Brilliant Light of Morning
folder
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
6,316
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
6,316
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters herein. I make no money from this.
In The Beginning
4 - 03: In The Beginning
There he was, Alastair, oh God, Alastair, with that dangerous glint in his bright grey eyes, and the razor in his hand. And Dean knew that the razor was just a figment, that he had no body to harm, that it was his soul being torn apart, and not his flesh. But it didn't matter. In fact, it made everything worse, because you could shut out physical pain, Dean's father had trained him to resist torture, but damage to your soul, that was inescapable, and Dean could do nothing as the not-razor slid into his not-flesh like butter.
But that wasn’t the worst of it, no, Alastair had other tortures in store for Dean. Because once Dean’s flesh had grown back, once he was whole again, he would be chained into Alastair’s bed. That was where the real torture began.
Because Alastair understood there was more to torture than just ripping someone apart, there were things you could do that could break a person, shatter them more deeply than any cut or slice.
That bed was the reason Dean had gotten off the rack. The physical torture he could handle. He simply couldn’t handle what Alastair did to him in that bed.
But now, in his dreams, he was back there, on that hard, unforgiving mattress, as Alastair’s slimy tongue slid over his body, probing places no tongue ever had before, poking and prodding and violating, until Dean was crying out, from horror, from disgust, but worst of all, from pleasure. That was the real torture, pleasure being forced on him, against his will, until he was begging for pain, begging for it to stop, then begging for release. Alastair would bring him to the brink and back, until Dean was begging to be fucked, begging to be touched, anything to relieve the awful pressure. Then Alastair would oblige, and Dean would come with a shattered cry and tears rolling down his cheeks, shame burning like bile in his throat until he vomited blood.
And then it would start again.
But this wasn’t real, this was a dream, and slowly the room began to change.
Suddenly, Alastair and his filthy bed were gone, replaced by a darkened kitchen and a pair of bright blue eyes, and a hand on his arm, ghosting over the burned flesh. Soft lips met his and Dean moaned into them, tears welling up, tears of gratitude at his savior this person who had pulled him from Alastair’s torture, this angel who -
This angel.
It was Castiel who held him now, Castiel who’s lips moved over his.
The realization was so sharp that Dean awoke, his heart pounding in the darkened motel room. He waited, feeling a weight on the bed. Was it Sam? Had he been talking in his sleep?
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean gasped and sat up, looking over his shoulder at the sound of the voice. Castiel sat on the edge of the bed. Dean thought he saw a ghost of a smirk on the angel’s face, a glint in his blue eyes, like he knew some big, juicy secret. The angel’s head turned slowly to look at Dean, and he said in a sly voice, “And what were you dreaming about?”
*************
Castiel watched as Dean saw his mother kissing the demon that wore her father’s face, sealing her children’s fate.
Castiel knew he shouldn’t feel as he did, shouldn’t feel at all, but he dared any of his brothers and sisters to watch over Dean Winchester and maintain a stone heart.
He felt guilty over what he did to Dean, that night at Bobby’s. He’d forgotten what his superiors had told him, that the mark on the human connected the two of them, that they couldn’t physically hurt each other, that any show of power on either side would be changed to pleasure. It’s why a mark such as that is so rarely given. It renders the angel who gives it powerless against their charge.
He’d intended to scare Dean, to make his power bite across Dean’s skin and through his body, to punish him like a master would a dog.
But instead, he’d inflicted intense pleasure on the human, and on himself. The moment he felt it, he knew should retreat, but Castiel had never felt pleasure like that, had never encountered something so primal. So he’d continued, until the human had climaxed, and sank to the floor. And then, he’d left, to seek revelation, and deal with the odd sensations rolling through his host’s body.
Once it had been explained to him what he’d done, he’d vowed to maintain his distance from Dean Winchester.
But then, just that evening, he’d come to Dean Winchester’s side, listened to his dreams, and found himself to be the star. So much for maintaining distance.
Yet, he’d done as he was ordered, had brought Dean back to the moment it all began, and now had to watch as Dean’s already fragile heart broke again, watch as his own mother betrayed him.
Castiel couldn’t take it anymore. He felt Dean’s pain as a hollow in his chest. He just wanted it to go away.
Moving to the human’s side, he place a hand on his shoulder. Dean turned, and the pain and tears in his eyes made Castiel frown as unbidden thoughts came to his head, thoughts of licking away Dean’s tears. “I’m sorry,” he said instead.
Dean’s bottom lip trembled, and he bit it, and oh, what that did to Castiel’s host. “What was the point?” he asked. “What was the goddamn point?”
Castiel shook his head. He could tell him later. For now, he lifted his hand, resting it on Dean’s slightly rough cheek. Dean seemed shocked, then after several seconds, leaned into the touch, his eyes drifting closed. Then, before Castiel could react, Dean had caught hold of the angel’s wrist, and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Castiel had never been hugged before, but understood immediately why humans did it so often. The warmth coming off Dean’s body as it was held against his was powerfully comforting, and Castiel wrapped his arms around the other man, giving in to it.
It took him several moments, but he realized that the hug was no longer just a friendly embrace, that it had evolved into something else. Dean’s hand now rested at the base of Castiel’s neck, his fingers toying with the short, dark hair there. Castiel felt his hand do the same to Dean, felt the man shudder under his cool touch. Dean pulled back slightly, so that they were facing each other, nose to nose. Castiel saw something in those green depths that he’d only ever known on an intellectual level, something he had never seen nor experienced.
Lust.
Panic set in then as Dean leaned forward, his breath on Castiel’s face, smelling of beer and spices, and Castiel didn’t know what to do. He feared for Dean’s safety, feared what his brother’s and sisters might say or do. He simply couldn’t stand there and kiss his charge, he simply couldn’t. So, he did the only thing he could think of. The moment Dean’s lips touched his, Castiel spirited them back to the present.
Maybe Dean would think it was all a dream.
*************
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There he was, Alastair, oh God, Alastair, with that dangerous glint in his bright grey eyes, and the razor in his hand. And Dean knew that the razor was just a figment, that he had no body to harm, that it was his soul being torn apart, and not his flesh. But it didn't matter. In fact, it made everything worse, because you could shut out physical pain, Dean's father had trained him to resist torture, but damage to your soul, that was inescapable, and Dean could do nothing as the not-razor slid into his not-flesh like butter.
But that wasn’t the worst of it, no, Alastair had other tortures in store for Dean. Because once Dean’s flesh had grown back, once he was whole again, he would be chained into Alastair’s bed. That was where the real torture began.
Because Alastair understood there was more to torture than just ripping someone apart, there were things you could do that could break a person, shatter them more deeply than any cut or slice.
That bed was the reason Dean had gotten off the rack. The physical torture he could handle. He simply couldn’t handle what Alastair did to him in that bed.
But now, in his dreams, he was back there, on that hard, unforgiving mattress, as Alastair’s slimy tongue slid over his body, probing places no tongue ever had before, poking and prodding and violating, until Dean was crying out, from horror, from disgust, but worst of all, from pleasure. That was the real torture, pleasure being forced on him, against his will, until he was begging for pain, begging for it to stop, then begging for release. Alastair would bring him to the brink and back, until Dean was begging to be fucked, begging to be touched, anything to relieve the awful pressure. Then Alastair would oblige, and Dean would come with a shattered cry and tears rolling down his cheeks, shame burning like bile in his throat until he vomited blood.
And then it would start again.
But this wasn’t real, this was a dream, and slowly the room began to change.
Suddenly, Alastair and his filthy bed were gone, replaced by a darkened kitchen and a pair of bright blue eyes, and a hand on his arm, ghosting over the burned flesh. Soft lips met his and Dean moaned into them, tears welling up, tears of gratitude at his savior this person who had pulled him from Alastair’s torture, this angel who -
This angel.
It was Castiel who held him now, Castiel who’s lips moved over his.
The realization was so sharp that Dean awoke, his heart pounding in the darkened motel room. He waited, feeling a weight on the bed. Was it Sam? Had he been talking in his sleep?
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean gasped and sat up, looking over his shoulder at the sound of the voice. Castiel sat on the edge of the bed. Dean thought he saw a ghost of a smirk on the angel’s face, a glint in his blue eyes, like he knew some big, juicy secret. The angel’s head turned slowly to look at Dean, and he said in a sly voice, “And what were you dreaming about?”
*************
Castiel watched as Dean saw his mother kissing the demon that wore her father’s face, sealing her children’s fate.
Castiel knew he shouldn’t feel as he did, shouldn’t feel at all, but he dared any of his brothers and sisters to watch over Dean Winchester and maintain a stone heart.
He felt guilty over what he did to Dean, that night at Bobby’s. He’d forgotten what his superiors had told him, that the mark on the human connected the two of them, that they couldn’t physically hurt each other, that any show of power on either side would be changed to pleasure. It’s why a mark such as that is so rarely given. It renders the angel who gives it powerless against their charge.
He’d intended to scare Dean, to make his power bite across Dean’s skin and through his body, to punish him like a master would a dog.
But instead, he’d inflicted intense pleasure on the human, and on himself. The moment he felt it, he knew should retreat, but Castiel had never felt pleasure like that, had never encountered something so primal. So he’d continued, until the human had climaxed, and sank to the floor. And then, he’d left, to seek revelation, and deal with the odd sensations rolling through his host’s body.
Once it had been explained to him what he’d done, he’d vowed to maintain his distance from Dean Winchester.
But then, just that evening, he’d come to Dean Winchester’s side, listened to his dreams, and found himself to be the star. So much for maintaining distance.
Yet, he’d done as he was ordered, had brought Dean back to the moment it all began, and now had to watch as Dean’s already fragile heart broke again, watch as his own mother betrayed him.
Castiel couldn’t take it anymore. He felt Dean’s pain as a hollow in his chest. He just wanted it to go away.
Moving to the human’s side, he place a hand on his shoulder. Dean turned, and the pain and tears in his eyes made Castiel frown as unbidden thoughts came to his head, thoughts of licking away Dean’s tears. “I’m sorry,” he said instead.
Dean’s bottom lip trembled, and he bit it, and oh, what that did to Castiel’s host. “What was the point?” he asked. “What was the goddamn point?”
Castiel shook his head. He could tell him later. For now, he lifted his hand, resting it on Dean’s slightly rough cheek. Dean seemed shocked, then after several seconds, leaned into the touch, his eyes drifting closed. Then, before Castiel could react, Dean had caught hold of the angel’s wrist, and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Castiel had never been hugged before, but understood immediately why humans did it so often. The warmth coming off Dean’s body as it was held against his was powerfully comforting, and Castiel wrapped his arms around the other man, giving in to it.
It took him several moments, but he realized that the hug was no longer just a friendly embrace, that it had evolved into something else. Dean’s hand now rested at the base of Castiel’s neck, his fingers toying with the short, dark hair there. Castiel felt his hand do the same to Dean, felt the man shudder under his cool touch. Dean pulled back slightly, so that they were facing each other, nose to nose. Castiel saw something in those green depths that he’d only ever known on an intellectual level, something he had never seen nor experienced.
Lust.
Panic set in then as Dean leaned forward, his breath on Castiel’s face, smelling of beer and spices, and Castiel didn’t know what to do. He feared for Dean’s safety, feared what his brother’s and sisters might say or do. He simply couldn’t stand there and kiss his charge, he simply couldn’t. So, he did the only thing he could think of. The moment Dean’s lips touched his, Castiel spirited them back to the present.
Maybe Dean would think it was all a dream.
*************
PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!