Weak Wings (Destiel)

Theory

Rewrite #2! We're making progress, ladies and gentlemen.

Wew.

-x-

Dean grumbled, rolling out of bed. He sat at the end, rubbing his eyes and smacking the alarm clock with all the grace of a five year old (It took him at least four attempts). He let his hands slide from his cheeks to his chin, feeling the stubble that had grown, and sighed.

He stumbled to the bathroom in nothing but a pair of jeans, his freckled shoulders warming in the sunlight from the living room. On his way, he glanced over to see Castiel curled up on the couch, tucked in the corner where it turned. His wings stretched out lazily behind him, one hooked around the back of the couch and one splayed across the coffee table. He made sure not to wake the sleeping angel, pushing open the bathroom door and shutting it behind himself silently.

Huh. I didn't know angels even slept, he thought to himself with a little chuckle.

He rolled the bottom of the tube of toothpaste, squeezing a line onto his toothbrush. He ran the bristles under the stream of water of the sink, and then stuffed it into his mouth, scrubbing his molars. When he had finished brushing his teeth he proceeded to grab his razor, quickly shaving his too-long stubble. He winked to himself in the mirror when he was done, glad with the cleaned-up appearance as a result. He pat his face with a towel, then left the bathroom.

When he got back to the living room, Castiel was still in the same position, his wings twitching involuntarily. One suddenly fluttered, lifting up a foot or so, then resting back on the coffee table where it had been. Dean approached cautiously, drawn in by the soft, fluffy texture and the sleek, shiny feathers. He sat carefully on the side of the couch, and reached for the wing that spread over the coffee table.

The feathers were as soft as he'd remembered, and as he ran his hand along them, he flinched, Castiel turning on the couch a bit, mumbling incoherant words in his sleep. His wing pushed back against Dean's hand, almost eagerly. Dean chuckled, running his down further along his wing towards the angel's back, causing the mumbling to raise in pitch.

The further he went and the more he stroked the wing, the louder Castiel would be - all without waking up. Then, suddenly, the mumbling was replaced by a startling moan. Dean retreated, pulling his hand back against his chest in surprise. This must be when he would have pushed Dean against the wall and tried to shove his tongue down his throat. He wasn't sure how touching feathers translated to that, but with Castiel asleep, he could figure more out without repercussions.

The angel's wing stretched out further, looking for Dean's touch again. He placed it back, slowly, and watched closely as it spread out to its full length, skimming the ceiling in the next room. This allowed Dean access to the softest feathers underneath the long, sleek ones. He reached under a single feather, running a finger along the softer one beneath. The angel let out a softer moan, slurring his words. It sounded more like English this time.

Interest peaked, Dean Dean ran his finger over the spot again, rubbing downwards towards the other downy feathers. Cas's other wing shot back immediately, accompanied by a louder moan. Instead of a mumble, the next word he said was clear as day.

"Dean!" he gasped, his own back arching with his wings. Dean pulled back in surprise, his mouth wide open, shocked. He quickly ran back to his room as silently as possible, shutting the door just as the angel shot up from his spot on the couch, out of breath and sweaty.

So, that was it. The angel's wings must be extremely sensitive. So much so that it brought them pleasure when others touched them. Did Castiel even realize that? He'd have to get more information to confirm his theory... but the angel really could help it, could he?