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The angel Castiel is eager, righteous, filled with divine purpose when he finally takes his vessel and appears before the Righteous Man. Angels have not walked the earth in 2000 years, and he was not counted amongst those who did. It was an honor to raise Dean Winchester from Perdition and it is an honor that he has been chosen to guide him towards his destiny as the Righteous Man.
The barn doors burst inward as the angel steps forward, lightning cracks and a shower of sparks descend from above. The handsome face of his vessel is lit up in a way that’s both dramatic and devastatingly attractive. Bullets fly but don’t halt his irresistible approach.
It’s all very impressive.
Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer curse and swear, both convinced that they are facing an (oddly respectably dressed?) Archdemon of hell.
Castiel, on his part, stares transfixed at the soul he carried from the depths, fascinated at seeing him encased once more in flesh. It was one thing to look down at an empty body, an animal shape of meat and sinew, and quite another to see a soul burning bright and vital from within.
As he approaches, Castiel reflects on the fragile beauty of his father’s favorite creations, his humans. Dean Winchester is quite lovely, he decides.
A moment after he makes this observation, Dean Winchester stabs him.
Castiel tosses aside the blade.
Yes, he thinks, humans are fascinating creatures.
The one called Robert swings an iron bar at him, and Castiel renders him unconscious in return. His soul is tarnished with sin, but it is warm and bright. He is a good man. Castiel does not harm him.
Alone, he turns his attention back to his charge. This close he can appreciate him with his strange new human senses. Sight, sound, scent. He lets the physicality of standing before Dean Winchester in-the-flesh wash over him. It is a novel and exhilarating experience.
As Castiel admires Dean Winchester’s green eyes, the timbre of his voice and the smell of the salt on his skin, Dean Winchester finds himself awash in the physicality of the angel Castiel’s presence in a rather more overwhelming fashion.
Alpha, he is thinking, Mate mate mate – and not a lot else, really.
A low whine escapes Dean Winchester's throat.
Castiel cocks his head and then the nostrils of his ‘fucking goddamn hot as hell’ vessel (according to Dean Winchester’s internal observations upon the matter) flare as he draws in the sudden shift in the human’s scent. A chemical sweetness overriding the mineral-salt smell of his sweat.
“Dean Winchester,” Castiel says, preparing to reveal his nature and mission to his charge, but as he speaks Dean Winchester’s eyes widen, the sweet perfume seems to thicken in the air, and he tilts his head to one side, baring his neck.
Castiel is quite unprepared for the visceral response his vessel has to these stimuli. Somehow he loses control of its motor functions and finds himself pulling at the Righteous Man, pulling his body up against his vessel and pressing their mouths together. The angel notes that Dean Winchester tastes like a complex array of molecules, but the human taste buds of his vessel report that he tastes good. Very good.
It is a strange heady blur to both the angel Castiel and the human Dean Winchester from that point onwards, and it is only when Castiel has Dean pinned to the dusty floor beneath him, his vessel’s teeth sunk into his neck as they engage in a seemingly spontaneous act of sodomy, that clarity returns. Even then it is only to Castiel, and it comes only after an irate looking seraph wearing a middle-aged business man appears with a scowl on his face and jolts him back to his senses with a hearty zap of grace delivered directly to his forehead.
“Zachariah,” Castiel regards.
“Nnnggg!” says Dean Winchester, still writhing on the end of an angelic vessel’s genitalia.
“Castiel!” hisses the seraph Zachariah.
It seems prudent to put his charge to sleep, since the feel of his body tight and hot around his vessel’s flesh is highly distracting, so Castiel does as such.
For a moment there is silence in the barn. “I am uncertain of what just occurred,” Castiel says. “My vessel must be defective. It suffered an odd reaction to the proximity of Dean Winchester.”
Zachariah rubs at his eyes. “Your vessel isn’t defective, you gormless cretin - it’s an alpha! Now, clear this mess up and take it from the top.” He fixes both the brown eyes of his human vessel and the thousand flaming ones of his trueform upon Castiel. It is rather intimating.
“And don’t jump him this time.”
Castiel frowns. “Jump him?”
Zachariah gestures at the supine, half-naked human currently attached to his vessel’s penis.
“Keep your vessel’s genitals away from him!”
“Of course,” Castiel replies, embarrassed at his apparent failure but eager to try again.
*
The angel Castiel enters the barn. Dean Winchester shoots him. Bobby Singer attempts to concuss him with a metal bar. Castiel renders the older human unconscious. Dean Winchester stabs him. Steadying himself, Castiel opens his vessel’s mouth to inform his charge of their mission, and implausibly, finds himself again experiencing the taste and feel of Dean Winchester’s mouth.
His tongue is warm, (37.1° C), and surprisingly dexterous.
Zachariah’s polished shoes appear beside his vessel’s head 289 seconds later, and Castiel is amazed to discover that he is again, engaging in the act of sodomy with Dean Winchester.
“Again!” Zachariah hisses.
*
On his third attempt Castiel is able to inform Dean Winchester that he is ‘the one who gripped you tight—‘ but then Dean licks his lips and when an irate Zachariah brings him back to his senses shortly thereafter, he is mid-coitus and has his vessel’s right hand wrapped around his charge’s engorged penis.
On the fourth attempt he manages to not only inform Dean of his rescue from Hell, but also that he is an Angel of the Lord, but Dean sighs in a way that is oddly compelling and to his dismay, Castiel finds himself yet again waylaid by his vessel’s seemingly undeniable mating instincts.
On the twentieth attempt he discovers that even if he is able to control his vessels urges, Dean cannot control his own beyond an interval of 6 minutes 37 seconds in Castiel’s presence.
“What is wrong with you?!” Zachariah demands on attempt 37.
Castiel begins to wonder if there is some fault in him as well. However the thought of suggesting some other angel fulfilling his God-given duty is not only abhorrent to him, the idea that another angel might suffer the same weakness as he in the presence of Dean Winchester, has his vessel growling lowly and a feeling Castiel believes might be anger, pooling inside his human form.
On attempt 52 he comes very close to completing the first part of his mission, but then Dean Winchester demonstrates fellatio upon his vessel and Zachariah ends up having to jolt him with his grace half a dozen times before he can rouse himself from his vessel’s instincts.
On attempt 112 Castiel is not awoken with a jolt by a wrathful Seraph. Instead, he returns to full awareness slowly. Dean Winchester is, inexplicably, unsurprisingly, curled in his vessel’s arms, asleep. Their bodies remain tied where his vessel’s penis is swollen and embedded in Dean’s body. Castiel’s human form radiates an aura of content satiation that is not altogether unpleasant. There are dark bites upon Dean Winchester’s shoulders and neck.
Mate his vessel whispers to him.
Zachariah is standing nearby, looking down at him with an expression of boredom and irritation upon his face. “Well that’s that,” he says. “I have had it with you, Castiel.”
“Zachariah,” Castiel starts, intending to attempt to explain himself to his brother, but the Seraph cuts him off with a look.
“You seem incapable of keeping your hands, tongue, fingers or cock out of Dean Winchester, and frankly, I am sick and tired of watching you two roll around on the ground like a couple of apes, so you are going to explain this to Michael.”
“…what?” Castiel asks.
Zachariah glances down at the sleeping figure of Dean Winchester.
“That’s the Michael Sword you’re sheathed in, Castiel. The big man’s vessel you’re inside. His best suit you’ve stretched out and made a mess all over.”
Castiel is not entirely familiar with the euphemisms his superior is utilizing, but he understands enough. “Perhaps… You would allow me to make one more attempt?” he asks.
“No can do,” Zachariah tells him. “We’re out of time and this show is on a tight schedule.”
He waggles his vessel’s bushy eyebrows, flares his wings dramatically, and then flies.
Dean Winchester sucks in a breath and wiggles in Castiel’s arms, awakening. A pair of green eyes turn to peer at Castiel over his shoulder. After twelve seconds of pointed silence he asks of Castiel: “What, the fuck?”
Castiel finds himself at a loss.
“I thought you said you were an angel?!” Dean Winchester continues. “What sorta angel knots a guy on a barn floor?” His eyes narrow. “You didn’t pull me outta hell for this did you? Cause I ain’t nobody’s bitch let me tell you.”
“This was certainly not my intention,” Castiel huffs with as much dignity as he can muster mated to a human, as he put it, on a barn floor. “There seems to be some strange instinctual mating urge between my vessel and your body.”
“Yeah well, shouldn’t an angel be above that sorta thing?”
Castiel sniffs haughtily. “I can only assume it is part of God’s Plan.”
Dean Winchester groans and rolls his eyes.