RockStarPeach

Written for hannahbellejude, who challenged me to some h/c wingkink! Which... is really not my thing, but I did my very best, honey.

Title: The Touch of a Hand
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: R
Word count: 2000
Summary: Castiel is wounded in a fight against Raphael and goes to Dean for sanctuary. His wings are damaged and Dean helps him sort them out. In a sexy way :)

***


Dean startles awake, flails his arms out and grabs hold of a pair of solid biceps, screams a muffled scream into the warm, open palm pressed to his mouth.

“Hush,” Castiel commands, narrows his eyes and waits for Dean to nod in agreement before he takes his hand away, holds Dean upright with one hand pressed against his upper back.

“Cas?” Dean asks quietly, looking around the empty room and then back at Castiel, to stare unabashedly at his bare chest. “What’s going on? And why are you topless?”

“Where’s Sam?” Castiel asks, ignoring him and taking in the neatly made bed next to Dean’s.

“Um…” Dean says, rubs his hand over his face as he tries to fully wake up. His body is past the initial adrenaline rush of being so harshly woken and there’s a slightly vacant look in his eyes that comes from being on the edges of sleep. “Stake-out. His shift. What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“I don’t think they followed me,” Castiel tells him, eyes darting to the ceiling briefly. “I think we’re safe.”

“Great,” Dean says. “Uh… safe from who?”

“From Raphael,” Castiel answers. “And his followers. Dean, close your eyes.”

“What?” Dean asks, sitting up straighter and shaking his head to clear it. “Cas, what’s going on?”

“Close your eyes, Dean,” Castiel says again, presses the palm of his hand to Dean’s forehead and drags it down, shutting his eyelids along the way. “I’m injured. I can’t conceal my wings and I… don’t want you to see.”

“Why not?” Dean frowns, but does as Castiel asks, keeps his eyes shut.

“They’re… not at their best,” Castiel answers. Which is an understatement. He’s not at his best, either. “They’re matted and frayed, neglected far too long. My feathers are ruffled and broken from battle.”

Dean has never seen his wings up close before and Castiel doesn’t want the first time to be like this, when he’s bloodied and bruised and weak. Dean has never seen his wings at all beyond their introduction almost three years ago and he’s certainly never touched them. Castiel has been careful to keep that part of himself hidden when they’re together.

If Dean had ever asked, Castiel would have complied, but he has never taken the initiative to share that part of himself. He’s always felt like they would be an inappropriate reminder of the differences between himself and Dean, especially during intimacy. A reminder that regardless of the draw between them, they’re from different worlds and always will be.

Castiel can walk like a man, but he is not one. Nor does he desire to be. And Dean has enough to worry about without untimely displays of his lover’s lack of humanity.

“Wait…” Dean says, shaking his head. “You’re worried that you won’t be pretty enough? Damn, Cas, you’re getting vain.”

“Dean…” Castiel breathes out, meant as a warning but he can’t keep the whimper of pain from escaping.

“Yeah. Yeah, fine. Can I…” Dean starts, swallows and slides a hand up Castiel’s back, digs his fingers into the base of feathers he finds at Castiel’s shoulder blade. “Holy fuck! Sorry, they’re… soft. Can I help?”

“They…” Castiel says, arches his back and lets out a soft sigh when Dean’s fingers thread through the thick cluster of feathers along the top. “They hurt.”

“Shit,” Dean says, snaps his hand away quickly and places it at the base of Castiel’s spine, scrunches his eyes shut harder. “Sorry. Did I make it worse?”

“No,” Castiel says, cranes his neck up so that his chin presses to Dean’s cheek. “No, your hand feels… good. Soothing.”

“You want me to keep going?” Dean asks, skittering his fingers up Castiel’s back, touching the tips along the bottom fringes of Castiel’s feathers.

“Please,” Castiel breathes out, a sigh of relief as Dean’s hand presses down flat against a patch of feathers, drags and pulls and fans out the tendrils, light as air until the unkempt row straightens and falls into place under his touch. “Dean, please.”

“Sure,” Dean answers immediately, free hand moving to grip Castiel’s arm just above the elbow, encouraging him to turn until he’s sitting on the bed with his back to Dean. “Sure, Cas. Hold still. Tell me if it hurts.”

Dean places both his palms against the back of Castiel’s ribs, slides them up until his fingers tangle through the hollow piping of deceptively strong shafts, brush against the velvety-smooth barbs of the tips, massaging lightly and lining up some of the more crooked ones.

Castiel lets out a soft groan, his shoulders slump and he leans slightly back into Dean. Dean’s presence feels good at his back, Dean’s fingers feel good against his tender wings, along the mottled skin of his back and ribs where he’s been beaten and flayed by those he thought he could trust.

“Is this… okay?” Dean asks, taking a stronger grip with both his hands, carding his fingers through fluff and straw, from Castiel’s shoulder blade and out. “Am I doing it right?”

“Nobody has ever done this for me before,” Castiel admits. His celestial form doesn’t require grooming. “Angels don’t sit around on fluffy white clouds, braiding each other’s hair, Dean.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean says, sounding annoyed but huffing slightly so that Castiel can tell he’s mostly amused. “Jeeze, you’ve been hangin’ around me too much. I meant, is it helping? Does it hurt too much?”

“It feels good,” Castiel admits. “Incredible, in fact. I don’t want you to stop.”

“No problem," Dean tells him and Castiel can feel the soft press of Dean’s lips to the knob of his spine. “But I can probably do a better job if I open my eyes.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, blinks. He’d actually forgotten he’d asked Dean to close them. It seems so silly. “Yes.”

Castiel can almost hear Dean roll his eyes behind him as he’s given permission, but he doesn’t care because his fingers move even further down his wings, along the top row of feathers and through almost to the tips, as far as Dean can reach.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes out. “These are… fuck, these are badass, Cas.”

“They’re a mess,” Castiel says, ducking head to the side and gasping loudly as Dean’s fingers work over a particularly rough tangle

“Sorry!” Dean quickly apologises. “Sorry, was that too rough?”

“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “It’s perfect. God, Dean…”

Castiel’s breath hitches, he moans deeply as one of Dean’s hands curls around his ribs a little and Castiel’s pectorals jump and twitch under Dean’s fingers, the same way they do when Dean’s panting hot in his ear and slotting their naked bodies together.

Dean was right; he is much better at this with his eyes open. His hands seem to know exactly where and how to touch, the right pressure and direction and he’s breathing jerky puffs against the back of Castiel’s neck and it’s so much like a different kind of touching, so much like the intimacy they share when Dean’s holding him tight to his chest.

He can’t help it.

His moans turn gruffer, needier and he wriggles to get some friction from his pants on his growing erection. He doesn’t know whether he should be embarrassed by this, but he’s not. It’s a trivial matter to control his body’s reactions but he no longer feels the need most of the time. Not around Dean.

“Wait,” Dean says, wrapping his other arm around Castiel’s chest and pulling him close. He slides his hand down over Castiel’s stomach and stops just above the buckle of his pants. “Is this like… a sex thing? Because you’re sounding pretty excited, Cas.”

“Would that be a problem?” Castiel asks, instead of answering. It’s not. Not really, but he can’t deny the curl of arousal that winds its way through his body at Dean’s touch, can’t pretend that Dean’s fingers through the soft expanse of his wings, where nobody has ever touched him before, does things to him.

“You are one kinky son of a bitch,” Dean tells him, chuckling slightly into Castiel’s ear. It sends a shiver down his spine as Dean’s hands move back to his wings, stroking and smoothing. “But damned if I don’t like it.

“I am… aroused,” Castiel says, arching his back and spreading his feathers out further as his wings stretch. “Your touch eases the pain. Makes me feel… other things. Please, Dean, don’t stop.”

“Not until you tell me to,” Dean promises, fans his arms out again so that he’s following the line of Castiel’s wings, arms extended out to the sides as he leans forward and presses his chest flat against Castiel’s back, skin to skin. Castiel can feel the beginnings of Dean’s own interest nudging against the crease of his ass. “God, you feel good.”

“Not half as good as you do,” Castiel confesses, closes his eyes and lowers his head. “You could charge for this. I know of several brothers that would pay handsomely for this service.”

“Except I’m not a whore,” Dean tells him, arms closing in again as Castiel lowers his wings. They move deep and slow until all the feathers are back in place, until Castiel feels ordered and right again, if not mended. “And no offense, but I don’t want to give any of your dick brothers a happy. I’m strictly a one-angel guy.”

“And I’m forever grateful for that,” Castiel says, moaning and pushing back into Dean’s touch. “Harder.”

Dean complies, finished cleaning him up now and this part is all just for pleasure. He clenches his fists around Castiel’s feathers, pumps and then relaxes them and presses his palms along the line of the wings, presses the ends of his fingers through the silky tips.

“Like that?”

“Dean…”

“Need something else?” Dean teases, one hand moving up underneath one of Castiel’s wings, tickling lightly over the downy feathers on the underside while the other hand slides lower over his stomach, dips inside the waistband of his slacks.

“Dean…” he says again, can’t say much else. He doesn’t need to.

Dean unfastens Castiel’s buckle and zipper, wraps his long, sturdy fingers around his erection and guides it free of his underwear, knuckles rolling through his feathers while Dean presses hot, wet kisses to Castiel’s neck, the lobe of his ear and jerks him slow and long.

It’s not a race, but it’s not a tease either. Dean’s strokes are sure, steady in rhythm and tightness and they send Castiel crashing over the edge into orgasm on a strained cry and a feeling of almost overwhelming contentment.

He gives himself a moment, steadies his heart rate and his breathing while Dean’s fingers skitter over his quivering stomach. He turns then, reaches out to Dean’s groin in order to return the favour and winces at the pull of tender skin and muscles over his aching bones.

“Not tonight, champ,” Dean tells him, hands moving to grip Castiel under his arms and ease him down gently onto the mattress. “Get some rest, okay? You can get back to fighting your crazy fight in the morning.”

Dean reaches to the floor and picks up his discarded t-shirt, uses it to wipe the come off Castiel’s spent cock.

“I’m gonna…” he says and gestures towards the washroom. “Right. You sleep. I’ll… be back.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says and nods in return, offers him a smile and bends down to press a quick kiss to Castiel’s lips.

“Anytime,” Dean says and Castiel falls asleep listening to Dean’s soft moans in the shower.

END