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annundrielFluid
future!Castiel/Dean Smith
R
1683
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blindfold_spn fill originally posted here for the prompt: Castiel is probably hallucinating (again), but he doesn't care.
Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mclachlan and perfumaniac for beta-ing. ♥♥
Time is more fluid than people—living their linear little lives—can imagine. Castiel understands this, he’s seen it himself. Experienced it himself, from both sides.
He’s on the slow track now, where one day leads to the next, to a week, a month, a year. Time ticking slowly onward in one straight, excruciating line.
Which is why he doesn’t know how he ends up here, on a bed in a dimly lit room, the sound of lives being led in the distance. Full lives, not lives defined by fear and anger and hate, not always. There’s a warm body pressed against him, and Castiel turns his head to look, finds Dean asleep beside him.
It isn’t his Dean, though, if Castiel can call him that. And it isn’t Dean from four years ago, though that’s closer. In sleep he looks younger, less careworn, and Castiel knows without a doubt that this Dean would look that way regardless.
Castiel closes his eyes against the weight in his chest and wonders why he’s here.
*
He must fall asleep, because the next time he opens his eyes, he’s back at the camp.
A dream then, Castiel thinks, ignoring the way the phantom softness of expensive sheets, of Dean’s breath, lingers on his skin.
*
The next time it happens, Castiel isn’t alone. He’s surrounded by women with soft skin and work-rough hands, voices raised in earthly ecstasy. He closes his eyes, gives himself over to the touch of their hands and mouths, and lets himself be used.
And then the size of the hand on his cock changes and it becomes the only one touching him, the others fading away. The smell of smoke and incense recedes, replaced with cooler, filtered air that smells only of Castiel and him.
Castiel doesn’t need to open his eyes to know what he’ll see, but he can’t keep them closed. No matter how much it pains him, he can’t miss this. Not when he’s missed this more than he ever thought possible.
Dean Smith kneels between Castiel’s thighs, one hand on Castiel’s cock, the other wrapped around his own. Castiel knows it’s Smith and no one else right down to his bones, doesn’t need to be told. It’s in the more relaxed curve of his shoulders, the smooth line of his jaw. The healthy, well-rested glow he has.
“Yeah, look at me,” Dean says. “I want you to watch me, Cas. Look at me.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice; there’s no place else Castiel would rather look, nothing else he’d rather see. He’ll drink his fill of this sight while he can.
“Good.” Dean strokes him, thumb sweeping over the underside of Castiel’s cock, just below the head. “That’s good.”
Releasing Castiel, hand moving to Castiel’s hip for balance, Dean shuffles forward on his knees. Castiel opens his legs farther without a thought, makes room for Dean between his legs. Dean grins at him, mouth a sweet, teasing curve and takes both of their cocks in hand, presses them together in the tight ring of his fist, and Castiel groans.
It’s the first noise he’s made since he opened his eyes and found himself in this strange place. Maybe even since he stripped back at the camp, throwing himself into other people’s pleasure so he could forget his own pain.
“Cas,” Dean breathes, hovering over Castiel, one hand planted by Castiel’s shoulders, taking Dean’s weight. “Yeah, Cas. I want to hear you, want—”
Kissing Dean Smith is nothing and everything like kissing Dean, whose cheeks are usually covered with stubble, who tastes like desperation and longing and the fight. Who kisses too hard and hangs on too tight.
These kisses are slick and smooth and soft, nothing sharp or hard here except the occasional hint of Dean’s teeth.
It feels like falling anyway.
*
Dean’s gathered them all in what Castiel has come to call the War Room. He’s seen Dr. Strangelove. He’s had a lot of time on his hands.
Standing at the head of the worn wood table—Castiel thumbs a splinter sticking out of the edge, enjoys the small flare of pain through the fog of drugs—Dean surveys his troops. Castiel stifles a snort at the thought. They’re a sad bunch, really; Bobby, Chuck, Risa. A couple of men whose names Castiel can’t quite remember and doesn’t really see the point in trying to. Chances are they’ll be dead soon.
He likes Risa, though. She reminds him of Anna before she fell, tough and no nonsense.
Castiel sits and only half listens to Dean’s speech, toys with the cap on his pill bottle.
“Cas,” Dean says, “help Chuck out with the inventory. I want to make sure we’re covered for the next week.”
Popping open the bottle, Castiel tosses back two pills, cracks them between his teeth. “Sir, yes, sir,” he says, offering a weak salute. Dean would call it half-assed.
Dean frowns at him, a deep crease between his eyebrows.
Castiel can’t remember the last time he saw Dean smile.
*
Dean’s teeth are very white, lips full and pink as he grins at Castiel, fingers slipping back behind Castiel’s balls. His fingers are slick with lube, and Castiel already feels like he’s been worked open, already feels like Dean has made a place for himself inside of him. He’s ready.
“Dean.” He sounds like he’s swallowed ground glass, voice coming out choked and wrecked already when he’s only just gotten here. “Dean,” he repeats, his hand reaching out. He tangles his fingers with the ones Dean isn’t pushing inside of him, holds tight. “Yes, I want—”
“I know what you want, Cas,” Dean says. He brings their joined hands to his mouth, nips at one of Castiel’s knuckles, sucks at the soft flesh between Castiel’s thumb and forefinger. The fingers inside Castiel he twists, and Castiel keens, his hips rising as he braces his feet on the bed. “You’re just going to have to wait for it.”
Dean’s fingers fall away then, slipping from Castiel’s ass, untangling from the hold Castiel has him in. He slides across the sheets, moves away from Castiel’s spread legs and kneels at the end of the bed.
“Dean—”
“Touch yourself.”
Castiel frowns. “No,” he says. “I want—”
“I want to watch you,” Dean says, voice dark and full. “Touch yourself.”
Castiel can’t bring himself to deny him. He wraps a hand around his cock and reaches between his legs, presses his fingers inward with a sigh.
Dean’s smile is the brightest thing he’s ever seen.
*
Castiel comes with a whimper, spilling over his own hand.
It’s dark and quiet here, nothing to listen to but his own slow breathing, his own heart beating. Nothing to feel but cool sheets around him, an empty bed.
He likes the orgies and the women, likes the distraction they provide, the feeling of…community he’s missed since Heaven became closed to him. It’s a poor substitute, and isn’t quite accurate, but he’ll take it.
Castiel wipes his hand against the sheet, uses the corner of it to wipe the mess off of his stomach, and curls into his pillow.
He wonders where Dean is.
He isn’t sure which one he means.
*
Castiel is on his stomach, face pressed against a pillow that smells like Dean if Dean used expensive soap and conditioner. Body-wash that smells like grapefruit. He closes his eyes and breathes it in as deep as he can, not wanting to forget.
Dean’s fingers are in Castiel’s ass again, moving slow and sure, undeniable. Castiel shifts his hips back into him, enjoys the feel of his cock caught between his body and the mattress.
“God, Cas,” Dean breathes, voice full of...something that Castiel is tempted to call awe, if that’s even possible. “God.”
Castiel ignores the pain that name strikes deep inside of him, ignores it and focuses instead on Dean’s voice, on Dean’s hands. He can see Dean out of the corner of his eyes when he opens them, blurry. “Yes, Dean?”
“I feel like—” Dean swallows loudly, his unoccupied hand large and hot on the small of Castiel’s back. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
Castiel goes still under Dean’s hands, his chest feeling tight. He wonders if it’s possible to die here. “You have.”
“How is that even possible?” Dean asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. Probably doesn’t even want one. This Dean—this Dean—doesn’t know, doesn’t care about what came before. He can’t quite comprehend a world where Castiel gripped him tight, where Castiel chose him over everything else in Creation.
No Dean ever really could.
Dean’s fingers disappear and Castiel feels him shift against the mattress, hears the sound of a wrapper being ripped open, the pop of a bottle top. He waits patiently, fingers digging into the soft sheets, and then Dean’s cock is pressing against him, pressing inside him, and yes, this.
This is what Castiel’s been wanting, what he’s been waiting for. Dean’s body covering his own, Dean moving inside him, taking Castiel’s breath away, removing everything else until there is only the two of them. Only Castiel and Dean, locked together in ways Castiel never dreamed he would want until he stood feet away from Dean in a dilapidated barn and saw all of the ways Dean was broken, all of the potential he still had.
Dean moves against him, breath coming fast, cock sliding in and out as Dean nuzzles at the spot behind Castiel’s ear, mouths at the corner of his jaw.
“Cas.” Dean’s voice stutters with his hips. “Cas,” he repeats, pressing Castiel’s name, everything that nickname has ever meant, into Castiel’s skin.
It grounds Castiel, pinning him there in Dean’s arms.
“Dean,” he chokes out, and he’s coming, spilling against the sheets, finally.
Finally.
*
He wakes up alone to the smell of campfires, the sound of birdsong. Chuck’s voice carrying as he calls after their fearless leader.
Castiel rolls over and tries to go back to sleep.
*
Time is fluid. It’s marching ever onward.
Castiel isn’t really here.
future!Castiel/Dean Smith
R
1683
blindfold_spn fill originally posted here for the prompt: Castiel is probably hallucinating (again), but he doesn't care.Many thanks to
mclachlan and perfumaniac for beta-ing. ♥♥Time is more fluid than people—living their linear little lives—can imagine. Castiel understands this, he’s seen it himself. Experienced it himself, from both sides.
He’s on the slow track now, where one day leads to the next, to a week, a month, a year. Time ticking slowly onward in one straight, excruciating line.
Which is why he doesn’t know how he ends up here, on a bed in a dimly lit room, the sound of lives being led in the distance. Full lives, not lives defined by fear and anger and hate, not always. There’s a warm body pressed against him, and Castiel turns his head to look, finds Dean asleep beside him.
It isn’t his Dean, though, if Castiel can call him that. And it isn’t Dean from four years ago, though that’s closer. In sleep he looks younger, less careworn, and Castiel knows without a doubt that this Dean would look that way regardless.
Castiel closes his eyes against the weight in his chest and wonders why he’s here.
*
He must fall asleep, because the next time he opens his eyes, he’s back at the camp.
A dream then, Castiel thinks, ignoring the way the phantom softness of expensive sheets, of Dean’s breath, lingers on his skin.
*
The next time it happens, Castiel isn’t alone. He’s surrounded by women with soft skin and work-rough hands, voices raised in earthly ecstasy. He closes his eyes, gives himself over to the touch of their hands and mouths, and lets himself be used.
And then the size of the hand on his cock changes and it becomes the only one touching him, the others fading away. The smell of smoke and incense recedes, replaced with cooler, filtered air that smells only of Castiel and him.
Castiel doesn’t need to open his eyes to know what he’ll see, but he can’t keep them closed. No matter how much it pains him, he can’t miss this. Not when he’s missed this more than he ever thought possible.
Dean Smith kneels between Castiel’s thighs, one hand on Castiel’s cock, the other wrapped around his own. Castiel knows it’s Smith and no one else right down to his bones, doesn’t need to be told. It’s in the more relaxed curve of his shoulders, the smooth line of his jaw. The healthy, well-rested glow he has.
“Yeah, look at me,” Dean says. “I want you to watch me, Cas. Look at me.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice; there’s no place else Castiel would rather look, nothing else he’d rather see. He’ll drink his fill of this sight while he can.
“Good.” Dean strokes him, thumb sweeping over the underside of Castiel’s cock, just below the head. “That’s good.”
Releasing Castiel, hand moving to Castiel’s hip for balance, Dean shuffles forward on his knees. Castiel opens his legs farther without a thought, makes room for Dean between his legs. Dean grins at him, mouth a sweet, teasing curve and takes both of their cocks in hand, presses them together in the tight ring of his fist, and Castiel groans.
It’s the first noise he’s made since he opened his eyes and found himself in this strange place. Maybe even since he stripped back at the camp, throwing himself into other people’s pleasure so he could forget his own pain.
“Cas,” Dean breathes, hovering over Castiel, one hand planted by Castiel’s shoulders, taking Dean’s weight. “Yeah, Cas. I want to hear you, want—”
Kissing Dean Smith is nothing and everything like kissing Dean, whose cheeks are usually covered with stubble, who tastes like desperation and longing and the fight. Who kisses too hard and hangs on too tight.
These kisses are slick and smooth and soft, nothing sharp or hard here except the occasional hint of Dean’s teeth.
It feels like falling anyway.
*
Dean’s gathered them all in what Castiel has come to call the War Room. He’s seen Dr. Strangelove. He’s had a lot of time on his hands.
Standing at the head of the worn wood table—Castiel thumbs a splinter sticking out of the edge, enjoys the small flare of pain through the fog of drugs—Dean surveys his troops. Castiel stifles a snort at the thought. They’re a sad bunch, really; Bobby, Chuck, Risa. A couple of men whose names Castiel can’t quite remember and doesn’t really see the point in trying to. Chances are they’ll be dead soon.
He likes Risa, though. She reminds him of Anna before she fell, tough and no nonsense.
Castiel sits and only half listens to Dean’s speech, toys with the cap on his pill bottle.
“Cas,” Dean says, “help Chuck out with the inventory. I want to make sure we’re covered for the next week.”
Popping open the bottle, Castiel tosses back two pills, cracks them between his teeth. “Sir, yes, sir,” he says, offering a weak salute. Dean would call it half-assed.
Dean frowns at him, a deep crease between his eyebrows.
Castiel can’t remember the last time he saw Dean smile.
*
Dean’s teeth are very white, lips full and pink as he grins at Castiel, fingers slipping back behind Castiel’s balls. His fingers are slick with lube, and Castiel already feels like he’s been worked open, already feels like Dean has made a place for himself inside of him. He’s ready.
“Dean.” He sounds like he’s swallowed ground glass, voice coming out choked and wrecked already when he’s only just gotten here. “Dean,” he repeats, his hand reaching out. He tangles his fingers with the ones Dean isn’t pushing inside of him, holds tight. “Yes, I want—”
“I know what you want, Cas,” Dean says. He brings their joined hands to his mouth, nips at one of Castiel’s knuckles, sucks at the soft flesh between Castiel’s thumb and forefinger. The fingers inside Castiel he twists, and Castiel keens, his hips rising as he braces his feet on the bed. “You’re just going to have to wait for it.”
Dean’s fingers fall away then, slipping from Castiel’s ass, untangling from the hold Castiel has him in. He slides across the sheets, moves away from Castiel’s spread legs and kneels at the end of the bed.
“Dean—”
“Touch yourself.”
Castiel frowns. “No,” he says. “I want—”
“I want to watch you,” Dean says, voice dark and full. “Touch yourself.”
Castiel can’t bring himself to deny him. He wraps a hand around his cock and reaches between his legs, presses his fingers inward with a sigh.
Dean’s smile is the brightest thing he’s ever seen.
*
Castiel comes with a whimper, spilling over his own hand.
It’s dark and quiet here, nothing to listen to but his own slow breathing, his own heart beating. Nothing to feel but cool sheets around him, an empty bed.
He likes the orgies and the women, likes the distraction they provide, the feeling of…community he’s missed since Heaven became closed to him. It’s a poor substitute, and isn’t quite accurate, but he’ll take it.
Castiel wipes his hand against the sheet, uses the corner of it to wipe the mess off of his stomach, and curls into his pillow.
He wonders where Dean is.
He isn’t sure which one he means.
*
Castiel is on his stomach, face pressed against a pillow that smells like Dean if Dean used expensive soap and conditioner. Body-wash that smells like grapefruit. He closes his eyes and breathes it in as deep as he can, not wanting to forget.
Dean’s fingers are in Castiel’s ass again, moving slow and sure, undeniable. Castiel shifts his hips back into him, enjoys the feel of his cock caught between his body and the mattress.
“God, Cas,” Dean breathes, voice full of...something that Castiel is tempted to call awe, if that’s even possible. “God.”
Castiel ignores the pain that name strikes deep inside of him, ignores it and focuses instead on Dean’s voice, on Dean’s hands. He can see Dean out of the corner of his eyes when he opens them, blurry. “Yes, Dean?”
“I feel like—” Dean swallows loudly, his unoccupied hand large and hot on the small of Castiel’s back. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
Castiel goes still under Dean’s hands, his chest feeling tight. He wonders if it’s possible to die here. “You have.”
“How is that even possible?” Dean asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. Probably doesn’t even want one. This Dean—this Dean—doesn’t know, doesn’t care about what came before. He can’t quite comprehend a world where Castiel gripped him tight, where Castiel chose him over everything else in Creation.
No Dean ever really could.
Dean’s fingers disappear and Castiel feels him shift against the mattress, hears the sound of a wrapper being ripped open, the pop of a bottle top. He waits patiently, fingers digging into the soft sheets, and then Dean’s cock is pressing against him, pressing inside him, and yes, this.
This is what Castiel’s been wanting, what he’s been waiting for. Dean’s body covering his own, Dean moving inside him, taking Castiel’s breath away, removing everything else until there is only the two of them. Only Castiel and Dean, locked together in ways Castiel never dreamed he would want until he stood feet away from Dean in a dilapidated barn and saw all of the ways Dean was broken, all of the potential he still had.
Dean moves against him, breath coming fast, cock sliding in and out as Dean nuzzles at the spot behind Castiel’s ear, mouths at the corner of his jaw.
“Cas.” Dean’s voice stutters with his hips. “Cas,” he repeats, pressing Castiel’s name, everything that nickname has ever meant, into Castiel’s skin.
It grounds Castiel, pinning him there in Dean’s arms.
“Dean,” he chokes out, and he’s coming, spilling against the sheets, finally.
Finally.
*
He wakes up alone to the smell of campfires, the sound of birdsong. Chuck’s voice carrying as he calls after their fearless leader.
Castiel rolls over and tries to go back to sleep.
*
Time is fluid. It’s marching ever onward.
Castiel isn’t really here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 12:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 01:33 am (UTC)(Also, I have such a thing for Cas/Dean Smith, and this was a great twist on it.)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 03:34 am (UTC)Hey! I might get to see The King's Speech tomorrow nite! ::bounces:: I can't wait! I want to be able to squee over it with everyone else.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 04:11 am (UTC)THANK YOU FOR WRITING MY PROOOOMPT <33333 (now that i can finally own up to it, heh)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 07:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 08:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 10:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 03:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-26 06:40 pm (UTC)Cliche as it may sound, this hurt so good. Beautiful. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-27 04:45 am (UTC)It's so gorgeous and painful and amazing and so...everything. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-27 05:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-27 05:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-27 05:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-27 06:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-27 07:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-27 07:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-27 11:49 am (UTC)Wonderful :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-29 06:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-31 03:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-31 03:01 pm (UTC)Did you get to see The King's Speech?
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-31 03:05 pm (UTC)IT WAS A GOOD PROMPT. Grabbed my attention right away. I'm so, so happy you like the result! <333
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-31 10:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 05:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 05:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 05:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 05:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 05:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 10:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 10:16 pm (UTC)Thank you. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 10:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 10:18 pm (UTC)Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 10:20 pm (UTC)That last line came to me about half-way through. I had to use it.
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Date: 2011-02-02 10:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-02 10:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-03 01:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-03 12:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-05 02:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-06 10:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-02 07:13 pm (UTC)Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-10 12:54 am (UTC)I'm so happy you enjoyed it!