Destiel Smut And Fluff (Silver Wings)

Silver Wings Part 9

This is such a horrible, horrible, idea. Dean's already so hard, he can barely walk. And it's just from that fucking display he got when he walked into this room. Castiel's giant sloping wings risen in graceful arcs on either side of his naked body, the sensitive skin around his wing-joints fully exposed to Dean and an up close look at that perfect ass Dean's been daydreaming about for weeks now. He's being so unprofessional, but he can't help himself. Castiel has him completely transfixed, he doesn't think he could leave now if he tried.

"My wings?" Castiel asks weakly. Hearing his voice does nothing to calm Dean's disobedient libido. It's just like his unreserved moaning, rough and deep, and dragging along Dean's skin; as if he were touching him.

"Uh, yeah. I'm supposed to make them all pretty. Not that you need it. I mean, not that they aren't already really gorgeous," Dean stammers foolishly.  "Just, you need them arranged for the show and I'm here to do it."

If Castiel minds Dean's babbling, he doesn't show it. In fact, he's having trouble looking Dean in the eye. He wonders if this is the famous timidity showing itself. There's nothing wrong with that, who wouldn't be a little wary about being naked in front of a total stranger? Sam is crazy. Castiel isn't frigid, he's just shy.

"Is that okay with you?" Dean asks softly.

"Oh, oh, yes, of course," Castiel says, abruptly springing into action. He turns away from Dean, giving him another excuse to glance at his ass. Still a mistake, Dean thinks as his dick pulses against his pants. His only hope is that Castiel is too distracted by getting ready to notice the obvious bulge. He watches Castiel settle himself in the room's only chair. To Dean's surprise. Castiel's wings are fluttering wildly. A little nervous about a new Fluffer shouldn't be causing this flurry of anxiety.

"I'm not making you nervous, am I?" Dean has to ask.

"No!" Castiel nearly shouts and then grabs fistfuls of his wings, obviously trying to steady them himself. "It's fine," he answers more quietly. "You can start now."

The signals are so confusing, but Dean has to trust that Castiel would tell him to get out if he were making him uncomfortable. He's got a job to do and so does Castiel. Dean can be professional, he really can. Even when faced with the reality of running his fingers through long silvery feathers. God his dick is aching.

Dean presses the heel of his palm hard against his groin to ease a bit of tension before approaching Castiel's side and grabbing the tube of wing-care product. He gives Castiel a reassuring smile and then steps around to his back, thankfully once more hiding from Castiel's view. As he assesses the state of Castiel's wings, Dean wonders if he should make small talk. Or even if he could make small talk. He's afraid he'll get halfway through a sentence and then break off into a moan at the feel of strong wing muscles flexing under his hands.

His cock twitches again and Dean bites his lower lip. Right. No talking.

The wings are a little messy and the constant motion they're in isn't helping. Dean doesn't even know where to start. A few stray feathers at the bottom need plucking and the middle is in need of flattening. The top ridges are wild and ruffled up already though, which Dean finds curious. As if Castiel were already aroused. Still, it should make his job go faster.

"Are they alright?" Castiel asks quietly.

God, yes. "Yeah, they're fine. Just trying to make a plan," Dean mutters vaguely. There's nothing else for them. He's just going to have to dive in. Dean reaches out and slowly draws the back of one hand down a thrashing silver mass.

Castiel lets out a short gasp and curls his fingers around the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles turn white. The wings themselves stiffen before relaxing and Dean nearly cums in his pants. It was such a shock, he drops the bottle of wing-care without realizing it. The way they're moving is so similar to the videos...so exactly like when Castiel is... all other thoughts have left Deans mind. He reaches out and grabs fistfuls of feathers into both hands, squeezing them between his fingers. Castiel's gasp turns to a mewling noise and he squirms in his seat.

"Dean," he pants, effectively bringing Dean back to his senses.

"Sorry!" He lets go of the wings and steps back, appalled at himself. "God, I'm so sorry."

"No," Castiel breathes, leaning his elbows on his knees and shaking his head. "It's okay. Please don't stop."

There's no way Dean can refuse him, but he makes himself swear he'll be more professional, as he picks up the almost forgotten bottle of wing-care. To that end, Dean immediately pours a dollop of product into his hands and begins rubbing it into Castiel's wings. There's nothing sexy about the sticky substance that will eventually soak into the wings as if it never existed, but feels at first like a cross between lube and baby oil. Whatever's bothering Castiel seems to dissipate. His breathing returns to normal as Dean carefully flattens the wings and then kneels down to pluck out the errant strays at the bottom.

The problem starts again when Dean stands to style the top ridges. The feathers along his arches don't need any product, they're already puffier than Dean has ever seen them. All they need is a little encouragement to go in the right direction and Castiel will be set. Then Dean can escape this delightful torture.

When he runs his palm over the left arch, the wings flare straight out so suddenly and so forcefully that they knock over a nearby table.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks, surprised and really turned on by the obvious strength of the wings.

"I...no," Castiel rasps. Dean steps around the slowly lowering right wing to get a good look at Castiel's face, fearful of seeing anger or irritation.

That is not at all what he finds. Castiel's cheeks are reddened, his eyes glazed and lower lip swollen from biting. Dean's eyes wander down from Castiel's flushed face to his heaving chest, to the erection he'd been trying to hide. Dean's lips part with surprise. Dean has seen this before, he knows exactly how Castiel looks when he cums, and he's not far from it.

"Oh," Dean says stupidly.

"I think I'm ready now," Castiel whispers.

"Oh. O-okay," Dean stutters. "I'll just..." he points his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. "I'll let you get to it?"

But Castiel's hand shoots out and grabs Dean's wrist, preventing Dean from leaving. "No. please. I want...I want you to watch."

Holy fuck.

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