Fic: Bound in Blood

Author: Duckie
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural
Rating: R.
Genre/ Pairing: PWP, Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: blood, general silliness *smiles*, no beta
Summary: Dean found Castiel trapped in his own blood.
A/N: written for singerofdark for the sweet things said to me. Please do not post this anywhere else.


Dean found Castiel in the basement of the haunted house. The entire room reeked of blood. Castiel was stuck spread-eagle on the wall like something bound him there, leather straps or metal chains invisible to human eyes. Castiel was conscious but he seemed to be fighting it. His head was lolling to his chest and there was blood dripping from a wound somewhere in his head to the bare concrete under his feet.

There was something on the floor, a symbol, drawn with blood. The same blood that dripped from Castiel’s head. Dean had never seen that symbol before. It took the entire floor.

Dean contemplated on stepping on it to get to where Castiel was. However he did not know what it was, he did not want to take the chance. In his line of business precaution was always a good thing.

“I killed the demon,” he informed Castiel from where he stood, across the room, with the blood symbol separating them. The only way to get to Castiel was by stepping on the symbol.

Castiel forced himself to lift his head. “Good,” he whispered weakly. His face was smeared with blood. He looked pale but his eyes were still gleaming brilliantly.

“What happened?”


“He caught me,” said Castiel.

“Can’t you free yourself?” asked Dean. “The demon had died; surely the spell should be gone too.”

“It’s my blood down there,” Castiel jerked his chin a little.

“It’s a human’s blood.”

“It’s my vessel’s blood, Dean.”

“What should I do?”

“Come here and stop the bleeding.”

Dean did not move.

“It’s… it’s okay… just step on it.”

Dean put his foot on the symbol and began walking hesitantly. The blood felt slippery under the soles of his biker boots.

“What happened?” he repeated his question when he finally reached Castiel. He took Castiel’s face in both hands and lifted it up so he could see Castiel’s eyes. There was nothing in there that suggested that Castiel was losing it although the bleeding seemed terminal.

“He caught me,” Castiel repeated the same answer.

“Is this how you catch an angel?” Dean tapped his foot on the symbol.

Castiel did not answer.

Dean decided not to push it. Perhaps later.

“How do I free you?” Dean held Castiel’s face with one hand, while with the other, he checked Castiel’s head for the wound.

“Just stop the bleeding.”

“Stop sounding like a broken cassette,” Dean snapped. “I’m trying to help. Just don’t think that I would use these all against you someday.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Dean snickered. He found the wound. It was not deep, but head wound tended to cause massive bleeding. He needed something, a cloth to press on the wound. “Why would I want to catch you and bind you like this?”

“I don’t know. You seem to have a personal sentiment against me.”

Dean pulled Castiel’s tie off and folded it carelessly and used it to press on the wound. It was made of something synthetic, fake silk or satin. It was not adequate to care for wounds, but he had nothing else.

He thought that it would be better if he just tore his shirt or Castiel’s off to make an emergency bandage.

“How does this help you?” Dean asked again.

“If the bleeding stops, my vessel can get his energy back and so do I and I can break the bind myself,” Castiel said.

It didn’t make sense but then, none what Castiel said ever made any sense.

“I’ll call Sam to bring the first aid kit. He can stitch your head.” There was a horror flickering in Castiel’s eyes that Dean understood. He would not let Sam patch him up too, if he could help it. “Okay,” he smiled. “So I just stand here like this until you’re good to go.”

“Sort of.”

Dean shrugged.

“Sorry,” Castiel whispered.

“Don’t worry.”

Castiel lowered his eyes as if he knew that Dean was uncomfortable at having to look at them for too long. Dean did not mind actually. What bothered him more than standing this close to Castiel that their faces almost touched was the smell of the blood.

It brought back memories he did not want to remember anymore. It sent shiver down his spine, freezing his own blood.

“Dizzy?” he asked, distracting himself from the dangerous thought.

“Yes, a little.”

Dean nodded. Mere humans would have passed out.

“Hurt?” he asked again.

“No.

“Cold?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Castiel lifted his eyes, glaring at Dean.

“You’re cold,” Dean said, staring back into Castiel’s eyes.

“No, that’s my vessel. I’m not affected by the room temperature or the blood loss,” he said.

Probably. But Dean’s blood went colder the longer he inhaled the smell of blood.

It didn’t help that Castiel’s eyes were icy blue like diamonds.

And Dean swore Castiel’s lips were trembling.

He wondered how cold they were.

“Dean, I…,” Castiel gasped when Dean pressed his lips on his.

Castiel’s lips were indeed cold and it made them taste like clouds, or so Dean thought. Plus they were soft. Like clouds.

Dean did not know which one was odder, the fact that he kissed another man, or the fact that he kissed an angel.

But he had kissed an angel before, and somehow it didn’t matter that Castiel was in a male vessel.

Dean broke the kiss when he felt that he needed to breathe.

Castiel stared at him in complete shock, which contradicted with his flushing face and swollen lips. He opened his lips in attempt to speak, “Dean, what the…”

Dean silenced him with another kiss. Castiel’s lips were not so cold anymore, and Dean decided to go farther. Darting his tongue a little, he touched Castiel’s lips and teeth with the tip, giving him a hint to open his mouth. Castiel did, perhaps out of annoyance instead of approval, and Dean delved his tongue into the warm cavern that was Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel made a weak protesting sound at the back of his throat, but Dean ignored it. Warmth had started to spread from below his navel, working its way up to his stomach and chest.

He tore away from the kiss again when oxygen was critical.

Castiel looked much more alive now, there was anger flaming in his eyes. Dean smiled.

On the third try, Castiel was swifter in shifting his face away that Dean found himself kissing Castiel’s ear. Without hesitation, Dean traced the edge of the earlobe with the tip of his tongue.

“Dean… no…” Castiel’s words sounded more like a whimper than a warning.

Dean swooped in intention to put the entire earlobe into his mouth, but perhaps Castiel read his mind that Castiel turned his face again.

And Dean ended up landing on Castiel’s lips, again.

This time, he did not let Castiel go. He used both hands to keep Castiel’s face where it was so he could properly ravish Castiel. Castiel did not give up, Dean did not care. He enjoyed this too much.

Castiel bucked his body.

That was even better, their groins rubbing against each other.

Castiel stopped, probably figuring out that it was bad.

However, Dean decided to continue, because it felt good, it made him warm and excited and he knew Castiel feel the same way too. Well, his vessel – but fuck the vessel, it was Castiel who got all warm and excited.

Castiel struggled to free himself, but he was trapped between Dean’s body and the wall and they were both equally hard and it did not help matters that he was still bound by his own blood; he could not really do anything.

But he bucked and bucked and Dean kissed him deeper, taking the advantage of Castiel paying more attention on the effort of freeing himself than tearing away from Dean’s kiss, and Dean ground his hips harder on Castiel’s hips, and he felt very, very good and he thought that he’d take this all to the motel room and kick Sam away for that night, that night only…

Castiel exploded into a blinding light and Dean stumbled backwards to the concrete floor with the bloody symbol. He automatically covered his eyes with his arms.

When he brought his arm down, the light had disappeared, so had Castiel.

Dean took a deep breath and lay back on the floor, staring at the wall.

His fingers felt the drying blood on the floor.

Castiel’s blood.

His vessel’s blood.

No.

Castiel’s blood.

Dean lifted his hand up and studied the blood stuck on his fingers.

Castiel’s blood, he decided.

And he brought his fingers to his mouth.

* * *

~end