[ Of course Dean knows where to obtain more food (and beer), so Castiel nods as he chews his apple. He'd still prefer that Dean rest and eat before needing to obtain more beer or sandwiches, though. And of course, he always prefers Dean's company, though he doubts Dean would allow him to accompany him on the venture. Castiel will certainly volunteer anyway, once the moment arrives. For now, he's content to sit beside Dean as they eat together, enjoying the simple human happiness that comes with fresh food and friendly companionship.
In fact, Castiel is so busy enjoying his apple and Dean's company that he doesn't realize that he's made a mess of his face, so the touch of Dean's hand comes as a surprise, albeit an entirely welcome one. His heart flutters, and he isn't at all sure what is an appropriate way to respond to that gesture, other than to lick the excess of juice from his lips while staring at Dean's and thinking about kissing him for what must be the hundredth time since last night. He's beginning to think he might be addicted, and not to alcohol. ]
I am still hungry.
[ Castiel confirms. The metaphor is unintentional but valid. It's not just a lack of food that seems to have made him ravenous since his recent first bite. He lifts his eyes to Dean's again and asks, his brow creased with concern. ]
Does the feeling hunger ever go away?
[ He's eaten an entire half-sandwich, drank a full bottle of beer, and eaten half an apple, and somehow his stomach doesn't feel anywhere near full. Still, he offers the remainder of his apple to Dean, because if he's this hungry, he imagines Dean, fully human that he is, must be as well. ]
Edited (i just hate word repetition ) 2021-05-03 22:12 (UTC)
[ Dean is briefly distracted from the conversation by juice from the apple dripping down Cas' chin; sticky and sweet and wet, Dean's fingertips brushing over stubble, the rough scrape of it under his touch. Equally mesmerizing is Cas' tongue swiping over his lower lip, and Dean's eyes drop down to focus on the motion, utterly captivated. The question gives him pause, though he doesn't move his hand, not yet. Instead Dean keeps his fingertips on Cas' cheek and lets them trace over his jawline, drag down his neck to smooth over the softest part, where a heartbeat would pulse in a human.
Does the feeling of hunger ever go away?
That's a damn good question, because Dean isn't really sure he knows the answer. Hunger isn't just physical, that much he knows; people long for things beyond food. They crave passion, sex, drugs, alcohol - all kinds of vices. Love, physical touch, too. They yearn for adventure, for a life that isn't theirs. They want to make a difference, to leave more than a footprint on a sandy beach, destined to be washed away by the incoming tide.
Everyone is searching for something to fill the void; that yawning, empty hole in their soul in the shape of something undefinable. Humans crave connection - demons and angels, too, maybe.
Dean convinced himself, long ago, that he doesn't require these basic, human needs. That he doesn't deserve them - happiness, the touch of someone who loves him, genuine affection, soft kisses under moonlight. Dean has hardened himself to it for so, so long that he hardly feels anything anymore, a residual numbness settling deep in his bones.
How very starved he has been, indeed.
The hunger for more can be so deep it's soul aching. Dean knows this intimately, what it's like to crave affection and love, to be so starved you feel like you might die.
No, he eventually decides. No, it doesn't go away. He swallows, looks up at Cas, and forces a little smile. ]
Foodwise, sure. Gotta let your stomach settle, and you'll feel better.
[ Skin and soul hunger, though...that's a completely different story entirely. It can be argued Dean satisfies that with all of his casual encounters, but it's different when someone you genuinely cares about reaches for you, brushes fingers, a simple kiss, the squeeze of a hip as they pass.
That's what he's hungry for, what he hasn't let himself have. ]
Here. [ He drops his hand from Cas' jaw momentarily in favor of getting up to get them both another beer, popping the tops off and sliding one in front of Cas. ] A toast to you being alive.
[ Despite all the time Castiel has spent observing humans in his life, and far more recently and attentively observing Dean, much of human behavior remains a mystery to him. Dean wiping away the juice from his chin, Castiel understands to be a gesture of social grooming. How Dean's hand remains on his skin long after the juice has been wiped away, and the gentle way with which he traces his cheek and his jaw, finally coming to rest his fingers against his racing pulse (and what a strange sensation that is, to have a pulse, to require one)... It mystifies Castiel. Is Dean touching him for the sheer pleasure and intimacy of it? Is Castiel allowed to do the same? He thinks he could. He thinks if he touched Dean's cheek now and pulled him forward to demand a kiss that Dean would allow it, and even though Castiel restrains himself, allowing Dean to do what he prefers at the pace he prefers it without interruption, the potential alone is thrilling.
"Foodwise," Dean says, implying the hunger for things other than food, and Castiel believes he understands. Longing certainly isn't restricted to physical hunger. Castiel felt it even before he met Dean. There was always a sense in him that his superiors weren't infallible and that his orders were often cruel or unkind. He longed for change, and now he's certainly found it. His life is nothing like it was before. And though the weakening of his grace frightens him more than he's ever been frightened in his life, these feelings, this hunger, he's developing for Dean doesn't frightening him at all. It feels more right than anything he's ever done.
Dean leaves the table and Castiel's eyes follow him with longing and the dogged patience of someone who is used to waiting for much, much longer. Then Deer returns with two open beers and offers Castiel a toast. He's never had an occasion to toast something before. It spits in the face of God, to toast to the loss of his grace. He wants it back. He wants Dean. This must be how ghosts feel in the Veil as they straddle two lives, longing for a tumultuous past even as a brighter future awaits them, if only they'd submit themselves fully to it. He raises his glass. ]
To life.
[ Castiel doesn't want to be human. He wants to be an angel. He's desperate for his grace to return, and he's wracked with guilt for the home he's turned against and the brothers and sisters he's killed. But he wouldn't change this time he's spending with Dean now for anything. Every moment lived, truly lived, with Dean is a blessing. ]
[ Dean flashes him a little smile as he settles back down in his chair beside Cas, blissfully unaware of Cas' dilemma, of the fact that toasting to Cas being alive is, essentially, toasting to the loss of his grace. It doesn't occur to Dean - he's just so damn thankful the angel is alive, his focus is narrow. ]
To life.
[ He'll clink his bottle lightly to Cas' and take a long swig, set it down and set about demolishing the rest of his sandwich. His stomach is protesting only beer being dumped into it, so it's best to go ahead and finish it up, wipe his hands on a napkin and reach for the hem of Cas' shirt, tug it up to get a look at that bandage. ]
How we feeling?
Edited (word choice SORRY THIS IS SHORT AND CRAP) 2021-05-05 22:45 (UTC)
[ Castiel's feelings on his newfound (assuredly temporary) humanity may be mixed, but his feelings for Dean aren't. He smiles easily with genuine pleasure as Dean returns his toast and they clink their glass bottles together, and once he sees that Dean's eating, Castiel politely lets his eyes wander towards the far, dark window and sips his own beer. His thoughts wander, but not to anything wholly unpleasant. He feels content in a way that he isn't deserving of, at peace in a time where the rest of the world teeters on the edge of destruction. This cabin is their own waiting room, Castiel realizes. As they wait for him to heal, time stands still for him and Dean, beautifully untouched, while the rest of the world fights on in distant chaos.
The beer is cold, bubbly and refreshing, and it settles the ache in Castiel's stomach in a way real food hadn't been able to manage. When Dean starts tugging up his shirt, Castiel is slow to react, and puzzled by the action. It takes him a delayed moment of looking at Dean's hand, and the clean, white bandage there on his own stomach, to realize what Dean's question is about. ]
Better.
[ Castiel responds after a moment of assessment, and then after a moment of further assessment after that, he abandons the nearly empty beer bottle on the table beside the first in favor of turning towards Dean, cupping Dean's face in his hands and pulling him into a soft kiss. ]
I feel good.
[ The throb and sharp pain present in his side earlier is completely gone. In fact, all his minor injuries feel numbed. He only feels warmed, full of food and alcohol, comfortably overfed by and yet starved for more of Dean's affection. ]
[ It's just the two of them here together, existing in a gentle moment of quiet. It isn't often Dean and Cas get time alone; when they do, it's fleeting, brief, buried in dreams or secret whispers while others sleep. Castiel comes to Dean, presenting himself in vulnerability, choosing the elder Winchester to pull from his moments of softness. Dean's dreams are sacred; they are the only moments of peace the man allows himself to have, the only time he can relax, create a false narrative in which he is happy.
Still, Dean never finds himself angry with Cas' invasions, only accommodating as the angel eases into his mind.
This time they have...it's unlike anything that's ever been gifted to them in the past. A trap? Perhaps. Maybe there are demons surrounding the cabin, watching, waiting for their orders. Maybe it's all in Dean's head, paranoia he's never been able to shake.
Dean worries he can't hold onto it, fleeting moments he's unable to grab, slipping through his fingers like wisps of a dream, lost to the ether.
The world stops around them, a moment in time, their own personal waiting room, quiet and still. There's no shuffle of papers, of people whispering to one another, no prying eyes. It's simply Dean and Castiel, the air still, hearts thrumming in their chests, beating against ribcages.
Badum, badum, badum.
Dean smoothes a hand over the denim of his jeans, material moving under his fingers, well worn, lips parting to say something, maybe about the bandage, maybe about the two of them. But Cas' hands are on his face and Dean is being kissed again, and he is utterly distracted. He opens easily for Cas, tongue teasing, tasting, tracing over his lips, the taste of beer lingering. He's never had someone so attentive, so affectionate, so adoring.
He's never been properly loved. Dean wonders if that's what this is, if this is what it feels like to have someone genuinely care. ]
Good. [ His voice is rough, filled with emotion he doesn't know how to properly define. Dean swallows the lump in his throat, tipping his head to look at Cas, meet his eyes. ]
[ Perhaps inviting Dean to a location similar to the one often found in Dean's more peaceful dreams was Castiel's hope of recreating that calmness he finds there, in the alternate reality Dean imagines for himself while he's a sleep. Already, this excursion is very different from Dean's dreams. The sun has set, taking the lakeside view away before they were evn able to appreciate it; they've been interrupted by human requirements like the need to launder their clothes and to eat. Humans, unlike angels, are restricted by the reality of three dimensions and the laws of physics within those boundaries. Castiel can't speed up time to when he's healed or speed up the slow path of the sun around the Earth any more than Dean can. In these ways, it's tedious.
What Castiel has learned, though, is that the road to happiness is found through suffering. The shirt warming his skin is one Dean offered him because his own shirt needed to be washed. Castiel feels heavy and warm with food and drink, the taste of which lingers in his throat and on Dean's tongue, because his body required nourishment, and Dean offered to share his food and his company. And now he is here, holding Dean's rough jaw in his hands and kissing Dean's mouth, hearing the vulnerability he so rarely allows to thicken his voice and glaze his eyes, none of which he's ever found in Dean's dreams. Reality is better, even for all its inconveniences, and the reality of spending time alone with Dean, intimately and private, is better than he could have dreamed. ]
I only need you.
[ There's a simple honesty in Castiel's answer that may make Dean uncomfortable in ways it has been, but Castiel can't think of anything else to say. He isn't tired, exhausted, or in pain as he was. He feels only warmth, and he wants only more of Dean's company. His fingers curl possessively against the sides of Dean's neck, and his thumbs trace the strong line of his jaw and the slope of his chin. His eyes drop to Dean's lips, wet and full with having so recently been kissed, tempting Castiel to kiss him again, and again, and never stop. His affection for Dean feels endless, and the desire to show it just as vast.
Does the feeling ever abate, he wonders again? Dean hadn't answered him. Perhaps he doesn't know. Endlessness is a difficult concept for humans to understand, as fleeting as their lives are. For all he's learned, these still so much about humans, and Dean, that Castiel has yet to understand. His eyes lift to Dean's again, seeking. ]
But if there's something else you need, I'm willing to wait.
[ He isn't entirely sure what Cas really means when he says I need you, but ultimately, Dean decides it doesn't matter. To be needed in any capacity is something Dean thrives on. It's an unhealthy obsession, to so desperately want to save others that you take all of your own issues and shove them into a box, stuff it forgotten under the bed, left to be covered in dust. It's a fundamental part of who Dean is, how he functions. He takes all of the things that hurt and upset and infuriate him and stuffs them down deep, burying it until he can't anymore.
Cas says I need you and it shifts something fundamental, something deep in his soul, dredging up parts of himself he'd thought long hidden away.
Dean swallows, eyes wide, Cas' fingers on his skin, thumbs on parted lips, breath ghosting over them as he shakily exhales, trying to keep his composure. ]
No. [ It's firm, like he's made some kind of decision in his head that he hasn't spoken out loud. Cas looks at him and Dean looks back, locking on the steadiness of his gaze, getting lost in the swirling storm of blue. ]
[ For all he tries to hide it with jokes and dismissive remarks, Dean is an incredibly intelligent, thoughtful person. He doesn't make decisions lightly, and this one, Castiel can tell by the delay and the emphasis with which he makes it, as well as the steadiness in his lovely hazel eyes, that isn't a decision Dean is making on a whim. He's given it thought, weight, and gravity, and his decision is still to share time and intimacy with Castiel, and that is touching in a way there aren't human words for. Castiel can almost feel his absent grace sing and his wings shiver. A gentle smile curls his lips as he agrees softly and closes the space between them to convey that happiness and gratitude once more in a kiss. ]
We have.
[ They could continue to sit here, and drink beers, and kiss, and Castiel would be content. In fact, he'd be content with far less, if Dean were to offer it. But Castiel wants for far more, his want for Dean expands as endlessly as the universe, and he leans away from him only to slide off the chair, his hands tracing Dean's shoulders and arms en route to twining the fingers of their hands as he urges Dean to come with him. ]
Take me to bed.
[ Castiel asks, only because he has no idea where the bed in this very large cabin is, or else he would gladly have already led Dean to it himself. Despite the bandage on his side and the absence of his grace, Castiel agrees that they have, in fact, waited long enough. ]
[ Cas leans in to kiss him again and Dean reaches out, cups the back of his head, lets his fingers slide through short, dark hair. It's fleeting, but there's the promise of more on those lips, in Cas' words, and Dean smiles up at him, skin pricking where Cas' fingers ghost over his body before taking his hands. ]
With pleasure.
[ He gets up, abandoning the bottles and wrappers from dinner in favor of tugging Cas in for another sweet kiss, gentle, needy, before pulling back to guide him to the cozy little bedroom. ]
wait was this my tag THE WHOLE TIME askghahjka i hecked up
[ Their first time spent intimately together, what was only a few days ago that feels a lifetime away with the cavernous depths of the events in between, was awkward and uncertain. Castiel still feels the same rush of anticipation as he did then, but the fear of unknowing that accompanied it is gone. Dean welcomes his touches, initiates gentle, affectionate kisses unprompted, and Castiel's heart swells in his chest. He can't imagine loving Dean more than he already did, but love, it seems, isn't a finite thing. It keeps expanding beyond Castiel's vessel's capacity to restrain it, beyond the numbing buzz of his grace, and that is miraculous. Castiel is awed by the warm tug of Dean's hand as he leads them through small wood-paneled hallways to a room with a bed just large enough to two.
The window is shuttered. It's impossible to tell whether there's a view of the night-time lake or not beyond that window; Castiel hasn't kept careful enough track of the direction of the house to tell. Ultimately, though, it's not important. Nature's splendor can't hope to compare to how Dean occupies Castiel's attention. He barely takes note of the room, beyond the fact that it's smaller and cleaner than most hotel rooms, and the bed, though small, is a good deal larger. They'll be comfortable here in this private place, and the excitement that comes with that knowledge has Castiel's skin warming. Of course, that could just be the alcohol, or it could just be the heat he feels from the feeling of his fingers twined with Dean's. Whatever the physiological reason, Castiel is undeniably warm, excited, and eager, and Dean is absolutely the cause.
Dean leads him into the bedroom, as he'd promised, and Castiel immediately tugs Dean into turning once they're through the door. He brings his hands up to cradle Dean's cheeks as he kisses him again, breathlessly unrestrained, and he steps forward between Dean's feet, pushing him back gently towards the bed. ]
lmfao me over here refreshing my inbox on repeat like mO_Om
[ Dean's own heart is fluttering in his chest, nervous like a kitten, though he can't really pinpoint why. They've done this before, and while it's still incredibly new, it isn't like Dean to be so jittery.
It's probably because he's never actually slept with someone he loves. He hasn't admitted that to Cas or himself, but he does, and deep down, that's probably what it is. It's intimidating, because Cas is a friggin' angel and what if, ultimately, he decides Dean is just a worthless human and changes his mind? It's an irrational fear, but Dean thinks it's perfectly valid.
He really shouldn't worry, though - the gentle way Cas cups his face like he's a precious jewel makes his heart warm in his chest...it's pretty damn life-affirming. It makes him shiver, lean into it, slip his arms lightly around Cas' waist and walk backwards, letting the angel guide him to the bed until it bumps the back of his knees and he has to sit down or fall. ]
[ Castiel does have a history of rebellion. He's often been capricious, as his superiors, and now all of Heaven, would tell you. He's changeable in a way angels aren't meant to be. He feels, powerfully. From the first moment he reached out to Dean's soul in Hell and raised him, though, he's admired Dean, trusted him, even loved him, in a way. Dean is like no one Castiel has ever met, in Heaven or Earth, and though, largely because of Dean, Castiel has come to doubt every cornerstone of his existence, the one immutable feeling he's had is for Dean. His care for Dean is unwavering. It feels laughable human to describe his feelings for Dean as love at first sight, but Castiel can't think of any more accurate way to describe it. Only poets might have managed it better. "Behold, you are beautiful, my beloved," it was written, and Castiel has finally come to understand the meaning of the words. "Truly delightful. Our couch is green; the beams of our house are cedar; our rafters are pine."
Dean's calves hit the bed, and as he falls to sitting, Castiel leans in to keep holding him, and kissing him, and being held, as if, if he were to let Dean go even for a moment, they both might fall. He stands there for a moment in an awkward stoop, kissing Dean with gentle, insistent devotion, before he does the more rational thing and falls to sitting on the bed beside Dean. Cas lets his hands explore Dean more thoroughly, then. His right pushes into Dean's hair while his left smooths down over Dean's chest and comes to rest, distracted, over his heart while he continues to kiss him again, and again and never tires of how good Dean's lips feel against his, or his tongue, or the warm puff of his breath when either of them bothers to breathe.
There's no doubt in his mind that he was meant to find Dean, because as thrilling as the appeal of rebellion and free will are, none of Castiel's choices have ever felt so right as this. ]
[ Dean is no poet, though he might have read a few here and there (it's a great way to impress the ladies).
i like a book of agony, because i know it is true.
Explaining how he feels about the angel is difficult, because Cas is an angel, and he's also the first person (being?) Dean has ever really, truly loved. Cassie and Lisa were a close second, but even his affection for the two women pales in comparison to how it feels to be with Cas, to have those fingers push into his hair, to have plush, kiss stung lips brushing his.
Truthfully, there really aren't words to describe it, this thing between them, so vast and extraordinary; simple adjectives fall short, the syntax paltry, a child trying to describe unimaginable, unearthly beauty.
He covers Cas' hand with his, lacing fingers, cock hard between his thighs as he rumbles against Cas' lips. ]
You keep this up and I'm not gonna be able to hold back. [ There's an injury here, and as much as Dean is very interested in upholding his promise, there is the little matter of Cas' wound. ]
[ Prior to raising Dean from Hell, Castiel hadn't been on Earth in centuries, and even then, his trip was brief. He'd only spent a good deal of time on Earth long before that, when holy wars involved actual representatives of God defending the world against Lucifer, and not simply the petty grievances men held over imaginary boundaries between their lands. He'd stumbled across the occasional poet or artist in Heaven, but it was entirely accidental, and there's a great deal of poetry that Castiel has never read or heard in his long lifetime. He would adore Emily Dickenson. Dean should recite it to him some time.
Not right now, though. As apt as poetry would be for how the warmth of Dean's skin and the softness of his lips itself feels to Castiel like poetry or song, he's much more content on keeping Dean's lips occupied just the way they are. Dean's hand covers his, and Castiel lifts his fingers away to tangle them instantly with Dean's. Their joined hands drop to the sheets as Castiel pulls Dean in, holding him tighter, kissing him deeply until Dean's voice interrupts and Castiel is forced to lean back and make space between them enough to put meaning in the words. ]
Good. Don't hold back.
[ Castiel doesn't see the problem. His injury is numbed, wounds all forgotten, and Dean is warm and pliant. He tastes like beer and salt, the freckles on his cheeks stand out beautifully when he's flushed like this, and everything Castiel remembers from their last time in bed together, he wants again. He wants to experience Dean the way only other humans can; he wants to give himself, graceless and vulnerable, completely over to Dean's care. ]
I want you.
[ The words are simple but the meaning of that word, wanting, feels like the depths of the ocean: dark and secret and unimaginable to all but the creatures that exist there. Castiel kisses Dean's mouth again, fully but briefly, before pulling back and kissing the back of his hand where their fingers are twined. He kisses the back of each of Dean's fingers apologetically before letting him go completely, and leaning back, he tugs the shirt Dean had given him reluctantly over his head, sets its messily on the bed, and reaches immediately back in to kiss Dean heatedly again. ]
[ Again, Cas' touch and eager kiss sends a thrill down his spine, because Dean is so very touch starved, desperate for human contact, needy in his own skin. He wears layer upon layer to protect himself, nesting in t-shirts and flannels and jackets, each layer a shield around his heart and soul. It's odd to be so open with the angel, to allow him in, to let Cas see the pieces of himself Dean has so fastidiously kept behind tall, protective walls.
Cas makes it easy, though. Maybe it's because there's an angel within the vessel of Jimmy Novak, maybe it's because Cas was first and foremost his friend, maybe it's because Dean is finally pulling his head out of his own damn ass long enough to see that there isn't anything wrong with him caring intimately about someone of the opposite sex. Maybe it's because it's more than physical with Cas.
Same sex relationships have always been just fine for other people, because it isn't Dean, and he doesn't have to admit he's heart wrenchingly jealous to anyone but the most secret, protected part of himself. Dean has been uncomfortable in the presence of such humans only because of his own insecurity and repressed wants and needs and cravings and friggin' hang-ups.
In the end though, it's fine for them. Perfectly fine. Love is love, all that. But for Dean, specifically...
No, it's less than fine. It was never fine; if he ever caught himself looking, he would hear his fathers disappointed voice in his head, scolding him, reminding him he's a man, he's a Winchester, and besides all that - he has a job to do.
In truth - Dean actually has no idea how his father would have reacted. To Cas, to Dean having an interest in him, to any of this. He's got a pretty damn good idea about it just based off of when his father was born and the people he grew up around, but there is no real way of knowing. Daddy is dead, and Dean is here, sitting on the edge of a bed with an actual angel, who is kissing him desperately, hungrily, with so much feeling it leaves Dean breathless and shivery, reaching to slip an arm around Cas' now bare waist, warm skin on skin, intoxicating in its chemistry. ]
Cas-- [ Logic dictates he stop, check the bandage, make sure Cas is actually fine before they go any farther, but their mouths clash again and Dean closes his eyes, stars colliding around them, starbursts behind his eyelids. ]
[ Before Castiel knew Dean Winchester for the man he is, he'd heard of him: the righteous man. He'd seen what Dean had done in Hell, and what had become of him, but Castiel didn't know until he knit together the pieces of Dean's soul how truly good he is. He felt it there in the very essence of what Dean was, not that Dean was honest, or pure, or holy, but that he was caring. The emotion he'd felt from Dean was almost overwhelming, and when Castiel was able to look in Dean's eyes, he could see that spirit reflected there.
Dean is wonderous; he's infinitely loving. Whatever his insecurities are, Castiel has always seen past them. It isn't with pity or desperation that he offers himself to Castiel; it's love. Dean has always shown him love in one form or another, and Castiel hesitates to call it romantic, but he feels it. And without his grace, that passionate form of love for Dean is only stronger. He leans into Dean, kissing him feverishly, and the wrap of Dean's arm around his bare waist, pulling him closer, has Castiel gasping against Dean's mouth and burning hotter. ]
Yes.
[ Dean offers himself, and that's what Castiel wants: to have Dean for himself, to hold him, and cherish him in every way three dimensions will allow. His hands leave Dean's cheeks to push between them, and he pulls at Dean's shirt, urging him to bare more skin. Yes, he has Dean, but... ]
I want more of you.
[ He wants Dean in ways there aren't words in any human language for. He wants to consume him without destruction, to join him without separation. There's probably poetry that's eloquent enough, but Castiel can't think of anything but of Dean's mouth as their tongues slide, of the heat of Dean's hands on his back, and all the frustratingly thick clothing caught between them. ]
[ Whatever Cas wants of him, Dean is willing to give. When he tells the angel you got me, it's said with purpose and meaning, meant with every beat of his heart and molecule of his soul.
Being yours doesn't sound too bad.
Dean's words echo in his own head as Cas' fingers tug at his shirt and he looks down, realizing what the angel is doing. He peels out of his tee and balls it up, tossing it aside as he meets Cas' eyes, wets his lips with his tongue. ]
I'm all yours. [ A different statement than you got me, he thinks. More meaningful, and it ties in with what he'd said earlier. Dean says things without saying them, using actions and vague references in order to articulate the things he means.
This time, though, he says it direct, putting it out there, consequences be damned. Cas is beautiful and stole Dean's heart, and he'd told him once, not too long ago, during a game he'd let Cas possess him if he needed, and if that isn't fucking commitment and trust and love then Dean doesn't know what is.
He reaches to press his palm on Cas' chest, fingertips spreading over his skin, feeling the thump of a heartbeat under his palm. He flashes a little smirk at Cas, mischief in his eyes as he slides his hand down, thumbing over a nipple. ]
[ As Dean removes his own shirt, Castiel reaches out immediately to touch that newly exposed skin, but he stops, caught by the way Dean looks at him. Dean's eyes are so beautifully expressive; more than windows to his soul, they're gateways paned in stained glass and gold filigree, revealing all the warmth and beauty of a star, burning away in its prime. That star lays itself in Castiel's hands. Dean says, boldly, that he belongs to Castiel, and whether the intention is for today or for always, Castiel is touched by the sentiment, and greedily possessive of what he's been given. Rather than paw at Dean's newly bared chest as he'd planned, Castiel instead covers the hand Dean's laid over his heart, links their fingers, and leans in gradually to kiss Dean's mouth again. His other hand raises as well, a delightfully practiced motion, to cup Dean's cheek, and he rests his thumb at the corner of that brilliant smile as he kisses him softly with all the devotion he can pour into one single act of love. ]
Thank you.
[ It's probably inappropriate to thank someone immediately prior to coitus, but Castiel can't hold back his gratitude. He wants to express how very grateful he is for the trust Dean has given him, for Dean's care during this time in which Castiel is unusually vulnerable, and for Dean's own vulnerability of the human kind that comes with laying oneself bare, physically and emotionally, in the act of sex. He needs Dean to know how very well loved he is, and that's exactly why Castiel has brought him here to this remote cabin, this quiet bedroom, and this plush bed, to show him exactly what Castiel intends to do about it.
His hand still covers Dean's, their fingers loosely linked, but he guides Dean along the path he was already headed, teasing his own nipple in their joined finger and sighing against Dean's mouth at the burst of heat the action brings. As he kisses Dean's mouth with increasingly breathless want, he drags their hands down his chest, and cups Dean's hand over the firm erection trapped against the denim fly of his jeans, because if there were any doubt that Castiel desired him, there's the proof in human flesh. He leaves Dean's hand there, to stay or take another path, but the rushing heat of kissing Dean and having Dean's hand on him has Castiel needy for more contact. He deepens their kisses, licking Dean's tongue as his hands cup Dean's cheeks and slide down his neck, his shoulders, and then push gently on Dean's chest, urging him to lie back. ]
[ He isn't particularly expecting to be thanked, it makes him feel a little awkward but innately pleased, as well. Cas is...special. He's managed to worm his way under Dean's skin, under the trenches and moats he's built around his heart. He's scaled the walls Dean erected, forged through the spindly forest. That he is still here after everything speaks volumes, and Dean can only look at him with admiration, loyalty; Castiel is a brightly burning star and Dean is helpless, caught in his gravity. ]
Um. You're, uh-- you're welcome.
[ Cas is overwhelming, intense and thoughtful in everything he says and does, and Dean is just here to stumble along clumsily beside his angel, doing his best to keep everyone alive and the world from caving in.
He takes these moments he's given and treasures them like precious jewels. These brief instances that he's gifted with, this time spent with Cas, it means the world to him, and he cups Cas carefully, fingers fumbling for the zipper before he's ultimately eased back. He goes without resistance, laying on his back, looking up at Cas as he lets his hands settle on the angels hips, thumbing his skin where he's able, marveling at the way Cas' touch sends fireworks (like chernobyl, he thinks) through his soul.
Dean would happily combust for Cas, allow his soul to explode with the beauty of Cas' grace, sending shockwaves throughout the universe. ]
[ For so long, Castiel has felt like an outsider, even among his own kind. Dean makes him feel welcome in a way Castiel has never experienced. Dean is kindness and love personified, and Castiel adores him. Laying Dean back against the bed and covering him with his body feels like a holy act. Castiel is devastated by the loss of his grace, but he thinks now, if there were ever a reason behind why he is suffering through this trial, it was for this: to worship Dean properly, as only humans were gifted the ability to supplicate themselves to one another and find God in each other's embrace.
Castiel kisses Dean's mouth, and the warmth he feels radiating through him is stronger than fire, or light, or grace. He feels electrified by the touch of Dean's fingertips on his hips, alight from his kisses. ]
I'm yours, as well.
[ It's something they had spoken of before, "my angel," Dean had said, though Castiel feels less angelic than ever in this moment, and yet purer than he's ever felt. He kisses Dean with softness and yearning, and his hands trace over Dean's skin, the rise of his chest and the dip of his stomach, until he's able to cover Dean's hands and guide Dean's fingers the waist of his own pants, eager to be undressed. He leans back, briefly, to meet Dean's eyes. ]
About the offer you made to me, before... Are you ready?
[ They were both lost in the thrall of sex when Dean made that offer to let Castiel fuck him all those days ago, and though Dean had affirmed it in the Impala earlier, that he was still willing, Castiel wants to be sure. He trusts Dean completely, but he knows that Dean often masks his uncertainties with bravado, and Castiel won't risk misinterpreting so intimate an act between them. ]
[ Being kissed by someone so wondrous and awe-inspiring as Cas is intimidating, breathtaking - air sucked from his lungs, leaving them collapsed, useless. Dean's soul is breathed in, hanging softly in the air between parted lips, ghosting over an angel's breath before it's returned home.
The world trembles around them, quakes on its axis, and all Dean can see is the bright of Castiel's eyes, staring back into his. ]
I'm ready.
[ Dean meant it, every word; he made a vow, and while he is certain Cas would release him from it if Dean made noises otherwise, he is certain about his wants, about sharing this with Cas. It is a big offer, this piece of himself, his soul and heart - Dean doesn't give these things easily, and he is trusting Cas with them, with all of his cards spread out on the table. Choose whatever you will, he is yours, in every way. ]
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In fact, Castiel is so busy enjoying his apple and Dean's company that he doesn't realize that he's made a mess of his face, so the touch of Dean's hand comes as a surprise, albeit an entirely welcome one. His heart flutters, and he isn't at all sure what is an appropriate way to respond to that gesture, other than to lick the excess of juice from his lips while staring at Dean's and thinking about kissing him for what must be the hundredth time since last night. He's beginning to think he might be addicted, and not to alcohol. ]
I am still hungry.
[ Castiel confirms. The metaphor is unintentional but valid. It's not just a lack of food that seems to have made him ravenous since his recent first bite. He lifts his eyes to Dean's again and asks, his brow creased with concern. ]
Does the feeling hunger ever go away?
[ He's eaten an entire half-sandwich, drank a full bottle of beer, and eaten half an apple, and somehow his stomach doesn't feel anywhere near full. Still, he offers the remainder of his apple to Dean, because if he's this hungry, he imagines Dean, fully human that he is, must be as well. ]
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Does the feeling of hunger ever go away?
That's a damn good question, because Dean isn't really sure he knows the answer. Hunger isn't just physical, that much he knows; people long for things beyond food. They crave passion, sex, drugs, alcohol - all kinds of vices. Love, physical touch, too. They yearn for adventure, for a life that isn't theirs. They want to make a difference, to leave more than a footprint on a sandy beach, destined to be washed away by the incoming tide.
Everyone is searching for something to fill the void; that yawning, empty hole in their soul in the shape of something undefinable. Humans crave connection - demons and angels, too, maybe.
Dean convinced himself, long ago, that he doesn't require these basic, human needs. That he doesn't deserve them - happiness, the touch of someone who loves him, genuine affection, soft kisses under moonlight. Dean has hardened himself to it for so, so long that he hardly feels anything anymore, a residual numbness settling deep in his bones.
How very starved he has been, indeed.
The hunger for more can be so deep it's soul aching. Dean knows this intimately, what it's like to crave affection and love, to be so starved you feel like you might die.
No, he eventually decides. No, it doesn't go away. He swallows, looks up at Cas, and forces a little smile. ]
Foodwise, sure. Gotta let your stomach settle, and you'll feel better.
[ Skin and soul hunger, though...that's a completely different story entirely. It can be argued Dean satisfies that with all of his casual encounters, but it's different when someone you genuinely cares about reaches for you, brushes fingers, a simple kiss, the squeeze of a hip as they pass.
That's what he's hungry for, what he hasn't let himself have. ]
Here. [ He drops his hand from Cas' jaw momentarily in favor of getting up to get them both another beer, popping the tops off and sliding one in front of Cas. ] A toast to you being alive.
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"Foodwise," Dean says, implying the hunger for things other than food, and Castiel believes he understands. Longing certainly isn't restricted to physical hunger. Castiel felt it even before he met Dean. There was always a sense in him that his superiors weren't infallible and that his orders were often cruel or unkind. He longed for change, and now he's certainly found it. His life is nothing like it was before. And though the weakening of his grace frightens him more than he's ever been frightened in his life, these feelings, this hunger, he's developing for Dean doesn't frightening him at all. It feels more right than anything he's ever done.
Dean leaves the table and Castiel's eyes follow him with longing and the dogged patience of someone who is used to waiting for much, much longer. Then Deer returns with two open beers and offers Castiel a toast. He's never had an occasion to toast something before. It spits in the face of God, to toast to the loss of his grace. He wants it back. He wants Dean. This must be how ghosts feel in the Veil as they straddle two lives, longing for a tumultuous past even as a brighter future awaits them, if only they'd submit themselves fully to it. He raises his glass. ]
To life.
[ Castiel doesn't want to be human. He wants to be an angel. He's desperate for his grace to return, and he's wracked with guilt for the home he's turned against and the brothers and sisters he's killed. But he wouldn't change this time he's spending with Dean now for anything. Every moment lived, truly lived, with Dean is a blessing. ]
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To life.
[ He'll clink his bottle lightly to Cas' and take a long swig, set it down and set about demolishing the rest of his sandwich. His stomach is protesting only beer being dumped into it, so it's best to go ahead and finish it up, wipe his hands on a napkin and reach for the hem of Cas' shirt, tug it up to get a look at that bandage. ]
How we feeling?
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The beer is cold, bubbly and refreshing, and it settles the ache in Castiel's stomach in a way real food hadn't been able to manage. When Dean starts tugging up his shirt, Castiel is slow to react, and puzzled by the action. It takes him a delayed moment of looking at Dean's hand, and the clean, white bandage there on his own stomach, to realize what Dean's question is about. ]
Better.
[ Castiel responds after a moment of assessment, and then after a moment of further assessment after that, he abandons the nearly empty beer bottle on the table beside the first in favor of turning towards Dean, cupping Dean's face in his hands and pulling him into a soft kiss. ]
I feel good.
[ The throb and sharp pain present in his side earlier is completely gone. In fact, all his minor injuries feel numbed. He only feels warmed, full of food and alcohol, comfortably overfed by and yet starved for more of Dean's affection. ]
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Still, Dean never finds himself angry with Cas' invasions, only accommodating as the angel eases into his mind.
This time they have...it's unlike anything that's ever been gifted to them in the past. A trap? Perhaps. Maybe there are demons surrounding the cabin, watching, waiting for their orders. Maybe it's all in Dean's head, paranoia he's never been able to shake.
Dean worries he can't hold onto it, fleeting moments he's unable to grab, slipping through his fingers like wisps of a dream, lost to the ether.
The world stops around them, a moment in time, their own personal waiting room, quiet and still. There's no shuffle of papers, of people whispering to one another, no prying eyes. It's simply Dean and Castiel, the air still, hearts thrumming in their chests, beating against ribcages.
Badum, badum, badum.
Dean smoothes a hand over the denim of his jeans, material moving under his fingers, well worn, lips parting to say something, maybe about the bandage, maybe about the two of them. But Cas' hands are on his face and Dean is being kissed again, and he is utterly distracted. He opens easily for Cas, tongue teasing, tasting, tracing over his lips, the taste of beer lingering. He's never had someone so attentive, so affectionate, so adoring.
He's never been properly loved. Dean wonders if that's what this is, if this is what it feels like to have someone genuinely care. ]
Good. [ His voice is rough, filled with emotion he doesn't know how to properly define. Dean swallows the lump in his throat, tipping his head to look at Cas, meet his eyes. ]
Do you, uh. Do you need anything?
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What Castiel has learned, though, is that the road to happiness is found through suffering. The shirt warming his skin is one Dean offered him because his own shirt needed to be washed. Castiel feels heavy and warm with food and drink, the taste of which lingers in his throat and on Dean's tongue, because his body required nourishment, and Dean offered to share his food and his company. And now he is here, holding Dean's rough jaw in his hands and kissing Dean's mouth, hearing the vulnerability he so rarely allows to thicken his voice and glaze his eyes, none of which he's ever found in Dean's dreams. Reality is better, even for all its inconveniences, and the reality of spending time alone with Dean, intimately and private, is better than he could have dreamed. ]
I only need you.
[ There's a simple honesty in Castiel's answer that may make Dean uncomfortable in ways it has been, but Castiel can't think of anything else to say. He isn't tired, exhausted, or in pain as he was. He feels only warmth, and he wants only more of Dean's company. His fingers curl possessively against the sides of Dean's neck, and his thumbs trace the strong line of his jaw and the slope of his chin. His eyes drop to Dean's lips, wet and full with having so recently been kissed, tempting Castiel to kiss him again, and again, and never stop. His affection for Dean feels endless, and the desire to show it just as vast.
Does the feeling ever abate, he wonders again? Dean hadn't answered him. Perhaps he doesn't know. Endlessness is a difficult concept for humans to understand, as fleeting as their lives are. For all he's learned, these still so much about humans, and Dean, that Castiel has yet to understand. His eyes lift to Dean's again, seeking. ]
But if there's something else you need, I'm willing to wait.
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Cas says I need you and it shifts something fundamental, something deep in his soul, dredging up parts of himself he'd thought long hidden away.
Dean swallows, eyes wide, Cas' fingers on his skin, thumbs on parted lips, breath ghosting over them as he shakily exhales, trying to keep his composure. ]
No. [ It's firm, like he's made some kind of decision in his head that he hasn't spoken out loud. Cas looks at him and Dean looks back, locking on the steadiness of his gaze, getting lost in the swirling storm of blue. ]
I think we've waited long enough.
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We have.
[ They could continue to sit here, and drink beers, and kiss, and Castiel would be content. In fact, he'd be content with far less, if Dean were to offer it. But Castiel wants for far more, his want for Dean expands as endlessly as the universe, and he leans away from him only to slide off the chair, his hands tracing Dean's shoulders and arms en route to twining the fingers of their hands as he urges Dean to come with him. ]
Take me to bed.
[ Castiel asks, only because he has no idea where the bed in this very large cabin is, or else he would gladly have already led Dean to it himself. Despite the bandage on his side and the absence of his grace, Castiel agrees that they have, in fact, waited long enough. ]
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With pleasure.
[ He gets up, abandoning the bottles and wrappers from dinner in favor of tugging Cas in for another sweet kiss, gentle, needy, before pulling back to guide him to the cozy little bedroom. ]
wait was this my tag THE WHOLE TIME askghahjka i hecked up
The window is shuttered. It's impossible to tell whether there's a view of the night-time lake or not beyond that window; Castiel hasn't kept careful enough track of the direction of the house to tell. Ultimately, though, it's not important. Nature's splendor can't hope to compare to how Dean occupies Castiel's attention. He barely takes note of the room, beyond the fact that it's smaller and cleaner than most hotel rooms, and the bed, though small, is a good deal larger. They'll be comfortable here in this private place, and the excitement that comes with that knowledge has Castiel's skin warming. Of course, that could just be the alcohol, or it could just be the heat he feels from the feeling of his fingers twined with Dean's. Whatever the physiological reason, Castiel is undeniably warm, excited, and eager, and Dean is absolutely the cause.
Dean leads him into the bedroom, as he'd promised, and Castiel immediately tugs Dean into turning once they're through the door. He brings his hands up to cradle Dean's cheeks as he kisses him again, breathlessly unrestrained, and he steps forward between Dean's feet, pushing him back gently towards the bed. ]
lmfao me over here refreshing my inbox on repeat like mO_Om
It's probably because he's never actually slept with someone he loves. He hasn't admitted that to Cas or himself, but he does, and deep down, that's probably what it is. It's intimidating, because Cas is a friggin' angel and what if, ultimately, he decides Dean is just a worthless human and changes his mind? It's an irrational fear, but Dean thinks it's perfectly valid.
He really shouldn't worry, though - the gentle way Cas cups his face like he's a precious jewel makes his heart warm in his chest...it's pretty damn life-affirming. It makes him shiver, lean into it, slip his arms lightly around Cas' waist and walk backwards, letting the angel guide him to the bed until it bumps the back of his knees and he has to sit down or fall. ]
SAME THO i played myself :,)
Dean's calves hit the bed, and as he falls to sitting, Castiel leans in to keep holding him, and kissing him, and being held, as if, if he were to let Dean go even for a moment, they both might fall. He stands there for a moment in an awkward stoop, kissing Dean with gentle, insistent devotion, before he does the more rational thing and falls to sitting on the bed beside Dean. Cas lets his hands explore Dean more thoroughly, then. His right pushes into Dean's hair while his left smooths down over Dean's chest and comes to rest, distracted, over his heart while he continues to kiss him again, and again and never tires of how good Dean's lips feel against his, or his tongue, or the warm puff of his breath when either of them bothers to breathe.
There's no doubt in his mind that he was meant to find Dean, because as thrilling as the appeal of rebellion and free will are, none of Castiel's choices have ever felt so right as this. ]
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Explaining how he feels about the angel is difficult, because Cas is an angel, and he's also the first person (being?) Dean has ever really, truly loved. Cassie and Lisa were a close second, but even his affection for the two women pales in comparison to how it feels to be with Cas, to have those fingers push into his hair, to have plush, kiss stung lips brushing his.
Truthfully, there really aren't words to describe it, this thing between them, so vast and extraordinary; simple adjectives fall short, the syntax paltry, a child trying to describe unimaginable, unearthly beauty.
He covers Cas' hand with his, lacing fingers, cock hard between his thighs as he rumbles against Cas' lips. ]
You keep this up and I'm not gonna be able to hold back. [ There's an injury here, and as much as Dean is very interested in upholding his promise, there is the little matter of Cas' wound. ]
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Not right now, though. As apt as poetry would be for how the warmth of Dean's skin and the softness of his lips itself feels to Castiel like poetry or song, he's much more content on keeping Dean's lips occupied just the way they are. Dean's hand covers his, and Castiel lifts his fingers away to tangle them instantly with Dean's. Their joined hands drop to the sheets as Castiel pulls Dean in, holding him tighter, kissing him deeply until Dean's voice interrupts and Castiel is forced to lean back and make space between them enough to put meaning in the words. ]
Good. Don't hold back.
[ Castiel doesn't see the problem. His injury is numbed, wounds all forgotten, and Dean is warm and pliant. He tastes like beer and salt, the freckles on his cheeks stand out beautifully when he's flushed like this, and everything Castiel remembers from their last time in bed together, he wants again. He wants to experience Dean the way only other humans can; he wants to give himself, graceless and vulnerable, completely over to Dean's care. ]
I want you.
[ The words are simple but the meaning of that word, wanting, feels like the depths of the ocean: dark and secret and unimaginable to all but the creatures that exist there. Castiel kisses Dean's mouth again, fully but briefly, before pulling back and kissing the back of his hand where their fingers are twined. He kisses the back of each of Dean's fingers apologetically before letting him go completely, and leaning back, he tugs the shirt Dean had given him reluctantly over his head, sets its messily on the bed, and reaches immediately back in to kiss Dean heatedly again. ]
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Cas makes it easy, though. Maybe it's because there's an angel within the vessel of Jimmy Novak, maybe it's because Cas was first and foremost his friend, maybe it's because Dean is finally pulling his head out of his own damn ass long enough to see that there isn't anything wrong with him caring intimately about someone of the opposite sex. Maybe it's because it's more than physical with Cas.
Same sex relationships have always been just fine for other people, because it isn't Dean, and he doesn't have to admit he's heart wrenchingly jealous to anyone but the most secret, protected part of himself. Dean has been uncomfortable in the presence of such humans only because of his own insecurity and repressed wants and needs and cravings and friggin' hang-ups.
In the end though, it's fine for them. Perfectly fine. Love is love, all that. But for Dean, specifically...
No, it's less than fine. It was never fine; if he ever caught himself looking, he would hear his fathers disappointed voice in his head, scolding him, reminding him he's a man, he's a Winchester, and besides all that - he has a job to do.
In truth - Dean actually has no idea how his father would have reacted. To Cas, to Dean having an interest in him, to any of this. He's got a pretty damn good idea about it just based off of when his father was born and the people he grew up around, but there is no real way of knowing. Daddy is dead, and Dean is here, sitting on the edge of a bed with an actual angel, who is kissing him desperately, hungrily, with so much feeling it leaves Dean breathless and shivery, reaching to slip an arm around Cas' now bare waist, warm skin on skin, intoxicating in its chemistry. ]
Cas-- [ Logic dictates he stop, check the bandage, make sure Cas is actually fine before they go any farther, but their mouths clash again and Dean closes his eyes, stars colliding around them, starbursts behind his eyelids. ]
You got me.
gently covers the date of this tag with my hand
Dean is wonderous; he's infinitely loving. Whatever his insecurities are, Castiel has always seen past them. It isn't with pity or desperation that he offers himself to Castiel; it's love. Dean has always shown him love in one form or another, and Castiel hesitates to call it romantic, but he feels it. And without his grace, that passionate form of love for Dean is only stronger. He leans into Dean, kissing him feverishly, and the wrap of Dean's arm around his bare waist, pulling him closer, has Castiel gasping against Dean's mouth and burning hotter. ]
Yes.
[ Dean offers himself, and that's what Castiel wants: to have Dean for himself, to hold him, and cherish him in every way three dimensions will allow. His hands leave Dean's cheeks to push between them, and he pulls at Dean's shirt, urging him to bare more skin. Yes, he has Dean, but... ]
I want more of you.
[ He wants Dean in ways there aren't words in any human language for. He wants to consume him without destruction, to join him without separation. There's probably poetry that's eloquent enough, but Castiel can't think of anything but of Dean's mouth as their tongues slide, of the heat of Dean's hands on his back, and all the frustratingly thick clothing caught between them. ]
i am no better apparently; what the fuck dw
Being yours doesn't sound too bad.
Dean's words echo in his own head as Cas' fingers tug at his shirt and he looks down, realizing what the angel is doing. He peels out of his tee and balls it up, tossing it aside as he meets Cas' eyes, wets his lips with his tongue. ]
I'm all yours. [ A different statement than you got me, he thinks. More meaningful, and it ties in with what he'd said earlier. Dean says things without saying them, using actions and vague references in order to articulate the things he means.
This time, though, he says it direct, putting it out there, consequences be damned. Cas is beautiful and stole Dean's heart, and he'd told him once, not too long ago, during a game he'd let Cas possess him if he needed, and if that isn't fucking commitment and trust and love then Dean doesn't know what is.
He reaches to press his palm on Cas' chest, fingertips spreading over his skin, feeling the thump of a heartbeat under his palm. He flashes a little smirk at Cas, mischief in his eyes as he slides his hand down, thumbing over a nipple. ]
So do something about it.
i can't believe dw hates destiel
Thank you.
[ It's probably inappropriate to thank someone immediately prior to coitus, but Castiel can't hold back his gratitude. He wants to express how very grateful he is for the trust Dean has given him, for Dean's care during this time in which Castiel is unusually vulnerable, and for Dean's own vulnerability of the human kind that comes with laying oneself bare, physically and emotionally, in the act of sex. He needs Dean to know how very well loved he is, and that's exactly why Castiel has brought him here to this remote cabin, this quiet bedroom, and this plush bed, to show him exactly what Castiel intends to do about it.
His hand still covers Dean's, their fingers loosely linked, but he guides Dean along the path he was already headed, teasing his own nipple in their joined finger and sighing against Dean's mouth at the burst of heat the action brings. As he kisses Dean's mouth with increasingly breathless want, he drags their hands down his chest, and cups Dean's hand over the firm erection trapped against the denim fly of his jeans, because if there were any doubt that Castiel desired him, there's the proof in human flesh. He leaves Dean's hand there, to stay or take another path, but the rushing heat of kissing Dean and having Dean's hand on him has Castiel needy for more contact. He deepens their kisses, licking Dean's tongue as his hands cup Dean's cheeks and slide down his neck, his shoulders, and then push gently on Dean's chest, urging him to lie back. ]
im genuinely mad about it
Um. You're, uh-- you're welcome.
[ Cas is overwhelming, intense and thoughtful in everything he says and does, and Dean is just here to stumble along clumsily beside his angel, doing his best to keep everyone alive and the world from caving in.
He takes these moments he's given and treasures them like precious jewels. These brief instances that he's gifted with, this time spent with Cas, it means the world to him, and he cups Cas carefully, fingers fumbling for the zipper before he's ultimately eased back. He goes without resistance, laying on his back, looking up at Cas as he lets his hands settle on the angels hips, thumbing his skin where he's able, marveling at the way Cas' touch sends fireworks (like chernobyl, he thinks) through his soul.
Dean would happily combust for Cas, allow his soul to explode with the beauty of Cas' grace, sending shockwaves throughout the universe. ]
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Castiel kisses Dean's mouth, and the warmth he feels radiating through him is stronger than fire, or light, or grace. He feels electrified by the touch of Dean's fingertips on his hips, alight from his kisses. ]
I'm yours, as well.
[ It's something they had spoken of before, "my angel," Dean had said, though Castiel feels less angelic than ever in this moment, and yet purer than he's ever felt. He kisses Dean with softness and yearning, and his hands trace over Dean's skin, the rise of his chest and the dip of his stomach, until he's able to cover Dean's hands and guide Dean's fingers the waist of his own pants, eager to be undressed. He leans back, briefly, to meet Dean's eyes. ]
About the offer you made to me, before... Are you ready?
[ They were both lost in the thrall of sex when Dean made that offer to let Castiel fuck him all those days ago, and though Dean had affirmed it in the Impala earlier, that he was still willing, Castiel wants to be sure. He trusts Dean completely, but he knows that Dean often masks his uncertainties with bravado, and Castiel won't risk misinterpreting so intimate an act between them. ]
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The world trembles around them, quakes on its axis, and all Dean can see is the bright of Castiel's eyes, staring back into his. ]
I'm ready.
[ Dean meant it, every word; he made a vow, and while he is certain Cas would release him from it if Dean made noises otherwise, he is certain about his wants, about sharing this with Cas. It is a big offer, this piece of himself, his soul and heart - Dean doesn't give these things easily, and he is trusting Cas with them, with all of his cards spread out on the table. Choose whatever you will, he is yours, in every way. ]
More than.