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annundrielFirst Breath After a Coma
always-a-girl!Dean/Castiel
NC-17
5930
Set during "In the Beginning."
Originally written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nyoka's prompt at the Girl's Just Want to Have Fun meme.
Freshly rehymenated and back from hell, Deanna loses her "second" virginity to Castiel.
I'd like to dedicate this fic tocautionzombies who did an amazing job beta-ing and held my hand and who was just awesome and patient in general. It wouldn't be the same without her. ♥
This fic is also fornyoka. I'm glad your prompt ate my brain.
Thank younanoochka and perfumaniac who were both kind enough to lend me their talents as betas.
Deanna dreams about Hell, about heat and fear and fire, about pain and agony. She wakes up breathing hard, drenched in sweat, sheets soaked around her. It’s hard to fall asleep after that, heart racing and stomach churning, so she watches infomercials on silent into the small hours of the morning and hopes Sam doesn’t notice.
Sometimes she wakes up with the sheets tangled around her legs for other reasons. Wakes up sweaty and breathless, her hand between her thighs, the sound of Castiel’s voice—his true voice or his human one, she’s never sure once she opens her eyes—echoing in her head. She dreams about Castiel, about light in the darkness, burning and bright, and a grip on her shoulder that leaves her bones aching, his handprint etched on her skin. It throbs in time with the pulse between her thighs, and Deanna presses a shaking hand against the mark, comes around her own fingers.
She hasn’t resorted to anything besides her hands yet, though it’s only a matter of time. She’s good as new, now. One of the first things she did, naked in Bobby’s shower, was check to see if her body really was intact. The marks left by the hellhounds were gone, she’d known that already, but so was every other scar, every other mark and blemish and crooked finger that had been the result of living her life. All she’d found was the tattoo over her breast and the handprint on her shoulder. Nothing else.
Now when she wakes up shaking in bed, fingers already on her clit, she wonders if Castiel left her a virgin, re-hymenated. Wonders if he wouldn’t be interested in helping her take care of that. If everything else was restored, it makes sense that this would have been, too.
She wonders if Castiel feels the same pull she does, electricity sparking in the air between them. If his borrowed heart beats faster and his mouth goes dry when he sees her. If his cock hardens or if he’s as useless as a Ken doll. There’d been a moment in Bobby’s kitchen, between You should show me some respect and the rushing sound of wings, where Deanna had thought—briefly, crazily—that Castiel was going to close the distance between them, touch her and take her and not so much throw her back into Hell but up against Bobby’s fridge and fuck, she’d wanted it, really wanted it. Damn Sam in the other room and Bobby upstairs, she would have let Castiel fuck her, she would have clung to him, bit and scratched and wrapped herself around him, howled at the ceiling and brought down the roof.
Castiel hadn’t, though; hadn’t touched her, hadn’t made a move. Deanna isn’t even sure he knows that he can or that he might want to. He’s a fucking angel of the Lord—or so he says—which makes him a horse of a different color. Deanna has no idea what makes him tick.
She tries to put it out of her mind, tries not to think about the way he makes her feel alive, blood hot just below the surface of her skin. Tries not to think about what he might look like under that sorry excuse for a suit.
Except she can't. She closes her eyes and he's there, right there. If it's a choice between fantasizing about an angel and nightmares about Hell, well. That's a no-brainer.
Sam's gone when she wakes up, thank god, getting breakfast or coffee or a jump on research. It was a good night—a great night—and she's already wet, hand slipping down to slide beneath the waistband of her underwear.
She'd dreamt of the kitchen, of Castiel’s steel-flashing eyes burning into her very core, his voice dark and rough as thunder. The way she'd felt cornered and alive, heart hammering in her chest, beating against her ribs like a bird in a cage. Closing her eyes, she touches herself and thinks about him and how much she wants. All Deanna really wants is Castiel against her, pushing into her, taking her. He remade her, she wants him to undo her.
“Cas,” she breathes, the nickname slipping familiar from her tongue, filling her mouth sweetly, her eyes sliding shut as she rolls onto her side, hand caught tight between her thighs. Her other hand slips up beneath the hem of her t-shirt, fingers teasing against a nipple. She imagines Castiel’s there instead, his wider fingers, his lips. The stubble on his jaw. “Fuck, Cas.”
“Deanna?” Castiel says, the bed dips behind her. “I—”
Eyes flying open, she freezes even as she clenches around her fingers, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She licks her lips, swallowing hard. “Kind of busy here, Cas.” She doesn’t quite recognize her voice when she speaks, tone lower, edges rougher. “Can it wait?”
Castiel doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Deanna thinks she can hear the soft sound of his breathing, slightly faster than it should be when he’s resting. “I—Is it important?”
Deanna turns her head and grins into her pillow, cheeks feeling warm. She chuckles and shifts, looks over her shoulder at Castiel. He’s sitting on the side of the bed, angled toward her. His eyes are wide and dark and so deep she could fall into them if she would let herself. “You really have to ask?”
He blinks, long and slow, eyes straying down the length of her body before skipping away to Sam’s empty bed, the curtained window beyond. It hits Deanna then; he’s more human than she thought, more human than maybe even he thought. He wants to look and thinks that he shouldn’t.
Interesting.
“Your timing sucks, Cas.” She rolls toward him onto her back, kicking the sheets off. “Now you’re going to have to wait.” Slipping her hand out from her underwear, she hooks her thumbs under the waistband, bending her knees and planting her feet on the bed. Lifting her hips, Deanna slides her underwear off, down her thighs and over her knees, tosses them onto the floor. She drops back against the mattress, leaving her t-shirt bunched above her navel, below her breasts, and turns to Castiel.
His eyes are on her and there’s color high in his cheeks, his lips parted. So much focus, all on her. Deanna feels her nipples tighten, heat settling low in her belly, making her jittery, excited. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Deanna bites down as she teases the rise of her hip, traces the crease of her thigh. She lets her legs falls open, feels powerful when Castiel’s eyes follow the pale curve of the knee closest to him, and brushes her fingers against the outside of her pussy, slipping a finger between the folds, another joining the first before she shifts her hips and slips them down, sliding them inside.
She’s wet, she’s so wet, and it’s Castiel’s fault. Pressing a thumb against her clit, she moans, bottom lip slipping free from between her teeth as her eyelids flutter shut. She rubs her thumb in a circle, clenches her other hand next to her in the sheets.
Castiel’s breathing—steady until now—stutters. “Deanna.”
The corners of her mouth curve upward, but she doesn’t open her eyes. “Yeah, Cas?” It comes out breathy and soft, almost sweet. She pulls her fingers out of her pussy, pushes them back in, waits for him to answer. When he doesn’t, she opens her eyes, finds herself pinned by the heat she sees there, the fire that flickers deep in the center that Deanna can’t help but wonder if she’s caused or if that’s just Castiel burning there, old and unknowable. The thought should frighten her; it really doesn’t.
She straightens the leg nearest him, nudges Castiel with her toes. “It’d go faster if you helped.”
Castiel blinks at her, the tip of his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. He’s still, his fingers twisted in the sheets near hers. Loosening her own hold, she reaches for him, knows that if she doesn’t, he won’t.
She untangles his fingers and pulls them to her, presses them high on the inside of her thigh where her skin is slick. They’re warm, even against her overheated body, and she shifts toward him, opens herself in invitation. Watches Castiel’s eyes flicker from her face to her pussy to their fingers, back to her face. She can see his pulse racing at his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He looks like a deer in headlights, completely caught off-guard.
“It’s okay, Cas,” she says. “I want you to. I want—” She pauses, a thought occurring to her. “I think you want it, too.”
His fingers twitch against her skin, a fluttering tease of pressure so close to where she wants it. She thinks for a moment he’s going to pull away, that she’s made a serious tactical error and now things are going to be awkward. For her, at least; she’s not sure how much this would bother an angel in the long run. Would he dwell on it? Treat her differently? Throw her back into Hell for daring to—
“Yes,” Castiel says, voice slipping over her like sandpaper. His hand moves beneath hers, slipping closer. “Yes,” he repeats, and then his fingers are where she wants them, blunt and hot and curious. His fingers slide against her thumb, nudging it out of the way to brush against her clit, and Deanna groans, her whole body tightening under his touch.
The mattress shifts as he turns toward her more, and she moves the hand that guided him over from his knuckles, hooks her fingers in the cuff of his coat, holding on. His fingers glide against hers there between her legs and she moves that hand, too, fingers wet against her thigh. Lies back and watches Castiel watch her. He’s never done this before, she is sure of that, but he moves intuitively, his touch careful, eyes focused. He’s studying her, each hitch of breath, each twitch of muscle, taking in what works and what doesn’t. This will kill her, she thinks, if they keep doing this, if they do this more than once. What a way to go, though.
One foot planted flat on the bed, Deanna angles her hips toward him and the press of his hand. It’s good, but she wants more, wants to feel him inside of her, his fingers, his cock. Wants him to fuck her, wants to pull him to her and fuck him, use him, ride him until they’re both coming, grasping at each other, gasping each other’s names.
Castiel brushes her clit again, firmer, less hesitant, and Deanna groans, tightens her grip on his coat.
“Cas,” she breathes, “yeah, Cas, like that. I want you to—Fuck.”
“Like this?” he asks, voice dipping lower, sending sparks up her spine with every flick of his fingers.
She blinks at him, heat gathering under her skin, beneath his touch, and licks her lips. “I said so, didn’t I?”
A crease forms between his eyebrows and Deanna has a moment to think, shit, maybe she shouldn’t have said that, before he slips lower, the tip of one pressing inside.
“And that?”
Deanna hates the way he sounds—cool and calm, barely affected—when she knows, she knows she gets him going. She’d annoyed him in Bobby’s kitchen, surprised him now. She’s seen the way his jaw clenches and his pulse speeds in the line of his neck; she wants to hear him lose it, wants to watch him fall apart beneath her fingertips as surely as she’s falling apart beneath his.
Tugging at his coat, she pulls him closer, slides her fingers from her thigh to join his between her legs. “Yeah ,” she says, wrapping her fingers around his, manipulating them in her own until he’s pressing into her with two, thumb tucked against her clit. “But I like it more like this.” She rocks up into him, shifts down, holds him steady with a hand around his wrist and shows him how to touch her.
He’s a quick learner, following her lead easily. Eagerly. “Crook your fingers,” she says, and he does, no question. It’s almost right, almost perfect, Castiel’s fingers against her, inside her, hot and wide and—
“Fuck,” she swears, pushing up into his touch, her muscles tightening as she comes hard. It’s the first time in months—years if she thinks about her time in Hell (she doesn’t)—that she’s done this with another person, the first time another person has touched her here, like this, and it feels amazing, feels incredible. She hangs on tight and lets it wash over her in waves, relishes the little trembling aftershocks that roll through her as Castiel’s fingers continue to move, taking up the motion of her stilling hips.
Her body tingles and she feels alive, really alive for the first time since she woke up in the dark, the earth quiet around her, and it’s all because of him. Because Castiel gripped her tight and yanked her from the Pit, fit his hands against her and breathed life back into her, and here she is, here they are, and Castiel is touching her but it isn’t like before, it isn’t like before at all.
She looks up at him; his eyes are on her, his fingers in her, and she wants more than this. She wants to be greedy and take and take and take for once, for herself. She deserves this.
Hold loosening on Castiel’s wrist, Deanna stills his hand, pushes it away as she sits up, shifting onto her knees and scooting closer until they’re inches away, sharing breath between them. Castiel doesn’t say anything, watching her with that face she isn’t sure how to read, inscrutable and open and young and old. There’s a part of her that would like to get to know it better, would like to see it stick around. Who knows what’s ahead in the coming days and weeks and months? It’d be nice to have some power in their corner.
She reaches for him, fingers skimming over stubble that prickles against her skin. She’d like to feel it elsewhere, would like Castiel to touch her and kiss her, leave beard burn in his wake, another sign that he’s been here. She presses her palm to his cheek, fingers skipping over his ear, sinking into his hair, and Castiel’s eyes flicker across her face, taking her in before meeting her gaze again, straight on.
“Deanna,” he breathes, name brushing her like a caress. She isn’t sure if he has something else to say or if that’s it, if he just wanted her name on his tongue, but she doesn’t give him a chance to continue, leans in and fits her mouth against his, occupies his tongue with something else, something more important, more pressing than words she won’t know how to deal with, questions and explanations and answers that get caught in her throat. She wants this; she doesn’t want to talk about why.
His lips are awkward beneath hers at first, stiff in all the wrong ways, and Deanna soothes him with her fingers, rubs her thumb over his stubble, with the grain and then against it. Shivers at its delicious prickle. Tilting her head, her lips slide against his, fit against them better. She presses her tongue to Castiel’s bottom lip, runs it along the seam of his mouth, and he sighs, letting her in, a hand finally—finally—coming up to trail along the curve of her bare arm.
Deanna moans, moving closer on her knees, and slips her tongue further into the slick heat of Castiel’s mouth. Castiel’s fingers tighten against her, hard on her skin, and she opens her eyes, finds him looking back, blue wide and blown almost black. She pulls away and he follows her, leans into her, bottom lip shiny with her spit.
He closes the distance between them this time, fingers gliding against skin, moving up and over her elbow, teasing beneath the hem of her sleeve to brush the mark he left there, the breadth of his palm and length of his fingers seared into her flesh. When he kisses her, her body sings.
Hands sliding into his hair, she drags him closer, licks into his open mouth. She finds no resistance there, no hesitation, Castiel learning quickly and meeting each thrust of her tongue, each press of her lips with ones of this own. He kisses her like he means it and she feels like she’s falling.
Breathless, Deanna pulls away again. Doesn’t break eye contact as her hands move down to push his coat off, her fingers absolutely not shaking against his neck. Caught between his shoulders and the layers of his coat and jacket, she is suddenly aware of how solid Castiel is, how broad those shoulders are and how much heat he puts off. Shifting on the mattress, she pushes at his layers, works them over his shoulders and down his arms.
“Some help?” she says when he doesn’t move.
Not looking away, Castiel bends his elbows, helps her strip him. She wonders if he’s ever done this before, ever undressed, ever had the need or opportunity. He’d said that it had been two thousand years since angels had walked among humans; had Castiel been one of them?
She’ll ask him one day, maybe. But not now, not when he’s sitting here in half of a rumpled suit, cock tenting the front of his pants.
Deanna grins and leans in, fits her hand over him, cups him through the fabric. “Not a useless Ken doll then.”
Castiel tilts his head to the side, bird-like, jaw tightening. “I do not understa—”
He’s got a mouth made for kissing, Deanna decides, lips full and plump. She’d like to feel them elsewhere, bets she can later. Bets this is just the beginning.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, nose brushing against his. “Just something I was wondering.”
“And?” It’s breathless and soft, a tiny slip of sound between them.
“And nothing.” Letting him go, she sits back and stands. “Feels like you’ve got something to work with there. Come on,” she says, gesturing, “stand up and lose the rest.”
Blinking at her, Castiel stands. Deanna reaches for him, fingers itching to pull that tie off and toss it to the floor. She barely touches it, though, before it’s gone, Castiel naked in front of her.
“Well that’s—“ She stares, takes in the pale width of his chest, the points of his nipples, the tapering line down to his waist, the perfect jut of his hipbones. The hard curve of his cock rising up because of her. She’s done this to him. An angel of the motherfucking Lord and he’s hard and flushed because of her, for her. She swallows. “That’s a handy trick.” She shrugs. “Little disappointing, though, I wanted to enjoy the show.”
“The show?” Castiel asks, and there’s that head tilt again.
She chuckles and shakes her head, steps closer. “Never mind.” Maybe next time. She wraps her hand around his cock and his breath catches, a shuddering inhale that makes her skin feel too tight. Grinning, she leans in and nips at his jaw, likes that they’re almost of the same height, that she doesn’t have to reach for him. “Lie on the bed,” she says. “I’m going to fuck you now.”
He sways into her, his chest brushing hers through her t-shirt, and then he pulls away, follows her instructions while she goes to her bag. It’s been a while, but she’s sure she’s got some condoms on hand. Sammy hadn’t gone through her stuff after…Well. After. He hadn’t touched anything, only packed it away where he didn’t have to see it, and Deanna knows she still has supplies, hopes that they’re still good.
She finds a half-empty box tucked in one of the side pockets of her bag and pulls it out and checks the expiration date, tears one from the strip before dropping the rest on the top of her clothes and turning to the bed. Castiel’s there like she told him to be, propped on the pillows and watching her, waiting patiently. He’s not touching himself, which she finds surprising; any other man would be.
Crossing over to the end of the bed, Deanna lifts her knee and kneels against it, shifts her weight onto the mattress and moves toward him. She straddles his legs and works her way upward, stopping when she’s in his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She drops the condom on the sheets beside them and crosses her arms, reaching for the hem of her t-shirt and pulling it up and over her head, proud of what God gave her, what Castiel remade. She shakes her head, hair falling down her bare back, and tosses the shirt to the floor.
“You can touch, you know,” she says when she finds Castiel staring. She doesn’t know if he’s nervous or scared or overwhelmed, if she’s pushed him too far, too fast. They barely know each other at all, but her bones ache for him like he’s been missing a lifetime and she doesn’t want to wait any more.
Castiel doesn’t move, and she thinks that she’s going to have to show him, initiate first—or second or third—contact, but then the tips of his fingers are against her thighs, a palm against the curve of her ribs, a thumb tracing the underside of a breast. He touches her carefully, gently, eagerness gathering in each welcome sweep of skin on skin.
Deanna pushes into each touch and sighs, wants to really feel it, wants to be bruised and marked. “I won’t break.”
Castiel’s eyes flicker upward from her breasts to her face, and Deanna feels caught, pinned like a butterfly against Styrofoam, heart racing against the shock. His gaze shifts to the side, down, and he lifts a hand to trace the contours of his palm against her shoulder, the ridges of his fingers that he left. “I know,” he says, flatly, plainly, and she believes him. If anyone knows how strong she is, how much she can withstand before she breaks, it’s the angel beneath her.
“Good.” She wraps fingers around his wrist, pulls him from her side to cup her breast, a nipple against his palm, and sighs, pressing her weight into him. “Good.” Leaning down, she brushes her lips against his, nips at the corner of his mouth, sucks his bottom lip between her own. She kisses him the way she likes to be kissed, thoroughly, no holding back. Leads him through the motions until he groans against her, hands coming up to cradle her face, fingers slipping behind her ears and into her hair.
He pulls her away and she opens her eyes, blinks down at him, ready to protest. The look on his face stops her—wild-eyed and intense—and she has a moment to wonder what she’s done, wonder what she’s in bed with, if she’s worthy, but then he’s pulling her down, rising up to meet her halfway, and his mouth is back on hers. The kiss is messy and demanding, clearly unpracticed; it makes Deanna squirm. Pushes everything else out of her mind—the doubt, the fear, everything—until there’s nothing left but Castiel and the way the tips of his fingers press against her skin, the way his tongue curls against her own.
She groans and pushes herself away, hands on his chest. Beneath her palm, she can feel his heart beating, thundering steadily, and her own heart trips along behind it. Deanna tries to get her bearings, to catch her breath, her lungs burning, but Castiel pulls her to him again. He’s a monster of her own creation, hands insistent, mouth greedy; she isn’t complaining, she really isn’t, but—
“Cas,” she says. “Cas, I have to breathe. Hold your friggin’ horses.”
He licks his lips, already slick from their combined spit, and tilts his head. “I have no horses.”
It surprises a chuckle out of her, laughter bubbling up from deep in the center of her chest. He watches her with interest. “No, no. It’s, y’know, a figure of speech.” She moves her hands on his chest, thumb flicking across a nipple. His breath hisses through his teeth. “You’re not supposed to take it literally.”
He shifts beneath her, an annoyed frown at the corners of his mouth, and tugs her closer with intent clear in his eyes. Deanna wants to give in, would happily kiss him until he rutted up against her, his cock sliding on her skin, but she wants him inside her more, wants to feel him pushing in, close as possible.
Hands moving from his chest to his shoulders, his shoulders to his neck, Deanna’s fingers slip into his hair, nails scratching against his skin as she tugs him away, turns his head to mouth at his jaw, lick at his stubble. His fingers flex against her before they disappear, relocating on her hips, gliding to he small of her back. Castiel’s arms slip around her, enveloping her, and he hitches her closer with a sigh that sounds suspiciously like her name.
Deanna grins against his skin and rolls her hips, can feel Castiel’s breath catch in his chest, pressed together as they are. Relishes the tease of his cock against her pussy.
“Cas,” she groans when his hands clutch at her, and she’s sure they’re leaving purpling bruises to match the mark he’s already left. “Cas, fuck.” He’s slipping in, the head of his cock is slipping in and she wants it, she really wants it. Wants to feel him inside, as far as he can go, as much as she can take. Has wanted to feel him since those eyes, those blue electric eyes turned toward her and saw right through her, cut her open and laid her bare and found her worthy.
She wanted it and now his cock is against her, almost where she needs it and, fuck, she’s forgetting something, something—
“Wait,” she says. “Wait, we need—” Deanna pulls back from him, Castiel’s arms resisting. She doesn’t need to go far, though, and finds the condom where she dropped it earlier, almost loses it when Castiel leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder, tongue fluttering against her skin.
It makes Deanna shudder, her nipples tightening, and she vibrates with anticipation, every nerve ending tuned in to him.
She gets the condom open and tosses the wrapper on the nightstand, reaching for Castiel’s cock. It’s hot and hard in her hand, a good fit, and she rubs her thumb over the head, spreading precome before she lets go and fits the condom over it, rolls it down.
Jacking him once, twice, Deanna watches the way his jaw goes slack with surprised pleasure. She wants some of that for herself, leans in and licks into his mouth, whispers, “It gets better,” and then she’s moving that much closer, holding him steady, taking him in.
The blunt head of his cock pushes into her and it's tight and good. She’d thought it might hurt, that he really had remade her completely, made her a virgin again, but any doubts she might have had erased as he slides all of the way in and she's finally, finally seated against him. She knows that she'll still feel him there for the rest of the day, a satisfying burn between her thighs, and loves it. Loves that he’ll linger even when she isn’t quite so freshly fucked.
“Deanna,” he says, her name coming out in a shuddering rush. “Deanna, I—I didn’t—I had no idea—”
She stops him with her mouth, doesn’t need to hear what he has to say, not right now, only wants his lips and his tongue like she’s had his fingers and his cock, like she has his cock. Next time they do this, she'll blow him, suck him down as his thighs tremble around her and his fingers clutch at her hair. Now, though, right now she’s got him where she wants him, hands on her skin and cock in her pussy, mouth slick and hot beneath her own and, fuck.
“Fuck.” Forehead against Castiel’s, Deanna tries to catch her breath, is distracted by the puffs of air escaping Castiel’s lips, the barely there brush of his eyelashes as he opens his eyes and blinks. She slides her hands across Castiel’s sweat-damp skin, rests them on his shoulders, rolls her hips and swallows his gasp, taking it into her before she sits back and moves.
Castiel’s body tightens beneath her as he arches back into the pillows, hands finding her waist, her hips, holding on as she lifts herself up, sinks back down. Takes him in again and again, over and over, faster and faster as she adjusts to the feel of him, as her blood quickens and her muscles begin to shake. He watches her with eyes gone wide and wondrous, wondering. Like she’s something special, like she’s the one shining in the dark, worthy and precious. It makes her stomach clench and her heart race faster, makes her feel too big and too small and too much, it’s too much.
She crowds him out, presses her lips to his, chases his tongue between his teeth. Kisses him like she could drown in it. Like they could be anyone, anyone at all, just two people sharing sweat and spit, trading moans and bruises and breathless gasps, half-formulated sentences. His fingers dig into her hips, leaving ten-point constellations she’ll trace later, and he kisses her back, lets her invade him, lets her take and take and take until her thighs are trembling and the heat gathering low in her belly, slipping between her legs, is blossoming, blooming and she’s coming around him as she cries into his mouth.
She doesn’t have time to relax, doesn’t have time to come down from it when suddenly Castiel is pushing her away, pushing her until her back is against the comforter and his cock is gone and she wants to protest, wants to reach for him and feel him against her because she wasn’t done, she wasn’t. But then Castiel is hovering over her, kneeling between her thighs, and suddenly he’s sinking in, blanketing her.
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, hooking her calves around his thighs, Deanna pulls him close, closer. Doesn’t have to encourage him at all anymore because Castiel’s hips are snapping and he’s thrusting into her, smooth, steady movements that make her toes curl, her breath catch. She’s in his hands now. She’s in his hands and he’s taking her apart as surely as he put her together, fingers in her hair and mouth against her neck and cock thrusting, thrusting—
“Cas,” she gasps. “Cas, I want—I need—” Shifting, she re-angles her hips, moves until his cock is hitting her just right, until every slide in brings his pelvic bone against her clit, rubbing against her the way she needs.
She comes again, body pulsing around him, the tips of her fingers digging into the shifting muscles of his back. Comes with his name on her lips and his breath on her skin and there are stars bursting behind her eyelids like light bulbs blown in the dark as everything changes.
“Deanna,” Castiel pants, her name falling from his lips like litany—Deanna, Deanna, Deanna—until his hips are stuttering and his mouth goes slack against her and he’s coming, pressed deep.
Castiel slumps against her, heavy and spent, and Deanna feels his muscles relaxing beneath her hands as he melts into her. Unhooking her legs from around his, she slides a hand up his back, his neck, fingers slipping into his hair. It’s damp with sweat and must look more sex-mussed than usual. She wants to see.
“Cas,” she says and swallows, tries again when her voice cracks. “Cas, I need to breathe.”
He lifts his head up and blinks down at her, eyes dark and shining. He’s flushed and there are strands of hair sticking to his forehead; Deanna’s fingers itch to brush them away. “Oh,” he says, licking his lips and, god, all she wants to do is kiss him. “I—I’m sorry.”
“Nah.” She pulls him down to her, presses an almost chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s all right.” She kisses him again and his tongue flutters against her mouth, there and gone, and she sighs, wants to keep him against her for a while longer.
Except she really does need to breathe.
A hand on his shoulder, Deanna pushes him back gently, encourages him with her hips and her legs to roll to the side. His cock slips out of her and she misses it already, wants to do this again, as often as possible.
Curled together side by side, Castiel looks down between them, and Deanna follows his gaze to the condom on his cock. “Let me take care of that for you,” she says, nudging him on to his back. He goes easily and something in her stomach swoops at how much trust he must have in her, to listen so readily. Reaching for his cock, she slips the condom off, ties and tosses it in the trash beneath the nightstand. She flops back next to him and sighs, feels happy and light and alive. She laughs, and Castiel turns toward her, she can see the movement out of the corner of her eye.
“What is funny?” He sounds like he did before, back in Bobby’s kitchen in her mind, serious and dangerous, except there’s something else there, too. Softness or uncertainty, something fragile. Deanna finds she doesn’t want to break it.
“Not bad for a couple of firsts, huh?” she says, lifting a leg and draping it over his nearest one. She turns to look at him and smiles, wants him to know she isn’t laughing at him. Doesn’t know how to explain.
Castiel’s brow furrows. “I have nothing to compare it to,” he says. “But it was very—It was—I don’t—”
Deanna turns her head and grins up at the ceiling, rubs her foot against his calf. “It’s okay, Cas. I know. I rocked your world.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then she thinks she feels his fingers brush against her side. “Yes,” he says. “You did.”
Her heart jumps in her chest and she swallows, grin slipping. “So.” She turns toward him again. “Was there a reason you stopped by? Or did you hear my cries and—”
Castiel’s eyes widen and his mouth tightens and suddenly he’s gone and she’s alone, staring at the rumpled pillows and the godawful brocade wallpaper. She blinks.
“Cas?”
There’s no answer, no movement at all. Deanna sits up and looks around, and his clothes are gone from the floor. Letting out a huge breath, she tilts her head back and asks the ceiling. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em, huh, Cas?”
She can’t help but smile, though, can’t help but revel in the feeling—all of the feeling—coursing through her body now. She drops back onto the sheets, wonders if she has time to sleep some more before Sam gets back. Isn’t quite ready to wash Castiel from her skin.
always-a-girl!Dean/Castiel
NC-17
5930
Set during "In the Beginning."
Originally written for
nyoka's prompt at the Girl's Just Want to Have Fun meme.Freshly rehymenated and back from hell, Deanna loses her "second" virginity to Castiel.
I'd like to dedicate this fic to
cautionzombies who did an amazing job beta-ing and held my hand and who was just awesome and patient in general. It wouldn't be the same without her. ♥This fic is also for
nyoka. I'm glad your prompt ate my brain.Thank you
nanoochka and perfumaniac who were both kind enough to lend me their talents as betas.Deanna dreams about Hell, about heat and fear and fire, about pain and agony. She wakes up breathing hard, drenched in sweat, sheets soaked around her. It’s hard to fall asleep after that, heart racing and stomach churning, so she watches infomercials on silent into the small hours of the morning and hopes Sam doesn’t notice.
Sometimes she wakes up with the sheets tangled around her legs for other reasons. Wakes up sweaty and breathless, her hand between her thighs, the sound of Castiel’s voice—his true voice or his human one, she’s never sure once she opens her eyes—echoing in her head. She dreams about Castiel, about light in the darkness, burning and bright, and a grip on her shoulder that leaves her bones aching, his handprint etched on her skin. It throbs in time with the pulse between her thighs, and Deanna presses a shaking hand against the mark, comes around her own fingers.
She hasn’t resorted to anything besides her hands yet, though it’s only a matter of time. She’s good as new, now. One of the first things she did, naked in Bobby’s shower, was check to see if her body really was intact. The marks left by the hellhounds were gone, she’d known that already, but so was every other scar, every other mark and blemish and crooked finger that had been the result of living her life. All she’d found was the tattoo over her breast and the handprint on her shoulder. Nothing else.
Now when she wakes up shaking in bed, fingers already on her clit, she wonders if Castiel left her a virgin, re-hymenated. Wonders if he wouldn’t be interested in helping her take care of that. If everything else was restored, it makes sense that this would have been, too.
She wonders if Castiel feels the same pull she does, electricity sparking in the air between them. If his borrowed heart beats faster and his mouth goes dry when he sees her. If his cock hardens or if he’s as useless as a Ken doll. There’d been a moment in Bobby’s kitchen, between You should show me some respect and the rushing sound of wings, where Deanna had thought—briefly, crazily—that Castiel was going to close the distance between them, touch her and take her and not so much throw her back into Hell but up against Bobby’s fridge and fuck, she’d wanted it, really wanted it. Damn Sam in the other room and Bobby upstairs, she would have let Castiel fuck her, she would have clung to him, bit and scratched and wrapped herself around him, howled at the ceiling and brought down the roof.
Castiel hadn’t, though; hadn’t touched her, hadn’t made a move. Deanna isn’t even sure he knows that he can or that he might want to. He’s a fucking angel of the Lord—or so he says—which makes him a horse of a different color. Deanna has no idea what makes him tick.
She tries to put it out of her mind, tries not to think about the way he makes her feel alive, blood hot just below the surface of her skin. Tries not to think about what he might look like under that sorry excuse for a suit.
Except she can't. She closes her eyes and he's there, right there. If it's a choice between fantasizing about an angel and nightmares about Hell, well. That's a no-brainer.
Sam's gone when she wakes up, thank god, getting breakfast or coffee or a jump on research. It was a good night—a great night—and she's already wet, hand slipping down to slide beneath the waistband of her underwear.
She'd dreamt of the kitchen, of Castiel’s steel-flashing eyes burning into her very core, his voice dark and rough as thunder. The way she'd felt cornered and alive, heart hammering in her chest, beating against her ribs like a bird in a cage. Closing her eyes, she touches herself and thinks about him and how much she wants. All Deanna really wants is Castiel against her, pushing into her, taking her. He remade her, she wants him to undo her.
“Cas,” she breathes, the nickname slipping familiar from her tongue, filling her mouth sweetly, her eyes sliding shut as she rolls onto her side, hand caught tight between her thighs. Her other hand slips up beneath the hem of her t-shirt, fingers teasing against a nipple. She imagines Castiel’s there instead, his wider fingers, his lips. The stubble on his jaw. “Fuck, Cas.”
“Deanna?” Castiel says, the bed dips behind her. “I—”
Eyes flying open, she freezes even as she clenches around her fingers, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She licks her lips, swallowing hard. “Kind of busy here, Cas.” She doesn’t quite recognize her voice when she speaks, tone lower, edges rougher. “Can it wait?”
Castiel doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Deanna thinks she can hear the soft sound of his breathing, slightly faster than it should be when he’s resting. “I—Is it important?”
Deanna turns her head and grins into her pillow, cheeks feeling warm. She chuckles and shifts, looks over her shoulder at Castiel. He’s sitting on the side of the bed, angled toward her. His eyes are wide and dark and so deep she could fall into them if she would let herself. “You really have to ask?”
He blinks, long and slow, eyes straying down the length of her body before skipping away to Sam’s empty bed, the curtained window beyond. It hits Deanna then; he’s more human than she thought, more human than maybe even he thought. He wants to look and thinks that he shouldn’t.
Interesting.
“Your timing sucks, Cas.” She rolls toward him onto her back, kicking the sheets off. “Now you’re going to have to wait.” Slipping her hand out from her underwear, she hooks her thumbs under the waistband, bending her knees and planting her feet on the bed. Lifting her hips, Deanna slides her underwear off, down her thighs and over her knees, tosses them onto the floor. She drops back against the mattress, leaving her t-shirt bunched above her navel, below her breasts, and turns to Castiel.
His eyes are on her and there’s color high in his cheeks, his lips parted. So much focus, all on her. Deanna feels her nipples tighten, heat settling low in her belly, making her jittery, excited. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Deanna bites down as she teases the rise of her hip, traces the crease of her thigh. She lets her legs falls open, feels powerful when Castiel’s eyes follow the pale curve of the knee closest to him, and brushes her fingers against the outside of her pussy, slipping a finger between the folds, another joining the first before she shifts her hips and slips them down, sliding them inside.
She’s wet, she’s so wet, and it’s Castiel’s fault. Pressing a thumb against her clit, she moans, bottom lip slipping free from between her teeth as her eyelids flutter shut. She rubs her thumb in a circle, clenches her other hand next to her in the sheets.
Castiel’s breathing—steady until now—stutters. “Deanna.”
The corners of her mouth curve upward, but she doesn’t open her eyes. “Yeah, Cas?” It comes out breathy and soft, almost sweet. She pulls her fingers out of her pussy, pushes them back in, waits for him to answer. When he doesn’t, she opens her eyes, finds herself pinned by the heat she sees there, the fire that flickers deep in the center that Deanna can’t help but wonder if she’s caused or if that’s just Castiel burning there, old and unknowable. The thought should frighten her; it really doesn’t.
She straightens the leg nearest him, nudges Castiel with her toes. “It’d go faster if you helped.”
Castiel blinks at her, the tip of his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. He’s still, his fingers twisted in the sheets near hers. Loosening her own hold, she reaches for him, knows that if she doesn’t, he won’t.
She untangles his fingers and pulls them to her, presses them high on the inside of her thigh where her skin is slick. They’re warm, even against her overheated body, and she shifts toward him, opens herself in invitation. Watches Castiel’s eyes flicker from her face to her pussy to their fingers, back to her face. She can see his pulse racing at his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He looks like a deer in headlights, completely caught off-guard.
“It’s okay, Cas,” she says. “I want you to. I want—” She pauses, a thought occurring to her. “I think you want it, too.”
His fingers twitch against her skin, a fluttering tease of pressure so close to where she wants it. She thinks for a moment he’s going to pull away, that she’s made a serious tactical error and now things are going to be awkward. For her, at least; she’s not sure how much this would bother an angel in the long run. Would he dwell on it? Treat her differently? Throw her back into Hell for daring to—
“Yes,” Castiel says, voice slipping over her like sandpaper. His hand moves beneath hers, slipping closer. “Yes,” he repeats, and then his fingers are where she wants them, blunt and hot and curious. His fingers slide against her thumb, nudging it out of the way to brush against her clit, and Deanna groans, her whole body tightening under his touch.
The mattress shifts as he turns toward her more, and she moves the hand that guided him over from his knuckles, hooks her fingers in the cuff of his coat, holding on. His fingers glide against hers there between her legs and she moves that hand, too, fingers wet against her thigh. Lies back and watches Castiel watch her. He’s never done this before, she is sure of that, but he moves intuitively, his touch careful, eyes focused. He’s studying her, each hitch of breath, each twitch of muscle, taking in what works and what doesn’t. This will kill her, she thinks, if they keep doing this, if they do this more than once. What a way to go, though.
One foot planted flat on the bed, Deanna angles her hips toward him and the press of his hand. It’s good, but she wants more, wants to feel him inside of her, his fingers, his cock. Wants him to fuck her, wants to pull him to her and fuck him, use him, ride him until they’re both coming, grasping at each other, gasping each other’s names.
Castiel brushes her clit again, firmer, less hesitant, and Deanna groans, tightens her grip on his coat.
“Cas,” she breathes, “yeah, Cas, like that. I want you to—Fuck.”
“Like this?” he asks, voice dipping lower, sending sparks up her spine with every flick of his fingers.
She blinks at him, heat gathering under her skin, beneath his touch, and licks her lips. “I said so, didn’t I?”
A crease forms between his eyebrows and Deanna has a moment to think, shit, maybe she shouldn’t have said that, before he slips lower, the tip of one pressing inside.
“And that?”
Deanna hates the way he sounds—cool and calm, barely affected—when she knows, she knows she gets him going. She’d annoyed him in Bobby’s kitchen, surprised him now. She’s seen the way his jaw clenches and his pulse speeds in the line of his neck; she wants to hear him lose it, wants to watch him fall apart beneath her fingertips as surely as she’s falling apart beneath his.
Tugging at his coat, she pulls him closer, slides her fingers from her thigh to join his between her legs. “Yeah ,” she says, wrapping her fingers around his, manipulating them in her own until he’s pressing into her with two, thumb tucked against her clit. “But I like it more like this.” She rocks up into him, shifts down, holds him steady with a hand around his wrist and shows him how to touch her.
He’s a quick learner, following her lead easily. Eagerly. “Crook your fingers,” she says, and he does, no question. It’s almost right, almost perfect, Castiel’s fingers against her, inside her, hot and wide and—
“Fuck,” she swears, pushing up into his touch, her muscles tightening as she comes hard. It’s the first time in months—years if she thinks about her time in Hell (she doesn’t)—that she’s done this with another person, the first time another person has touched her here, like this, and it feels amazing, feels incredible. She hangs on tight and lets it wash over her in waves, relishes the little trembling aftershocks that roll through her as Castiel’s fingers continue to move, taking up the motion of her stilling hips.
Her body tingles and she feels alive, really alive for the first time since she woke up in the dark, the earth quiet around her, and it’s all because of him. Because Castiel gripped her tight and yanked her from the Pit, fit his hands against her and breathed life back into her, and here she is, here they are, and Castiel is touching her but it isn’t like before, it isn’t like before at all.
She looks up at him; his eyes are on her, his fingers in her, and she wants more than this. She wants to be greedy and take and take and take for once, for herself. She deserves this.
Hold loosening on Castiel’s wrist, Deanna stills his hand, pushes it away as she sits up, shifting onto her knees and scooting closer until they’re inches away, sharing breath between them. Castiel doesn’t say anything, watching her with that face she isn’t sure how to read, inscrutable and open and young and old. There’s a part of her that would like to get to know it better, would like to see it stick around. Who knows what’s ahead in the coming days and weeks and months? It’d be nice to have some power in their corner.
She reaches for him, fingers skimming over stubble that prickles against her skin. She’d like to feel it elsewhere, would like Castiel to touch her and kiss her, leave beard burn in his wake, another sign that he’s been here. She presses her palm to his cheek, fingers skipping over his ear, sinking into his hair, and Castiel’s eyes flicker across her face, taking her in before meeting her gaze again, straight on.
“Deanna,” he breathes, name brushing her like a caress. She isn’t sure if he has something else to say or if that’s it, if he just wanted her name on his tongue, but she doesn’t give him a chance to continue, leans in and fits her mouth against his, occupies his tongue with something else, something more important, more pressing than words she won’t know how to deal with, questions and explanations and answers that get caught in her throat. She wants this; she doesn’t want to talk about why.
His lips are awkward beneath hers at first, stiff in all the wrong ways, and Deanna soothes him with her fingers, rubs her thumb over his stubble, with the grain and then against it. Shivers at its delicious prickle. Tilting her head, her lips slide against his, fit against them better. She presses her tongue to Castiel’s bottom lip, runs it along the seam of his mouth, and he sighs, letting her in, a hand finally—finally—coming up to trail along the curve of her bare arm.
Deanna moans, moving closer on her knees, and slips her tongue further into the slick heat of Castiel’s mouth. Castiel’s fingers tighten against her, hard on her skin, and she opens her eyes, finds him looking back, blue wide and blown almost black. She pulls away and he follows her, leans into her, bottom lip shiny with her spit.
He closes the distance between them this time, fingers gliding against skin, moving up and over her elbow, teasing beneath the hem of her sleeve to brush the mark he left there, the breadth of his palm and length of his fingers seared into her flesh. When he kisses her, her body sings.
Hands sliding into his hair, she drags him closer, licks into his open mouth. She finds no resistance there, no hesitation, Castiel learning quickly and meeting each thrust of her tongue, each press of her lips with ones of this own. He kisses her like he means it and she feels like she’s falling.
Breathless, Deanna pulls away again. Doesn’t break eye contact as her hands move down to push his coat off, her fingers absolutely not shaking against his neck. Caught between his shoulders and the layers of his coat and jacket, she is suddenly aware of how solid Castiel is, how broad those shoulders are and how much heat he puts off. Shifting on the mattress, she pushes at his layers, works them over his shoulders and down his arms.
“Some help?” she says when he doesn’t move.
Not looking away, Castiel bends his elbows, helps her strip him. She wonders if he’s ever done this before, ever undressed, ever had the need or opportunity. He’d said that it had been two thousand years since angels had walked among humans; had Castiel been one of them?
She’ll ask him one day, maybe. But not now, not when he’s sitting here in half of a rumpled suit, cock tenting the front of his pants.
Deanna grins and leans in, fits her hand over him, cups him through the fabric. “Not a useless Ken doll then.”
Castiel tilts his head to the side, bird-like, jaw tightening. “I do not understa—”
He’s got a mouth made for kissing, Deanna decides, lips full and plump. She’d like to feel them elsewhere, bets she can later. Bets this is just the beginning.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, nose brushing against his. “Just something I was wondering.”
“And?” It’s breathless and soft, a tiny slip of sound between them.
“And nothing.” Letting him go, she sits back and stands. “Feels like you’ve got something to work with there. Come on,” she says, gesturing, “stand up and lose the rest.”
Blinking at her, Castiel stands. Deanna reaches for him, fingers itching to pull that tie off and toss it to the floor. She barely touches it, though, before it’s gone, Castiel naked in front of her.
“Well that’s—“ She stares, takes in the pale width of his chest, the points of his nipples, the tapering line down to his waist, the perfect jut of his hipbones. The hard curve of his cock rising up because of her. She’s done this to him. An angel of the motherfucking Lord and he’s hard and flushed because of her, for her. She swallows. “That’s a handy trick.” She shrugs. “Little disappointing, though, I wanted to enjoy the show.”
“The show?” Castiel asks, and there’s that head tilt again.
She chuckles and shakes her head, steps closer. “Never mind.” Maybe next time. She wraps her hand around his cock and his breath catches, a shuddering inhale that makes her skin feel too tight. Grinning, she leans in and nips at his jaw, likes that they’re almost of the same height, that she doesn’t have to reach for him. “Lie on the bed,” she says. “I’m going to fuck you now.”
He sways into her, his chest brushing hers through her t-shirt, and then he pulls away, follows her instructions while she goes to her bag. It’s been a while, but she’s sure she’s got some condoms on hand. Sammy hadn’t gone through her stuff after…Well. After. He hadn’t touched anything, only packed it away where he didn’t have to see it, and Deanna knows she still has supplies, hopes that they’re still good.
She finds a half-empty box tucked in one of the side pockets of her bag and pulls it out and checks the expiration date, tears one from the strip before dropping the rest on the top of her clothes and turning to the bed. Castiel’s there like she told him to be, propped on the pillows and watching her, waiting patiently. He’s not touching himself, which she finds surprising; any other man would be.
Crossing over to the end of the bed, Deanna lifts her knee and kneels against it, shifts her weight onto the mattress and moves toward him. She straddles his legs and works her way upward, stopping when she’s in his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She drops the condom on the sheets beside them and crosses her arms, reaching for the hem of her t-shirt and pulling it up and over her head, proud of what God gave her, what Castiel remade. She shakes her head, hair falling down her bare back, and tosses the shirt to the floor.
“You can touch, you know,” she says when she finds Castiel staring. She doesn’t know if he’s nervous or scared or overwhelmed, if she’s pushed him too far, too fast. They barely know each other at all, but her bones ache for him like he’s been missing a lifetime and she doesn’t want to wait any more.
Castiel doesn’t move, and she thinks that she’s going to have to show him, initiate first—or second or third—contact, but then the tips of his fingers are against her thighs, a palm against the curve of her ribs, a thumb tracing the underside of a breast. He touches her carefully, gently, eagerness gathering in each welcome sweep of skin on skin.
Deanna pushes into each touch and sighs, wants to really feel it, wants to be bruised and marked. “I won’t break.”
Castiel’s eyes flicker upward from her breasts to her face, and Deanna feels caught, pinned like a butterfly against Styrofoam, heart racing against the shock. His gaze shifts to the side, down, and he lifts a hand to trace the contours of his palm against her shoulder, the ridges of his fingers that he left. “I know,” he says, flatly, plainly, and she believes him. If anyone knows how strong she is, how much she can withstand before she breaks, it’s the angel beneath her.
“Good.” She wraps fingers around his wrist, pulls him from her side to cup her breast, a nipple against his palm, and sighs, pressing her weight into him. “Good.” Leaning down, she brushes her lips against his, nips at the corner of his mouth, sucks his bottom lip between her own. She kisses him the way she likes to be kissed, thoroughly, no holding back. Leads him through the motions until he groans against her, hands coming up to cradle her face, fingers slipping behind her ears and into her hair.
He pulls her away and she opens her eyes, blinks down at him, ready to protest. The look on his face stops her—wild-eyed and intense—and she has a moment to wonder what she’s done, wonder what she’s in bed with, if she’s worthy, but then he’s pulling her down, rising up to meet her halfway, and his mouth is back on hers. The kiss is messy and demanding, clearly unpracticed; it makes Deanna squirm. Pushes everything else out of her mind—the doubt, the fear, everything—until there’s nothing left but Castiel and the way the tips of his fingers press against her skin, the way his tongue curls against her own.
She groans and pushes herself away, hands on his chest. Beneath her palm, she can feel his heart beating, thundering steadily, and her own heart trips along behind it. Deanna tries to get her bearings, to catch her breath, her lungs burning, but Castiel pulls her to him again. He’s a monster of her own creation, hands insistent, mouth greedy; she isn’t complaining, she really isn’t, but—
“Cas,” she says. “Cas, I have to breathe. Hold your friggin’ horses.”
He licks his lips, already slick from their combined spit, and tilts his head. “I have no horses.”
It surprises a chuckle out of her, laughter bubbling up from deep in the center of her chest. He watches her with interest. “No, no. It’s, y’know, a figure of speech.” She moves her hands on his chest, thumb flicking across a nipple. His breath hisses through his teeth. “You’re not supposed to take it literally.”
He shifts beneath her, an annoyed frown at the corners of his mouth, and tugs her closer with intent clear in his eyes. Deanna wants to give in, would happily kiss him until he rutted up against her, his cock sliding on her skin, but she wants him inside her more, wants to feel him pushing in, close as possible.
Hands moving from his chest to his shoulders, his shoulders to his neck, Deanna’s fingers slip into his hair, nails scratching against his skin as she tugs him away, turns his head to mouth at his jaw, lick at his stubble. His fingers flex against her before they disappear, relocating on her hips, gliding to he small of her back. Castiel’s arms slip around her, enveloping her, and he hitches her closer with a sigh that sounds suspiciously like her name.
Deanna grins against his skin and rolls her hips, can feel Castiel’s breath catch in his chest, pressed together as they are. Relishes the tease of his cock against her pussy.
“Cas,” she groans when his hands clutch at her, and she’s sure they’re leaving purpling bruises to match the mark he’s already left. “Cas, fuck.” He’s slipping in, the head of his cock is slipping in and she wants it, she really wants it. Wants to feel him inside, as far as he can go, as much as she can take. Has wanted to feel him since those eyes, those blue electric eyes turned toward her and saw right through her, cut her open and laid her bare and found her worthy.
She wanted it and now his cock is against her, almost where she needs it and, fuck, she’s forgetting something, something—
“Wait,” she says. “Wait, we need—” Deanna pulls back from him, Castiel’s arms resisting. She doesn’t need to go far, though, and finds the condom where she dropped it earlier, almost loses it when Castiel leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder, tongue fluttering against her skin.
It makes Deanna shudder, her nipples tightening, and she vibrates with anticipation, every nerve ending tuned in to him.
She gets the condom open and tosses the wrapper on the nightstand, reaching for Castiel’s cock. It’s hot and hard in her hand, a good fit, and she rubs her thumb over the head, spreading precome before she lets go and fits the condom over it, rolls it down.
Jacking him once, twice, Deanna watches the way his jaw goes slack with surprised pleasure. She wants some of that for herself, leans in and licks into his mouth, whispers, “It gets better,” and then she’s moving that much closer, holding him steady, taking him in.
The blunt head of his cock pushes into her and it's tight and good. She’d thought it might hurt, that he really had remade her completely, made her a virgin again, but any doubts she might have had erased as he slides all of the way in and she's finally, finally seated against him. She knows that she'll still feel him there for the rest of the day, a satisfying burn between her thighs, and loves it. Loves that he’ll linger even when she isn’t quite so freshly fucked.
“Deanna,” he says, her name coming out in a shuddering rush. “Deanna, I—I didn’t—I had no idea—”
She stops him with her mouth, doesn’t need to hear what he has to say, not right now, only wants his lips and his tongue like she’s had his fingers and his cock, like she has his cock. Next time they do this, she'll blow him, suck him down as his thighs tremble around her and his fingers clutch at her hair. Now, though, right now she’s got him where she wants him, hands on her skin and cock in her pussy, mouth slick and hot beneath her own and, fuck.
“Fuck.” Forehead against Castiel’s, Deanna tries to catch her breath, is distracted by the puffs of air escaping Castiel’s lips, the barely there brush of his eyelashes as he opens his eyes and blinks. She slides her hands across Castiel’s sweat-damp skin, rests them on his shoulders, rolls her hips and swallows his gasp, taking it into her before she sits back and moves.
Castiel’s body tightens beneath her as he arches back into the pillows, hands finding her waist, her hips, holding on as she lifts herself up, sinks back down. Takes him in again and again, over and over, faster and faster as she adjusts to the feel of him, as her blood quickens and her muscles begin to shake. He watches her with eyes gone wide and wondrous, wondering. Like she’s something special, like she’s the one shining in the dark, worthy and precious. It makes her stomach clench and her heart race faster, makes her feel too big and too small and too much, it’s too much.
She crowds him out, presses her lips to his, chases his tongue between his teeth. Kisses him like she could drown in it. Like they could be anyone, anyone at all, just two people sharing sweat and spit, trading moans and bruises and breathless gasps, half-formulated sentences. His fingers dig into her hips, leaving ten-point constellations she’ll trace later, and he kisses her back, lets her invade him, lets her take and take and take until her thighs are trembling and the heat gathering low in her belly, slipping between her legs, is blossoming, blooming and she’s coming around him as she cries into his mouth.
She doesn’t have time to relax, doesn’t have time to come down from it when suddenly Castiel is pushing her away, pushing her until her back is against the comforter and his cock is gone and she wants to protest, wants to reach for him and feel him against her because she wasn’t done, she wasn’t. But then Castiel is hovering over her, kneeling between her thighs, and suddenly he’s sinking in, blanketing her.
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, hooking her calves around his thighs, Deanna pulls him close, closer. Doesn’t have to encourage him at all anymore because Castiel’s hips are snapping and he’s thrusting into her, smooth, steady movements that make her toes curl, her breath catch. She’s in his hands now. She’s in his hands and he’s taking her apart as surely as he put her together, fingers in her hair and mouth against her neck and cock thrusting, thrusting—
“Cas,” she gasps. “Cas, I want—I need—” Shifting, she re-angles her hips, moves until his cock is hitting her just right, until every slide in brings his pelvic bone against her clit, rubbing against her the way she needs.
She comes again, body pulsing around him, the tips of her fingers digging into the shifting muscles of his back. Comes with his name on her lips and his breath on her skin and there are stars bursting behind her eyelids like light bulbs blown in the dark as everything changes.
“Deanna,” Castiel pants, her name falling from his lips like litany—Deanna, Deanna, Deanna—until his hips are stuttering and his mouth goes slack against her and he’s coming, pressed deep.
Castiel slumps against her, heavy and spent, and Deanna feels his muscles relaxing beneath her hands as he melts into her. Unhooking her legs from around his, she slides a hand up his back, his neck, fingers slipping into his hair. It’s damp with sweat and must look more sex-mussed than usual. She wants to see.
“Cas,” she says and swallows, tries again when her voice cracks. “Cas, I need to breathe.”
He lifts his head up and blinks down at her, eyes dark and shining. He’s flushed and there are strands of hair sticking to his forehead; Deanna’s fingers itch to brush them away. “Oh,” he says, licking his lips and, god, all she wants to do is kiss him. “I—I’m sorry.”
“Nah.” She pulls him down to her, presses an almost chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s all right.” She kisses him again and his tongue flutters against her mouth, there and gone, and she sighs, wants to keep him against her for a while longer.
Except she really does need to breathe.
A hand on his shoulder, Deanna pushes him back gently, encourages him with her hips and her legs to roll to the side. His cock slips out of her and she misses it already, wants to do this again, as often as possible.
Curled together side by side, Castiel looks down between them, and Deanna follows his gaze to the condom on his cock. “Let me take care of that for you,” she says, nudging him on to his back. He goes easily and something in her stomach swoops at how much trust he must have in her, to listen so readily. Reaching for his cock, she slips the condom off, ties and tosses it in the trash beneath the nightstand. She flops back next to him and sighs, feels happy and light and alive. She laughs, and Castiel turns toward her, she can see the movement out of the corner of her eye.
“What is funny?” He sounds like he did before, back in Bobby’s kitchen in her mind, serious and dangerous, except there’s something else there, too. Softness or uncertainty, something fragile. Deanna finds she doesn’t want to break it.
“Not bad for a couple of firsts, huh?” she says, lifting a leg and draping it over his nearest one. She turns to look at him and smiles, wants him to know she isn’t laughing at him. Doesn’t know how to explain.
Castiel’s brow furrows. “I have nothing to compare it to,” he says. “But it was very—It was—I don’t—”
Deanna turns her head and grins up at the ceiling, rubs her foot against his calf. “It’s okay, Cas. I know. I rocked your world.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then she thinks she feels his fingers brush against her side. “Yes,” he says. “You did.”
Her heart jumps in her chest and she swallows, grin slipping. “So.” She turns toward him again. “Was there a reason you stopped by? Or did you hear my cries and—”
Castiel’s eyes widen and his mouth tightens and suddenly he’s gone and she’s alone, staring at the rumpled pillows and the godawful brocade wallpaper. She blinks.
“Cas?”
There’s no answer, no movement at all. Deanna sits up and looks around, and his clothes are gone from the floor. Letting out a huge breath, she tilts her head back and asks the ceiling. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em, huh, Cas?”
She can’t help but smile, though, can’t help but revel in the feeling—all of the feeling—coursing through her body now. She drops back onto the sheets, wonders if she has time to sleep some more before Sam gets back. Isn’t quite ready to wash Castiel from her skin.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 12:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-06 07:24 pm (UTC)This comment makes me very happy in general, basically. Thank you so much! <3
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 12:39 am (UTC)I have a guilty pleasure for girl!Dean and you totally just fulfilled it for the month.
Sorry this isn't very coherent, but you kinda fried my brain I think.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-06 07:25 pm (UTC)I'm so happy that you liked it. Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 12:50 am (UTC)This is as gorgeous and as hot as I knew it would be. I just, og god. I can't list everything I love because, well, it would be the whole thing. But god, this-- THIS! Getting Cas to help her masturbate. His hands in her hair! Misunderstanding "hold your horses"! Even a smidge of post-coital snuggling and scaredy Cas running, after.
*rolls around in fic*
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-06 07:28 pm (UTC)I'm so so happy that you liked it and that it all worked for you. I really loved writing it and I think I might have to revisit these incarnations of them.
Thank you so much. <333
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-06 07:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 01:12 am (UTC)You know how much I love genderswap, and this hit all of my buttons. Excellent.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-06 07:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 01:14 am (UTC)You know this is the second fic I read where Castiel restored Dean's body in ALL of it's natural state. Something I never thought of before.
She tries to put it out of her mind, tries not to think about the way he makes her feel alive, blood hot just below the surface of her skin. Tries not to think about what he might look like under that sorry excuse for a suit.
Except she can't. She closes her eyes and he's there, right there. If it's a choice between fantasizing about an angel and nightmares about Hell, well. That's a no-brainer.
Duh! I can't say I blame here. No contest!
You know I usually don't read where someone changes the sex of the characters because it kind of feels like a cheat somehow but this? Totally works! Not to mention smoking hot!
“Deanna,” he says, her name coming out in a shuddering rush. “Deanna, I—I didn’t—I had no idea—”
Ah! There's nothing quite like that first time. It's something you never forget and will always remember.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-08 06:22 am (UTC)I'm glad you gave this a chance, then! My interest in genderswap is fairly recent, but I'm quite enjoying it. Thank you!
There's nothing quite like that first time.
And it really is quite a first for Castiel, who I'm sure never gave it much thought before. Total revelation.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 01:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-08 06:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 08:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-10 10:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 10:28 am (UTC)Loved it!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-10 10:29 pm (UTC)I'm so happy that you liked it! Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 10:51 am (UTC)Ugh, I hope he left cause Sam's getting back...
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-10 10:33 pm (UTC)He left because he realized he was there to see her for a reason (it does take place at the beginning of "In the Beginning") and had screwed up.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 10:52 am (UTC)but goddamn it you made it hot and not at all Mary Sue...
So I officially eat my words and love you.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 05:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 12:48 pm (UTC)“Lie on the bed,” she says. “I’m going to fuck you now.”
Dunno why but that line...GUH. So freaken hot.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 05:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 01:01 pm (UTC)OMG, I love this so much. It more than lives up to expectations. As always, amazingly hot (how do you do it?), and the emotional resonance with the characters is beautiful. I love the way you've interpreted the characters' relationship in the context of girl!Dean. You've made it familiar and yet different in subtle, nuanced ways (that have nothing to do with the mechanics of the sex).
Just wonderful. <3
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 05:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 03:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 05:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 04:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 05:59 pm (UTC)I'm so happy that you enjoyed it. Thank you so much!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 05:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:00 pm (UTC)Hee, thank you! I'm so happy you liked it. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 07:29 pm (UTC)This was something awesome to wake up too. I love gender swap, and this was one of the best I've ever read!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 09:23 pm (UTC)The last three sentences were just a perfect way to end this.
I sincerely hope for more girl!Dean from You.
CV
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:03 pm (UTC)I'm so happy you liked it. Thank you so much!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 09:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 09:43 pm (UTC)So I have a lot of feelings. Most of which are summed up by ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:29 pm (UTC)I am so, so happy that you liked it. Thank you so much. ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 09:46 pm (UTC)I don't think I've ever read always-a-girl!Dean before, but this was just so perfectly wonderful and in character.
and Cas just pissing off at the end there. Nice, Cas. <3
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:30 pm (UTC)Thank you so much! I'm so happy you enjoyed it. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-24 10:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:31 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you liked it. Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-25 05:03 am (UTC)I love how you didn't make Deanna into a different character, like, a lot of stories use the genderswap and basically create an OFC and while they aren't bad it isn't what I want. I want a lady version of Dean. Badass, sexy, loyal, proud, etc. and yours was literally a girl version of Dean, and it was perfect.
SHE WAS SO DAMN COCKY FOR A PERSON WITHOUT AN ACTUAL COCK.
Seriously, I've read some Dean/Cas where Dean was more girly/emotional (brb, stereotyping) than your Deanna.
WHICH DON'T MISREAD THAT, I ABSOLUTELY LOVED HER, SHE WAS PERFECT AND EVERYTHING I WANTED FROM GIRL!DEAN
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:37 pm (UTC)SHE WAS SO DAMN COCKY FOR A PERSON WITHOUT AN ACTUAL COCK.
This makes me grin every time I read it. :D
I'm so, so happy that you liked it. Thank you so much!!
So So Good!
Date: 2011-05-26 04:34 pm (UTC)I agree with larantula that this is how it should have went even if Dean was a guy and the show was on HBO!
Loved and thanks for sharing!
Re: So So Good!
Date: 2011-06-11 06:44 pm (UTC)Oh, how different things would be if the show was on HBO...
Re: So So Good!
From:Re: So So Good!
From:(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-26 09:27 pm (UTC)This was seriously hot, and seriously emotionally awesome. I don't know how to describe it, but there was so much depth to Deanna's thoughts, to the story, it just hooked me right away.
I'm failing at explaining this, aren't I? Oh well, I loved it, anyway. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-11 06:46 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Thank you!