random yaoi

No Illusions in the Way

Title: No Illusions in the Way
Author: econdplatypus
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: wing kink, schmoop/schmangst, explicit sex, a little language, references to 5.04/the 5.04 'verse
Spoilers: Set immediately after 5.04, contains a major spoiler or two for that episode.
Word Count: 3001
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all characters therein are the property of Eric Kripke and the WB/CW, I'm just borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes.

Summary: Dean walks in on Castiel with his wings out. Adorable shenanigans and sexy-times ensue, complete with handprint kink, virgin!Castiel, protective!Dean, Enochian, and a little hit of grace. (Casfest fic, written for eavenlyxbodies)

Author's Note: eavenlyxbodies gave me so many beautiful prompts to work with that I had trouble picking just one (and I'll be writing at least one more in the future). In the end, Survivor's "In Good Faith" was the one that ended up producing the best and most feasible plot bunnies. I really hope you enjoy it, sweetie; thank you for giving me such wonderful material.
- both the title and the cut text come from the song that inspired this fic (the full quote surrounding the title is "in the roles that we have chosen / behind the parts we sometimes play / lies the passage to the real me / with no illusions in the way")
- It is part of my personal canon that as long as a piece of an angel's grace remains, they can't ever become human.
- endless thanks are owed to my wonderful beta mor_remanet, without whom I would still be firmly entrenched in writer's block instead of continuing to indulge the wing kink kick I've been on for the last month.

I've cast aside this foolish pride
I know I can keep you satisfied
I'll prove it tonight in so many ways

After talking with Sam, Dean wanted to go to him immediately without taking the time to pause for food, let alone sleep, an idea that Castiel disapproved of intensely given the day and a half's drive to their designated meeting-place. Dean had been exhausted to begin with, and his little trip to the future had tired him out in ways he hadn't previously known were possible. It took hours of arguing, glares, and Disappointed Looks, but after reminding Dean for the twentieth time of the fact that the effort of searching every corner of the globe and five different time periods looking for Dean after he'd felt him disappear, saving him from Zachariah, then transporting the two of them back to the Impala had drained Castiel's grace to the point where he wouldn't be able to move anything for at least 12 hours, so Dean had better take care of himself, damn it, Dean got the message and grudgingly found a cheap motel at the next town they passed.

Dean paced the room for half an hour after checking in before announcing his plans to go out and find a drink or twenty, leaving Castiel alone in the space. After the rumble of the Impala receded into the distance, Castiel waited a few minutes, then unfurled his wings.

When he wasn't around humans, Castiel preferred to have them out; keeping his wings hidden and folded up on themselves felt odd at best, uncomfortable at worst. He'd never actually shown them to anyone other than his brothers, save for their silhouettes on the wall the night he first met Dean and Bobby; they drew too much attention, and he didn't think the color would make the right impression. Castiel's grasp on human culture was tenuous, but he knew people tended to associate dark colors with evil, and he'd seen enough illustrations of fallen angels with black wings to know better than to reveal his. He wanted to help Dean, and all these other fragile creatures, not send them running in fear.

A patch of feathers on the ridge of his right wing had somehow been ruffled the wrong way, producing a sensation akin to having a particularly stubborn piece of apple-skin lodged in one's teeth, and it was driving him crazy. Feathers going awry were a normal part of life as an angel, and under any other circumstances, he would have simply mojoed them back into alignment without so much as a second thought. Unfortunately, he'd used up nearly all his reserves of grace earlier that day, and would have to spend at least two more hours recharging before he'd be able to fix them.
After a number of undignified attempts to bend his arms in ways that defied the laws governing human anatomy, Castiel resorted to rubbing up against the floor-to-ceiling post in Dean's hotel room, which only served to make the problem worse.