foolintherain | INBOX #305682

INBOX #305682

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"I can't answer my phone right now, but you know what to do."

[ There's probably a choice argument to be had about that, about free will and fate, about why Cas thinks they have to go back and how Dean would rather chew his own leg off than let that happen. ]

I'm sorry, too.

[ And he is - for overreacting, for being emotional after they'd just woken up, for being an ass and pushing Cas away, for making assumptions that likely weren't entirely correct. Not that they're both blameless, but neither is the solely guilty party, either. ]

Tell me again.

[ Because he needs to hear it, needs reassurance, needs Cas' hands on him, on his skin and on his soul. He drinks Cas' kisses down greedily, like sweet wine, his hands passing over Cas' back where he's got them up under the angels shirt, under the layers that are both familiar and somehow foreign, like they were a skin Cas had shed somewhere along the way. ]

I need -- to hear it, again.

[ Dean tips his hips against Cas', slotting them together and pressing right back against him, his need obvious in both his kisses and fervent, desperate touches, and the hardness of his cock inside his jeans. ]

[ 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. ]

[ Dean exhales when he hears it, feeling lighter, freer; he'd thought (naively) that Trench would be a new start, that he and Cas could settle, smoke a bunch of weed and have a bunch of sex and just...finally have some semblance of peace.

It seems that kind of life isn't in the cards for them, and these past few weeks he's found himself fervently wishing they hadn't screwed shit up so...so fantastically. They were so close, so close, and it was ripped from them, right from their hands, the opportunity wisping through clenched fingers like curling smoke.

Maybe they don't get that life, that peace he's always craved - maybe they don't get their house on a mountain, their paradise, but with every breathless kiss Cas the angel bestows on Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, he thinks maybe...

Maybe they can have something close.

Dean grip at Cas, fingers pressing into his skin, palms sliding down, a hand teasing at his waistband, dipping below. ]

Cas, I--

[ He's frantic when Cas peels back, his grip tightening, obeying without realizing as the world tips around him, the eerily familiar feeling of being pulled through space and time consuming him for a brief moment before his feet find solid ground and they're in their room, their space, their home.

Dean swallows, forcing himself to find his balance before he reaches in again, drags Cas back into his arms and kisses him hard, fierce; if Cas were human, he'd be breathless. ]

I love you, [ he growls against plush, kiss stung lips, hands working to shove at Cas' trench, the beige garment a sight for sore eyes. ] And I want you to take me, now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

INBOX #305682

went ahead and fixed it lmao

fix what? i saw nothing

>8)