[ His name leaks from Dean's lips, breathed against the angel, twitchy in his own skin, hard and needy and were he remotely within his faculties, he'd feel a little stupid. He's not usually the one so worked up, the one who's on a hair trigger, gasping under the attention, heart pounding and rattling against its calcium cell. Especially not from just kissing; it's a teenager problem, to lose all control because of a simple kiss, but for a brief, terrifying second, he's a little afraid he's going to come all over himself like a fourteen year old.
But he isn't fourteen, he's much older now, wiser, and he squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of England, of airlines and tiny metal tubs flying through the air, and it drags him back to the present, to Cas' mouth, the low rasp of angelic euphony vibrating him to his soul. The idea that a man - no, not a man, an angel - can cause that sort of knee jerk in Dean, well.
Maybe it makes him a little harder, hands giving up on Cas' hair in favor of shoving at that damn coat and the jacket underneath, pushing it over his shoulders, though every single inch of him freezes when Cas palms him, his head spinning like Linda Blair, a wrecked noise slipping unbidden from his lungs. ]
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[ His name leaks from Dean's lips, breathed against the angel, twitchy in his own skin, hard and needy and were he remotely within his faculties, he'd feel a little stupid. He's not usually the one so worked up, the one who's on a hair trigger, gasping under the attention, heart pounding and rattling against its calcium cell. Especially not from just kissing; it's a teenager problem, to lose all control because of a simple kiss, but for a brief, terrifying second, he's a little afraid he's going to come all over himself like a fourteen year old.
But he isn't fourteen, he's much older now, wiser, and he squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of England, of airlines and tiny metal tubs flying through the air, and it drags him back to the present, to Cas' mouth, the low rasp of angelic euphony vibrating him to his soul. The idea that a man - no, not a man, an angel - can cause that sort of knee jerk in Dean, well.
Maybe it makes him a little harder, hands giving up on Cas' hair in favor of shoving at that damn coat and the jacket underneath, pushing it over his shoulders, though every single inch of him freezes when Cas palms him, his head spinning like Linda Blair, a wrecked noise slipping unbidden from his lungs. ]
Cas, please-- I need--
[ something. anything, god please help him. ]