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Born on Wings of Steel	By : LotusMoon Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4689 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I profit from it.

Chapter List
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Hitting the light switch with his elbow as they entered the hotel room, Dean tossed the keys onto the table and immediately started towards the bathroom. He needed to shower and clean out the wounds before he turned into Swamp Thing. With a groan, he pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor. He felt disgusting, and the feather-knife wounds hurt like Hell. He didn't want to lose out on the opportunity to hang out with Cas while he was here, though. For him, friends were few and far between.
"I'm grabbing a shower, Cas," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "If you stick around, we can go get a couple of beers."
"I will stick," Cas said, sitting in one of the chairs at the table.
Shaking his head with a smile, Dean stepped into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, then sat on the toilet seat to pull off his boots and peel away soggy socks plastered to his skin. Standing, he balanced himself with one hand on the sink as he pulled off his jeans and boxers. His arm and thigh were bleeding freely. He couldn't believe he got his ass handed to him by a fricking bird. He peeled the filthy tape off his fingers and dropped them into the waste basket as he stepped into the shower, hissing when the water hit his open wounds. Turning his back to the shower head, he lathered up the washcloth, carefully washing out the cuts before scrubbing the mud off the rest of his body. He was going to have to come up with a better plan for tomorrow. There was no way he could track something that could fly while he was stuck in the mud.
Rinsing off quickly, he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He needed to disinfect and stitch himself up. He grimaced at the thought. He had sewed his own lacerations before, but it sucked. He usually did big, sloppy stitches so it would go faster, then ended up with ugly, puckered scars. Sam was actually better at being Dr. Frankenstein, and it was easier to block out the pain when someone else was sewing you up.
It wasn't until he limped back into the other room and met Cas' eyes, that Dean realized the bathroom didn't have a door, and he'd just stripped in front of the other man. With a shrug, Dean scooped up his duffel back from the floor at the foot of his bed and sat down at the table. Being in close quarters with Sam all the time, modesty kind of went out the window. It wasn't like they didn't have the same plumbing. Even if Cas didn't really use his. Dean dug the first aid kit out of the duffel and set it on the table, taking out the peroxide, cotton, the curved stitching needle and thick thread.
"What are you doing?" Cas asked.
"I'm starting a quilting bee." Dean opened the peroxide bottle. "What does it look like?"
"That is unnecessary," Cas said.
The angel leaned forward, and lightly touched Dean’s hand. He felt a flash of warmth, and the cuts across his fingertips disappeared. Dean looked up, eyes wide.
"I thought you couldn't heal any more," he said. "Didn't Heaven cut off your mojo allowance?"
"I have my own reservoir of power," Cas said. "I can't draw directly on the Source, so it replenishes slowly when I use it. I am not strong enough on my own to heal a grave injury..."
Cas’ hand slid up his wrist to his forearm; warmth, then the deep cut closed and vanished. Dean automatically thought of Bobby's shocked expression in the hospital when Cas had told him he would be unable to heal his paralysis.
"But minor wounds like these pose no problem," Cas concluded.
Before Dean could stop him, Cas reached down and laid his hand on the other gash on the inside of Dean's thigh. Like with his arm, there was a flash of warmth, and the edges sealed and disappeared in front of his eyes. This time, though, the warmth turned into a familiar heat that moved up into Dean's groin. He grabbed Cas' wrist and lifted his hand away while trying to unobtrusively shift his normally wide-legged sitting position. The thin towel didn't help hide his erection. Still, Cas might not notice; he was usually Caption Oblivious about these kind of things.
"What's wrong?" Cas asked.
"Nothing." Dean released Cas' hand and stood up, re-adjusting the towel around his waist and turning away. "You just can't touch a guy that close to his Little Soldier."
"I don't understand," Cas sounded genuinely confused.
With a sigh, Dean turned around and found himself almost nose-to-nose with Cas. The guy honestly had no concept of personal space. Dean reached out to push Cas back, instead finding himself grasping a handful of trenchcoat lapel and jerking him forward the few inches it took for their lips to meet. Dean had no idea why he had done it. Maybe it was the shower wank from that morning, Cas having his back in the marsh, or the random memory of being pulled out of Hell. Maybe it was none of those things. It took a few moments to realize Cas' lips weren't yielding under his, and that in fact Cas wasn't responding at all.
Of course he wasn't, Dean thought. With an unexpected pang of disappointment, Dean released the trenchcoat and lifted his head, turning away again.
"Sorry, man," Dean mumbled. "Don't know what I was thinking."
"I did it incorrectly," Cas said.
Dean looked back over his shoulder at Cas, who was standing with his arms at his sides, looking like a kid who'd dropped his Popsicle. Dean frowned, remembering the conversation that had prompted the trip to the social club to get Castiel laid.
"Cas, when you said you'd never done any cloud-bumping, you just meant sex, right?" Dean rubbed the back of his neck, still damp from the shower. "You have kissed before."
Cas glanced away. "When angels are physically demonstrative, it is usually violent," he said.
Dean rubbed his face, resting his palm over his lower jaw as he considered Cas. The sensible part of him said to just let this whole thing go, get dressed and hit the bar. The what the hell part of him said it wasn't right to let a friend go this long without being introduced to the finer points of kissing. Ignoring the sensible voice as usual, Dean walked back over to Cas.
"I'll teach you, Cas," Dean said. "But," he paused and raised an eyebrow. "We're only gonna kiss, okay?"
"What else would we do?" Castiel asked curiously.
"Never mind." Dean lifted his left hand to cup the back of Cas' neck.
"Ah. Are you referring to copulation?" Cas asked.
Dean closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "Cas, if you ask one more question, we're not gonna do anything at all."
Castiel's mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
"Just do what I do," Dean instructed.
Immediately, Cas' right hand went behind Dean's neck. The warm curve of fingers felt good on Dean's cooled skin and the edge of the cuff kind of tickled. Closing his eyes, Dean tilted his head to the right and bent down the scant inch that separated their heights. He immediately bumped against Castiel's nose since Cas had mirrored the movement. Dean straightened.
"No, the other way-" Dean stopped at the confusion on Cas' face and decided to change tactics. "Just relax."
Dean cupped Cas' face in his right hand and tilted it to the side as he bent down again.
"Close your eyes," Dean said softly.
Even though he couldn't count the number of people he'd kissed in his life, Dean felt his heart hammer as he brushed his lips across Cas'. At the beginning, it was the same as the first brief kiss, but as Dean moved, pressing firmly, Cas' lips warmed and softened beneath his own.
"Open your mouth a little," Dean whispered.
Castiel obeyed, and Dean's fingers moved into Cas' short hair, holding his head more firmly as he traced Cas' lips with his tongue and slipped inside. Cas had an odd lack of taste, maybe because he didn't eat, but Dean quickly forgot about it as Cas' tongue started moving against his. Dean groaned. This was good. He pulled their bodies against each other, feeling the buttons on the trenchcoat press into his bare chest. His dick throbbed as the tongue play became more forceful, and Dean struggled to maintain control.

Reluctantly, he withdrew, lightly biting Cas' full lower lip before kissing it and lifting his head. He looked down at Castiel, who still had his eyes closed, face tilted up and mouth slightly open. Damn. Dean felt another rush of desire.
Cas' eyes opened, dilated pupils making the blue darker than usual.
"Why did we stop?" Cas asked.
"Because." Dean cleared his throat when his voice came out husky. "I'm getting too revved up."
When Cas' frown indicated his lack of understanding, Dean gestured at the bulge under the towel. Cas' gaze dropped down to take in Dean's erection, then to the front of his own tented trousers. He seemed mildly surprised.
"Yeah." Dean bent down and scooped up the duffel bag, dropping it onto the bed. "I don't need three showers today," he said as he started pulling out clean clothes.
"I want to finish," Cas said, almost in Dean's ear.
Startled, Dean straightened up to find Castiel once again inside his personal space. The dude moved like a ninja cat.
"Do you even know what you're saying?" Dean asked. "Do you really want your first time to be with a guy?"
"What difference does it make whether it's a woman or a man?" Cas asked, head tilted.
Dean laughed. "Kind of a big difference, actually."
"Just physical differences," Cas insisted. "If it is with you, Dean, it will be good."
"Damn skippy," Dean said flippantly.
His smirk faded at the earnest expression on Cas' face. Without thinking, Dean reached out and brushed his thumb over Cas' cheekbone, then cupped his face. Smooth-shaven, the skin still had the rougher texture of a man's, the harder jaw line. Before he even realized it, Dean was leaning forward, dipping his head for another kiss.

The muffled ring of his cell phone made Dean stop abruptly. He glanced over at the discarded blue jeans on the bathroom floor.
"Damn," he muttered.
Letting his hand drop, Dean padded over to the bathroom and squatted, carefully retrieving his phone from the muddy, bloodied pants.
"Yo," he said as he flipped the phone open.
"Well, I guess your phone isn't at the bottom of the swamp after all," Bobby said in his ear.
Dean winced. He'd missed a check-in call. Again. Since he was riding on hunts solo now, Bobby had instituted check-in calls when he was on a job.
"Sorry, Bobby," Dean apologized. "Cas showed up and I lost track of time."
"Oh, the wingnut's there?" Bobby's tone changed. "You okay, kid?"
"Yeah." Dean briefly recounted the day's events, stopping short of when Castiel had healed him.
"At least you wounded it," Bobby said. "Tomorrow, you-" Bobby paused. "The other idgit's calling."
Dean's chest tightened. "Sam? Is he okay?"
"If you want to know how your brother is doing, call him yourself." Bobby sighed. "I don't know how I managed to raise two girls."
Before Dean could respond, Bobby hung up. He flipped the phone shut and stood, rubbing a hand against the back of his head. Castiel watched him silently by the bed.
"Let's go get those beers, Cas," Dean said.

Castiel glanced around suspiciously at the waitresses wearing tight owl-adorned tank tops and orange shorts that rode up so high the lower half of their buttocks were revealed. Dean had sworn this was simply a male-friendly restaurant and not an actual den of inequity. Dean had ordered them beer, something called barbecue wings that appeared to be roasted fowl, and fried pickles.
"So, where've you been?" Dean asked before taking a swig of beer.
The silver ring on his right ring finger clinked lightly against the bottle. Castiel's eyes followed the line of the hand up the neck of the bottom to Dean's pursed lips. For some reason, Castiel kept finding himself staring at his mouth, feeling the memory of the kisses from the hotel room.
"Before coming here, I was at a monastery in Tibet," Castiel said.
Dean's eyebrows went up, and he stuffed a couple of fried pickles in his mouth.
"Cool," he said around the pickles. "Like kung fu monks?"
"Like meditating monks," Castiel responded.
He wondered how Dean was able to put such large quantities of food in his mouth and still talk. He knew from experience it was not as simple a task as it appeared.
"Huh," Dean sounded disappointed.
Another swig of beer, another handful of pickles. Dean seemed to have no regard for the possible danger to his life from choking. The waitress came to the table, bending over to pick up the empty beer bottles. Castiel's view of Dean was temporarily blocked by her endowments until Dean leaned slightly to the side.
Straightening, the waitress thrust out her lower lip and gave Dean a look before leaving. Castiel frowned. He was aware that his lack of experience in dealing with humanity on a one-to-one basis greatly hampered his understanding of their behavior. He could grasp the broader emotions, but often the subtleties eluded his grasp. He had spent more time with Dean than any other human being on earth. He knew that Dean had a very well-developed, lively libido, and in similar situations to this one, he would have flirted with the waitress. Castiel did not understand why this time Dean did not.
"So, what was Tibet like?" Dean asked, meeting his eyes.
Nor did Castiel understand why he was glad for Dean's discrepancy.
"Peaceful," Castiel said.
Dean laughed. "Yeah, I don't think you'll ever get a job writing travel brochures, Cas," he said.
Castiel didn't know why Dean thought he would attempt to pursue a mortal occupation, but decided it might have been a joke.
"Where were you before that?" Dean watched him around the end of the raised beer bottle.
"The Dead Sea," Castiel said.
"Wait." Dean held out the hand with the beer. "Let me guess. It was... salty."
"Yes," Castiel said, unsure why Dean burst out into laughter.
And so they sat and drank together, Dean asking questions, and Castiel attempting to accommodate him with longer descriptions of his travels. Then, Dean talked about the hunts he had been on eventually up to the one currently in progress for the Stymphalian Bird. Castiel agreed to remain and assist Dean in locating the wounded creature in the morning.

Note: Song lyrics are from "Icarus" and "Wheels" by Kansas.
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Born on Wings of Steel