Tag: nsfw

winchester-reload:

Inktober Day 22 Topic: Sigils (/Symbols)

-Cake?-

Doing this thing

[A/N It’s my bday today so just let this crack art wash over you like a tidal wave of too much booze and sugar, or think of it as artistic support for the meta theory that Cas is that slice of cake Dean wants to eat so badly. Either one. ]

“@winchester-reload​: Happy Birthday!

Dean has an epic amount of pornography on his computer. Castiel knows this. Chuck told him about it. He hadn’t seen it at the time; had no reason to desire to, but things have changed. A lot. For a week, Castiel begs off of hunts. Locks himself in his room. And he watches Dean’s epic amount of pornography. It takes about a week for Castiel to have a solid grasp on the themes he sees over and over. Formulate an idea of what Dean might like.

When it’s time, he he gathers his supplies and prepares himself. He’s not embarrassed, but he is confused. He’s not sure that he understands the appeal here. But now is the time to see the results. As he knocks on Dean’s door, he entertains the very real possibility that he might be laughed at. It’s not a pleasant thought.

Irrationally,he wants to back away from the door, but then Dean is calling for him to come in and it’s too late. He pushes open the door.

Dean does not laugh. Dean does not move. Dean does not blink.

“Happy Birthday,” Castiel says.

That seems to break the seal. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Dean says. “Cas?”

Castiel raises his right arm higher. “Cake?”

“What the fuck?”

“They were out of pie,” Castiel explains regretfully. “And I can’t cook, so you get a cake.”

Dean sits up very slowly. More slowly he scoots down the bed. Slower still, he drapes his legs over the edge of the bed. “You’re naked,” Dean says.

“Of course I am,” Castiel frowns. “It’s your birthday.”

Dean shakes his head like he doesn’t understand what’s going on here. That confuses Castiel. He should know. It’s about as obvious as he can make it. He’s naked save for the tie around his neck and the ridiculous paper hat that he regrets because the strap cuts into his chin. He’s holding a cake. The door is shut and locked securely behind him. “Hell of a surprise party,” Dean says after a minute, and at least he’s starting to smile.

“It was intended to be a good surprise,” Castiel worries. Perhaps the pornography had steered him in the wrong direction. Considering how any times Dean had watched that one with just this scenario, Castiel had thought it would be a welcome gift.

Still with slow, purposeful movements, Dean reaches out and pinches the bottom of the tie between two fingers. “It sure ain’t a bad one.” He tugs with no force whatsoever, but Castiel draws closer anyway. “Presents first, cake later,” he murmurs.

Castiel starts to apologize about the present. He’d completely forgotten about it in the rest of the planning. But all that comes out is a strangled shout when the wet heat of Dean’s mouth suddenly engulfs the tip of his dick. His whole body startles so violently that the cake almost falls. Luckily it appears that Dean has anticipated the issue, because his hand comes up under Castiel’s, and he rescues it before it can cause a mess.

That frees Castiel’s hands up so that he can place them on either side of Dean’s head and peer down at him with all the wonder in the world.

Dean says nothing else, but it would be a shame if he had to because his mouth is working miracles. His tongue swirls and strokes, teases and tortures, and Castiel couldn’t possibly say how long it goes on when Dean finally grabs the base of the angel’s cock, and as slowly as he’s done everything else, eases the hard length into his mouth all the way down to the root.

Dimly, Castiel remembers that this is called “deep throating” and that it is extremely difficult – sometimes impossible – to master.

Dean, though; beautiful Dean, drinks him down with the close-eyed bliss of a connoisseur. He makes a small moan in his chest, hollows his cheeks, and sucks everything – blood, bone, marrow, grace, everything – out from Castiel’s dick. He’d be ashamed of the absurd hyperbole, but it feels accurate.

When he comes, it’s straight down the back of Dean’s throat to a hurricane in his veins and the human below him swallowing every drop like it’s a necessity of life. Then he moans again, the vibrations ricocheting up Castiel’s spine, and he comes, too. Despite the obscene pleasure, Castiel still has the sense to be slightly disappointed that he missed Dean jerking himself off.

The aftermath is a gorgeous tableau, however. Dean grins up at him, flushed bright and dirtied with come on his chin and hand. “Okay,” he says hoarsely, delightedly. “You sold me on this birthday thing. Now lets eat some cake.”

Sastiel, college roommate au, one or the other of the boys has been using the sock-on-the-door signal to get time to himself to jerk off without risking his roommate hearing him say his name in the throes of passion… until the day said roommate really needs that textbook/paper/forgotten item and bursts in anyway.

Sam feels so bad about this right now. So bad. It’s been a whole semester that he and Castiel have been living together, and both have been very diligent about following the house rules. Then again, he didn’t expect the sock on the door rule to be so… frequent.

Not that Sam can deny how hot Castiel is. Because… he totally is. It doesn’t surprise him at all that the guy’s getting plenty of action. Except… that it kinda does.

Castiel doesn’t seem to go out much. He goes to the university gym early (with Sam only), then goes to the coffee shop for breakfast (with Sam only). Then he showers (with himself only), then he goes to class (walking with Sam only), then he comes home (two hours before Sam). He hated the one party that Sam took him to. And he shrugs when Sam asks if he ever wants to have his friends over.

Where is he meeting these people? He’s quiet and thoughtful. Smart as all hell. And he’s got the best smile Sam’s ever seen.

So, all data considered, Sam hates that fucking sock on the door. It means that Castiel is getting laid (without Sam) and it… it sucks. It sucks a lot. And Sam is more than happy to follow the rule because his indigestion can’t handle seeing it, hearing it, not being a part of it. But he’s got a presentation to give in thirty minutes and his laptop and flash drive are still in his bedroom. He needs them as much as he doesn’t need his own stupid jealousy.

Like a secret agent breaking into a room, Sam unlocks the front door and creeps inside without a sound. He tiptoes past the living room and down the hallway. He’s holding his breath as if that can somehow stop the creaky hinge on his bedroom door, when a soft voice filters through Castiel’s door.

“Faster, Sam, please!” It begs.

Sam goes incredibly cold and hot all in a second. Of all the fucking luck. Castiel isn’t fucking him, but now it’s another Sam? 

Don’t be a perv, don’t be a perv, don’t be a perv. Sam presses his ear to Castiel’s door like a perv. And something’s a little… off. It doesn’t seem like Castiel’s having sex. Sam’s been so grossly obsessed, that he knows all the creaks in Castiel’s bed springs when he tosses and turns late at night. He knows the sound of the drawers opening and closing. He certainly knows the sound of Castiel’s voice. Right now, there’s no creaking, and there’s only one voice.

Panting, moaning, quiet, so quiet, “oh, God, Sam!” 

Then silence.

Sam gulps. Shifts and tries to will away his sudden, urgent, painful erection. It’s just not possible. It can’t be possible. It’s too good. Too unthinkable.

He’s stood there too long.

The door swings open inwards and Castiel is there in his pajama pants and a thin blue t-shirt. He actually shouts in surprise when he runs into Sam.

Sam blinks, face burning. “Um,” he says. “I…”

Castiel looks down in embarrassment, but it doesn’t escape Sam’s notice that his gaze stops right at his waist. Shit.

Calmly, Castiel looks back up. His expression is inscrutable, but he says, “Sam, I think we should talk.”

Sam nods. He agrees he totally agrees. “Just a sec, though,” he croaks, and he leans down to kiss his best friend.

The noise Castiel makes is better than anything that filtered out through the door. His arms go around Sam’s neck. 

That night, the sock on the door goes back in the drawer where it belongs.

So, my absolutely incredible DCBB artist, Labluekatt1721 went so far above and beyond the call of duty for my story, Finger Painted Grace, I can’t even handle it. On top of the official art for the fic, she also sent me all of these sketches and gave me permission to make a sketch dump here of them since she doesn’t have a Tumblr. Some of them are NSFW, so beware!

Aren’t they beautiful? I’m floored by all of them. So beautiful and sexy and amazing. She was a jewel to work with, and made my story so much more than it was by itself.

[ Here is a link to the other official DCBB art ]

[ Read Finger Painted Grace in its entirety here ] 

winchester-reload:

I really needed a redo on this one

@wearingmywings & @casanddeanwinchester (though I now know you’re not into the bottom!dean… this is an equal opportunity-topping blog :P)

@winchester-reload : Here is your payment of 1 (one) smuts! 😀

“I can heal you,” Castiel says. “If you’ll let me.”

“Yeah,” Dean answers. He must really be hurting to agree so readily.

There’s an opportunity here. Castiel pushes his luck. “I need to see how bad it is. Take off your clothes.” He hopes that he’s said it neutrally enough that Dean doesn’t get any ideas.

He’s really hurting because he does. Immediately. Castiel refuses to blink.

The wounds aren’t too bad. Nothing that threatens his life. But it’s still a chance, and Castiel keeps pushing his luck. He steps around behind Dean. Reaches out. Curls his left arm around and flattens his palm over Dean’s chest. “Hold still.” His eyes flash unearthly blue-white, tendrils of his grace seeping into Dean’s skin, through his veins.

Dean does not hold still. He gasps and arches his back, keens high in his throat, and his legs give out.

Carefully, Castiel guides him down making gentle soothing noises, but Dean’s past hearing them. They’ve gone past so many things, and the only path left is for Castiel to push his luck.

Dean is boneless in his arms, leaning heavily forward, panting. “Cas,” he whispers. A suspicious sobbing sound crawls up his chest into his throat. “What’ll you do? What can you do?”

“Everything,” Castiel promises against the shell of the hunter’s ear. When his right hand dibs low over Dean’s belly, he can’t even describe the feeling that rushes through him when he finds Dean hard. Pliable to his ministrations. “Oh,” he murmurs.

“Now, Cas,” Dean growls. “Now, Goddammit!”

It doesn’t take much. Castiel’s learned over the years that being an angel isn’t worth much to him or anyone he cares about. But here and how, there are a few bonuses. On a sigh, his wings unfurl behind him, aching as much as his body. “Touch them,” he says, lazily stroking Dean’s dick. They curl forward, desperate for Dean, brushing his sides.

With weighted arms, Dean does as he’s told, fingers clenching in the midnight feathers, squeezing, stimulating the oil glands. Castiel cries out at the electric sensation, jerking, but Dean’s got the idea now. He coats his hands with the musky oil, then reaches back between them, awkwardly grabbing for Castiel’s cock.

It’s thick and hot in his hands, and he coats the whole length with the oil while Castiel’s oily fingers slip inside him where no one’s dared to touch him before. Stretching him wide in an exquisite burn. It feels like it goes on forever. The only way that Dean registers something changing is the loss of Castiel’s fingers for a second before a blunt pressure is against his hole.

“Dean,” is the only warning he gets before Castiel breaches him achingly slow.

And it’s every stupid fucking cliche Dean’s ever heard or thought of before as Castiel moves inside him, wiping away all the foolish years they should have been doing this before. It’s right. He never should have thought otherwise.

Castiel fucks into him slow and hard, punching their air out of both their lungs with every thrust.

Dean’s hands slap onto the floor, palms spread, just trying to hold on. Hold out. But he can’t when Castiel uses the leverage to fuck him and stroke his dick at the same time. It’s heaven. Better than. He’s been to heaven, and this is about a million times better.

A litany of Enochian curses spills from Castiel’s lips as his hips swing faster and faster. “Dean, I’m – fuck!”

He trembles and comes, hips snapping against Dean’s ass, hands tightening painfully around his middle. His fingers slip on Dean’s cock, but it doesn’t matter. It’s enough to come hot over Castiel’s hands.

In the aftermath, Dean breathes deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. For once, though, he doesn’t duck away. He says, “I don’t wanna stop this. Any of it.”

Castiel wraps the hunter in his wings, praying for once that his luck never runs out. “Neither do I.”