Itsy-bitty fic
Jan. 17th, 2011 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
888mphTitle: Don't Look
Wordcount: ~450
Rating: R
Pairings: Dean/Cas, Dean/...someone else
Warnings: (highlight to reveal) dub-con and mentions of character death and hurt!Sam
Spoilers: for 6.11 and a nod to 6.01 (lets see if you can find it).
Prompt: This prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic.
A/N: Meh, I guess that prompt deserved better, but when procrastinating anything goes.
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Summary: And that's where he should have stopped him.
It should have been so obvious.
Years and years of training, of learning to acknowledge the smallest change of atmosphere should have been enough.
But lately all of Dean's decisions had been the wrong ones and when Sam scratched the wall in his mind, because he did and Dean should have known he would, Dean didn't even have to lock him in the panic room. That giant of a man came crumbling down when the memories of one year in hell spent between a rock and a hard place flooded his mind and all that Sam is now is ball of flesh and bones curled up in a corner with a look of perpetual horror on his face.
When Cas appeared something reminded Dean that he should be cracking a joke about him finally changing his wardrobe. Say something about how he was all dressed in black, if he had decided to join Raphael's side.
But it was when Cas kissed him that Dean should have known something wasn't right.
Cas always kisses like he's about to smite him. Cas kisses him like everything he does: like he's barging in through a barn and making every light bulb around him explode, like he's punching him in a back alley, like he's carving a banishing sigil on his chest. It's certain, it's intentional, it's true.
Yet, there was a playful sensuality this time, a comfortable roll of his shoulders that made him fragile and not a soldier.
But Dean was so desperate, wanted so much for something to go his way at least once, for things to be like he wanted, expected them to be, that he drowned the little voice screaming in the back of his mind. He let him fuck him just because, a release, slap of skin on skin and not like Cas is trying to claw his way inside his heart and settle there forever.
And that's where he should have stopped him.
Dean is lying on the floor, his cock spent, head turned, eyes shut.
"Oh, Dean," Cas' voice runs through his skin like poison, but it's not Cas, he is not Cas. "Do you know what your sugar-angel's last word was? Your name, Dean, always your name." Dean can feel him smirking against his neck. "I wonder what yours will be. Look at me and tell me, Dean. Look at me."
He curls a hand around Dean's jaw and forces him to turn his head. But Dean doesn't open his eyes.
He wants his last memory of Cas to be of blue eyes and not yellow.
The End
Wordcount: ~450
Rating: R
Pairings: Dean/Cas, Dean/...someone else
Warnings: (highlight to reveal) dub-con and mentions of character death and hurt!Sam
Spoilers: for 6.11 and a nod to 6.01 (lets see if you can find it).
Prompt: This prompt at
comment_fic.A/N: Meh, I guess that prompt deserved better, but when procrastinating anything goes.
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Summary: And that's where he should have stopped him.
It should have been so obvious.
Years and years of training, of learning to acknowledge the smallest change of atmosphere should have been enough.
But lately all of Dean's decisions had been the wrong ones and when Sam scratched the wall in his mind, because he did and Dean should have known he would, Dean didn't even have to lock him in the panic room. That giant of a man came crumbling down when the memories of one year in hell spent between a rock and a hard place flooded his mind and all that Sam is now is ball of flesh and bones curled up in a corner with a look of perpetual horror on his face.
When Cas appeared something reminded Dean that he should be cracking a joke about him finally changing his wardrobe. Say something about how he was all dressed in black, if he had decided to join Raphael's side.
But it was when Cas kissed him that Dean should have known something wasn't right.
Cas always kisses like he's about to smite him. Cas kisses him like everything he does: like he's barging in through a barn and making every light bulb around him explode, like he's punching him in a back alley, like he's carving a banishing sigil on his chest. It's certain, it's intentional, it's true.
Yet, there was a playful sensuality this time, a comfortable roll of his shoulders that made him fragile and not a soldier.
But Dean was so desperate, wanted so much for something to go his way at least once, for things to be like he wanted, expected them to be, that he drowned the little voice screaming in the back of his mind. He let him fuck him just because, a release, slap of skin on skin and not like Cas is trying to claw his way inside his heart and settle there forever.
And that's where he should have stopped him.
Dean is lying on the floor, his cock spent, head turned, eyes shut.
"Oh, Dean," Cas' voice runs through his skin like poison, but it's not Cas, he is not Cas. "Do you know what your sugar-angel's last word was? Your name, Dean, always your name." Dean can feel him smirking against his neck. "I wonder what yours will be. Look at me and tell me, Dean. Look at me."
He curls a hand around Dean's jaw and forces him to turn his head. But Dean doesn't open his eyes.
He wants his last memory of Cas to be of blue eyes and not yellow.
