foolintherain | DEERINGTON INBOX

DEERINGTON INBOX

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"The phone has an incredible camera function on it as well as a very powerful flashlight. It also has a night vision setting, though the night vision setting drains the battery very fast. The regular battery life of these phones is 24 hours, but using the night vision will shorten the life span to only 8 hours."

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[ Combustible, fragile things are the kind most likely to explode and destroy a great deal of everything around them, but then Cas isn't in a place to lecture Dean about his anger. Cas was lightning in a bottle like that, once. Now he's a drained wine bottle with the bottom broken off: empty and sharp and incapable of being filled. But oh, how sweet it is to feel whole for a moment here and there, when Dean touches him gently and breathes Cas's name against his lips, a reminder of who he still is.

That lightning is gone, but the smell of motor oil and leather seats makes him feel high on nostalgia for a time when it wasn't. He sighs Dean's name into the next kiss, a reminder of who Dean always will be to him, and though there's no urgency or need to rush, Cas feels greedy for more of Dean, anyway. He traces the curve of Dean's back and his sides, his chest and his stomach as he kisses him again and again, inhaling the scent and taste of Dean with soft, oiled leather, and when Dean's shirt gets in the way of his hands, Cas tugs it up, and up, over Dean's arms.

He drops his head back to the seat and smiles as he watches, because Dean's always been, and still is, lovely to look at. Mostly though, it's just as nice to see Dean right now as it is to touch him. Cas's starved touches turn gentle as he traces Dean's high cheekbones, his plush lips and rough chin, before tugging him down again slowly and arching up to meet him in more leisurely, deep kisses. ]

[ For all of his bravado and bluster, the simmering rage under the surface and the ease in which he can plug someone infected with Croatoan without hesitation, Dean is soft, fragile - delicate in a way that's hidden under a carefully constructed macho persona, unwilling to let the gentleness in his heart free for fear of being hurt.

No one likes being hurt, and yet he and Cas have destroyed each other more times than they can count. Words like sharp steel, sex as a weapon. It's been an unhealthy tango for ages, a battle that couldn't be won, not when each party was foolishly reacting to the others bad decisions. He tugs at the hem of the angels shirt in kind, shoving it up his sides, encouraging him to lift his arms, get it off, because Dean wants to see and touch and scrape his teeth over the planes and valleys of Cas' body. ]

Here, though, in the backseat of the Impala, fresh and smelling of oiled leather and the whiskey on his lips, it feels like a new start. Dean's shirt is easily removed, shoved down on the floorboards of the car and immediately forgotten. All that there is to worry about now are Cas' plush lips, the fingers tracing over Dean's jaw and cheeks.

[ 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. ]

As long as you want.

[ There are no duties tonight, no perimeter patrol, no responsibilities that will take him away from this.

There are probably things he can think of that he needs to do; there are guns to clean, repairs to be made to the house and finishing touches to be lovingly bestowed upon the car they are currently christening. There's dinner to be made, preparations to be thought out and put into place, safeguards, the salt lines checked, the wards repainted, the demon trap under the front mat checked. But you know what--

Someone else can worry about it, tonight. Dean is done, today. His priority is right here, underneath him, tracing sacred lines over Dean's skin. ]

I want to take my time with you.

[ The words aren't simply generous; they're completely alien. Dean has spent years putting up walls, metaphorically and literally, and every opportunity Cas has taken to scale or tear them down has been met with frustration, anger, and resistance. So, being let in under Dean's guard for any amount of time is deeply touching, and this is... indulgent. Cas shivers under the caress of the words like they're Dean's hands or mouth. He isn't deserving of so much of Dean's attention, but fuck is he greedy for it. ]

Good. What I want is for us to last like this as long as we can.

[ He encourages Dean, voice gone a little higher with breathlessness as he rocks against Dean again, grinding a thigh between his legs, pulling Dean down by his hips as he arches up to feel the slide of naked skin together. He kisses Dean eagerly but restrained with the ghost of wet, warm lips against Dean's mouth again and again. ]

Make me beg for it.

[ He tips his hips against Cas' thigh with a little groan, breathy against the angel's lips, savoring the taste of him, the heat of hands on his hips. Cas is like a drug in his veins, pulling him in, twisting him up in a new addiction.

Dean finds that he's just fine with being swept into Cas' chaos, reveling in it, finding purpose in the loss of sanity. ]

You'll be singing hymns by the time I'm done with you.

[ He shifts his weight to brae against the backseat, sliding a hand down between them, roughly tugging at Cas' pants, pulling at the waistband. ]

Take these off.

[ References to God and angels and what Castiel once was are always going to sting, but of all the people Cas has known, Dean is the only one who really understands him: what Cas was, what he lost, who he is now. It doesn't make the reminder any less painful, when Dean says it. In some ways, it hurts worse. But it's a good kind of pain. Cleansing. Purification by fire. Cas laughs from his chest, breathless and quiet against Dean's mouth. His fingers slide from Dean's hips to his lower back, dragging him in close, and he sucks in the groan Dean makes like oxygen. ]

Hallelujah.

[ Dean's hands are already tugging at his pants, so Cas braces his arms against the car door over his head and uses the momentum of Dean's hands and the friction of his body to wiggle out of his pants and kick them out of the way. Much more satisfying that way. There's almost no space to breathe, cramped in the backseat as they are, and that's wonderful. All there's room for is huffing against Dean's mouth and grinding against him, and if Cas weren't already achingly hard from all those deep kisses on the hood earlier, just rubbing against Dean like this in close quarters would be enough for him. It's bliss.

His pants dangling around one shin, as close to gone as they're going to get at the moment, Cas arches against Dean with a satisfied hum, threads his fingers through Dean's hair, and pulls him back in to luxuriate in more of those slow, deep kisses. ]

[ The Impala's backseat is only so big, so they're treated to a lot of grinding against one another in the shuffle to remove clothing. There's no complaints from Dean - he has to admire the view, watching intently as Cas wriggles out of his pants, lifts his hips and presses right against Dean as he drinks in the sight below him.

His own jeans are annoyingly snug around his cock, so he does some moving around himself, yanking at the zipper and shoving at them even as Cas drags him back in for slow, lapping kisses that leave Dean's head spinning, heart pounding sharp and heavy in his chest. He doesn't want to break from the kiss, too hungry for soft lips he's just now getting a taste of in Deerington.

His own stubbornness over the years is infuriating, because Cas hasn't made his interest any secret, not really. Dean was just too blind and stupid to see it.

Once he gets his jeans shoved down, he's pulling back just to take a moment to look down at Cas and marvel, run his hands down over his chest and belly, touch light, almost reverent. ]

You...are incredible. [ It slips out before Dean can stop himself and he looks embarrassed, because talk about being soft and lame as hell. ]

[ Language between people has always been complicated to Castiel. People lie, they're sarcastic, they use references as metaphors, they joke through sensitive issues, they say what they don't mean. He's spent so much of the last five years trying to adapt in myriad ways. Now he understands sarcasm and brandishes it as weapon. But lies and hidden truths, he still struggles with. "You know why," Dean has said, but Cas doesn't. There's nothing incredible about him. He is the personification, the very essence, of failure. The two possibilities, "You know why" and "You needed release; I was familiar," vie for attention in Cas's mind, and he shoves the thoughts violently away. His chest presses into Dean's hands as pulls Dean back down by the neck and lifts himself up to hush him and demand more kisses, instead. ]

I know... what I said was, "make it last," but...

[ Cas peppers the words softly between kisses to Dean's lips, and the corner of his mouth, and his jaw as he drops a hand to the seat and slides back, just a little, for leverage. He kisses Dean's neck and drags his teeth over his pulse gently as he slides his hand over Dean's chest, his stomach, and down between them to stroke his cock. ]

Dean... Please, I need you.

[ Yeah, it's not difficult to make Cas beg, apparently. ]

[ Humans are masters at nuance, at saying one thing and meaning another, at half truths and hidden meanings. An entire conversation can be held with just body language and eye contact, the brush of fingers over skin, a shy smile. You know why, Cas. You do. Maybe you're not admitting it to yourself, maybe Dean needs to grow a set and make the words happen, but deep down, you know.

Dean looks down at Cas and he sees him in new ways every time; his head in Dean's lap, the brush of his fingers over Dean's lips, how Cas pulled him down for a kiss, and Dean didn't resist.

He resists now, though, shivering at those warm fingers wrapping around his aching cock, tipping his head so he can catch Cas' lower lip briefly between his teeth before letting go. ]

Not yet. I want to make this last.

[ He sure hopes Cas packed some lube in that kit he brought out, cause that's what he's fumbling for, groping along the floorboard for cold plastic. HE doesn't need it quite yet, but he wants it handy for later. ]

[ As obvious as Cas has always made himself where Dean is concerned, there was never any doubt in Cas's mind that Dean cared about him. Dean is kind. He's infinitely loving, and that Dean is the closest thing Castiel has ever had to a friend is a real, inarguable truth. But anything that Dean could consider "incredible" about Castiel is a relic of the past.

Anyway, sex is honest, and it's easy. It's naked affection, blunt intimacy, and whatever reasons Dean has for allowing it— kindness, pity, or even love— Cas doesn't care, as long as he keeps getting it. He knows better than to take for granted the good things in life, because those good things never last. He makes a grunt of displeasure against Dean's mouth at being denied, but he's not really displeased at all. He's warmed, whole-feeling in a way he isn't anymore, except when Dean is touching him, or sleeping beside him, or smiling at him.

There is lube in the first aid kit dropped to the floor: Dean's, actually, since Cas hasn't managed to get ahold of his own yet. Don't mind Cas borrowing that, or making assumptions, but well. Dean was pretty obvious about his intentions earlier, and Cas isn't generally optimistic, but he does like to be prepared. He grins against Dean's mouth once he feels him reaching for it, glad at least that he won't have to wait as long as he would otherwise, and he keeps stroking Dean's cock slowly between them, twisting his wrist and thumbing the tip on the way up and teasing the wet of Dean's mouth with his tongue. ]

Afraid you won't be able to hold off once you're in me?

[ If Dean didn't want to kill half the camp for sleeping with Cas to begin with, he'd probably thank them for teaching Cas everything he knows about sex, because the way he twists his wrist and thumbs the tip of his cock has Dean groaning into Cas' mouth, sliding a hand up his side, over his chest and shoulder and up into his hair where he grips, tight, a full body shiver rolling down his spine. Goddamn. ]

I know I won't. [ Be able to, he means, because he's barely got a lid on now, let alone once he's buried balls deep inside his angel, hips flush. Cas is warm and supple, pliant under Dean and he meets the angels tongue with equal hunger, devouring him, committing the taste to memory, how it feels to pin him against the backseat, the scent of leather and sex hanging in the air.

He finds the little box and flicks it open, digs around until he finds what he's looking for. He doesn't open it though, not yet, instead he puts it within reach on the floorboard and slips a hand between the angels pretty thighs, wrapping his fingers around Cas. warm and strong. ]

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