Chapter Text
Dean peeked cautiously around the corner, back to the wall and straining his neck to get a glimpse of the hallway. Finding nothing of interest—seductive or otherwise—he eased out into the open with an irritated huff, idly palming at the dagger sheathed at his side.
He was beginning to think that Sam’s research had been a definite miss this time around. He’d been scouring this place for the last forty-five minutes and hadn’t caught a glimpse of their siren—of course it would be his luck to scope out the strip club on the bitch's night off. This was a bust. They’d have to come back during business hours the next day to track her down, hopefully before lucky victim number seven did.
Digging out his phone, he was thumbing the number one speed dial to catch Sam up when the familiar whisper of wings behind him sent him fumbling. “Jeez, Cas!” he growled, rounding on the angel with a scowl and shoving the cellphone back into his pocket. “Don’t sneak up on a man mid-hunt! If I didn’t know better, I woulda thought you were—” He grimaced as Castiel furrowed his brow curiously, and snapped his dumbass mouth shut before it got him into trouble.
“Thought I was…?” Cas prompted.
Dean pursed his lips. His friend didn’t need to know that he’d grudgingly taken on the legwork portion of this hunt, fully prepared for his very own Special Edition Castiel, Siren of the Lord. “Nothin’.” As far as he knew though, sirens hadn’t added teleportation to their repertoire… so he was at least ninety two percent sure that this was the genuine article. “What’re you doin’ here anyway?”
“I’d thought we could watch the next movie on my 'Cinematic Education' list tonight, but when I called Sam to find out where you two were staying, he said you were here, so….” The angel did an awkward-looking little half-shrug thing. “Here I am.”
“Uh huh.” Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just call me?” He couldn’t remember having done anything to piss his friend off—in the past two days or so, anyway—which was the only reason he could think of for Cas to contact Sam instead of him... seeing as, y'know, Dean was the one he wanted to hang out with. Usually, Castiel's conversations with Sam consisted almost entirely of nerdy research-related texting. There was a shrill warning bell sounding in the back of his mind.
Cas pursed his lips and glanced to the side uncertainly and Dean felt a tiny bit of the tension lacing his shoulders drain away at the familiar body language. “I… wanted to surprise you. You’ve been unhappy since the incident with Benny. I was going to bring beer and pie.”
The angel ducked his head, those earnest blue eyes darting up to meet green hesitantly through a fringe of dark hair, and Dean huffed a quiet, easy laugh, shaking his head fondly.
“Yeah? That sounds pretty awesome, dude.” He clapped a hand warmly onto his friend’s shoulder, grinning when Cas glanced at it quickly before returning his gaze to Dean’s face. “In fact, let’s go do that. Sounds about a billion times better than looking for this damn siren. It ain’t here anyway.”
“You were hunting a siren?” Cas scowled at him disapprovingly. “Without backup?”
“Well, yeah. That way if it whammies me, I won’t turn around and just ice Sam on the spot or something.”
“Do you have a mirror with you?” the angel interrogated, eyes darting up and down his person.
Dean rolled his eyes, tapping a finger against the solid shape of the compact mirror nestled in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Yes, sir.” He frowned as a thought worked its way to the forefront of his mind; a mirror that he’d brought for the sole purpose of flashing at anything even remotely Cas-shaped to expose his prey’s true face. Well, there was a very Castiel-looking thing in front of him where no Castiel was originally planned… so, why hadn’t he checked him in the mirror, yet? He shook his head, trying to clear it. Christ, he knew that Cas had a tendency to put him at ease, but that was just… stupid. Dangerously so. “Yeah… come to think of it, I should probably….”
He fumbled for the zipper, yanking it down with a jerk and then reaching clumsily for the compact.
“Dean….”
Cool fingers wrapped gently around his own and he froze, glancing down at Cas. “Wha…?”
“The beer and the pie were only Plan B,” Cas murmured—fuckin’ murmured. Cas. Murmured.
Dean swallowed, back thudding against the wall as the angel crowded closer, drawing their clasped hands up and trapping them beside the hunter’s head. Shit. “And…" He cleared his throat roughly. "What was Plan A?”
Cas licked his lips, eyes dropping to Dean’s mouth and lingering far longer than they normally did. Dean felt heat explode in his belly as a lean, firmly muscled body slotted itself into place against his. Fuckfuckfuck. He was fucking expecting it, how’d it get a jump on him like this!?
“Well, it starts with getting Sam a different room,” Cas breathed against his jaw, not even missing a beat as he snatched Dean’s other hand away from where it was inching toward the blood-coated bronze dagger at his side and pinning it next to his hip. “And then I would….” He slid his thigh emphatically in between Dean’s and rubbed and the hunter knocked his head sharply into the wall in an effort to shake off the haze of lust because—
“You’re not Cas,” he snarled, attempting to twist away from the smirking lips trailing along the side of his neck.
“I’m anyone you need me to be, Dean Winchester,” the siren rumbled in Castiel’s lowest register and it shot straight to Dean’s dick despite the knowledge of just what was humping his leg wearing the angel’s face. “I can read your mind, Dean, remember? Every last thought you hide away deep inside…. I know where you want this mouth….” He licked a hot strip across Dean’s throat, grazing sharp teeth over the swell of his Adam’s apple. “These fingers….” He twisted their arms up and around, transferring both of Dean’s wrists into one hand so he could trail the other down over back and ass and thigh. “This cock….” He ground into Dean’s leg roughly before dragging his hips torturously across the hunter’s groin.
Dean moaned, his own hips bucking traitorously as the siren drew his lower body away in a clear taunt.
Fuck. He had not been prepared for this—his last encounter with a siren had been almost uncharacteristically platonic for the creature’s MO, and he’d cockily been so sure that he’d be able to take out something that looked like his angel as long as it wasn’t actually his angel. Sure, he knew how shit with sirens went down... but he was a grown, sexually active man with a healthy libido and extended knowledge of what the thing could do, for Christ’s sake! He’d been sure that he could control his own lust, manipulated or not, long enough to gank the motherfucker.
“Fuck you!” he panted furiously, shoving bodily at the siren and sending him stumbling backward.
He kept firm hold of Dean's wrists and yanked, using his own momentum to send them both crashing into the wall opposite. “Mmmm,” Cas’ voice purred as one arm snaked out to wrap around Dean’s lower back and drag him in, trapping the siren snugly between warm hunter and cold concrete, “You can, you know. That’s the difference between me and an angel— with him, you can only look and want and try to convince yourself it’s his hand jerking you off in the shower—” Dean growled unhappily, twitching his face away. “With me, you get all of the perks and none of the baggage.” The hand at his back shot up into his hair with no warning, shoving his head down sharply until chapped lips were brushing the shell of his ear as he spoke. “You can pound me through this wall right here and now and I will scream every word you’ve ever fantasized this voice screaming for you.”
Shitshitshit. In a panic, Dean tried to wrench away drunkenly, lurching back a single step before that iron grip caught hold of the back of his neck and stilled him, the other hand coming up to turn his face around to meet the siren’s gaze.
“Dean….” He moaned and suddenly the monster was gone from those blue eyes and Cas was reaching for him needily. “How many times are you going to let me die a virgin, Dean?” And fuck, that was the opening line of Dean's favorite bit of spank material—
He slammed into Cas hard enough for the angel’s head to ricochet off the wall and caught his mouth on the rebound. Castiel’s groan sounded almost like a triumphant chuckle as he bit sharply at Dean’s bottom lip, drawing a tiny swell of blood. The hunter opened up immediately and eagerly licked the slight tang of copper off of Cas’ tongue as it surged in.
The deserted back hall of a strip club fell away, everything except his angel going foggy around the edges… but Cas— oh, Cas was shining like a beacon. He was wild and vibrant and more alive than Dean had seen him in years.
Dean raked his hands roughly through Castiel’s hair, wrenching back for just a second to grin at the mess of it—he could almost see the sparks from shattering bulbs in a long-ago barn raining down over an angel's head in a halo of blazing light—before diving hungrily for the stubbled curve of his jaw. “I miss… your… sex hair,” he grunted, sinking his teeth into the bared skin of his throat.
“Then you’ll just have to keep it messy,” Cas panted, grappling eagerly with Dean’s belt buckle and the fly of his jeans.
Dean growled, grabbing at his friend's thighs, fingers sliding warm over the crease where leg met ass, and jerking upward. Cas got the message, springing nimbly up to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist as the hunter pressed him back into the wall and sought out his mouth again.
Cas... Cas. Fuck yes. Finally. He didn’t know how many times he’d dreamed of this since the angel had made his triumphant and mysterious return from Purgatory... laid awake at night, buzzing with need, wanting Castiel fully— in every way possible. Cas had been his for longer than Dean’d probably even known; his in mind, heart, and grace... and it was finally time to claim the body.
“Scream for me, angel,” he rasped gleefully, rubbing desperately into the length of searing heat he could feel pressed against his belly, “Want you to shatter every bit of glass in this goddamn den of iniquity for me, baby.”
“Deeeeeeeean,” Castiel keened into his temple, hands scrabbling for his ass and yanking hard, rutting Dean's hips up into his own and shimmying the hunter’s jeans down his thighs. “Yes, Dean. Please. Make me feel human, Dean— so rough and dirty and blasphemous— oh, please….”
Dean choked as Castiel gasped all the filthy things he’d ever dared to imagine the angel saying into his ear, clenching his eyes shut and forcing his hands between them to frantically search out Cas’ belt.
An obnoxious guitar riff sounded from somewhere near his knees, but his angel was almost in hysterics moaning every fantasy Dean’d ever had involving those shadowy wings and Dean’s dick and he could not possibly give less of a fuck as the phone went to voicemail.
“You’re mine, Dean Winchester,” Cas snarled into his ear as Dean let him slip down the wall to his feet for just long enough to divest him of shoes and slacks and underwear before the hunter was gathering him up again. “Say it.”
“Yours, yours… Cas….” Dean almost begged around his own fingers before sliding them slickly down over the curve of Castiel’s ass. “Always. Yours.”
The guitar started up again, but Dean was buried knuckle deep in his own personal heaven and didn’t even register it.
“Nothing’s ever going to come between us again, Dean….” Castiel was deadly calm as he licked a wet strip across his own palm before reaching down and around, taking firm hold of Dean’s cock.
“Yours, Ca— fuck, I’m yours.” Dean mouthed the words across his collarbone and bit down hard when the hand guided him unerringly, almost too easily, into tight, burning heat. “Love you. I love you so fuckin’ much. ‘m never letting you go again. I'm yours.”
“I know,” the siren said with a smirk, carding his fingers gently through Dean’s hair and tilting his head back for a possessive kiss. Dean whimpered into his mouth, grabbing at his waist as the siren began to roll his hips. “You won’t let anything take me away from you, will you?” he panted against the hunter’s lips, “Not Heaven… or the prophet….”
Dean shook his head furiously, burying his face against the side of his neck.
“Not even your brother or your angel.”
“No,” Dean grunted, thrusting up into him with almost violent determination, “Not anyone. I’ll kill 'em if they come near you.”
The siren rewarded him with a long, hitching moan of his name and wrapped his arms tightly around Dean’s shoulders, curling down over him as his movements became more frantic. “Good. Then I’ll love you, Dean. As long as you’re mine, I will love you.”
“Yes," Dean hastened to reassure him, "Please. Yours, yours, yours….”
“This is Dean’s other other cell. So, you must know what to do.”
Castiel frowned as the machine played Dean’s voicemail message back to him and sighed.
“Dean,” he answered dutifully after the beep, “We need to talk. I’m sure that you must've finished up with the case Sam texted me about earlier, so I hope you’ll call back in a few minutes…. Sam says that you’ve been upset for over a week. He seemed very frustrated himself, and he didn’t say much, so— Dean, please... I want to help you, like you’ve been trying to help me. I’m worried about you. You’ve been suppressing your emotions ever since— Look, I know you’re still blaming yourself, but it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault. You... you’re the only thing I have left to fight for, Dean. I need you, too. I love—”
He swallowed unhappily, quickly pressing the series of buttons that Sam taught him would cancel the message, and ended the call. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fist around the phone and spent a long moment gathering himself before calling once more.
“This is Dean’s other other cell. So, you must know what to do.”
“Dean, we need to talk….”