31. Polaris

Aside from Cas’s weird attempt to actually become the blanket at ass o’clock in the morning, Dean actually slept pretty damn well. He was warm, and comfortable, and really, really happy. Waking up with Cas practically on top of him, holding onto him like he’s scared Dean’s going to disappear into thin air, yeah, that didn’t really bother him. Especially when Cas leaned up to kiss him soft and slow before they both fell asleep again.

Dean’s got no idea what time it is now, but he’s okay with that. His watch is tucked in the pocket of his jeans and that’s too far out of his reach for him to want to try and get it. With Cas breathing hot air against his pulse in steady puffs, trying to get his watch is actually one of the last things he wants to do right now. Staying here with Cas is top of the list and going to take a piss is close up in second. He’s really not looking forward to having to piss into the snow. Maybe it’s time for him to start convincing Cas to build some kind of outhouse.

For now, he supposes he could wait until Cas wakes up proper again. Only, he doesn’t know when that’s going to be. Well, he can hold it until then and amuse himself with the wing draped across his chest. Carefully, Dean extracts his arm out from underneath everything and curls his fingers over the top of Cas’s wing, raking them through the feathers. If Cas wasn’t laying on his other arm, he’d get that one going to. It’s a little tingly and numb, but he doesn’t really want to move it from around Cas’s shoulders anytime soon.

On the third stroke along the bone, Cas actually groans against his shoulder. It’s probably one of the most amazing sounds Dean’s ever heard. He strokes again, touching everywhere he can reach until lips brush the side of his throat and Cas’s sleep-thick voice grumbles against his shirt.

“Stop that.”

“Really? You want me to stop?” Dean grins and twists his fingers in a certain spot, just under the bend where Cas’s wing starts to slope down toward the longer feathers.

It earns him a small noise of surprise and Cas’s wing pulls out of his grip hard enough it sends the blankets on top of it scattering. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Why?” Dean turns onto his side a little, sliding Cas’s head from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow so he can look down at him. He can’t roll Cas onto his back completely because of his wings, but he can definitely get a little leverage on him. “You’ve never had a problem with me touching them before.”

Cas blinks up at him, eyes a little unfocused. The moment they clear up after muffling a yawn under his hand, he smiles. It’s a small curve of his lips, a little crooked – higher on one side than the other, but it’s fucking shining in his eyes. Dean knows ‘happy’ when he sees it. He gives Cas a smile of his own and Cas reaches up to drag his thumb against his bottom lip and trace his fingers along his cheek in a touch way more intimate than Dean’s used to. Dean has a sneaking suspicion that Cas is finding all the constellations in his freckles.

“My wings are sensitive when you dig your fingers in like that.” Cas murmurs, his fingers sliding to his ear. Dean raises an eyebrow in question. That’s how he’s always touched Cas’s wings. “I never said anything about it before. If I did, you might have stopped touching them.”

“Hm, doubt that.” There are very few things in this world that would get him to stop touching Cas’s wings. They’re too awesome to not touch.

He dips his head to catch that smile with a kiss, enjoying the happy fluttering feeling he gets whenever he kisses Cas. It’s like a little thrill of exhilaration making his stomach do cartwheels around his insides. He kind of hopes kissing Cas will always feel like that. Like it’s still so new and awesome and he’s actually allowed to do it now.

Dean doesn’t even get a whole ten seconds to worry about Cas objecting to his morning breath. He’s barely pulled back from the little closed mouth smile-catcher and Cas is already sitting up to follow after it, tongue sliding over Dean’s bottom lip as he keeps going, keeps pushing until Dean’s on his back and Cas is half on top of him again with one leg thrown over his. Cas seems just as okay with the morning breath as Dean is and he’s really got no reason to stop kissing, to stop letting Cas keep practicing and occasionally tripping him up with a new trick he hasn’t shown him yet.

The only thing that gets them to stop is when Dean’s hands slide far enough down Cas’s sides to find the waistband of his loincloth and he realizes that Cas is very much on the verge of being naked. Granted, that’s nothing new. What is new is that if Dean gets a boner, he doesn’t have to hide it. He doesn’t have to make an excuse to go to the car and jerk off in silence. He could take care of it right here – but is Cas ready for it? He hasn’t made any kind of move to get anywhere near Dean’s lower half yet.

“Cas.” Dean murmurs, breaking away to press kisses along his jaw. “Cas, man, y’gotta let me up.”

“I quite like you where you are.”

“Yeah?” He laughs at the rumble in his ear as Cas turns his head to copy him. “Hate to burst your bubble, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want me peeing in the bed.”

Cas huffs, but pushes up and away, taking the blankets with him when he sits back. Dean hates the cold that attacks everywhere Cas had been, but it’s gone in a snap when Cas starts stretching. His wings spread and arc up toward the roof while he laces his fingers together and raises his arms above his head. He can’t help reaching out and smoothing his palm over the small of Cas’s back or avoiding his wings when he sits up to press kisses to the strip of skin between them. Now that he’s allowed to do it, Dean can’t stop – can’t stop touching, can’t stop kissing, can’t stop wanting to be as close to Cas as is physically possible.

“I thought you had to go relieve yourself?” Cas looks over his shoulder, all smug and amused and Dean gets his knees under him to give him enough height on Cas that he can lean over and kiss him proper.

It takes them ten more minutes to get dressed enough to even think about getting down from the nest. Dean tries not to hate the clothes Cas puts on, but he kinda does. Even though he looks good dressed up, Dean’s really used to him being half naked. It’s a shame for him to get all covered up after how long he spends doing his markings. At least it’s only his pants for now.

Having to put on boots, a jacket and a hat just to go take a piss seems kind of ridiculous to Dean, but he doesn’t complain. Cas gets started on breakfast before he’s even outside. Since all the meat is in Dean’s car, they’re just having some omelets with veggies diced in. Dean figures they’re not going to bother with the cooler for the meat. The cave is cool enough in the back that if they put the meat in the vegetable hole, it should stay cold. Hell, they could probably still shove it in the cooler, grab some snow, and pack it in there.

Dean has to fight the urge to try and write his name in the snow. It’s a hell of a temptation, but he toughs it out and washes his hands the moment he’s back inside. Cas still hasn’t put on the poncho or a shirt and Dean really can’t be blamed for how easy it is to warm his cold fingers in the downy feathers around the base of Cas’s wings. He could probably be held accountable for how the omelets get a little burned, since Cas turns his attention from those to him. The kisses come so easy now, so natural between them that Dean’s almost forgotten they haven’t been doing this all along.

Eating breakfast and cleaning up happens faster than Dean expected. He’s brushing his teeth before he knows it, wondering why Cas is pulling on his tunic and coat. It makes sense when he heads out with a mutter about ‘relieving himself’. It’s the perfect chance for them to go to the car, actually. If Cas comes back in and strips down to his pants again, Dean might not be able to keep from pulling him down on the couch and showing Cas the glory that is necking.

He meets Cas outside, hat in place and his mitt only on his left hand. “C’mon. We’re going to get the crap from the car and move her in.” He holds out his right hand and wiggles his fingers.

Cas stares at it for a moment before he undoes the string that keeps his mitten tight around his wrist and pulls it off. Dean takes it and shoves it in his other pocket before linking their fingers. As soon as their palms are pressed together, Cas’s feathers fan out and he stares down at their hands. Dean grins at him and pulls Cas closer, catches him mid-smile with a kiss, and shoves their hands into his free pocket to keep them warm.

They walk side by side down the path and Cas doesn’t seem bothered by the cold at all. Dean knows his cheeks and nose are getting red, but Cas’s cheeks are barely pink. The only time he lets go of Cas’s hand and gives him back his glove is when they split up at the main road. He gets in the car and lets her warm up for a minute or two before he pulls her through the opening Cas made by moving the tree. Cas refuses the ride to the clearing and he runs ahead again.

Dean’s barely out of the car once she’s parked and shut off before Cas is in his space and grinning. His face is a little more red, flushed from the brisk run, and Dean is more than happy to let him push him up against the side of the car and kiss him. Cold lips warm up quick, but the kissing doesn’t last long – not with the metal frame of the Impala bleeding cold through his jacket from his shoulders to his ass.

“Let’s get this stuff back inside first and then we can kiss more, okay?” He pulls back and grins. “I’d rather not get frostbite on my ass the first day I’m out here.”

“That would be quite the shame.” Cas mumbles, leaning in again and Dean lets him have one more kiss before he actually pushes him back. His wings twitch and Cas doesn’t look all that happy with stopping, but Dean just grins and cocks his head to the side.

“Help me with this stuff and when we get back I’ll show you something nice.”

That gets a bright eyed child-at-Christmas look and Cas’s wings spread a little again. He doesn’t ask what Dean’s going to show him, or even demand any hints. Cas just reaches around him and pulls open the back door. Dean shoulders his back pack and passes Cas the duffle bag. It’s got the bacon, chicken and ground beef wrapped in plastic bags inside. Plus a few different kinds of snacks and a dozen books he found at a garage sale. At a nickel apiece, they were practically a steal.

When they get back, Cas strips off his coat and shirt like he can’t get out of them fast enough. Dean half expects him to pounce the moment they’ve got the cover tied down again, but Cas leaves him with the bags to start messing around with the fire and getting the biggest metal pot he owns from the cave. Dean busies himself with putting away all the stuff while Cas makes a few trips with the water jug to fill up the pot.

His curiosity gets the best of him when Cas brings out the bowl with the soap root in it and a couple cloths. “What’re you doing?”

“We’re going to take a bath.”

“You want to do a wipe down right now?” He stops stacking the books on the stump at the end of the couch and looks up. “But I was going to show you something nice.” He’s not pouting, he’s not.

Cas doesn’t look up from checking the water and his wings do this twitchy little dance against his back before they fan out a little. “Is it something you can show me while we bathe?”

“Well, yeah. It’s easier without shirts on, actually.” Dean stands and runs a hand through his hair.

He was planning on showing Cas hickeys while committing to memory all the little places on his neck and shoulders – and chest, if Cas is okay with it – that make him twitch. He wants to find all those spots and learn firsthand what sounds Cas makes when he puts his mouth to them. Of course he’s not going to push Cas any further than he wants to go, but so far Cas is only doing what Dean’s done. The kissing is fucking great and Cas is gets better every time they kiss – and they’ve been doing a lot of kissing since late afternoon yesterday – but it’s not really pushing if he keeps it above the belt, right?

“If you don’t want to join me, you’re welcome to do something else. I can’t wash my clothes as easily during winter and I prefer keeping myself as clean as possible to reduce how often I need to wash them.” Cas explains, shrugging and glancing down at the cloth in his hand. “And –” He stops.

Dean crosses around the table to get up in Cas’s personal space, forcing his arms apart to make room for himself. “And what?”

Cas looks up at him, eyes bright and wide and his feathers keep rustling, like he’s nervous. “And I assume what you’re going to show me involves kissing places that aren’t my mouth.”

“Bingo.” He grins and dips forward to plant a quick one on him. He brings a hand up from Cas’s waist to tap two fingers under his ear before dragging them under his jaw and down his throat. “I want to find what makes you tick, Cas. I could use my hands, yeah, but it feels better when I do it with my mouth.”

“For you, or for me?”

“You can be the judge of that. I fully expect you to be taking notes and be prepared to show your work.” Dean can’t help the stupid grin. He hasn’t had the chance to learn someone like this in a long time. It’s always been one night stands where the whole reason for it was just to get off. Even if he’s always made it a point to make sure his partner is having a good time, a one night stand lacks in everything he wants to give to Cas.

“All the more reason for us to bathe.” Cas murmurs, leaning in as he pulls Dean’s hand away from where it’s resting against his collarbone. “I don’t want you kissing my skin and thinking it’s dirty.”

He has to wrestle the laugh back down, pushing that urge away. Dean closing the space between them and talking around the kisses. “I didn’t mind the morning breath. What makes you think I’m going to worry about a little sweat? Besides, I wanna taste you, not the soap.”

“Then we won’t use the soap. Just water to wipe down and keep fresh.”

Dean hums into Cas’s mouth. It gets hard for them to talk after that, intent on memorizing the rest of their mouths that they haven’t already. Cas is still the one who breaks it though, stepping away to pull the pot off the grill so the water doesn’t get toohot. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and leans a hip against the table, watching Cas dip the end of a cloth into the water and touching it to check the temperature.

“Are we getting naked or are we doing this with our underwear on?” His mouth spits out the question before letting his brain double check it and Dean nearly has to jump out of the way when Cas’s wings snap out in surprise.

Peonies and coriander sprout around Cas’s feet before his wings fold back into place and he looks over his shoulder at Dean. He’s got the elevator eyes going, glancing over Dean from head to toe. It’s the kind of look that makes Dean feel warm all over because holy Christ, Cas is actually considering they walk around in their birthday suits. Dean sorta feels like that would be moving too fast, and at the same time he thinks they’ve gone slow enough.

They’ve been basically dating since – he doesn’t want to say since the first time he ever left Cas’s place, but it’s damn close to that. Maybe the second time. The only thing they haven’t done is bring in the physical aspects and actually tell each other how they feel. Though, Cas was telling him long before Dean ever got the message. But that’s what happens when he says it in a language Dean doesn’t know. Now they’ve checked one of those off and there’s just one more step to go. If they’ve been emotionally dancing around for months, does jumping each other’s bones the day after they’re ‘official’ mean they’re moving too fast?

All these thoughts that shouldn’t be this confusing are one of the many reasons Dean’s been avoiding relationships since high school. Cassie was a fluke, but she was one of those sex-first-relationship-later girls that Dean’s romantic history seems to be full of. Everything with Cas has been backwards and Dean doesn’t want to fuck this up. He doesn’t want to go too fast, but he doesn’t want to go too slow.

Cas’s eyes settle on his face, head tilting slightly as he gets that look like he can see right through Dean. Sometimes he really thinks Cas can actually read his mind.

“Leave them on.” He nods, as if that settles it and looks back down at the pot. His feathers start to fluff up and he clears his throat. “For now. When we wash down again tomorrow, or the next day, we’ll do without them.”

“Sounds like a plan.” There’s an odd mix of disappointment and relief playing leap frog in his stomach and Dean tries to ignore it in favour of popping the button on his jeans.

He turns around to put his pants over a chair and pulls his shirt over his head. The warm cloth against his back before he’s even put his shirt on the chair is an unexpected but not unwelcome surprise. Dean looks over his shoulder and Cas looks fascinated, focused entirely on where he’s smoothing the cloth over Dean’s shoulders and dragging his fingers through the water after it.

Dean lets his chin drop to his chest and makes a pleased groan when Cas moves the warm cloth over the back of his neck. It feels awesome – not to hot, not too cold, not too wet. Cas takes his hand and leads him back to the water. He moves the pot to the table and Dean picks up a cloth of his own, soaking it and wringing it out while gesturing for Cas to turn around.

They don’t say anything, barely even make any sounds, but they’re learning each other and that doesn’t need words. Cas finds out Dean’s a little ticklish along his ribs, and Dean discovers that rubbing at Cas’s shoulders a little makes him go weak in the knees. When he turns around for Cas to do his front, it’s like he makes it his mission to feel out every scar on his stomach and sides. The only thing that has Cas coming to a dead stop is when the cloth swipes across the tattoo on his chest.

Cas’s eyes go tight when he traces his fingers over the mark and Dean doesn’t like that look. He doesn’t like it anymore than he liked getting the tattoo in the first place. But it’s what his dad had wanted and what John wants, he gets.

“Sorry.” He murmurs, catching Cas’s hands and pulling them away from it.

“Knowing its meaning –” His lips press together, cutting off the rest of the sentence before he looks up at him again, an unhappy frown pulling at his mouth. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Dean kind of wants to kick himself for forgetting about the stupid tattoo. Of course Cas isn’t going to be comfortable with the mark of an Angel hunter being paraded around in front of him. He kind of wishes he never told Cas what it was. Better yet, he wishes he had the balls to tell his dad off when he’d taken him to the tattoo shop to get it done.

“I’ll save up to get it removed or tattooed over. I’ll just wear a shirt for now, okay?” He’s already turning and reaching for his shirt.

“Can I do it?” Cas pulls him back and he puts his hand over the tattoo. “If I mix up some dye now, would you let me paint over it? I don’t want you to cover up, but it – it’s uncomfortable, seeing it and knowing what it means.”

“You don’t want to be reminded about what I was any more than I do.” Dean leans forward, his forehead bumping Cas’s. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

Cas tilts his chin up for a kiss and Dean hasn’t been able to deny him one yet. He fumbles blindly to dip his cloth in the water and wring it out without taking his mouth away from Cas’s. The water is still warm and Cas gives an appreciative groan when Dean drags the warm cloth along the sides of his neck and throat, swiping it slowly over his collarbone.

“You got any issues with your throat?” He asks, kissing away along Cas’s jaw. He’s been with some people who don’t like having such a vulnerable part of them touched.

“I trust you.” Cas breathes against his ear.

Dean wastes no time in wiping clean every path he plans to take with his mouth. He starts with the soft spot under Cas’s ear, nuzzling it slightly with his nose before pressing a kiss there. Cas’s hands come up to rest on his hips and Dean gauges Cas’s reactions by the grip of his fingers and the little hitching gasps in his breathing.

This isn’t something new to Cas. He may never have had it done to him, but Dean can still remember when Cas pushed him down on the table and mouthed at his jaw. He can still remember what Cas’s lips feel like on his ear. Either Cas has seen someone else do that before, or he’s read it in one of the books, or it was some natural instinct – Dean doesn’t know and doesn’t care. The point still stands that no one has done this to Cas before and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t show him how awesome it really is.

Cas’s wings fold forward again, circling around him and Dean smiles against his neck. The waters gone cold by the time Dean’s done mapping Cas’s throat with his tongue. There’s a certain thrill about feeling his pulse kick up a few notches under his lips. He hasn’t left any hickeys – not yet, since they haven’t really talked about that – but he definitely thought about it when he closed his mouth over the hinge of Cas’s jaw and gave an experimental little suck.

Dean puts that down on his list of things to talk about later. Apparently later is only a few minutes away.

While the water heats up again over the fire, Dean leans back against the edge of the table with Cas firmly planted between his legs. He tilts his head back and rubs circles on Cas’s hipbones with his thumbs, holding tight while Cas takes his turn. It’s been way too long since someone did this to him and Dean can’t help the little groan when Cas finds the hollow of his throat and flicks his tongue over it. Cas is liberal with his hands, spreading them over Dean’s shoulders and down his spine to curl them around his hips and back up his sides to skate his fingertips over his stomach and chest.

“How do you feel –” Cas pauses to experiment with dragging his teeth over Dean’s collarbone. Fuck, he’s a fast learner. “– about marks?”

“Depends what kind.” He shrugs and lifts a hand to pull Cas’s mouth back to his, the rest of his answer finding its way out between kisses. “Biting? Not so crazy about it. Hickeys? I’m down for that. Scratching? In moderation. You?”

Cas pulls out of the kisses when the water starts to hiss. It’s going to be too hot now, but Dean doesn’t mind waiting for it to cool a little. That just means more make out time. With the pot set aside, Cas comes back to lean against Dean’s chest with his arms wrapped loosely around his waist and their foreheads together. Dean could get used to this.

“Hamiaah are very – I’m not sure if this is the appropriate word, but we are ‘protective’. We put our clan or family symbol on everything that is ours. And when we take a mate we like to make sure everyone knows not to touch them.” Cas talks in a quiet hush that’s sending all sorts of shivers down Dean’s spine. “During the commah ceremony –”

“The what?”

“Koh-em-mah-hoh. It means ‘bound together’.”

“Oh, you’re talking about a wedding?” He shoves away the swooping nervous feeling in his stomach before jumping to conclusions.

Dean can feel the frown on Cas’s forehead against his own. “Yes, that is what you would call it. During the marriage ceremony, we customarily accept a new marking from our commah. Something they come up with themselves.” Cas steps back and touches the necklace with his parents’ feathers on it, fingers stopping over the empty space between them. “Then we add an alula feather from our mate to here.”

“So, for you guys the new tattoo and a feather is the same as wedding ring?” He holds up his right hand and gestures at the ring on his finger. It used to belong to his mom.

Cas nods and reaches out to touch it gently before he slides his fingers between Dean’s. Heat flares all up Dean’s arm and he smiles, tugging Cas close to kiss him again. “Did you bring all that up so you could ask to put a couple hickeys on me?”

“I would like to, yes.” He brings a hand up to press gentle fingers along his collarbone. “May I?”

“As long as you let me have a go after, be my guest.”

There’s no pussyfooting around after that. Cas homes in on his pulse and Dean loses the ability to think properly when teeth and tongue and sucking and sweet merciful crap he was not prepared for this. The list of things he wasn’t prepared for gets longer when Cas pulls him back up on his feet. One hand spreads wide in the small of Dean’s back to hold him in place. His other hand finds its way into Dean’s hair, tugging his head back while his wings get all puffy again, arching up behind him before they curve in around them.

Dean makes an embarrassing noise that he will deny to his dying day when Cas moves to the hollow of his throat and promptly sucks another mark right there. He’s going for gold on every spot that makes Dean twitch and if Cas doesn’t take it down a notch, he’s going to be twitching in his shorts too – and they haven’t even gotten Cas out of his pants yet.

The sheer level of smug on Cas’s face when he pulls back is almost enough to make Dean laugh – if he wasn’t desperately trying to focus on things like baseball, sad puppies and anything that will keep that heat in his belly from growing. Cas takes a minute to trace every spot he left a mark on. Four, going by the number of times he stops to lightly press his fingers into Dean’s skin. His grin is too tempting for Dean to resist and he pulls him in for another kiss. His obsession with Cas’s mouth and tongue is getting into the dangerous territory of addiction and it hasn’t even been a whole day since they went from best friends to boyfriends.

Cas doesn’t object when Dean turns them around and backs him up against the table. The only thing he frowns at is when Dean steps away to get the pot of water. Dean takes his time wiping Cas down from his neck to the waistband of his (almost obscenely tight) pants. Every swipe of the cloth gets Cas that much more relaxed, his wings spreading out before sagging almost limply to the floor. He even tilts his head back on his own, letting out a little sigh when Dean leans in to drag his tongue over the painted line along his throat. The sound cuts right through Dean, burying itself in that heat in his gut.

Something somewhere is setting off flare guns in the back of his mind telling him to stop while he’s ahead, but fuck if Dean’s going to listen to it right now. There are much better things to be doing. Things like finding that spot under Cas’s ear and sucking at it hard enough to bruise, like letting Cas dig his fingers into his shoulders and hiss a surprised gasp in his ear. The list goes on and on and Dean would rather drown in everything that is Cas then stop right now.

It takes more willpower than he thought he had to stop at four, just like Cas did. There’s one under Cas’s right ear, another in the center of the triangle just below the hollow of his throat, and two on his collarbone. Dean spent good chunk of time tracing out the wing-like tattoos that show his status again. Cas worked hard to earn that status and even if Dean’s not all that happy with the circumstances or that it means they can’t see each other a whole lot anymore, he’s glad Cas got it back.

Cas definitely looks more ruffled and less smug by the time Dean steps away and drops his cloth in the pot. He gives Cas a lopsided grin. “Told you I’d show you something nice.”

Unsurprisingly, it takes Cas a few tries to get his mouth working again. He’s leaning back against the table a little more than he was before, his grip on the edge almost white knuckled. If Dean was a betting man – and he is – he’d put good money on Cas fighting against himself in the same way Dean is. “I never doubted that you would.”

They finish cleaning up after that, though Cas seems to be developing this thing where if Dean’s within reach, he’ll stretch out the nearest wing to curve over his back. It’s nice and Dean doesn’t mind it. After Cas is set up and ready to start working on his mats, Dean drags his sleeping bag over behind him and makes a little seat so they can lean back against each other if they want to.

There’s only a week for them to get all their touching needs under wraps before they’re going to be all ‘long distance’ again and Dean’s always been a bit on the touchy feely side – not that most people who know him would think that. It’s only one of those things that people learn if they manage to dig themselves under his skin deep enough. So far, it’s only Cas he’s ever really been like this with. He never had reading time on a couch with Cassie, and he never had the chance to spend a few hours cooking dinner with Lisa. He’s never had the chance for this and he likes it. Dean really fucking likes it.

While Cas works on his mat, humming a little song under his breath, Dean pulls out his laptop and scrolls through all the newspapers he downloaded before he left wifi coverage. They’re newspapers from all over the country and Dean’s got his eyes peeled for anything weird. There’s a notebook balanced on the keyboard and anything that’s remotely weird – unexplained or mysterious deaths and the like – gets written down for him to look up more information on next week.

At the same time, he’s looking for anything that might be related to his dad. He hasn’t called to check in with Bobby in months and Dean’s getting a little worried. There’s a little bit of guilt finding its way into his chest, accusing him of being more focused on Cas than he has with finding his dad. But this is the first time in a long time that Dean’s been doing something for himself and it feels good. As far as he’s concerned, the guilt can just keep piling up. It’s not like John isn’t a pro at stacking that on him most of the time they’re together anyways.

Looking for John should be one of Dean’s priorities right now, but it isn’t. It really, really isn’t. If anything, it’s now moved to the very bottom of his ‘things to do’ list. That may, or may not, have something to do with the fact that Dean doesn’t have a damn clue how to explain to his dad that he not only doesn’t want to hunt Angels anymore, but he’s also dating one. If you could call what he and Cas are going to be doing ‘dating’.

Either way, that conversation is not one that he’s looking forward to. He’ll probably need some kind of backup during it – Bobby, most likely. Sam being there would only piss John off. He’d probably think Sam had ‘corrupted’ Dean in some way and the last thing Dean needs is for those two to strike up a screaming match. With his luck, fists would fly.

A few times, while flipping through the newspapers, Dean stops to ask Cas’s opinion on an article to see if he thinks it’s a hunt or not. More than once he reads out something interesting that has nothing to do with hunting. They’re really too comfortable sitting like they are to need to talk. And it’s nice. Fuck, he’s going to miss this so much when Cas has to go back. At least they’ll still have the phone calls. Dean has to fight the urge to ask Cas what they’re going to do at the end of the week – if he knows how often he’ll be able to come home. Or maybe, now that they’re in a relationship, he’ll be allowed to visit the clan.

That whole thing is a conversation he’d rather put off until later. They’ve got a good thing going right now and Dean doesn’t want to break it with a conversation that might just upset them both. But it still nags at him from the back of his mind, right up to when they stop what they’re doing to make lunch to after while he watches Cas mix the dye to paint over his tattoo.

All thinking basically stops the moment Dean pulls off his shirt and necklace and sits on the couch because Cas – the smartass – drops right into his lap, straddling his thighs like Dean did the last time they had the dye and paintbrush out. Dean rests his hands on Cas’s thighs and grins up at him. If this is his revenge for that time, then Dean welcomes it with open arms.

x

This change to their relationship is both everything that Castiel wanted, and a curse. He has the sneaking suspicion that unless he is careful, he might get completely lost in the feel and taste of Dean's body. It feels like nothing between them has changed, yet at the same time everything is different. How is he supposed to focus on anything when he can easily just turn around and kiss Dean if he so desires it?

After their mockery of a bath earlier, it's become even harder for Castiel to keep his hands to himself. The entire problem is just that Dean has so much skin. So many freckles and scars – both big and small, ones he knew of and ones he didn't. Castiel wants to know the story behind each of them. He wants to touch and taste and trace, devote each blemish and imperfection in Dean's skin to memory. It almost feels as if he has more wants than before he was given the permission to touch, to give, to take.

Castiel had almost lost control earlier. If he hadn’t made Dean stand up properly so he could wrap him in his wings, Castiel might have pushed him down on the table much like he did once before. It was only his own cowardice that kept him from following that desire. He’s not skilled enough to attempt that yet. Castiel wants to learn Dean’s body first before he tries putting that knowledge to the test. He doesn’t want to do anything like that with Dean without being sure of every movement.

He is, perhaps, a little vindictive when he chooses to sit in Dean’s lap with the jar of dye in his left hand and the paintbrush in the other. Castiel stays close to Dean’s knees, not only to give himself enough space to see by, but to keep himself from leaning in and forgetting everything he plans to do. Dean’s hands come to rest on Castiel’s thighs, thumbs sweeping in gentle arcs. It’s a touch that is very hard to ignore and Castiel wants to spread his wings and cover Dean, hide him from prying eyes.

Dean doesn’t move his hands any further, but he does tilt his head back. The stretch of his neck is a delicious temptation and Castiel lets his gaze linger on the dark bruises he left there before he turns his attention to the sun wrapped around a star tattooed on Dean’s chest. He studies it, trying to think of a design that could incorporate the existing symbol while changing it completely so he can’t see what it once was.

“The star is an Angel.”

Castiel looks up sharply, but Dean is staring at the ceiling. His throat moves while he talks and Castiel has to look away before he leans in to taste it again. “The fire is supposed to represent the hunter and the star an Angel, because the stars are in the heavens and heaven is where Angels were supposed to live or some bullshit like that. There’s some stupid symbolism behind the fire that I didn’t ask about.”

“It’s fire and not a sun?”

“That’s what I was told.”

He frowns at the mark and a new design forms in his mind. Castiel dips the brush into the dye and sets to work. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and he twitches slightly, but he doesn’t move beyond that. While Castiel works, they don’t speak. It would just distract him and he needs to concentrate specifically on what he is doing. Otherwise, he might slip. The more he hears Dean’s voice, the more Castiel wants to feel it whispered across his skin. He wants to feel the rumble of it in Dean’s throat and under his lips. It’s a heady, dizzying want that Castiel tries very hard to ignore.

The first thing he does is fill in the spaces between the star and the ring of fire. He wishes there was something he could do for the lines within the star itself, but Castiel places a dot in each section save the middle instead. With the flames of the fire, Castiel covers them completely, spreading them out further across Dean’s skin in eight sharp points like a compass. In between the points he draws the thick lines of smaller points. It takes a steady hand and the experience of painting his own markings for decades to draw the thin lines that make up rays of light, arcing out from behind this new bigger, brighter star.

When his work is done, Castiel sits back to admire it properly. There is no longer any hint of the sun that it used to be. Now it is a star, shining dark against Dean’s chest, the rays of its light spreading up over his collarbone and touching his shoulder. It will be hours before it will be dry enough to touch and Castiel can hardly wait until he can trace the edges with fingers and tongue. This is his claim on Dean, proof that Castiel has shown him a different path to take in life.

He sets the paintbrush and dye pot aside, keeping one hand firmly on the center of Dean’s chest so he doesn’t move. Regardless, Dean still attempts to look down and see the new design. His eyebrows lift in surprise, a low whistle passing through his lips.

“Damn, Cas. That looks awesome.”

“It’s fitting.” Castiel murmurs, moving his hand to Dean’s chin and tilting his face up. He leans in and kisses Dean softly, just once. “A shining star for my micaloz.”

Dean grins against his lips, a teasing smile. “Mee-kah-what?”

“Mee-kah-loh-zod.” He repeats, pressing gentle kisses to Dean’s mouth between every syllable. “It means ‘mighty light’. You have given me far more than you know, Dean.”

Castiel doesn’t tell him that Hamiaah don’t usually give Enochian names to Humans unless it’s during a commah ceremony. It’s not completely unheard of to have one before then, but it’s certainly rare. As rare as his melanistic wings. He supposes that makes it oddly appropriate.

“Jesus, Cas –” Dean hisses softly and his hands tighten over Castiel’s thighs.

Before Dean can move his hands, Castiel covers them with his own. “Don’t move your left arm or you might mess up the dye.”

He gets no objection and Dean sinks the fingers of his other hand into Castiel’s hair, pulling him close to kiss him hard. Castiel opens to the press of his tongue and loses himself to the taste and feel of Dean. His wings twitch forward, arching over his shoulders and giving in to the urge to shield Dean with them despite there being no one else here to see him. He covers Dean with his wings even though no one is here to see how Dean arches against the back of the othil and bares his neck for the slide of Castiel’s teeth and tongue.

There’s no one here to hear the soft sounds of surprise Dean makes whenever Castiel finds his sensitive places and drags his teeth over them. Dean said he doesn’t like biting, but he takes no issue with gentle nips or a soft scrape over his collarbone. He squirms when Castiel’s nails slide along his sides and gasps when his thumbs brush his nipples. The sound is like lightning through him and Castiel’s wings shiver as he repeats the motion, searching to get Dean to make the same noises again.

Without thinking, Castiel dips his head to flatten his tongue over one of Dean’s nipples. It earns him a strangled little noise that puts fire to his veins, burning like the heat from the mating season. Maybe he hasn’t fully recovered from that just yet, but it is the first that he’s welcomed it. He doesn’t fight against it or loathe it as it sears a path to his belly.

The only hand that Dean is allowed to move finds its way over his side and into the downy feathers at the base of Castiel’s wing. He muffles a groan of his own into Dean’s skin, curving his back and pressing into Dean’s fingers. It feels good when Dean grooms his wings, but this – this is like a storm building under flesh and bone. This is everything he expected Dean’s touch to do to him and more. The grip on his thigh is bruising and his other hand won’t hold still, moving from his wings and neck to cupping the back of his head to hold him in place whenever he finds a spot on Dean’s chest that he enjoys.

Castiel stays away from the drying dye but he maps the rest of Dean’s chest as far down as he can reach without moving from his position in Dean’s lap. There’s a marked increase in Dean’s pulse and he’s far more liberal with the little sounds his makes. Castiel is certain there will never be a time that he won’t be completely enthralled with Dean’s body and the novelty that it is his mouth, his hands – him – that makes Dean feel this way. It’s Castiel’s doing that has Dean looking at him with hooded eyes and kiss swollen lips, pink tongue darting out to wet them and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from chasing it with his own even if he wanted to.

They kiss and touch gently, exploring for what feels like hours. It’s long enough for the dye to dry to a point where Castiel is willing to let Dean sit up and have his turn. When it’s Dean’s mouth on his throat and his hands on his hips, Castiel lets his wings fold in again. If Dean had wings of his own, now would be when he would welcome Dean wrapping his wings over his. It would be a submissive gesture, much like baring his throat is – even if Dean doesn’t fully understand and Castiel’s not sure if he should take the time to explain.

Dean mouths wetly along his chest, tongue swiping and teeth scraping over his ribs and nipples to find all the places Castiel never knew would feel so good. This is another novelty that he doesn’t think will ever wear out. Dean wanting to touch and taste him, wanting to give him pleasure and finding his joy in it. It’s something new, something exciting, something he’s been craving for months and he knows he’ll never have his fill.

There’s a tingle in his wings, a leak of power running wild and he doesn’t doubt that red poppies and orange lilies are growing around them.

“Enjoying yourself, Cas?”

The words vibrate against his sternum and Castiel drags his hands through Dean’s hair before he pulls him up into his answering kiss. Dean huffs a quiet laugh against his mouth and the course his hands take along Castiel’s sides is more soothing compared to the touches from before.

He pulls away with a grin, eyes dark and breath short. It’s when Dean looks down, his gaze slowly sliding over Castiel’s chest and the numerous little red marks that will fade in an hour, that he realizes what Dean’s question was truly about. Castiel’s erection is straining against his qaa and the pants he never bothered to remove before. It hadn’t occurred to him that giving in to the heat in his body would show naturally like this. He’d been too preoccupied with focusing on every little sensation that Dean had been giving him. And he can see that Dean has one of his own too.

At this point, Castiel is too far gone to care about little else. He spent ten days dreaming about having Dean like this. Now that he’s here, ready and willing to give Castiel everything he’s wanted, why should he deny them both? They’ve had a connection since before Dean first left and it only got stronger with every phone call, with every visit, with every hesitating touch. Whether they acknowledged it or not, they did have it and now there’s nothing left for them to do but build on it in what little time is allowed to them right now.

Dean muffles a sound of surprise when Castiel kisses him hard, carefully maneuvering him to turn and stretch out on the othil without messing up the dye of the design. It maybe be dried now, but the longer they leave it untouched, the darker the marking will be. And he wants it to be dark enough that they won’t be able to see the real tattoo underneath.

In moving, Castiel ends up between Dean’s legs with his knees framing his hips. He lowers himself carefully against Dean in small increments until he can feel Dean’s erection against his own. This is entirely new territory for him. Achieving an orgasm alone by rubbing against Dean’s blanket (something he still hasn’t told Dean about) is similar, but intrinsically different. The blanket didn’t respond. It didn’t gasp into his mouth and slide greedy fingers up his back to press in between his shoulder blades. It didn’t have hips to thrust up against his, rolling in an experienced, delicious wave of muscle, skin, and blue fabric.

The friction is maddening. Castiel moves on instinct and his wings curve over their heads. Everything is shadows and gasped, desperate breaths. One hand finds its way under Dean’s thigh, lifting his leg to hitch around his hip. It changes something and Dean groans deep in his throat, head tilting back until it’s his chin Castiel presses kisses to. His hands drag down Castiel’s back, fingertips pressing hard into his skin and catching on the hem of his pants before they’re back and in the downy feathers of his wings.

“Cas –”

His name is a moan on Dean’s lips, drawn out into a hiss. It echoes with every roll, every push together. Dean can't seem to stop. Every other breath spills another half sentence ending or beginning with Castiel's name. They're gentle spoken directions, urging him faster or slower, or shifting more to one side. Sometimes they're questions, “Please let me –” that he never finishes. Castiel listens to it all, enthralled by everything.

It’s a surprise to them both when Dean locks up under him. Castiel pulls his wings tight to his back again, releasing a burst of his powers to grow the glowing mushrooms as quickly as possible to give him more light to see with. He wants to know what Dean looks like during this – he wants to memorize it and compare it to the fantasies he’s had.

Dean’s mouth is open slightly, eyes wide and glassy. His throat works over a soundless noise before he lets out a slow, steady sigh and his eyes slide shut. Castiel stops moving, waiting and unsure what to expect next now that Dean's orgasmed and he hasn't. Is he allowed to keep moving? Or will Dean want him to stop and finish on his own? He doesn't know and he doesn't have long to wait for an answer.

“Can I touch you?” Dean asks softly, not opening his eyes as his hands slide down to Castiel’s hips. “Please, Cas, I wanna touch you.”

As vague as the request is, Castiel knows what he means and it sends his heart and breath tripping together through his chest. He scrambles to his knees and carefully crawls up Dean’s body until he can straddle his hips instead of sitting between his thighs. Dean takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again. There’s a smile lifting his lips and Castiel sags forward, dropping to his elbows above Dean’s shoulders to kiss that smile and memorize every taste and texture.

He’s unashamed of the groan that tears from his throat when Dean’s palm cups him through the front of his pants. It’s nothing like when he’s done the same himself. Dean squeezes and rubs and Castiel is quickly shaking apart above him, his wings twitching and spreading again – one wing bumps the wall and can go no further, but the other brushes the edge of the table.

“Sit up.” The command is whispered against his mouth. “I wanna see you.”

Castiel understands that need all too well and he pushes himself up. Dean  bends his legs until his knees bump Castiel’s back, giving him something to lean back against. He rocks his hips forward into Dean’s hand, searching for more friction, searching for an edge that has never felt so good. His chin touches his chest as he looks down, watching Dean’s fingers as they work over him through his pants.

His orgasm is much less of a surprise than Dean’s. Castiel can feel it start as sparks in the tips of his wings, his fingers, and his toes. They race along his bones to gather in his gut, pulsing sharply in time with his heart. It beats at an almost frantic pace and Castiel’s movements become less even, more desperate and he lifts his eyes to Dean’s. He’s watching so closely, fixed on Castiel’s face.

“Dean –” There were supposed to be words following his name, but Castiel doesn’t remember what they were going to be. They get lost in a moan that rattles out of him from some place deep inside.

With his eyes squeezed shut, Castiel hands find Dean’s wrists and he holds on tightly, riding the waves of his own orgasm. Dean is sitting up and kissing him before Castiel has even folded his wings against his back again. They’re gentle kisses, soft and – if he didn’t know Dean better, he would say they were verging on worship. Each press is full of the words neither of them has said yet and Castiel gives into it. His hands tremble slightly as he lifts them to cradle Dean’s jaw between them – a homage to the first kisses they shared the day before.

“I think –” Dean starts, pausing to move in for another few kisses. “– I think we need to do that a lot more often.”

Castiel almost laughs, smiling against his lips and humming. He couldn’t agree more.

“But next time –” Another pause, another kiss. “Next time we get us out of our pants. I only bring so many boxers with me, y’know?”

This time there is no stopping the laugh.