Wine to the Senses || Castiel (Supernatural)
Castiel (Supernatural) x Reader
Summary: Castiel, your guardian angel, lets you see his wings for the first time. He's a being that's essentially ageless, he's existed since before time was counted. Given that fact, his body's reaction to a mortal's touch surprises you both.
Content: Human Reader, Slight Suggestive Themes, Biblical References, Wing Kink, Edging/Teasing (kinda, non-sexual).
“God, they’re so beautiful, Cas.” The words gasp from your lips breathlessly when your guardian angel finally shows you his wings. Your praise comes out in almost a whisper, softened with awe. That's how utterly breathtaking the sight of the deity's true form registers in your admiring gaze. The sight of him shimmers in your pupils like diamonds, you feel a surge of serotonin flood your brain.
His wings slowly sprout from his bare back to expose their ethereal nature. It's like magic, the heavenly extremities manifest before your eyes from nothing. Growing higher and higher into the pale moonlight that's glistening through the sky light above. The sound of them coming into being is like a large tree rustling in the wind.
His wings breached his warm olive skin and became the eighth wonder of the world; fluttering with the beauty and grace of a swan. Nothing could have prepared you for their magnificence and size. They're large, much larger and taller than him, let alone you.
Big, plush feathers as white as the clouds cover them like a dusting of fresh snow. They look as soft as cotton candy, as if they'd melt in the warmth of your mouth. Yet so strong at the same time. There's an iridescence to them, a spectrum of colors shimmer in your eyes when they catch the light just right; causing them to twinkling like stars.
Your lips hang parted with awe that curls into a smile of pure glee as you admire him in truth. You look up in amazement at the towering height of their powder whiteness, gazing like a child does at the lights on a Christmas tree.
The fact that this has been his true form this whole time is staggering. His enormous wings catch the cool air and swirl it around the room and through your hair; he stretches them in deep, swooping beats several feet above your head.
The gleam of wonder on your face was not entirely excepted by him. He's lived for ions, and has said the words 'fear not' more times than he can number. Yet he's never needed to utter those words to you, your faith is your beauty, your wisdom is a diadem of rubies.
You're always garbed graciously in a boldness that's charming, garbed in it the way golden rays dress the sun herself. You've always believed in the unbelievable, such attributes are why he's always felt more human in your presence.
“Your kind words are much appreciated.” Castiel spoke flatly as he usually does, though there's a hint of shyness mixed sweetly in the depth of his voice. The faintest shake in his usual stern cadence gave his nervousness away. He's standing still as you circle him like an ancient statue and you're his greatest and most fervent admirer. An altar of candles encircling his feet would fit this scene perfectly.
The stiffness of his posture puts forth the slightest evidence of vulnerability on display. “I keep them hidden because they’d be. . distracting.” The angel explained, there's a slight sigh in his voice as he finishes his sentence; like he feels inconvenienced by things being unable to be different. Which he does.
Not so much because he wishes that every citizen of this realm could see him as he truly is, but so that you could. In hopes that just once, when you look at him with such awe and warmth as you usually do; it would be at who he really is.
”My form that you’re used to makes things much less alarming for humans.” Walking around in his natural form would attract attention that wouldn't exactly make guarding you from harm any easier.
You continue to slowly circle him as to take pictures of every inch of his comeliness with your eyes. Such beauty is clearly meant for a higher realm, yet he's gracious enough to share it with you and only you. Your smile hasn't stopped beaming, you can't help it. Your gaze travels from the highest tips of his feathery wings to back down over his tan flesh again and again and it never grows old.
“I bet.” You chuckle at the innocent obviousness of his statement. Of course walking around like this would be distracting for mere mortals. His celestial beauty is so near to overwhelming, such an appearance would surely earn the worship of the world. Humans are shallow beings, you understand in this moment how the fallen angels became the gods of old amongst the ancients.
It's not that you hadn't thought that Castiel was beautiful before, he has a very comely face indeed. But now beholding the combination of his earthly and heavenly beauty, it puts you in a trance. You're hypnotized, eyes still feasting ravenously on the beauty of his wings. The sight of him is a wine that you never desire to stop drinking.
“You’re insanely beautiful like this.” You murmur, your chest is breathlessly awestruck, you couldn't raise your voice above a whisper if you wanted to. Apart from that, you could find no other words to utter but those of praise. Such candidness made the angels face rise in warmth unbeknownst you. The symphonic sound of worship breathing from your lips releases legions of butterflies in his stomach. Your praise smells like sweet incense in the air around him.
You instinctively began reaching your hand forwards gently to touch him, like a spell had overcome you that you couldn't fight. “Oh, may I?” You gasp softly, catching yourself and pulling your hand back before your fingers could be buried in his plush feathers. In the presence of this being's allure, you couldn't help it, something so human is driving you. An inherent, ingrained and unshakeable draw towards beautiful things.
Cas met the humility of your inquiring eyes with his. It's endearingly obvious how much you want to be respectful. “You may.” He granted graciously. Somewhere deep down in a place that he doesn't want to admit exists, he's fantasized about a moment like this.
It’s usually late at night when he’s the only one awake, watching over everyone. That’s when the thoughts swell in his mind like the tide; rushing in and washing all reason away. The idea of bearing himself to you stirs up a warmth in his bosom that’s he’s almost positive isn’t allowed to be there. Now the nakedness of his divinity is exposed before you for real, and that warmth is greater and harder to ignore.
You carefully extend your hand forward to gently caress the outer side of his large wing. As you reach your hand to bury your fingers in the soft, plush layers of his feathers; there’s a bit of hesitancy in your movements. Not out of fear, it's that part of your wonders if the feeling of him is going to become a drug you’re hopelessly addicted to.
When your flesh makes contact with him, your lips stretch into a wide smile immediately. Your fingers plunge into the soft layers of his feathers, and you watch them spread to find themselves between your fingers. A giggle bubbles from your throat at how they tickle your skin when you gently run your fingers through them like a comb. If clouds could be spun and woven, you’re positive that they’d feel like this against your skin.
The angel exhales a shivering breath at the delicacy of your touch, he struggled to keep it quiet enough so you wouldn't hear. He did his best to contain the way his breathing changed, but the second your warm fingertips made contact with the millions of nerve endings woven into his feathers, his body reacted. Fortunately, you’re too enthralled by his moonlight–bathed beauty to notice.
You extend your palm to its fullest size so that your skin can fully feel and absorb every molecule that makes up his heavenliness. Thousands of feathers cover the robust frame of his wings, softly arranged in multiple downy layers down to where they’re rooted in his skin. You stroke down the height of the angel's wing with such care, palm splayed as tufts of white flutter under your touch. You gently bury your fingers a bit deeper into his layers until they disappear underneath powder-like softness.
When your touch suddenly delved deeper into his anatomy without warning, his whole body shivered uncontrollably like he’d caught a chill; quick but to his core. As if your touch had pricked a pressure point and his body reacted involuntarily. His large wings tremble in reaction, a sound that borders a low groan is pulled from the back of his throat as if someone kneaded it out of him. Deep and guttural like the release of something too long wound up.
You jump nearly as quickly as he trembled with a gasp, snatching your hand back in fear that you had somehow hurt him. “Oh! Are you alright?” Your hand floats daintily in the air, no longer in contact with him. A sincere softness candies your words as you look at him to access his state.
There's a different look on his face now, as if there had been tension binding him that's now been released. You hadn't realized how tight the muscles in his face were, until looking at him now in comparison. His expression is looser, less guarded in a way that reminds you of how wine loosens someone. There's a curtain of something over his blue eyes that you've never seen before, like a new entity is possessing them.
The Angel feels the heat of embarrassment burning up his throat and poisoning his blood; he felt hot all over at how his body betrayed him so lewdly. His body reacted to the silk of your fingers exploring the most untouched parts of himself like a rubber band bursting, sudden and unstoppable.
He had truly tried to keep a grip on the reins of temperance, but he's never had his body involuntarily react like that. He had wanted to close his lips to keep that deep, aching groan from rising from depths he'd previously been unaware of. But the sound twisted out of tension he had been holding for so long he'd forgotten about it.
Castiel clears throat and tries to make his panting breaths less obvious. He doesn't want you to think that he meant for this to happen. Or that he'd planned to profit from your ignorance in getting you to touch him in ways that would invoke pleasure that you aren't comfortable with.
Cas swallows thickly. “Yes, they’re just, sensitive.” He answers you, his eyelids have become low, and there's a weakness—a sudden drained lassitude to his posture that's different from the vulnerability he displayed before. There's still a feeling of electricity buzzing through his cells from the remnant of your touch stained upon his wings.
The blood pumping through his thousands of veins is thick and hot and laced with something that hits his brain sweet liquor. The feathery barbs dressing his wings feel to pick up every breath you breathe into the cool air. There's a more analyzing shift in your gaze now that inflamed the shame he feels, fearing that you'd see what burns beneath the surface of his skin. A craving that nobody would describe as angelic.
Your eyes scan over his sudden change in disposition, unsure how to register what you're seeing. His lips hang open as he inhales soft, deep breaths that are somehow quick at the same time. He's painfully trying to regain composure while still reeling from how his body reacted without his consent. A being of almost infinite power and you'd overcome him by using the ornaments granted to him by God against him.
Your eyes widen the slightest bit with something more self-serving at the sight of him. Bare-chested, his eyes glazed with something you can't or are maybe too uncertain to define. The moan that you had unintentionally coaxed from him finally hit your blood stream and is having effects that are hard to war off. Symptoms too crude to let erupt to the surface, especially towards an angel of the lord.
“Did that hurt?” You finally ask after being unable to tell if his jaw is tightened in pain or because of something too lascivious to confess to having been awakened by such an innocent touch. The Angel had gone from stiff and stoic to barely held together before your eyes.
The change is so drastic it left you near baffled and more than half concerned. Being human of course you're no expert on angelic anatomy, you fear that maybe you have harmed your friend someway.
“Not exactly." Castiel answers, his cobalt eyes flutter as if he's about to fall asleep when he exhales the words. The way a cat's eyes flutter closed when you scratch behind the feline's ear. He's far too embarrassed to meet your eyes, so he stays looking forward when he answers you. Chest still reeling, fingertips still tingling, he's not used to feeling weak.
He told himself that he was better than this. You deserve better than an ions-old Angel in human flesh hungering for the feeling of a woman's blood softly beating beneath her hot skin against his own. He wrestles for your purity and to keep the promises to himself that he's bound himself in. Yet the velvet of your fingers exploring him undid the shackles of righteousness; exposing what truly simmers in his loins to the point where the ferocity of it surprised even him.
It disgusts him that he can't seem to cleanse himself of the hex your touch set alight beneath his skin. That another groan wants to leave his throat just replaying the memory of your strokes. Has such unchastity truly been shut up in his bones this whole time? The very scent of your femininity, the fleshy, sweetness of it causes him an existential crisis.
You pause for a short moment, observing, playing a hundred possible scenarios in your mind trying to decide what to do next. The silence in the room is thick, it's sweet on your tongue like something you shouldn't be indulging in. You wonder if this all tastes the same to him. Your footsteps are soft and carefully paced when you go from standing off to the side of him to directly in front of him.
His bright blue eyes flick up at you, and you take him in for the first time since this sacred interaction shifted. The truth is obvious from his parted lips and glazed eyes, yet still too arrogant of you to accept.
Upon hearing his answer, your confusion melted into something that shifted the spirit in your eyes; the previous doe-eyed girlishness darkened. Your concern is transformed into understanding. He may not be human, but you are, and that humanness interpreted his breathlessness, and made your blood feel to pump hotter. That humanness grants you fluency in a language that is foreign to such like him.
You observe a rosy tint pricked warmly onto his pores like a tattoo. You slowly extend your hand again like before, softly nestling your fingers into the plush layers of his feathers; it feels like tangling your digits in the clouds.
The angel shivers, his eyes squeeze shut as his throat clasps around the gasp trying to escape. You caress him with a similar tenderness that’s intoxicating to Cas; your touch translates into whispers of sweet nothings to his ears of how much you care. He feels his body loosening to you, resistance to what he really wants leaves his system through hot breaths from parted lips.
“Describe it to me, the feeling.” Your voice is nearly as soft as the feathers that garb his glory like a robe. It's disarming and just when he thought he couldn't trust you any more, he does. But there’s a self-serving mischief lacing your tone that he’s not sure he’s strong enough to handle the progression of.
You’re standing quite close to him now, almost bust to chest. Fingers still exploring the sensitive spots of him in a way that soon bursts the dam holding back the sounds he wants to make. His eyes are still squeezed shut, but yours are locked on his face, enjoying how pretty he looks letting go.
The tension in his shoulders melts and pleasure builds in its place. Your pupils dilate to drink him up, you follow the map atop his wings that drew that first moan from him.
Castiel’s heaving breaths increased in depth until they spilled over unto soft, shy moans. His Adam's apple bobs beneath his warm skin that’s glistening with sweat.
The width of your fingers, pointer-to-pinky brush the underlayers of his wings like a soft-bristled brush, deep and slow. The warm blood pumping rapidly through the veins to which the bristles of feathers are attached, increases the intensity of your touch.
He swallows thickly, his eyes open lowly like one filled with wine; his pupils are so large you can barely see the blue encircling them. “Speaking in human terms, I’d imagine it feels as if someone were to press their lips to your wrists.” He explains the best he can given how thirsty his lungs are for the air you’re coaxing from him. His words are slurred and sultry.
His voice is deeper and carries a greater rasp than before. “Or when someone runs the pads of their fingers across your scalp.” He adds, the tail end of his sentence trails weakly into whimper and your heart flutters at the sound.
You smile, adding a bit more force to your strokes causing a loud, deep moan to rush up his throat like a river; his eyes flutter closed as he head rolls back. “So, nice?” He’s said it in every way but words, through deep groans and whimpers that hum in his throat; but you want to hear him say that he likes this, nonetheless.
Castiel lifts his head from being rolled back to resting on your shoulder. “Very nice.” He hums.
