. I want to help and I know you're trying to take it easy on me, but it's getting hard to keep watching you fighting what you want.” He leans forward to rest his forehead against Cas’s crown, his hand sliding down to rest heavy over the back of Cas’s neck. His skin is hotter than Dean’s used to feeling. “Don't hold back on me. If you're worried about breaking my ass or something, I've still got hands and a mouth to use, y'know?”

“I don't want it to be just about me.” Cas murmurs, his wings shifting under the loose layer of powder. “I want this season to be good for you too.”

“It'll be a lot better if I don't have to watch you keep suffering, Cas.” He squeezes the back of Cas’s neck in what may or may not be some kind of show of dominance. Apparently Sam, Jess and Cas had a nice long chat about dominant and submissive gestures in Angel culture while Dean was taking a nap on the beach. Sam gave him an earful all about it on his way up here the other day.

It has more of an effect on Cas than Dean thought it would. His head pops up like he's part Jack-in-the-box and Dean narrowly misses taking the top of his head to the bridge of his nose. Cas’s eyes go wide to the point that it's actually kind of scary and he stares at Dean like he's seeing him for the first time.

“We're already on day two and all we've done is make out and jerk each other off. There's more you want to do, more we could be doing, and if it's gonna keep you from being uncomfortable in your own skin, then let's fucking do it. Okay, Cas?”

Dean doesn’t know what the hell possesses him to tighten his grip on the back of Cas’s neck, but Cas’s eyes get impossibly wider and his wings fold in tight against his back. Cas is on his knees before Dean can stop him. He wraps his wings around him quick enough that snow ends up on them both, dribbling down the back of Dean’s jacket. It’s a good thing, then, that the hard kiss Cas pulls him into is a good distraction . Cas uses a tight grip on the front of his jacket to pull Dean to his feet.

He’s not exactly sure how they manage to make it back inside, or how his attempted display of 'dominance' gets him pushed up against the first wall they find, but Dean’s far from complaining when Cas rips the hat off his head and shoves his hands into his hair. Any thought about complaining, or really any thought at all, dissolves right out of his head when Cas uses every trick Dean's taught him over the last year to make him forget how to breathe with kissing alone.

Dean’s probably going to get bark-burn or something on his back from how hard Cas is pushing him into the tree, half-grinding against his thigh while his hands go on a wild journey all up and down his chest. His palms are hotter than they should be when they sneak under Dean's clothes to spread possessively over his sides. Maybe Dean should've listened better when Sam was giving him that lecture in the car.

It's Dean's stomach that gets Cas to pull back, panting and still hard against his thigh. Dean manages a sheepish grin and feels a little bad that's he's barely at half-mast. If Cas had been grinding against his crotch instead, maybe he'd be right there with him right now.

His stomach grumbles again and Dean groans, tilting his head back against the tree. “Sorry, it's past lunch time.”

“We should eat.” Cas murmurs, leaning in again and catching Dean's bottom lip between his teeth before he's kissing away to mouth at his throat. “Go make something to eat, Dean. We need to keep our strength up.”

“But you're -” He makes a feeble attempt to get his hand over the front of Cas's pants, but Cas just brushes it away when he actually steps back to put space between them.

“I can take care of myself, and then I should be fine until this evening.” There's a wicked gleam in his eye and a shiver shakes through Dean that has absolutely nothing to do with the snow still congealing between his shoulder blades. “You can help me then.”

“Okay.” He licks his lips and eyes the way Cas palms the front of his pants. “Yeah, okay.”

This is a different side to Cas than the gentle, almost shy, Angel that Dean’s been kissing for a year. Sure, Cas has his moments where he gets a little more forceful when he knows what he wants, but he's never had this predatory look to him before. It’s doing all sorts of things to Dean’s insides and he pouts when Cas hops from the table into the nest, flapping his wings and kicking up ashes in the firepit.

He’s not even allowed to watch while he cooks? That’s not fair. Especially with Cas almost blue balling him right now. No, scratch that. He’s definitely sporting balls of blue because Cas - beautiful, wonderful, fucking Cas - starts making noises up in the nest. Dean tries to ignore him and focuses on whipping up an easy soup for lunch that they can have for supper too, but that gets hard as hell when Cas all out moans his name.

Dear God of Pie, supper can’t come fast enough.

*

The coriander is like a carpet under his feet by the time they finish eating supper. Cas wolfed it down without his usual demeanor and he’s been giving Dean the stink eye ever since. It might have everything to do with the fact that Dean is taking his sweet time eating as mild payback for being denied his ever loving desire to be of assistance in all matters of a sexual nature when it comes to Cas. He can be a vindictive bastard when he wants to be.

Cas’s wings keep twitching hard against his back and he’s shifting in his seat. His expression keeps flipping between uncomfortable, annoyed, and something that might just be a little desperate. Dean lets him hang for another minute before he puts his bowl down. He rinses his mouth out before crawling under the table.

It’s been a long time since he’s kneeled under a table before, and he nearly hits his head getting comfortable. Cas makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat and spreads his legs under Dean’s guiding hands, fumbling to get his loincloth out of the way. Dean tries to draw it out and make it good for Cas, but the hands in his hair and the fingertips pressing insistently into his scalp beg otherwise.

Short and sweet it is.

“Dean.” Cas hisses his name and his hips twitch forward on the chair just before he comes.

He swallows it down without hesitation, ignoring the taste and focusing on making sure Cas is completely satisfied. Judging by the sharp tugs to his hair, he might not be. Dean pulls off and licks his lips, looking up to ask if there’s anything else Cas needs. The words don’t even make it to the air when Cas kisses him instead. He damn near hauls Dean up into his lap and it’s an awkward shuffle to get Dean straddling his legs so he can sit on his knees.

Thanks and praise are whispered between every kiss as Cas shoves at Dean’s boxers to get them out of the way. Dean catches a glimpse of red carnations spreading through the coriander and his chest starts to burn. It has nothing to do with air and everything to do with how Cas can’t stop kissing him or telling him how happy he is to have Dean here while he gets his hands inside his boxers to return the favour.

Day Three

“Dean.”

He groans and turns his face into the pillow. It feels like the time when it’s the ass end of the night and people should still be sleeping instead of rocking a boner against his thigh. But Cas keeps murmuring his name in his ear and nuzzling his hair. His teeth graze the spot behind Dean’s ear and the first sharp suck basically destroys any sleepiness Dean has left.

Cas is on him the moment Dean rolls over. The kisses are rough, but his hands are gentle, running over Dean’s chest and shoulders and cupping his face. It doesn’t take long for Dean to start rolling his hips up into Cas’s, searching for friction. Cas doesn’t disappoint. He doesn’t make any effort to get their underwear out of the way and even if it makes Dean feel like a teenager to be dry humping under the blankets, he’s all here for it.

At least Cas doesn’t seem to mind that Dean goes back to sleep after they’ve both stripped out of their soiled underwear. He tucks himself against Dean’s side and traces the tattoo of the star until Dean falls asleep with soft Enochian being murmured in his ear.

The tree-house is empty when Dean wakes up. It’s warm and all of Cas’s weaving stuff is spread out around the frame. If it’s not in use, he usually stacks all the materials out of the way. Dean figures he must’ve gone to the washroom or something. When Cas isn’t back by the time he’s had something to eat, Dean throws on some clothes and heads out looking for him. He doesn’t have to go far.

“The snow again?” Dean leans over him and Cas shifts his eyes from the sky to his face. “Must feel good if you’d rather do that than wake me.”

“Good morning, Dean.” Cas’s wings shudder and he closes his eyes. “I was only hot, not trying to get rid of an erection.”

“Oh good.” He crouches and fills his hands with snow, contemplating whether to go with the good ol’ fashioned snowball or try for something a little less obvious. “I thought we were going to have to have that conversation again.”

His wings go tense but Cas doesn’t open his eyes. “Dean Winchester, don’t you even think about throwing that at me.”

“I wasn’t gonna throw anything, I swear.” Dean answers innocently, decision made. It’s not a lie if he drops the handfuls of snow right on Cas’s face.

There’s no time to wait to see what Cas does. He knows retaliation isn’t far behind. The most logical course of action is to find cover and fast. Dean just doesn’t expect Cas to be faster. Either way, a handful of snow down the back of his jacket kicks off a snow war to end all snow wars. Cas is fast and sneaky and more than half his attacks come from the trees themselves. In hindsight, starting a snow battle with someone who can move trees with his mind really probably wasn’t the best of ideas.

Dean can’t bring himself to regret it when they finally go back inside, soaking wet and shivering. Cas strips out of his clothes the moment they’re inside and boxes Dean in against the side of the table while he’s trying to do the same.

“Wet clothes aren’t fun, Cas.” He points out, squirming to try and make room to get his jacket off.

“I know.” Cas leans in and oh, okay. Dean grins and stops, letting Cas push the coat from his shoulders. “Let me help you.”

A few minutes later and Cas’s forehead is resting on Dean’s shoulder while he’s still making soft little noises in the back of his throat. Dean makes a mental note that if he wants to have any part in this, he should wait until after he’s hard too before going for the oil glands under Cas’s wings. Otherwise, Cas ends up coming almost ridiculously soon and Dean winds up trying to keep a trembling Angel on his feet with a mess cooling on his thighs.

Cas makes up for it later with a blowjob that has Dean’s toes curling and stars bursting behind his eyes.

Day Four

He’s gotta give Cas a round of mental applause for managing to last until day four before he breaks and needs more than just a helping hand (or mouth). Cas had barely waited for Dean to come back inside from his morning outing (looks like it might be snowing all day) before he was being pulled to the couch and kissed within an inch of his life. Quick, efficient hands got him out of his clothing and Dean was only slightly disappointed to find out that Cas prepped himself before he’d even woken up – because he sure as hell wasn’t outside long enough for him to get it done after.

This is actually a fantastic way to build an appetite for breakfast. Normally Dean would try and draw it out right now, but Cas didn’t even want foreplay. He waited as long as was necessary to get Dean worked up and lubed down before Cas had settled himself in his lap and taken him in. He was nearly frantic for it and Dean would be worried if Cas hadn’t been whispering his name with every breath and cradling his face between his palms with every kiss.

Cas rocks in Dean’s lap, his head bowed and mouth open, wings spread and twitching. Dean digs his heels into the mats of the couch and tries to meet every roll of his hips. His hand works Cas’s cock between them, a tight fist for him to push into. He twists his wrist every upstroke and thumbs the head on the down stroke, earning a small noise of appreciation every time.

“C’mon, Cas.” Dean murmurs, trying to get him to open his eyes.

Half the fun in this is seeing how Cas looks at him – like he’s trapped between staring into the face of God and being on the verge of spilling sappy adorations. Dean will never admit to how much it revs his engine for Cas to tell him, in excruciating detail, how much he loves him. It’s like the most potent aphrodisiac known to man and Cas’s eyes get it all across without a word being said.

A tight whimper shakes through Cas and he tilts his head back, panting at the ceiling. It’s the exact opposite of what Dean wants and he groans, stretching to reach up and get his hand behind Cas’s neck. He tugs him down and there’s no resistance. Cas’s wings fold in against his back and he drops to his elbows, blindly kissing while his movements get sharper; more desperate.

Dean tries again, sucking at his bottom lip and biting it gently. “Cas.” He keeps his tone commanding, hoping that’ll break through whatever fog has settled over his brain. Look at me.

Cas’s eyes pop open; wide and glassy. It throws off his rhythm when his eyes finally focus on Dean, but there’s a hitch in Cas’s breathing and he starts again with a renewed force. Dean grins into the kiss, giving up on it when Cas can’t multitask anymore and devolves into little more than panting against his lips. When his wings start spreading again, one bumping into the wall, he knows Cas is close.

It doesn’t seem to matter. Even after he comes – shuddering around and above Dean, gasping into his neck – Cas continues rocking. He bears down and keeps moving until Dean sinks his hands into his feathers and holds on to the base of his wings as he comes too. Everything’s a trembling, sweaty mess of limbs and wings until Cas manages to reorient himself on his side, pressed against Dean with his wings dropped limply across the floor.

“This is the best mating season ever.” Cas breathes against the crook of his shoulder. “My head feels so much more clear than it has before. I was able to focus on the weaving this morning and it wasn’t nearly as bad as it’s been before while I was waiting for you to wake up.”

Dean hums and turns his head to press a kiss to Cas’s forehead. “That’s good.”

“Stay close today.” He mumbles, squeezing him tightly around his waist. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And it’s true, he doesn’t. Cas keeps him up against his side almost the whole day, his wing curved protectively around Dean while he leans against Cas’s side and reads or dicks around on the laptop. Sometimes Cas stops weaving long enough for a few kisses or just to rub his nose into Dean’s hair, like he’s refreshing himself with Dean’s scent. It’s a little weird, but weird has been a standard pretty much since the day they met and Dean doesn’t even question it anymore.

Well, actually, there’s one thing he’s getting a little concerned about. Cas is quieter today. It’s not a bad kind of quiet, but the last few days he’s been pacing and huffing and being generally uncomfortable. Today he’s still just as hot as yesterday (and gives Dean the absolute most grateful looks he’s ever received whenever he gets a bowl of cold water to wipe him down), but he’s… calmer.

That’s one way of putting it.

The other way is that Cas is being a lot more forceful. When Dean gets up to start making a late dinner (time got away from him while he was absorbed in reading), Cas gets up too and follows him. At first, Dean thinks he’s going to help out, but then Cas pulls him into a hug, that turns into a kiss, that turns into rubbing a boner against his leg. Usually, every time they’ve done it out of the mating season, Cas asks first. Either with gentle touches or actual words. This Cas is like a weird alternate reality version of the Cas that Dean knows.

He’s pushy and demanding, but somehow gentle about it. This Cas has no problem with shoving him down onto one of the chairs and straddling his lap. This Cas is a gasping, writhing mess while still being a shadow of the one Dean knows. He still clings to Dean’s shoulders and folds his wings around them both. He still whispers Enochian in his ear and kisses Dean until he’s dizzy.

Dean doesn’t mind this new side to Cas. In fact, he likes learning something new about him. It’s interesting to see how the influx of hormones and all that shit changes him. Not that Dean will ever tell Sam that. If he does, Sam’s going to make him explain everything and as much as he flaunted it as a teenager, Dean’s sex life with Cas is private. It’s intimate and special and Sam has no business knowing anything but the bare minimum that Dean uses to tease him with.

In hindsight, trying to cook dinner with post-orgasm wobbly legs isn’t the easiest of things to do. And he would’ve thought that Cas would be good for the rest of the evening, considering once in the late hours of the morning was enough to last him most of the day. But there’s insistent lips on the back of Dean’s neck when they’re crawling into bed together and Cas tugs at his wrist, guiding his hand to the front of his loincloth.

The thing is, Dean’s tired. Twice in one day isn’t too much for him, and he really hasn’t done a whole lot today. But it’s winter and in the winter he’s always been lazy. The cold just kind of sucks the energy out of him and he’d probably be better off hibernating than actually trying to do anything productive if he happens to be somewhere with snow on the ground.

Which means he’s not really feeling up for getting off again tonight. It would be nice, sure, but he’s all geared up for sleep and Cas was too until his dick decided otherwise. Dean rolls over to face Cas and his sleepy, uncomfortable little frown as he squirms against Dean’s hand. How could he ever resist Cas like this? Even though he’s not going to get anything out of it, Dean still slides down the nest and leaves a trail of kisses along Cas’s stomach as he tugs the loincloth out of the way.

Cas is plenty satisfied with that.

Day Five

He wakes up with Cas pressed all up against his back like a furnace wrapped in skin and feathers. There’s a hand in his boxers, sliding over an unexpected morning wood, and – if he’s not mistaken – there’s a pretty insistent boner being rubbed against his ass. The moment Cas notices he’s awake, he props himself up and finds Dean’s ear with his mouth, whispering his name in the dark under his wings.

“How early is it?” Dean mumbles into the pillow.

“The sun isn’t up yet.” Cas’s thumb rubs small circles under the head of his dick and Dean shudders at the sensation. “I need – please, Dean? You can go back to sleep after.”

He should be insulted that Cas would even think that he’d say ‘no’ to this.

“I’m not moving.” Dean’s still barely conscious as he rolls the rest of the way onto his stomach, all but forcing Cas’s hand to move to his hip. He spreads his legs and gropes for the bottle of lube somewhere above his head. “You do it.”

At least Cas isn’t so far gone that he forgets to take his time with prepping him. He’s methodical and affectionate and spreads kisses all across Dean’s shoulders while his fingers push deep and stretch him open. Cas’s hand is a little slick but mostly dry when he pries Dean’s fingers from the pillow. He pins them to the blankets, fingers locked between his, as he pushes in. It’s been a while since Dean bottomed, but it feels just as unexpectedly good as the first time.

Being fucked on his stomach means he doesn’t get to see the way Cas looks at him, but if he turns his head just right, he can still see one of his wings spreading wide and arching over them. The shifting feathers catch the glow of the embers below and Dean squeezes Cas’s hands harder. Cas lifts his hips and gets a hand under him to start a brisk, matching stroke. Dean will forever congratulate himself for the foresight of teaching Cas the courtesy of a reach-around.

He isn’t expecting to feel teeth dig into the skin on the back of his neck, but it pushes Dean over the edge and he comes with a shout that sounds a hell of a lot like Cas’s name.

*

Cas is like a livewire of energy and Dean is in sore need of coffee. He slept another few hours before Cas called him down out of the nest, practically bouncing in place as he waited for Dean to drop from the table. The jerk even makes an impatient face when Dean tugs his boots and jacket on because when he’s gotta go, he’s gotta go. Not even Cas’s goddamn mating season can stop him from taking a morning piss.

Dean’s desire for coffee goes unfulfilled when Cas gives him a thorough bath, wiping him down from head to toe before he spreads Dean out on the table like he’s a buffet Cas can’t wait to sink his teeth into. At least this his time there’s no biting, but Dean has the distinct feeling that Cas would do it if he hadn’t complained about the sting of the bite earlier. Instead of biting, Cas leaves a constellation of bruises on Dean’s hips and a galaxy of hickeys across his chest.

*

Dean thinks a third round in the afternoon might be pushing his limit. Maybe if he got to top once or twice today he wouldn’t be so sore afterwards. But right now, he’s just exhausted laying on the couch watching Cas. He’s content to lay down with Dean for something like twenty, maybe thirty, minutes after sex but then he’s up again and throwing himself into weaving or whatever he can get his hands on.

It’s the fifth day and from what Cas had said before, Dean has the distinct feeling that Cas should be wanting to do it more than just this. Maybe he’s holding back because today is Dean’s first day bottoming during the mating season? Really, Dean should call Cas out on it and remind him that if he wants it, Dean can handle it. He does have two hands and a mouth that work just fine.

He’ll save that talk for if Cas gets really antsy later.

Day Six

Cas seems to have it stuck in his head that they need to alternate days between who plays pitcher and who plays catcher. At least it doesn’t look like he’s getting sore. Dean still has aches from yesterday, but three times before late afternoon is enough for Dean to want to spend the whole day in the nest – and that’s something Cas doesn’t have any issue with.  He’s pretty cuddly today and he doesn’t move far when Dean starts grooming his wings.

“Do you remember my mentioning First Qaal?”

Dean turns his head from watching where his fingers are sifting through feathers. Cas is stretched out on his stomach, his cheek pillowed on his arms and he looks really content. “Who and the what now?”

“First Qaal. Silvanus’s first master – the one who created him.” He cracks open an eye to look at Dean. “Have I ever mentioned him to you?”

“I dunno, maybe.” There are so many Enochian words in his head that Dean forgets where he learned most of them. “What about this Qaal guy?”

The wing under his hand curves down and gently urges Dean to shuffle closer. Looks like it’s story time. Dean keeps carefully re-aligning the feathers and brushing out the loose ones already starting to molt while Cas launches into talking about First Qaal and his mate. It answers the long forgotten question of why Silvanus didn’t like Dean when they first met.

“So, why does he like me now?” He asks after Cas finishes explaining all the depressing shit about how First Qaal died.

“You remind him of her.”

That gets Dean to stop for a minute. “Wait a sec. Didn’t you just say that Silvanus said that you’re pretty much the reincarnation of the first guy?”

Cas hums and pushes his wing into Dean’s hand. He starts grooming again, slowly, while putting everything together. “Does that mean what I think it means? Do you guys think I’m the reincarnation of First Qaal’s mate or something?”

His wings jerk with a shrug and Cas stops looking at him, suddenly very interested in the wood grain of the wall. That’s as good a ‘yes’ as Dean will probably get and he doesn’t really know how to feel about that. If he’s supposed to be the reincarnation of Cas’s past life’s wife, then all this between them now is starting to feel a hell of a lot like destiny, and that’s something Dean believes in about as much as he believes in the Easter Bunny.

“Huh.” It’s the only sound he can really make and he puts all that destiny bullshit out of his head.

There’s not going to be a repeat of history here. Dean’s happy with Cas and Cas is happy with him. His family is more or less (especially with John) cool with him having an Angel boyfriend. Besides, this is them. He’s Dean Winchester and Cas is Cas, and nobody is going to tell them differently.

The sex after the story is a lot more like love making than they’ve had so far this week. Red roses and carnations spread all the way up to the ceiling when Cas leans over him for kisses between their smiles.

Day Seven

By mid afternoon, Dean is starting to rethink his whole outlook on ten days of orgasms. It might not be as great a thing as he thought it was. Especially when today Cas wakes up a little crazier than usual. He even uses vines to pin Dean down later in the day while he’s working at getting him aroused enough to actually enjoy anything.

The kinky aspect of bondage gives Dean’s libido that extra little boost he needs, but it doesn’t last long. Cas can barely keep his hands off Dean for more than a few hours at a time. He’s sore and aching and it doesn’t matter how gentle Cas is, Dean still feels like he’s been wrung dry by the last fuck of the day.

Hell, he doesn’t even come for that last one. He lets Cas have a few minutes of thrusting before he goes for the oil glands to bring it all to an abrupt end so they can just go to sleep.

Day Eight

Sex toys.

Next year, Dean is going to bring sex toys.

At least that way, when he’s too fucked out to want to let Cas use his ass, let alone even managing to get it up himself so Cas can ride him, Cas can still get something more than his fingers. It’ll give Dean’s jaw a break too. He’s pretty sure he’s given more blowjobs in the last week than he has in the last year.

They make hollowed out strap-ons, don’t they? Dean’s pretty sure they do. He feels like he’s seen an ad for them on some website somewhere. That might be a decent investment to make for next year. Cas could still ride him and Dean wouldn’t feel like he’s going to die if he has to have another orgasm.

Day Nine

Dean is living in fear of tomorrow. Day ten is supposed to be the worst and after the last few days, he’s not sure his poor little heart can survive it. He nearly breaks down and cries his totally manly tears of joy when Cas swears up and down that he’s going to do his damnedest to let Dean’s dick and ass rest today.

Of course, all that ends up translating to is that Dean gets subjected to watching Cas masturbate. A lot. It’s like a special form of torture because god damn but Dean wants to join in. His heart is all for it but his dick only gives an interested twitch. He’s too spent to even really get it up. As bruising as that is to his ego, there’s really not much Dean can do about it. But just because his body isn’t in for it, doesn’t mean Dean can’t literally lend a helping hand, or two, or a mouth, a few times throughout the day.

Day Ten

There’s a mouth on his pulse point, a hand in his hair, and he’s not sure how many there are but there are most definitely fingers already buried deep and twisting and how did he not wake up before now? Cas is breathing hard against his neck. He’s shaking and making little noises into his skin. There’s nothing quite like that and a fingertip dragging purposefully over your prostate to wake you up in the morning.

“Somnophilia, Cas?” Dean groans, stretching and rolling his hips down onto Cas’s fingers. “Didn’t know you were into it.”

“Dean.” Oh, that’s definitely a growl. Cas is actually growling. “I’m sorry, Dean, I - I’m sorry.”

Apologies have never sounded so good and Dean decides now might be a good time to move his hands. One ends up in Cas’s hair and the other in his feathers. Cas groans and shudders against him. He lifts his head and God but he looks wrecked. The kisses are sloppy and half of them aren’t much more than Cas panting against his mouth while he keeps prepping him.

“Please, Dean, please.” Cas whispers, begging. “I want to use my own oils. Please let me use my own.”

It takes a minute for Dean to remember what Sam told him once when he mentioned using Cas’s oils to groom his feathers. It was something about how birds use their oils for scenting and shit. Jesus, does Cas want to brand him with his scent or something? He’s already used it to fuck Cas before, and it’s been all over his hands more times than he can remember. But he’s never had it in him and that’s – that’s a thought that sends heat hopscotch-ing down his spine.

Words kind of feel like they’re a little beyond him right now. Good thing they’ve never exactly been his strong suit. Dean buries his fingers in the downy base of Cas’s wings and finds the glands by touch. The shattered little noise Cas makes when Dean squeezes the swollen glands, milking them of the oil, is possibly one of the best sounds he’s ever heard.

Dean’s fingers are slick when he sits up, reaching between them to spread it over Cas’s dick with one hand while replacing Cas’s fingers with his own. He can’t tell the difference between the oil and the lube, which he supposes is a good thing. At least it doesn’t burn or anything and Cas keeps peppering whatever he can reach (arm, shoulder, face, hair) with broken kisses.

If his own fingers are anything to go by, Dean’s pretty sure that he’s definitely prepared now. He drops onto his back again, dragging Cas over him and hooking his legs around his waist. “C’mon, Cas.”

A rough kiss shoves him back into the pillow and Cas trembles under Dean’s hands, struggling to go slow when he pushes in. Dean appreciates the control because he knows damn well that Cas is going to snap as soon as he’s sure Dean can take it. The moment Dean rocks his hips, Cas does just that. He’s rough with hands, hips and mouth. It’s the closest thing to animalistic they’ve had yet this season and Dean both loves and hates it.

It’s always nice to have a good hard fuck every once in a while, but he likes the way Cas usually goes slow and tender and Dean’s just gotten so used to that. This is like the complete exact opposite of how Cas usually tops and even if it’s not bad, it’s not what he’s used to. Of course that doesn’t change how Dean still comes with Cas’s hand on his cock and a not-a-scream in his throat.

At least the second time is slower. Cas takes his time with the foreplay. He’s gentle in touches and kisses and getting Dean all worked up and wound tight before he pulls Dean into his lap and lets him sink down. His wings stay wrapped tight around them both and Cas holds Dean through the whole thing. He whispers praise and love and everything that just makes Dean hold him tighter and bury his face against his throat so he doesn’t have to see the way Cas is looking at him.

The third time, Dean is too tired to get it up but God does he try with his hands and his mouth. Cas squirms and whines and he might’ve pulled out half of Dean’s hair by the time he comes clenching around Dean’s fingers, but it’s totally worth it for the satiated smiles he gets afterward.

He manages to get it up for the fourth time and Cas rides him, but the fifth time is impossible. Dean’s convinced he’s never going to be able to have another erection in his life, but he lets Cas fuck his mouth so he can at least participate a little. Cas is completely on his own for however many times he manages to jerk himself off in the few hours Dean steals for a nap.

Time is completely lost on him and Dean almost wants to cry when Cas wakes him up with soft kisses and gentle, pleading whispers. He still can’t bring himself to actually move, but Cas is – as always – completely happy to use Dean’s fingers and mouth.

The last time they have sex that day, it’s almost just like the second. Cas holds him close and moves in him slow, mouthing a variety of languages into his skin while he squeezes their linked fingers and presses them down into the blankets. Dean loses track of how many times Cas says he loves him, but the heat in his chest is blocking out his ability to breathe and he doesn’t make a sound when he comes.

He’s pretty sure he passes out after that.

Day Eleven

“We’re not having sex again for a year.”