[ There are so many mistakes between them, evident in the scars on their skin as Dean's shirt is pulled off and dropped in the footwell and Cas's shirt is shimmied upwards and lost between the bench seat and the passenger door. They're not whole as they used to be. They're damaged, broken in sharp pieces that stripe their skin where bullets and debris had gotten close enough to leave lasting injuries that still ache during the rain. They're older, worn, and honed by violence and hopelessness.
And yet here they are, touching one another and kissing each other like gentle, treasured things. It's ridiculous to think about, but when Cas thinks about it, instead of laughing, desperate and unhinged, he sighs against Dean's mouth. More than whatever kind of purgatory this place is or whatever Heaven or Hell or emptiness awaits him: this feels like absolution. Being wrapped up in the leather of Dean's car, tasting whiskey on his mouth and smelling motor oil on his skin feels like being cleansed of the last five years. His hands wander from Dean's jaw to his shoulders. His fingers trace Dean's ribs and slide forward across his hips, conflicted in his desires to move things along and feel Dean as thoroughly as he'd like to or to draw it out and enjoy making the moment last. Cas nips at Dean's lips, teasing between kisses. ]
How long can we stay here?
[ How long before someone comes looking, before Dean has other plans, before he gets bored of Cas pawing at him, whatever. ]
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And yet here they are, touching one another and kissing each other like gentle, treasured things. It's ridiculous to think about, but when Cas thinks about it, instead of laughing, desperate and unhinged, he sighs against Dean's mouth. More than whatever kind of purgatory this place is or whatever Heaven or Hell or emptiness awaits him: this feels like absolution. Being wrapped up in the leather of Dean's car, tasting whiskey on his mouth and smelling motor oil on his skin feels like being cleansed of the last five years. His hands wander from Dean's jaw to his shoulders. His fingers trace Dean's ribs and slide forward across his hips, conflicted in his desires to move things along and feel Dean as thoroughly as he'd like to or to draw it out and enjoy making the moment last. Cas nips at Dean's lips, teasing between kisses. ]
How long can we stay here?
[ How long before someone comes looking, before Dean has other plans, before he gets bored of Cas pawing at him, whatever. ]