[ There is nothing that Dean needs to apologize for, in Castiel's mind; they're both victims of untouchable, capricious gods and the doggedly obstinate hand of fate. But Cas doesn't argue it. Not right now. He's exhausted by circumstance and time wasted while being at odds with Dean. They're together now, increasingly intimately, and it's the high Cas has been without. He'd do anything to keep Dean like this, touching and kissing him, just the way they are. Repeating the words is a comparably small request from the mountains Castiel would move to sun himself in the continued warmth of Dean's affection. ]
I love you.
[ It's surprisingly easy to say, as if the weight of it has been lifted just by speaking the words aloud. Castiel feels light, thinner, almost transparent. He holds onto Dean like a tether to the Earth, and Dean's kisses and the press of his (noticeably hard) body have him panting between wet-mouthed kisses, similarly aroused. His hands push back up under Dean's shirt. His thumbs trace Dean's ribs. "You whom I have prepared as cups for a wedding or as the flowers in their beauty for the chamber of righteousness—" Jealousy is a sin, but how hasn't Castiel sinned these days? ]
And I want you.
[ As he pushes against Dean, rocking to seam eager rhythm as their increasingly breathless kisses, there's a floorboard the creaks each time. A month ago, Cas wouldn't have cared. He likely wouldn't even have noticed. But now it's a loud, sharp sound, and the guilt of time and place and exposure is impossible for him to ignore. His hands flatten against Dean's stomach, and he pulls away from his kisses, apologetically slow. ]
...Hold on—
[ Castiel means that literally, because in the next moment, he's pushing against Dean again, but with a different kind of purpose. Dean's back goes through the shadow of where the stairs should be, and Castiel steps forward with him through space, wings opening to catch the current of time, and in the next blink, landing them standing beside the bed they used to share. The door's already closed. It's indulgently private and achingly nostalgic. Castiel pauses only after they've arrived, and though he's still flushed with arousal, he waits to gauge Dean's reaction and see if he's overstepped, metaphorically as well as literally. ]
fix what? i saw nothing
I love you.
[ It's surprisingly easy to say, as if the weight of it has been lifted just by speaking the words aloud. Castiel feels light, thinner, almost transparent. He holds onto Dean like a tether to the Earth, and Dean's kisses and the press of his (noticeably hard) body have him panting between wet-mouthed kisses, similarly aroused. His hands push back up under Dean's shirt. His thumbs trace Dean's ribs. "You whom I have prepared as cups for a wedding or as the flowers in their beauty for the chamber of righteousness—" Jealousy is a sin, but how hasn't Castiel sinned these days? ]
And I want you.
[ As he pushes against Dean, rocking to seam eager rhythm as their increasingly breathless kisses, there's a floorboard the creaks each time. A month ago, Cas wouldn't have cared. He likely wouldn't even have noticed. But now it's a loud, sharp sound, and the guilt of time and place and exposure is impossible for him to ignore. His hands flatten against Dean's stomach, and he pulls away from his kisses, apologetically slow. ]
...Hold on—
[ Castiel means that literally, because in the next moment, he's pushing against Dean again, but with a different kind of purpose. Dean's back goes through the shadow of where the stairs should be, and Castiel steps forward with him through space, wings opening to catch the current of time, and in the next blink, landing them standing beside the bed they used to share. The door's already closed. It's indulgently private and achingly nostalgic. Castiel pauses only after they've arrived, and though he's still flushed with arousal, he waits to gauge Dean's reaction and see if he's overstepped, metaphorically as well as literally. ]