spn ficlets

Hi, I'm riley and every day of 2014, I will be posting something on this blog. (Usually deancas, maybe occasional cockles.) Length and quality vary widely. Please take a moment to check out my faq.

I don't accept prompts.

I track spnficlets and cherishedcastiel.

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It’s still dark when Castiel slips away from the bunker.  He walks east, into the trees, as though trying to meet the sun halfway.  As he picks his way carefully through the dense undergrowth, he gives himself over to the memories he usually keeps tucked safely away.  Tears sting his eyes when he thinks of his long absent Father and of the brothers and sisters he’s lost - and killed - in the time since he took the human form of Jimmy Novak, father and husband from Pontiac, Illinois.  

The first rays of light are filtering through the canopy of leaves over his head when he reaches the small stream nestled as far away from civilization as his wingless form can easily travel.  He finds a flat-topped rock and takes a seat, surrounded by the songs and morning chatter of the birds in the treetops reassembling their flocks to face the challenges of a new day, much as his own garrison once did.  Castiel stays by the stream as the morning sun burns off the scant fog, leaving the air around him early-autumn crisp and clear and as close to Heaven as the Earth will allow.  

He sits surrounded by his Father’s creations, staring at the water moving by as inexorably as time itself, and grieves for what he and his vessel have lost and for what he’s chosen to give up.  He lingers until the sun is high overhead and the birds have long since taken to wing to conduct the business of nature, leaving him with only the sound of water over rocks and the occasional rustle in the underbrush.  As he does every year on this, the anniversary of the day of his human rebirth, Castiel makes peace with his past so that he may see the beauty in his future.

When Cas moved into the bunker it was decided that Dean should get a TV for their bedroom.  It wasn’t that Sam minded watching movies with them, really; it’s just that he thought they might like their privacy sometimes, too.  Dean balked at first, but since he installed the TV three weeks ago, he’s decided it was probably the best idea Sam ever had.

They no longer have to to worry about sitting too close and making Sam uncomfortable; they lie together, usually with Dean’s head on Castiel’s chest or vice versa.  Nor do they have to be conscious of the way they touch one another; wrapped in one another’s arms or with their fingers slotted or with a leg thrown over the other’s thigh.  They can also pause the movie for an extended kissing scene of their own or just because they’re struggling to stay awake for another second.  

They still watch movies with Sam, of course; but, Dean can’t help thinking that there’s definitely a draw to having their own TV as he puts Casa Erotica 16 in the attached DVD player.

Even after a big fight Dean can’t stay mad at Castiel.  Which is infuriating in itself, to say the least, since Cas is obviously still angry.  Dean had turned on his heel and stomped out of library in mid-shouting match, fists balled in anger, at least half an hour ago.  Now, standing in the kitchen aggressively peeling potatoes for tonight’s dinner, he wants nothing more than to go back and apologize and kiss away the hurt and anger that had pulled Castiel’s face into a guarded mask.  Instead, he peels the potato in his hand a little more roughly.

"Dean?"  Castiel’s voice comes from the kitchen doorway a few minutes later, tentative.  "Can we talk?"

Dean stiffens, squeezing the potato so hard it pops out of his hand, landing in the bottom of the stainless steel sink with a metallic thud.  Castiel’s quiet words send an irrational spike of panic down his spine, settling like a lump of coal in the pit of his stomach.  Try as he might, Dean can’t swallow down the feeling that this talk will be the end of everything.  He reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, forcing away the tears that threaten before he turns around to face the music.

"What’s up, Cas?"  

Dean tries to keep his voice light.  He plasters on a smile and pretends his bottom lip isn’t trying to quiver when he does.  Castiel steps fully into the kitchen and returns Dean’s smile, small and awkward, as he fiddles with a button on his coat.

"I just came to say I’m sorry," Cas says.  With one hand he smooths down the lapel of his jacket, then rubs at the back of his neck as though gathering his courage.  "I was wrong to yell at you."

"I’m sorry, too," Dean says without hesitation.  Relief rushes to the tips of his fingers like an electric jolt and his smile widens to a grin even as bafflement clouds Castiel’s face.  "I’m so fucking sorry I got that mad over something so stupid and I don’t even care who was right I just don’t want us to be mad anymore."

Cas nods, his own smile growing more genuine by the second though he looks no less confused by Dean’s outburst.  He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and studies Dean’s face for a moment as though trying to decide whether or not he should stay before gesturing to the pile of vegetables beside the sink.

"Want some help?"

Dean turns and grabs another knife from the block to offer to Castiel along with a heartfelt, “I’d like that.”

Photographer Cas and his camera shy boyfriend, Dean.  Inspired by this (semi-nsfw).

Since the day they started dating, Castiel has been dying to get his boyfriend in front of his camera.  In all his years as a photographer, he’s rarely seen someone as effortlessly beautiful as Dean.  In Cas’ opinion, it’s a tragedy that Dean is also one of the most camera shy people he’s ever met.  They’ve been dating for three months before Castiel gets so much as a snapshot of Dean and it’s three months more before he gets a proper photo of him.

They’ve been dating for nearly a year when he broaches the subject of taking pictures of Dean with his clothes off.  He waits until after a particularly nice dinner and a couple of glasses of wine and until they’re under the covers in the bed of their tiny apartment, sharing chocolate-flavored kisses.  With his lips pressed to the curve of Dean’s ear, Castiel steels himself for rejection.

“I want to take pictures of you, Dean,” Cas murmurs.

“You took pics yesterday,” Dean grumbles in return, his hand sliding lazily up Castiel’s back.

“Not that kind of pictures,” Cas says, following the words with a kiss to Dean’s ear.  He pulls his head back and looks down at his lover in the faint moonlight.

“What kind of pictures, then?”  Dean’s voice is guarded instantly, his hand stilling at the small of Castiel’s back.


“Like,” Dean says, his fingertips pressing into Castiel’s skin.  “Like, naked pics?”

“Yeah,” Castiel answers with a nod.  He brushes his thumb across Dean’s lips and smiles as he leans in close.  “They’d be tasteful.  And your face wouldn’t be in them at all.”

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"Dean, I’ve never.." Castiel groans breathlessly.  

The rest of the sentence dies on his lips, lost in the slow press of Dean’s hips to his own in the half-darkness of the motel room.  Dean’s hands are on his face, tender and pulling their foreheads together as he gasps a hard breath and then another.  Castiel’s head feels pleasantly light as he tries to remember just exactly how they got barely inside the door or how his back ended up against it.  Torn as he is between the excitement of what might happen and worry about the same, he loses the memory almost as soon as he finds it.

"I know," Dean says, his voice strained at the edges.  "I know, Cas."

They’ve been playing this game for months, stolen kisses and sly touches, but they’ve always stopped short of..  whatever this is.  Dean pulls Castiel in for another kiss, his lips plump and slick from the kisses that came before; suddenly, Cas is falling, falling, falling.  He pushes his hips forward experimentally as Dean’s tongue teases against his own, a whimper pulled from his throat at the drag of his cock against what could only be the equal hardness of Dean’s.

"We don’t have to," Dean murmurs as he breaks away from the kiss.  His hips are pressed tight and holding, his mouth at the curve of Castiel’s jaw, stubble dragging deliciously. "It’s okay if we don’t." 

Cas shivers and tries to stop the shaking of his hands as they settle on Dean’s waist.  Eyes closed tightly, he struggles to process Dean’s words, then to decide how to answer.  It’d be easier, of course, if those plush, wet lips weren’t teasing at the side of his neck.  He forces a deep breath and opens his mouth to speak, but Dean’s teeth worry at the delicate skin below his ear and he forgets the words that were on the tip of his tongue, able only to moan.

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After an hour of searching, Dean finds Cas standing twenty feet from the bunker’s front entrance, head tilted back, staring at the night sky.  He deliberates for a moment on whether he should interrupt or not and has almost decided to leave Castiel alone with his musings when he sees the now-flightless angel shiver and pull his ever-present coat more tightly around his body.  

The act itself wouldn’t be out of the ordinary; except it’s early September and unseasonably warm in Kansas.  His decision made, Dean closes the gap with a few long strides, clearing his throat to let Cas know he’s there.  He doesn’t stop until his arms are wrapped around Castiel’s waist, his chest pressed to Castiel’s back.

"Cold?"  He asks, his chin finding a comfortable spot on Cas’ shoulder.

"No," Cas answers; his voice distracted as he continues scanning the heavens, his body stiff against Dean’s.

"Wanna talk about it?"  Dean knows he’s pushing, so he keeps the question gentle.

"No," Castiel answers again after a moment’s pause.

Dean waits, arms squeezed loosely around Castiel’s middle, expecting his body to soften.  When it doesn’t happen, he shifts uncomfortably and lets his hands find Castiel’s hips instead as he presses his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder.  Cas still doesn’t budge, so Dean swallows down a flood of disappointment and presses a soft kiss just below Cas’ earlobe and says, “I’ll be inside if you need me.”

No,” Castiel says for a third time, the answer quick and his hands suddenly, frantically grabbing Dean’s.  He clears his throat as he pulls Dean’s arms back around his waist and whispers, “Please stay.”

With Cas in his bed every night, Dean rarely feels the urge to jerk off anymore.  Today; however, is one of those rare days.  He’s been stretched out in the middle of the bed since he got out of the shower, teasing himself into a state of trembling anticipation.  It’s so good when he finally wraps a loose fist around his leaking cock and starts to stroke, so good his breath comes in ragged gasps and his belly twists with need.

Eyes closed, he strokes slowly up and down his thick shaft, pulling his fist over the head of his cock each time; squeeze, twist, repeat.  The first indication he’s no longer alone is a warm hand in the middle of his stomach, fingers splayed.  Dean gasps, his face flushing with embarrassment instantly as he guiltily yanks his hands away from his body.  He opens his eyes just in time to see Cas sinking to sit beside him.

"No, don’t stop," Castiel says, thick and rough.  He scratches lightly across Dean’s belly, then lets his thumb drag down the hollow just inside his hipbone as he adds, "Unless you want to.”

It’s a request Dean is more than happy to fulfill.  He grins, his cheeks growing even hotter as the blush spreads to his neck and ears, the warm twist in the pit of his stomach growing warmer as he takes his cock in hand again.  Castiel’s palm glides down Dean’s thigh as he slowly starts to jerk himself off again, squeezing at thick muscle and pulling his legs open wider.  Dean’s breath quickly returns to gasps of pleasure as he strokes and twists, eyes closed once more, exaggerating each movement for Castiel’s viewing pleasure.

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unexpected places Dean has kissed Castiel:

unexpected places Castiel has kissed Dean:

Dean doesn’t dance and Cas knows it.  It’s a mystery, then, how after nothing more than a judicious application of puppy-dog eyes, they’re swaying in one another’s arms in the middle of their bedroom.  In the cramped space, with the Led Zeppelin record long since over and Dean’s chin rested on Castiel’s shoulder, their bodies find a slow rhythm guided by the beat of their hearts.

It’s nice, Dean has to admit, the way Castiel’s hands seem made to hold his hips.  Nicer still is Castiel’s face tucked against the side of his neck, complete with warm breath and a smile Dean can feel.  He tightens his arms around Castiel’s waist, pulling their bodies closer together and is rewarded with a soft “mm” that rumbles from Cas’ chest to his own.

"It’s not so bad, is it?"  Castiel kisses just under Dean’s earlobe to punctuate the question.

Dean smiles to himself at the fleeting thought that maybe Cas is a mind reader.  He turns his head to press a kiss to the curve of Castiel’s ear and answers earnestly, “It’s great, Cas.”

I love your blog but your theme makes the letters so small my eyes hurt when I read. Could you please make the text posts bigger? :)

It should be better now, Anon! <3