[ The appropriate answer to that invitation would be a response of acceptance, a time to expect him, and then his arrival, in that order. Cas has learned that much.
But this bitch is thirst af.
His wings open on Dean's command, and a moment later he's there next to Dean with the sound of feathers and a gentle stirring of wind as his wings fold away. ]
Hello, Dean. I hope coming over now is all right.
[ Because Cas sure just skipped all of the pre-visit etiquette, so all right or not, boom, here he is, with only a vague understanding of how the night should proceed. ]
I’m just screaming all over the place a la Robert plant
[ Oh whoops, awkward. That's what Castiel is, as if that's different from his normal state. His shoulders stiffen and his eyes widen a bit, bird-like. ]
Apologies. I... I thought you'd meant immediately.
[ He looks towards the door. Not that he'd use it but, thinking about leaving again. No, he was invited. Also see: thirsty af. He holds his ground and basically looks around the whole room before finally meeting Dean's eyes again. ]
I can come back.
[ Castiel says, hoping beyond hope that Dean will be like "no Cas stay because I am down to fuck you" or... however Dean manages to be incredibly attractive all the time without saying those words specifically. ]
[ expected, you know. some warning. a response. anything that fluffy wings, a breeze on his skin, and a dark haired angel in front of him. ]
No. No.
[ He sets the glass aside (some did slip out, running down the glass in rivulets, Dean's fingers a little damp) and stands, bridging the gap by a few steps. ]
[ When Dean tells him not to leave, Castiel feels it like a physical sensation, and he visibly relaxes, happy to be invited to stay. ]
Thank you.
[ That's probably??? Not an appropriate response??? 'Thank you for letting me stay for an illicit photography session Dean.' That's embarrassing. Your thirst is embarrassing, Castiel. He looks awkwardly from Dean's face to the drink he's set down, and the wetness on his fingers. Ah, you've made a mess of yourself Dean, you sloppy bitch. If Castiel were slick, he'd take Dean's hand in his mouth and clean those fingers with his tongue.
Unfortunately, this is the not-sexy universe's version of Castiel. And so while he does step closer to Dean and take Dean's wet hand in his, his thumb pressed firmly to Dean's palm, that's as far as he gets to being cool about it. There's a cold, shivery sensation in the room briefly, and Dean's hand is suddenly clean and dry. Still the alien thing he is, he lets go of Dean's hand, after, and also doesn't comment on what's just transpired.
You chose this hot mess, Dean. Never forget that. ]
[ His fingertips are damp with liquor, and something in his mind has
his imagination working overtime -- he can see it clear as day. Cas comes
close, he takes Dean's hand. Their fingers twine, lacing together, liquor
and all, smearing over both of them. Their eyes meet, and Dean is stupid
and stares, mouth slack, lips parted, watching Cas for some kind of cue,
something that tells Dean it's alright, you're alright, this is fine,
kiss me, let me drink from those kisses, sweet wine like honey, ambroasia
on your lips
His body twitches in real life, imagination on overdrive, Cas'
thumb on his palm and he wonders if he should suck it, take that blunt
finger in his mouth and lick him clean, taste his skin, the salt of his
sweat, trace over skin and muscle, what it tastes like to have him twitch
under his mouth-- ]
Uh.
[ You're...welcome? Is that what he's supposed to say here? He isn't
sure, he's lost track, it's only base instinct and breath, Dean's
shortness, the way it catches in his lungs and refuses to let go. ]
[ He's made things awkward, because of course he has. It's something Castiel's come to accept. He'll never be anything but strange and uncomfortable in the confines of a human vessel, and the touch of his grace, to Dean, is equally uncomfortable and strange.
Maybe coming here was a mistake, Castiel thinks, taking Dean's distraction and breathlessness as signs of his discomfort. Castiel is on the verge of excusing himself again when he remembers that Dean had invited him, and more, already told him to stay. What else is there to do, then? How should this begin? For all his eagerness, Castiel is at a loss. It's gratifying for him just to be here, with Dean, on the same plane of existence.
But Dean wants more. He wants "dick pics." He looks down and digs his phone from his pocket. ]
I have my phone, if you're still... interested in continuing.
[ He holds up the phone, not casually, but like a weapon, or a shield. Do your thing, modern technology. Make up in emojis and memes for the social proficiency between human communications that Castiel so sorely lacks. ]
[ Can't smack him with a sack of potatoes if he's in another dimension!!! Too bad!
But no, he's not going anywhere just yet. And of course Dean's is better. He should have thought of that. ]
Oh, right.
[ Castiel puts the phone back in his coat pocket and then, per Dean's instruction, begins to undress. Right here in the middle of the room. Why not? He doesn't know what he's doing or why he doesn't just use his grace to be instantly naked, but this feels more... appropriately human. He shrugs his shoulders out of the coat and begins to fold it, mindful that the phone doesn't fall out. ]
I'm still not entirely sure I understand the point of these photographs.
[ He admits while undressing. Like obviously the point is to arouse, but why him? And it seems much more intimate erotic to be taking pictures with Dean. Why was Dean expecting him to take pictures of himself? ~It's a mystery.~ Humans are such odd creatures. Their creativity in sexual pursuits is just endless. ]
Dean can't help but stare, watching Cas take the coat off he constantly wears is hot enough, but then the buttons start coming undone and Dean is a little worried he's going to come undone before they even start. ]
I think you'll figure it out soon enough.
[ Once Dean texts him nudes of himself that Cas can look at anytime he pleases - he's pretty sure the angel will get it. ]
[ Will he get it, though. As Castiel sets aside his coat, pulls lose his tie, and begins opening his shirt, he casts a concerned look in Dean's direction, clearly doubting him. Dean has much more faith in Castiel than he has in himself, but he supposes that's true for both of them. ]
All right.
[ He agrees anyway, stepping out of his shoes and unbuckling his belt, continuing to undress with mechanical precision because that's the only instruction he's been given. ]
[ omg robot much. it's kind of funny in an ironic sort of way, Dean's lips pulling into a smile as he lifts his phone to snap a few pictures of Cas peeling out of his clothes like an android. ]
I guess it wouldn't make as much sense to you. But humans do it cause we like looking at people we, um--
[ shit. shit shit shit.
he almost said people we love, and that's, it's--
Fuck. ]
People we care about. We like looking at them naked. It's intimate. [ usually. Dean's sent nudes before, when asked for them, and only to people he liked. Cassie. Lisa. Other than that, not so much.
Mostly because all his flings were precisely that - flings. ]
[ Hopefully Dean's cropping his face out of those pictures, because Castiel goes from looking concerned to confused as Dean snaps photographs of him with his phone, and neither is a particularly sexy look. He unwinds his belt from his hips, opens and drops his pants, and is hopping out of his socks, down to just his white boxers, when he pauses to look up at Dean, working through the meaning of those words.
People we care about. Is that what he is to Dean? Intimate. Yes, that's what this is, and Castiel finds himself flushing warm. He can't possibly imagine that stripping down alone and taking pictures of himself would have the same level of intimacy as doing it for Dean. It's not possible. ]
I do enjoy our intimacy.
[ He admits, and then, after a moment's hesitation, he hooks his thumbs in the waist of his boxers and pulls down, steps out of them, folds and sets them aside until he's standing there, fully naked in front of Dean and still incredibly awkward about it.
Despite the flush on his chest and in his cheeks, he's not otherwise physically aroused, and he isn't sure whether he's meant to be or not, or what, in generally, he's supposed to be doing. He can't bring himself to look at Dean, or the camera, and can't help feeling as if that's detrimentally to the goal of intimacy, but he doesn't know how to act otherwise. Touching Dean would be so much easier than this. This body that Dean's admiring the look of isn't even his, despite the fact that it was given to him willing by its former (human) owner. It's not him, and Castiel feels acutely disingenuous to be modelling it. He isn't sure what to do with it, or how to feel otherwise, so he just stands there, waiting for Dean's next instruction. ]
[ The pics Dean takes are kind of funny, Cas' facial expressions on the screen some that he will never, ever delete - or show anyone else. These are for Dean and Dean alone. ]
...Yeah. Me too, Cas.
[ His eyes drop, canvasing Cas' body as layer after layer is shed, licking his lips a little before snapping a picture, Cas' eyes dropped, exposed and gorgeous, and Dean can feel his own dick twitch.
He holds out a hand, palm up, phone in the other. ]
[ Though Castiel suspects that he's doing a terrible job at providing any sufficiently arousing photographs for Dean's enjoyment, he's pleased, at least, that Dean seems to be getting something out of teaching him. He enjoys the way Dean's voice goes low and his eyes darken, and that in turn has Castiel's heart beating faster and the sensation of warmth blooming across his naked skin. When Dean offers his hand, even though Castiel has no idea what the gesture is for, the sensation doubles.
Dean beckons him, and there are so many ways Castiel could respond. He could, of course, take Dean's hand as if they were to begin a choreographed dance. He could also catch Dean's wrist and kiss that open palm. He could press his cheek to it, and pull Dean into a kiss by his neck. There are so very many ways he could touch Dean, and none of them involve that phone in his other hand.
It's frustrating. Even so, Castiel is eager to do whatever Dean has planned for them, trusting that it's something he'll enjoy, if not by the nature of it, then by the simple truth that Dean is a part of the experience. Besides, he'd do anything for Dean. Surely Dean already knows that, but Castiel is committed to proving it again and again. He takes Dean's hand, simply, and steps in closer to him, meeting his eyes in a silent request for guidance. Then, he puts quietly devoted words to it as well. ]
[ He stops, wraps his fingers around Cas' lacing their fingers like they're lovers, thumb brushing over Cas' knuckles. ]
I want you--
[ Wetting his lips, Dean flicks his eyes over Cas, drinking in his body - Jimmy's body - before looking back up and locking eyes, hazel on stormy blue. There's an angel in there, he knows. Cas isn't a 'man', he isn't some guy, he's an angel, wrapped up tightly in the confines of a human vessel, looking at Dean through one set of foreign eyes. Dean can see him, though - see the angel in there, hidden behind the face of a man.
A pretty man.
Dean shifts, clears his throat, then realizes he's said something rather full of innuendo, and then nothing else.
Ahem. ]
I want you to, um. Sit on the bed, lay back, on the pillows, arm behind your head.
[ It's a pleasant and entirely distracting sensation, having his hand held by Dean's like that. More than just the warm feeling of roughly calloused skin sliding against sensitive whorls of softer skin, his skin flushes darker because of the words Dean offers slowly, repeating, and drawn out.
It's frustrating, but in a strangely attractive way. Castiel, impatient thing that he usually is, finds he doesn't mind frustration of this kind: the kind involving Dean touching him gently, licking his lips, looking at him like he's something worthy of being wanted, and saying those very words Castiel will always long to hear. Not, "I need you, Castiel," but "I want you."
It's a very nice feeling, being wanted. If he weren't sure the purpose of this meeting is arousal, Castiel would be embarrassed by how his body responds. His heart is racing so much that it feels like his chest is pounding with it, his fingers caught in Dean's grip tingle from just that slight touch, and the heat of his desire for Dean is filling out his untouched, unclothed, cock. Sit on the bed, Dean instructs, but Castiel hesitates, his eyes focused on Dean's lips as he considers rebellion. He doesn't want to stop touching Dean. Even more, he wants to kiss him. ]
All right.
[ He agrees in a rough whisper, almost vacantly with his distracting. He'd agreed to these photographs, though. And so, however reluctantly, Castiel nods and steps back, letting go of Dean's hand, and does as he's been instructed: first sitting on the bed, then scooting back towards the pillows, lying down, and, with a crease of confusion on his brow, pillowing an arm behind his head. Why this, specifically? He has no idea. He lifts his chin, craning his neck a bit to keep looking at Dean, and he shifts his weight from one hip to the other, entirely unsure of what to do with these 206 bones and 37.2 trillion cells of human flesh.
One thin plane away, he lets his wings unfurl and stretch and his grace expand. It's a much more natural feeling, however brief it is. His spine stretches to accommodate the weight, the lights in the room flicker and his eyes burn blue-white before fading to a more natural tone. ]
Is this right?
[ Maybe he isn't supposed to be comfortable at all? Maybe the discomfort is the point? He has no idea what Dean expects to see with him in this position. ]
[ He wants to throw Cas on the bed and sit on his dick, and the sudden revelation of that desire is pretty damn shocking, enough to make him stutter forward, feet tripping over one another when Cas sits and lays back, Dean still reaching out with one hand, the absence of heat and touch filling him with profound loss.
Weird.
Still, he's going after Cas anyway, a knee on the side of the mattress just for stability - he's a little afraid he's going to either lose consciousness or just fuck Cas straight into another dimension, because the scene in front of him is something straight out of a porn--
No. Straight out of a fantasy, because honestly, porn could fucking never.
He's in awe; Cas' eyes are heaven incarnate, the flash making Dean blink even as he looks up, watches the lights flicker, half expecting bulbs to shatter, glass to rain down on the two of them. ]
Um. Yeah.
[ fuck Cas looks good like this. Dean can't help but stare; lips parted, photos briefly forgotten as he reaches out, touches Cas' chest, walks his fingers over warm skin, eyes fixed on pillowy lips. ]
[ This is a practice in frustration and restraint, to be sure. Castiel... oddly likes it. Dean reaches for him, and Castiel wants to reach back. His grace strains in Dean's direction, but the vessel of his body keeps him trapped, and he holds the pose he's been told to take: laying on the pillows with an arm behind his head, looking at Dean.
He has no control over how he's looking at Dean: all the naked wanting is honest there in his expression. Dean drops a knee to the mattress and Castiel's throat jumps as he swallows; his full cock strains with neglect. He's looking at Dean like he wants Dean in his lap or fucking into him or just touching him. He just wants Dean and he considers saying it. Would that be inappropriate? Dean hadn't actually said "I want you," really. "I want you to sit on the bed" was all it really was.
Castiel holds still and silent, waiting for the photography to begin, enjoying the frustration he feels of being the center of Dean's attention, naked and wanting, and not allowed to touch him.
...But then Dean touches him instead. Just on the chest, just lightly, but Castiel's skin shivers beneath that gentle touch, and his cock leaks with how badly he wants, and when he exhales, it's Dean's name, rough and deep and pleading, either not to be touched if the lesson is to continue, or to be touched much, much more if it's done. ]
I'm sorry, I can't-- I can't help it, you're so...
[ Sexy. Is that the right word? He's not sure, because it doesn't seem applicable -- and he doesn't mean that in a bad way. Cas is divine, in more ways than one. Dean's soul yearns, reaches back towards Cas grace, the feeling pulling from his spine through his ribcage, tugging him towards the angel sprawled out on the bed. Even if the position is awkward, Cas is so beautiful, flushed and so, so reactive.
What else is Dean supposed to do, besides rest his palm to Cas' chest, warm and heavy, and slide it down? Not much, he doesn't think, though the phone squeezed tight in his hand is a reminder of what he was supposed to be doing, not groping Cas. ]
S-sorry.
[ He reluctantly drags his hand back, though it isn't for long. Instead he focuses on positioning Cas, arranging his legs, both arms behind his head, reaching to grip his chin longer than necessary as he positions his head. ]
[ Despite feeling frustrated and teased, Castiel still doesn't understand what Dean's apologizing for. Isn't this what he wanted? "Nudes" ? Regardless of Dean's wants though, apologies aren't what Castiel wants from him either, unless those apologies involve either Dean's mouth or his hands.
He thinks about demanding it. He thinks that Dean would be agreeable, and give him what Castiel is suddenly, thanks to Dean's attention, so intent on having. But he doesn't ask. He tries to find patience, to remind himself that this is for Dean, even as Dean's hand is sliding, smooth and wide, down his chest as if marking his bones— no, deeper. his grace— in a human language with fingertips painted in the shimmering gold color of his soul. ]
It's fine.
[ Castiel says, voice thick and unsteady as his chest rises and falls quickly under the press of Dean's hand. It's not fine, though. His grace pulses as his blood does, heart and essence both racing towards Dean's touch. He feels like a ticking bomb, desperate to explode, but he waits, watching Dean with focused, dark blue eyes. And when Dean touches his knees, his biceps, his chin, Castiel watches him each time and allows himself to be positioned like an artist might. Dean wants to remember him like this. Castiel feels how he imagines Michaelangelo's lovers must have felt. He feels incredibly human as he holds the pose Dean arranges him into. Dean wants to remember this, remember him. Castiel's heart throbs, ticking away. ]
If you forget, I'll remind you.
[ It's an egotistical sort of promise, but Castiel can't help making it. He doesn't want Dean to remember him with pictures. He wants this, Dean's attention on him like this, over and over again, for as long as Dean still wants (or needs) him. ]
[ Dean wants to climb under Cas' skin and stay there, slip inside his true form and be consumed, allow Cas to have every piece of him, shimmering and bright, one angel, one human. It's insanity that it crosses his mind, and were it any other regular day he'd say Cas wasn't interested.
But the angel is here, letting Dean position him, flushed and naked, and Dean's soul yearns for him, reaches out like glowing tendrils, seeking Cas' grace, twisting them up, binding them together.
His voice is breathless when he speaks, eyes bright. ]
...Good. I want you to remind me.
[ He pauses, his touches lingering, fingertips tracing over his belly, walking over his abdomen, brushing lower still through soft, dark curls. Are they really proper nudes if Cas isn't as hard as he possibly can be?
Hardly.
Dean tips his head, watching Cas' expression as his lets his fingers slide further down, over wiry hair, brushing against the base of his cock. ]
[ It's something Castiel tries very much not to think about, and inevitably always comes back to it: how much he wants to break this frustrating pane of glass that is his vessel and truly touch Dean again, the way he had in Hell. Castiel can understand why humanity values sex beyond procreation in moments like this, with Dean's hands on his skin and his very soul yearning to be held, and why it's forbidden of angels. This thing, this union, is holier than God, and Castiel aches to be touched in all the ways Dean is offering, and denying him.
He watches Dean with eyes gone dark with need, and his skin shivers under Dean's too-gentle touch down his chest, his stomach, and lower still. It becomes an even greater exercise of patience and restraint as Dean's fingers tease through the short curls just beneath his very full cock, only to go no further. Castiel's hands bury tightly into the pillow beneath his head, and he pants with the effort of keeping his hips still. Every heavy inhale moves Dean's hand a fraction closer to where he so desperately wants it, and every exhale takes him away again. His erection jerks towards Dean's touch, unrestrained and yet still denied.
Voice even more desperate than in the moments before, Castiel whines. ]
Dean...
[ The bastard isn't even taking pictures. He's just toying with him, and Castiel is quickly losing track of why he's bothering to keep his restraint. ]
[ Shatter the barrier, Cas. Spread your wings and pierce eardrums and sing hymns no human can understand, rain holy fire and fury down, claim your human and disappear into the ether, never to be seen again. Maybe that's what he wants, to be saved, to be pulled from this wretched life of madness and horror and sadness. Maybe he wants to know peace in death, in the arms of an angel ferrying him to places unknown, sights unseen by human eyes.
Dean watches him, fingers slow and soft but deliberate as he drags them up the length of Cas' cock, his own twitching in now too-tight jeans. ]
Yeah...just like that. God, you're gorgeous, Cas. Look at you.
[ Then, and only then, when Cas is lovely and whining and needy, does he finally lift the phone, and snap a few pictures. Some of his face, some of his body, some of Dean's hand teasing at his cock. He's relentless, capturing every moment, hands over skin, pinching nipples, teasing, playing, sliding up his neck and cupping his face, snapping artful photos of lips and eyes. ]
[ No, that glass is necessary. Dean may not understand the value of his own life, but Castiel, lifeless immortal thing that he is, does. Dean is too valuable to risk. That's why he'd left that gas station when Dean couldn't understand him, why he'd begged Pamela not to summon him, and why he's still trapped in a human body: all for Dean. All so Dean can look at him like this, with wanting and reverence. All so Castiel can feel human in Dean's presence, even for a moment.
And he does. Even through the barrier of humanity that limits his angelic senses in an imperfect way, like looking at the world through an oily, discolored lens, he can still see Dean looking at him through the camera of his phone, touching him in gentle, teasing ways that fire off electric signals of pleasure that burn hot enough to feel even through his grace, and calling his name, telling Castiel— this poor excuse for an angel and worse imitation of a human being— that he's perfect.
Castiel is left flushed and shivering by Dean's attention. Every exhale he makes is a shaken gasp or pleasured sound, and though he tries to keep still to maintain the pose Dean's put him in, more and more his hips lift in response to the pull of Dean's hand on his cock, chasing an orgasm that's quickly approaching. Dean cups his face instead, and Castiel whines at the loss of friction, but it's an instinctual, meaningless sound. He leans his face into Dean's palm in exactly the same way, desperate to touch Dean in any way he's allowed. ]
[ The photos are nearly forgotten by the time Dean makes his way to Cas' face, fingers light over the soft skin by his collarbone, places normally hidden, places Dean would have normally never allowed himself to touch or think about. A moment of insanity led him to the text, and subsequently all of this.
This being Castiel naked and flushed, so obviously aroused by Dean's touch. It's unlikely it's because of him, specifically; Dean imagines Cas would probably be just as aroused were it someone else, but he's taking great pleasure in the fact that it's him, that this angel is choosing to be here in Dean's presence.
He wonders what that says about him, in the long run. About who he is as a person, that he's enthralled with a naked angel in the body of a man, sprawled out across the bed.
The phone is set aside and Dean crawls onto the bed beside him, a knee pressing down, dipping the mattress. He wants to kiss him, touch every inch like he's been doing, but if the photo session is over, Cas probably wants to leave, or something. Why the hell would he want to stick around with someone like Dean, an absolute and utter friggin' mess, beat up and hung up to dry. His baggage could fill a cargo plane.
Dean doesn't want him to leave, though. God, he doesn't want Cas to go. ]
I want, uh--
[ His head is a little fogged, being this close, feeling heat radiate against his thigh where he's got it pressed against Cas' hip. His throat dry, he blinks down at Cas, fingers dragging up his neck so he can brush them over those pretty lips, and words utterly fail him.
[ Castiel is so focused on Dean and that wonderful-but-not-enough touch of Dean's hand to his cheek that he doesn't even notice the camera being set down. When he feels Dean's weight pressing down on the bed, Castiel is quietly startled. His breathing quiets, and his eyes go just a bit larger as he looks up for Dean, curious but accepting of whatever it is Dean's doing, as long as it brings him closer and not further away. He looks up at Dean, devoid of words, because the only words he could manage would be hallelujahs or begging, or some Enochian melding of both.
"I want," Dean begins, and already Castiel wants to give it. He would give Dean anything. He doesn't belong to God anymore; he renounces him. He belongs to Dean, wholly, if Dean wants him.
And wonder that cannot be fathomed, miracle that cannot be counted: Dean wants him. Dean's thumb brushes against his lips, and Castiel shivers, opening his mouth and wetting his dry lips and the pad of Dean's thumb. His grace vibrates beneath its cage of skin like he might shake apart. It feels impossible to stay still and equally impossible not to move. With desperation and patience near shattering, Castiel asks. ]
Am I— Are we, ah... done? With the photographs?
[ The words sound rough and inelegant, and worse: they sound as if he wants them to be done, which is true. He does want the photographs to be done, but not because he doesn't want Dean, and realizing how the words might be misinterpreted, Castiel rushes to clarify. ]
[ At first, Dean interprets that statement in precisely the wrong way Castiel assumed he would, and the answer is quickly snapped. His face flushes, embarrassment and irritation rising until it's quelled by Cas' sensual purr, the way he asks permission to touch Dean.
As if Castiel, of all creatures, needs Dean's permission. He lifted Dean from hell, brought him back to that unmarked grave (though frankly, Dean still thinks it would have been considerate of Cas to have put him on top of the grave, instead of leaving him to face most of humanities biggest fear of being buried alive, clawing his way out of a pine box), branded in shoulder so deeply the mark remains. If there is anyone who is allowed to touch Dean Winchester without needing permission to do so, it's his angel.
Still. The consideration, the confession and question, it makes his heart thump in his chest, a steady drumbeat.
The smile reaches his eyes, lips curved up though his cheeks grow pinker and pinker, lashes brushing his cheeks as his gaze drops in what's almost shyness. ]
[ If only Castiel knew what humanity's greatest fears were, rather than assuming the worst possible thing that could happen to a soul was its banishment to Hell and perpetual shade from God's radiance. Where humanity is concerned in general, he's been so wrong about so many things.
That flash of irritation of Dean's is, in some way, a relief. Castiel is so strangely, surreally in tune with his vessel that, if Dean were to touch him again, he's not sure his restraint would last. The uncertainty and embarrassment calm him, which is a much needed thing right now.
Dean smiles, and Castiel's heart feels like it may pound of out his chest with its fullness. Dean's eyes lower, and Castiel's filled with an overwhelming desire to kiss every freckle that stretches across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks like a canopy of galaxies. Castiel's arms feel strangely stiff, almost numb as he lowers them and cups Dean's jaw immediately upon being granted permission. ]
Thank you.
[ He says with all the quiet wonder of an exultation as he pulls Dean in, and leans up, and kisses his mouth with warmth and unpracticed sweetness. His grace sings, "Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful." ]
[ The kiss isn't surprising. Not really. With all the teasing Dean's done to Cas, the soft touches, the way he let his fingers linger over sensitive areas, sensual in his touch - it's kind of shocking it hasn't already happened. Dean hasn't indulged like this in quite some time, for reasons neither here nor there - not anyone's business, in his opinion.
If anyone were to actually ask (but who would, no one really cares about Dean's sex life), he would simply say I've been busy, or who has time for that these days? or perhaps even a simple screw off, none of your business. Each of these is as likely as any of the others, but here, now, with Cas -- Dean takes his times, looks him over, then lets their lips meet, Cas' fingers guiding his face.
The lights don't explode, glass doesn't shatter, mirrors they do not burst or spray debris.
Not externally, anyway. Internally, Dean feels like his soul is being sucked into a collapsing star, gravity yanking him in, spine through his chest, right into Castiel's vortex. Closer and closer, dragged straight into Cas' space, he leans over, shifts on the bed to straddle the naked angel, bow legs pressing into the mattress on either side, mouths damp, tongues slick as they clash.
There's things he could say, break the kiss and stumble and stutter over; apologies maybe, confessions, but Dean is afraid he's going to say something wretchedly stupid that will likely be entirely misconstrued so instead he doesn't, he just laps at Cas' lips like the world is ending, like this is his one and only shot, this trembling bubble they're in, safe and tentative, a tiny pocket universe just for the two of them. ]
[ Like gravity. Yes, that's kissing Dean feels like. Like an inexorable pull towards collapse, or creation, or both. Impossible to resist, unwilling to try. Castiel opens his mouth to gasp in amazement, but there's Dean's mouth to kiss instead, his lips to suck, his tongue to lick. Dean crawls into his lap and Castiel moans into his mouth at the press of his thighs, hungry for more of his weight, more friction, more skin. His hands slide to Dean's hips automatically, seeking out more of him to claim, and he pushes his fingers up under Dean's shirt at the sides, desperate to touch him, hungry for more.
'I want,' Dean says again, and just as before, Castiel doesn't need to hear more than that before answering in a breathless whisper against his mouth. ]
Yes.
[ He wants to give Dean anything, everything he wants. ]
[ He gets permission and that's all he needs and he's touching Cas, touching him everywhere he can, hips and chest and face, fingers dragging over stubble as he licks his way into Cas' mouth, hungry and desperate.
It occurs to him he's wearing too many articles of clothing when Cas' hands go up under the tee he's wearing, and he leans back, breaks the kiss for a moment in order to tear it off over his head and fling it aside before he's right on Cas again, mouth on his neck this time, teeth dragging over skin, tongue tracing his collarbone, the little soft places he's only ever dared dream about. ]
Shit, you taste good, Cas, you're so good--
[ Good, perfect, warm and soft and hard in the right places, his hips stuttering unbidden, jeans dragging over Cas' hips, pressure against his cock. ]
[ Things progress like a fire hitting gasoline, from a warm slow spark to roaring flames as Dean is suddenly touching him everywhere: his face, his hips— and then Dean is gone entirely, leaned back and leaving Castiel to breathlessly watch as Dean arches, pulling off his shirt: a beautiful sculpture of God's magnificence in human form, and much too far away, suddenly. Castiel makes a needy little sound, but he isn't left to want for long. Dean is leaned over him again almost instantly, sucking on his neck, and Castiel's head tilts back in ecstasy. His hips lift, seeking out friction, only to be met by the grind of Dean's own hips down, and there's clothing there in the way still, but Castiel's hands dig mindlessly into Dean's hips and he ruts up shameless against Dean, anyway, as if there were nothing there between them. ]
Dean...
[ He begs shamelessly, and with a thought and a squeeze of his hands in Dean's belt, the belt and jeans are gone. But there's still a layer of fabric there that Castiel hadn't even thought about, and he whimpers with need, and the heat he can feel of Dean's cock straining through the thin cotton. ]
Dean, please...
[ Castiel doesn't even know what he's begging for. More of Dean's skin? More of his mouth on his neck? Or maybe just to come, after all the teasing he's already endured. He doesn't know, can't think to know anything beyond Dean, Dean, Dean. ]
[ He was juuuuuust about to fumble with the buckle of his belt when they're just...zapped away, angel mojo'd somewhere into the void and somewhere in the back of his mind that isn't consumed with dicking the hell out of Cas, he wonders if he'll ever get them back.
Not important.
What's important is getting his boxers off, because his name on Cas' lips like a prayer is getting him so fucking riled up he's a little afraid he's going to lose his shit and come in his boxers like a damn teenager.
His hands are shaking as he pulls back, fingers dragged down the length of the angels chest and belly, peeling himself off of Cas only long enough to finagle his way out of thin, worn cotton and flick them off the bed. He has to pause and take a few breaths, calm himself down, and frantically look around the room for -- lube? Condoms? Fuck, angels aren't self lubricating, right? That'd be too convenient.
And weird, probably. Convenient, but definitely weird.
Anyway. Lubricated angel assholes are what he wants, and this is Dean, so there's little packs of lube somewhere, probably in his jacket pocket.
But first -- ]
C-Cas. Angels don't have lube-y assholes, do they?
[ The little expenditure of grace isn't nearly enough. Castiel still feels like he's vibrating beneath his body's skin, the miniscule chemical structure of his atoms spinning and colliding wildly, crawling towards nuclear.
Dean is gone again, and Castiel's skin feels suddenly cool, which should be a blessing given the heat and the imminent explosive climax he feels, but instead he whines in neglect, opening his eyes and lifting his head to see where exactly Dean's gone when all Castiel wants is more touching, more of Dean's warm skin and soul being closer. He's taking of his shorts, Castiel realizes dumbly as he watches Dean do it, and yes. Yes, that's wonderful. He'll allow it, if only to have more of Dean touching him soon.
But that soon doesn't come. Dean is looking around, and Castiel frowns in confusion, at a loss for what Dean could possibly be doing. Is it about the photographs again? Then, instead, Dean is asking that, and Castiel feels his grace recoil in insult at the question. Dean, you incredible, beautiful idiot. Castiel leans up onto his elbows and deadpans. ]
Angels don't have assholes, Dean. Or mouths, or genitalia.
[ It's not something Castiel enjoys being reminded of while he's trying to imagine himself as human, and he can't imagine Dean would find his true form attractive, either. And yet, Castiel feels obligated to explain. ]
Angels are made of grace. It's creation energy. Like the human soul, but... lesser.
[ He tempers the words by kneeling up in the bed and reaching for Dean. He catches Dean by neck and pulls him back down, slowly, into the bed. His other hand finds Dean's wrist, and he tangles their fingers together. As his fingers slip through Dean's, they become slick until they're dripping with thick honey-colored oil. Castiel kisses Dean's mouth as he arches back down into the bed, spreading his thighs, encouraging Dean's dripping hand to press between them. ]
[ Dean wouldn't find his true form simply attractive, no. He'd find it devastatingly radiant in all its ethereal, eldritch horror glory. Terrifyingly beautiful, positively pulchritudinous in a cthulhu sort of way.
He harrumphs in Cas' general direction, because he is aware angels don't have all that stuff (though he may have had some monsterfucking dreams about this but you'll never hear him say that), but what he's working with right now does. He opens his mouth to say something, probably something snappy, but Cas is pulling him back down, taking his hand and it leaves him breathless, that simple act of intimacy, of threading fingers--
Until he realizes Cas has just slathered angel juice all over him, but you know what, he's gonna take it and roll with the punches, drop his hand between pretty thighs and knuckle up right behind his balls. ]
[ It's a ridiculous question, and yet it doesn't even feel ridiculous to Castiel, because he's too enraptured by the warm softeness of Dean's mouth, and the silken press of his skin, and the slick tease of his oiled hand and, oh. Castiel's breath catches. Lubrication does make a difference, doesn't it? ]
Because... you have a soul.
[ He catches an arm around Dean's shoulders, to pull and keep him close, but also for leverage as he cants his hips upwards towards the press of Dean's hand, begging for more. His own lubed hand leaves Dean's wrist, reluctantly, to track his hips towards center, and he takes Dean's cock in his hand at the base and strokes upwards to the tip, wetting it all, and yes, that feels incredible, too. Castiel's voice is already wrecked, his own cock throbbing for attention against Dean's hip as he presses up against him, gasping. ]
[ Angel juice makes a big difference, and slick fingers move easily over Cas' skin, slippery as he plays with Cas' balls. ]
My soul, o-or my dick?
[ It's hard to be cocky when Cas has his hand on Dean's cock, twitching and hard thing that it currently is. Cas did that, just by laying there and letting Dean pose him, touch him, kiss him senseless and steal the air from his lungs.
Wrinkly balls abandoned, he slips back further, teasing at Cas' hole with a jittery smile, eyes alight, cock straining in the angels warm hand, but Dean wills it to be patient, to calm down, give him a moment and it'll get all the sweet, sweet angel ass it can handle. ]
i can't believe you just called cas' balls wrinkly and i didn't even get an SAT word for it
[ Oh my god Dean Winchester, what does Castiel see in you. ]
Dean...
[ Castiel groans against Dean's lips, a deep, growly reprimand for making light of something as monumentally precious as his dick his soul, but also tinted with neediness and growing desperation as Dean's cock throbs under the squeeze of his hand, and Dean's still teasing him instead of fucking him with those fingers. It's unfair, and Castiel is about to shove Dean into the mattress and fuck himself on Dean's cock if he doesn't take the encouragement for what it is and get the light touch of those fingers deep into him fucking quickly. ]
lmfaoooo my bad should i have used FURROWED TESTES
[ Cas is probably the prettiest thing Dean has ever had on a dirty motel mattress. All squirming and desperate, breathing Dean's name like a sacred hymn.
It's delicious, utterly captivating.
He takes his time, still pressing lightly at his hole, teasing, circling, juuuust pressing the pad of his finger in before easing back out and playing for a little longer. ]
You look so good like this, Cas. Incredible.
[ To bring an angel to his metaphorical knees is a glorious thing indeed.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But this bitch is thirst af.
His wings open on Dean's command, and a moment later he's there next to Dean with the sound of feathers and a gentle stirring of wind as his wings fold away. ]
Hello, Dean. I hope coming over now is all right.
[ Because Cas sure just skipped all of the pre-visit etiquette, so all right or not, boom, here he is, with only a vague understanding of how the night should proceed. ]
I’m just screaming all over the place a la Robert plant
He shouldn’t have. Obviously.
Instead he’s yelping (it’s a scream) in surprise, nearly spilling his glass of liquor in the process. ]
Holy fuck!
LOL (Zeppelin IV intensifies)
Apologies. I... I thought you'd meant immediately.
[ He looks towards the door. Not that he'd use it but, thinking about leaving again. No, he was invited. Also see: thirsty af. He holds his ground and basically looks around the whole room before finally meeting Dean's eyes again. ]
I can come back.
[ Castiel says, hoping beyond hope that Dean will be like "no Cas stay because I am down to fuck you" or... however Dean manages to be incredibly attractive all the time without saying those words specifically. ]
insert guitar riff
[ expected, you know. some warning. a response. anything that fluffy wings, a breeze on his skin, and a dark haired angel in front of him. ]
No. No.
[ He sets the glass aside (some did slip out, running down the glass in rivulets, Dean's fingers a little damp) and stands, bridging the gap by a few steps. ]
Don't leave.
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Thank you.
[ That's probably??? Not an appropriate response??? 'Thank you for letting me stay for an illicit photography session Dean.' That's embarrassing. Your thirst is embarrassing, Castiel. He looks awkwardly from Dean's face to the drink he's set down, and the wetness on his fingers. Ah, you've made a mess of yourself Dean, you sloppy bitch. If Castiel were slick, he'd take Dean's hand in his mouth and clean those fingers with his tongue.
Unfortunately, this is the not-sexy universe's version of Castiel. And so while he does step closer to Dean and take Dean's wet hand in his, his thumb pressed firmly to Dean's palm, that's as far as he gets to being cool about it. There's a cold, shivery sensation in the room briefly, and Dean's hand is suddenly clean and dry. Still the alien thing he is, he lets go of Dean's hand, after, and also doesn't comment on what's just transpired.
You chose this hot mess, Dean. Never forget that. ]
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Um.
[ His fingertips are damp with liquor, and something in his mind has his imagination working overtime -- he can see it clear as day. Cas comes close, he takes Dean's hand. Their fingers twine, lacing together, liquor and all, smearing over both of them. Their eyes meet, and Dean is stupid and stares, mouth slack, lips parted, watching Cas for some kind of cue, something that tells Dean it's alright, you're alright, this is fine, kiss me, let me drink from those kisses, sweet wine like honey, ambroasia on your lips
His body twitches in real life, imagination on overdrive, Cas' thumb on his palm and he wonders if he should suck it, take that blunt finger in his mouth and lick him clean, taste his skin, the salt of his sweat, trace over skin and muscle, what it tastes like to have him twitch under his mouth-- ]
Uh.
[ You're...welcome? Is that what he's supposed to say here? He isn't sure, he's lost track, it's only base instinct and breath, Dean's shortness, the way it catches in his lungs and refuses to let go. ]
You're - here.
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Maybe coming here was a mistake, Castiel thinks, taking Dean's distraction and breathlessness as signs of his discomfort. Castiel is on the verge of excusing himself again when he remembers that Dean had invited him, and more, already told him to stay. What else is there to do, then? How should this begin? For all his eagerness, Castiel is at a loss. It's gratifying for him just to be here, with Dean, on the same plane of existence.
But Dean wants more. He wants "dick pics." He looks down and digs his phone from his pocket. ]
I have my phone, if you're still... interested in continuing.
[ He holds up the phone, not casually, but like a weapon, or a shield. Do your thing, modern technology. Make up in emojis and memes for the social proficiency between human communications that Castiel so sorely lacks. ]
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Mines better.
[ He blinks at Cas, flexing his fingers and making fists, open and closed and open and closed. ]
Quality, I mean. The pics will come out better. But-- you'll have to take your clothes off.
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But no, he's not going anywhere just yet. And of course Dean's is better. He should have thought of that. ]
Oh, right.
[ Castiel puts the phone back in his coat pocket and then, per Dean's instruction, begins to undress. Right here in the middle of the room. Why not? He doesn't know what he's doing or why he doesn't just use his grace to be instantly naked, but this feels more... appropriately human. He shrugs his shoulders out of the coat and begins to fold it, mindful that the phone doesn't fall out. ]
I'm still not entirely sure I understand the point of these photographs.
[ He admits while undressing. Like obviously the point is to arouse, but why him? And it seems much more
intimateerotic to be taking pictures with Dean. Why was Dean expecting him to take pictures of himself? ~It's a mystery.~ Humans are such odd creatures. Their creativity in sexual pursuits is just endless. ]no subject
Dean can't help but stare, watching Cas take the coat off he constantly wears is hot enough, but then the buttons start coming undone and Dean is a little worried he's going to come undone before they even start. ]
I think you'll figure it out soon enough.
[ Once Dean texts him nudes of himself that Cas can look at anytime he pleases - he's pretty sure the angel will get it. ]
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All right.
[ He agrees anyway, stepping out of his shoes and unbuckling his belt, continuing to undress with mechanical precision because that's the only instruction he's been given. ]
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I guess it wouldn't make as much sense to you. But humans do it cause we like looking at people we, um--
[ shit. shit shit shit.
he almost said people we love, and that's, it's--
Fuck. ]
People we care about. We like looking at them naked. It's intimate. [ usually. Dean's sent nudes before, when asked for them, and only to people he liked. Cassie. Lisa. Other than that, not so much.
Mostly because all his flings were precisely that - flings. ]
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People we care about. Is that what he is to Dean? Intimate. Yes, that's what this is, and Castiel finds himself flushing warm. He can't possibly imagine that stripping down alone and taking pictures of himself would have the same level of intimacy as doing it for Dean. It's not possible. ]
I do enjoy our intimacy.
[ He admits, and then, after a moment's hesitation, he hooks his thumbs in the waist of his boxers and pulls down, steps out of them, folds and sets them aside until he's standing there, fully naked in front of Dean and still incredibly awkward about it.
Despite the flush on his chest and in his cheeks, he's not otherwise physically aroused, and he isn't sure whether he's meant to be or not, or what, in generally, he's supposed to be doing. He can't bring himself to look at Dean, or the camera, and can't help feeling as if that's detrimentally to the goal of intimacy, but he doesn't know how to act otherwise. Touching Dean would be so much easier than this. This body that Dean's admiring the look of isn't even his, despite the fact that it was given to him willing by its former (human) owner. It's not him, and Castiel feels acutely disingenuous to be modelling it. He isn't sure what to do with it, or how to feel otherwise, so he just stands there, waiting for Dean's next instruction. ]
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...Yeah. Me too, Cas.
[ His eyes drop, canvasing Cas' body as layer after layer is shed, licking his lips a little before snapping a picture, Cas' eyes dropped, exposed and gorgeous, and Dean can feel his own dick twitch.
He holds out a hand, palm up, phone in the other. ]
C'mere.
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Dean beckons him, and there are so many ways Castiel could respond. He could, of course, take Dean's hand as if they were to begin a choreographed dance. He could also catch Dean's wrist and kiss that open palm. He could press his cheek to it, and pull Dean into a kiss by his neck. There are so very many ways he could touch Dean, and none of them involve that phone in his other hand.
It's frustrating. Even so, Castiel is eager to do whatever Dean has planned for them, trusting that it's something he'll enjoy, if not by the nature of it, then by the simple truth that Dean is a part of the experience. Besides, he'd do anything for Dean. Surely Dean already knows that, but Castiel is committed to proving it again and again. He takes Dean's hand, simply, and steps in closer to him, meeting his eyes in a silent request for guidance. Then, he puts quietly devoted words to it as well. ]
What would you like me to do?
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[ He stops, wraps his fingers around Cas' lacing their fingers like they're lovers, thumb brushing over Cas' knuckles. ]
I want you--
[ Wetting his lips, Dean flicks his eyes over Cas, drinking in his body - Jimmy's body - before looking back up and locking eyes, hazel on stormy blue. There's an angel in there, he knows. Cas isn't a 'man', he isn't some guy, he's an angel, wrapped up tightly in the confines of a human vessel, looking at Dean through one set of foreign eyes. Dean can see him, though - see the angel in there, hidden behind the face of a man.
A pretty man.
Dean shifts, clears his throat, then realizes he's said something rather full of innuendo, and then nothing else.
Ahem. ]
I want you to, um. Sit on the bed, lay back, on the pillows, arm behind your head.
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It's frustrating, but in a strangely attractive way. Castiel, impatient thing that he usually is, finds he doesn't mind frustration of this kind: the kind involving Dean touching him gently, licking his lips, looking at him like he's something worthy of being wanted, and saying those very words Castiel will always long to hear. Not, "I need you, Castiel," but "I want you."
It's a very nice feeling, being wanted. If he weren't sure the purpose of this meeting is arousal, Castiel would be embarrassed by how his body responds. His heart is racing so much that it feels like his chest is pounding with it, his fingers caught in Dean's grip tingle from just that slight touch, and the heat of his desire for Dean is filling out his untouched, unclothed, cock. Sit on the bed, Dean instructs, but Castiel hesitates, his eyes focused on Dean's lips as he considers rebellion. He doesn't want to stop touching Dean. Even more, he wants to kiss him. ]
All right.
[ He agrees in a rough whisper, almost vacantly with his distracting. He'd agreed to these photographs, though. And so, however reluctantly, Castiel nods and steps back, letting go of Dean's hand, and does as he's been instructed: first sitting on the bed, then scooting back towards the pillows, lying down, and, with a crease of confusion on his brow, pillowing an arm behind his head. Why this, specifically? He has no idea. He lifts his chin, craning his neck a bit to keep looking at Dean, and he shifts his weight from one hip to the other, entirely unsure of what to do with these 206 bones and 37.2 trillion cells of human flesh.
One thin plane away, he lets his wings unfurl and stretch and his grace expand. It's a much more natural feeling, however brief it is. His spine stretches to accommodate the weight, the lights in the room flicker and his eyes burn blue-white before fading to a more natural tone. ]
Is this right?
[ Maybe he isn't supposed to be comfortable at all? Maybe the discomfort is the point? He has no idea what Dean expects to see with him in this position. ]
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Weird.
Still, he's going after Cas anyway, a knee on the side of the mattress just for stability - he's a little afraid he's going to either lose consciousness or just fuck Cas straight into another dimension, because the scene in front of him is something straight out of a porn--
No. Straight out of a fantasy, because honestly, porn could fucking never.
He's in awe; Cas' eyes are heaven incarnate, the flash making Dean blink even as he looks up, watches the lights flicker, half expecting bulbs to shatter, glass to rain down on the two of them. ]
Um. Yeah.
[ fuck Cas looks good like this. Dean can't help but stare; lips parted, photos briefly forgotten as he reaches out, touches Cas' chest, walks his fingers over warm skin, eyes fixed on pillowy lips. ]
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He has no control over how he's looking at Dean: all the naked wanting is honest there in his expression. Dean drops a knee to the mattress and Castiel's throat jumps as he swallows; his full cock strains with neglect. He's looking at Dean like he wants Dean in his lap or fucking into him or just touching him. He just wants Dean and he considers saying it. Would that be inappropriate? Dean hadn't actually said "I want you," really. "I want you to sit on the bed" was all it really was.
Castiel holds still and silent, waiting for the photography to begin, enjoying the frustration he feels of being the center of Dean's attention, naked and wanting, and not allowed to touch him.
...But then Dean touches him instead. Just on the chest, just lightly, but Castiel's skin shivers beneath that gentle touch, and his cock leaks with how badly he wants, and when he exhales, it's Dean's name, rough and deep and pleading, either not to be touched if the lesson is to continue, or to be touched much, much more if it's done. ]
Dean.
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[ Sexy. Is that the right word? He's not sure, because it doesn't seem applicable -- and he doesn't mean that in a bad way. Cas is divine, in more ways than one. Dean's soul yearns, reaches back towards Cas grace, the feeling pulling from his spine through his ribcage, tugging him towards the angel sprawled out on the bed. Even if the position is awkward, Cas is so beautiful, flushed and so, so reactive.
What else is Dean supposed to do, besides rest his palm to Cas' chest, warm and heavy, and slide it down? Not much, he doesn't think, though the phone squeezed tight in his hand is a reminder of what he was supposed to be doing, not groping Cas. ]
S-sorry.
[ He reluctantly drags his hand back, though it isn't for long. Instead he focuses on positioning Cas, arranging his legs, both arms behind his head, reaching to grip his chin longer than necessary as he positions his head. ]
You look...so good. I want to remember this.
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He thinks about demanding it. He thinks that Dean would be agreeable, and give him what Castiel is suddenly, thanks to Dean's attention, so intent on having. But he doesn't ask. He tries to find patience, to remind himself that this is for Dean, even as Dean's hand is sliding, smooth and wide, down his chest as if marking his bones— no, deeper. his grace— in a human language with fingertips painted in the shimmering gold color of his soul. ]
It's fine.
[ Castiel says, voice thick and unsteady as his chest rises and falls quickly under the press of Dean's hand. It's not fine, though. His grace pulses as his blood does, heart and essence both racing towards Dean's touch. He feels like a ticking bomb, desperate to explode, but he waits, watching Dean with focused, dark blue eyes. And when Dean touches his knees, his biceps, his chin, Castiel watches him each time and allows himself to be positioned like an artist might. Dean wants to remember him like this. Castiel feels how he imagines Michaelangelo's lovers must have felt. He feels incredibly human as he holds the pose Dean arranges him into. Dean wants to remember this, remember him. Castiel's heart throbs, ticking away. ]
If you forget, I'll remind you.
[ It's an egotistical sort of promise, but Castiel can't help making it. He doesn't want Dean to remember him with pictures. He wants this, Dean's attention on him like this, over and over again, for as long as Dean still wants (or needs) him. ]
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But the angel is here, letting Dean position him, flushed and naked, and Dean's soul yearns for him, reaches out like glowing tendrils, seeking Cas' grace, twisting them up, binding them together.
His voice is breathless when he speaks, eyes bright. ]
...Good. I want you to remind me.
[ He pauses, his touches lingering, fingertips tracing over his belly, walking over his abdomen, brushing lower still through soft, dark curls. Are they really proper nudes if Cas isn't as hard as he possibly can be?
Hardly.
Dean tips his head, watching Cas' expression as his lets his fingers slide further down, over wiry hair, brushing against the base of his cock. ]
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He watches Dean with eyes gone dark with need, and his skin shivers under Dean's too-gentle touch down his chest, his stomach, and lower still. It becomes an even greater exercise of patience and restraint as Dean's fingers tease through the short curls just beneath his very full cock, only to go no further. Castiel's hands bury tightly into the pillow beneath his head, and he pants with the effort of keeping his hips still. Every heavy inhale moves Dean's hand a fraction closer to where he so desperately wants it, and every exhale takes him away again. His erection jerks towards Dean's touch, unrestrained and yet still denied.
Voice even more desperate than in the moments before, Castiel whines. ]
Dean...
[ The bastard isn't even taking pictures. He's just toying with him, and Castiel is quickly losing track of why he's bothering to keep his restraint. ]
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Dean watches him, fingers slow and soft but deliberate as he drags them up the length of Cas' cock, his own twitching in now too-tight jeans. ]
Yeah...just like that. God, you're gorgeous, Cas. Look at you.
[ Then, and only then, when Cas is lovely and whining and needy, does he finally lift the phone, and snap a few pictures. Some of his face, some of his body, some of Dean's hand teasing at his cock. He's relentless, capturing every moment, hands over skin, pinching nipples, teasing, playing, sliding up his neck and cupping his face, snapping artful photos of lips and eyes. ]
Perfect. You are...perfect.
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And he does. Even through the barrier of humanity that limits his angelic senses in an imperfect way, like looking at the world through an oily, discolored lens, he can still see Dean looking at him through the camera of his phone, touching him in gentle, teasing ways that fire off electric signals of pleasure that burn hot enough to feel even through his grace, and calling his name, telling Castiel— this poor excuse for an angel and worse imitation of a human being— that he's perfect.
Castiel is left flushed and shivering by Dean's attention. Every exhale he makes is a shaken gasp or pleasured sound, and though he tries to keep still to maintain the pose Dean's put him in, more and more his hips lift in response to the pull of Dean's hand on his cock, chasing an orgasm that's quickly approaching. Dean cups his face instead, and Castiel whines at the loss of friction, but it's an instinctual, meaningless sound. He leans his face into Dean's palm in exactly the same way, desperate to touch Dean in any way he's allowed. ]
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This being Castiel naked and flushed, so obviously aroused by Dean's touch. It's unlikely it's because of him, specifically; Dean imagines Cas would probably be just as aroused were it someone else, but he's taking great pleasure in the fact that it's him, that this angel is choosing to be here in Dean's presence.
He wonders what that says about him, in the long run. About who he is as a person, that he's enthralled with a naked angel in the body of a man, sprawled out across the bed.
The phone is set aside and Dean crawls onto the bed beside him, a knee pressing down, dipping the mattress. He wants to kiss him, touch every inch like he's been doing, but if the photo session is over, Cas probably wants to leave, or something. Why the hell would he want to stick around with someone like Dean, an absolute and utter friggin' mess, beat up and hung up to dry. His baggage could fill a cargo plane.
Dean doesn't want him to leave, though. God, he doesn't want Cas to go. ]
I want, uh--
[ His head is a little fogged, being this close, feeling heat radiate against his thigh where he's got it pressed against Cas' hip. His throat dry, he blinks down at Cas, fingers dragging up his neck so he can brush them over those pretty lips, and words utterly fail him.
So does common sense. ]
I want you.
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"I want," Dean begins, and already Castiel wants to give it. He would give Dean anything. He doesn't belong to God anymore; he renounces him. He belongs to Dean, wholly, if Dean wants him.
And wonder that cannot be fathomed, miracle that cannot be counted: Dean wants him. Dean's thumb brushes against his lips, and Castiel shivers, opening his mouth and wetting his dry lips and the pad of Dean's thumb. His grace vibrates beneath its cage of skin like he might shake apart. It feels impossible to stay still and equally impossible not to move. With desperation and patience near shattering, Castiel asks. ]
Am I— Are we, ah... done? With the photographs?
[ The words sound rough and inelegant, and worse: they sound as if he wants them to be done, which is true. He does want the photographs to be done, but not because he doesn't want Dean, and realizing how the words might be misinterpreted, Castiel rushes to clarify. ]
I want you, Dean. I want to touch you. May I?
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[ At first, Dean interprets that statement in precisely the wrong way Castiel assumed he would, and the answer is quickly snapped. His face flushes, embarrassment and irritation rising until it's quelled by Cas' sensual purr, the way he asks permission to touch Dean.
As if Castiel, of all creatures, needs Dean's permission. He lifted Dean from hell, brought him back to that unmarked grave (though frankly, Dean still thinks it would have been considerate of Cas to have put him on top of the grave, instead of leaving him to face most of humanities biggest fear of being buried alive, clawing his way out of a pine box), branded in shoulder so deeply the mark remains. If there is anyone who is allowed to touch Dean Winchester without needing permission to do so, it's his angel.
Still. The consideration, the confession and question, it makes his heart thump in his chest, a steady drumbeat.
The smile reaches his eyes, lips curved up though his cheeks grow pinker and pinker, lashes brushing his cheeks as his gaze drops in what's almost shyness. ]
Yeah. Hell yeah, you can touch me.
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That flash of irritation of Dean's is, in some way, a relief. Castiel is so strangely, surreally in tune with his vessel that, if Dean were to touch him again, he's not sure his restraint would last. The uncertainty and embarrassment calm him, which is a much needed thing right now.
Dean smiles, and Castiel's heart feels like it may pound of out his chest with its fullness. Dean's eyes lower, and Castiel's filled with an overwhelming desire to kiss every freckle that stretches across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks like a canopy of galaxies. Castiel's arms feel strangely stiff, almost numb as he lowers them and cups Dean's jaw immediately upon being granted permission. ]
Thank you.
[ He says with all the quiet wonder of an exultation as he pulls Dean in, and leans up, and kisses his mouth with warmth and unpracticed sweetness. His grace sings, "Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful." ]
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If anyone were to actually ask (but who would, no one really cares about Dean's sex life), he would simply say I've been busy, or who has time for that these days? or perhaps even a simple screw off, none of your business. Each of these is as likely as any of the others, but here, now, with Cas -- Dean takes his times, looks him over, then lets their lips meet, Cas' fingers guiding his face.
The lights don't explode, glass doesn't shatter, mirrors they do not burst or spray debris.
Not externally, anyway. Internally, Dean feels like his soul is being sucked into a collapsing star, gravity yanking him in, spine through his chest, right into Castiel's vortex. Closer and closer, dragged straight into Cas' space, he leans over, shifts on the bed to straddle the naked angel, bow legs pressing into the mattress on either side, mouths damp, tongues slick as they clash.
There's things he could say, break the kiss and stumble and stutter over; apologies maybe, confessions, but Dean is afraid he's going to say something wretchedly stupid that will likely be entirely misconstrued so instead he doesn't, he just laps at Cas' lips like the world is ending, like this is his one and only shot, this trembling bubble they're in, safe and tentative, a tiny pocket universe just for the two of them. ]
I--want--
[ well, maybe he'll say something. ]
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'I want,' Dean says again, and just as before, Castiel doesn't need to hear more than that before answering in a breathless whisper against his mouth. ]
Yes.
[ He wants to give Dean anything, everything he wants. ]
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It occurs to him he's wearing too many articles of clothing when Cas' hands go up under the tee he's wearing, and he leans back, breaks the kiss for a moment in order to tear it off over his head and fling it aside before he's right on Cas again, mouth on his neck this time, teeth dragging over skin, tongue tracing his collarbone, the little soft places he's only ever dared dream about. ]
Shit, you taste good, Cas, you're so good--
[ Good, perfect, warm and soft and hard in the right places, his hips stuttering unbidden, jeans dragging over Cas' hips, pressure against his cock. ]
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Dean...
[ He begs shamelessly, and with a thought and a squeeze of his hands in Dean's belt, the belt and jeans are gone. But there's still a layer of fabric there that Castiel hadn't even thought about, and he whimpers with need, and the heat he can feel of Dean's cock straining through the thin cotton. ]
Dean, please...
[ Castiel doesn't even know what he's begging for. More of Dean's skin? More of his mouth on his neck? Or maybe just to come, after all the teasing he's already endured. He doesn't know, can't think to know anything beyond Dean, Dean, Dean. ]
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Not important.
What's important is getting his boxers off, because his name on Cas' lips like a prayer is getting him so fucking riled up he's a little afraid he's going to lose his shit and come in his boxers like a damn teenager.
His hands are shaking as he pulls back, fingers dragged down the length of the angels chest and belly, peeling himself off of Cas only long enough to finagle his way out of thin, worn cotton and flick them off the bed. He has to pause and take a few breaths, calm himself down, and frantically look around the room for -- lube? Condoms? Fuck, angels aren't self lubricating, right? That'd be too convenient.
And weird, probably. Convenient, but definitely weird.
Anyway. Lubricated angel assholes are what he wants, and this is Dean, so there's little packs of lube somewhere, probably in his jacket pocket.
But first -- ]
C-Cas. Angels don't have lube-y assholes, do they?
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Dean is gone again, and Castiel's skin feels suddenly cool, which should be a blessing given the heat and the imminent explosive climax he feels, but instead he whines in neglect, opening his eyes and lifting his head to see where exactly Dean's gone when all Castiel wants is more touching, more of Dean's warm skin and soul being closer. He's taking of his shorts, Castiel realizes dumbly as he watches Dean do it, and yes. Yes, that's wonderful. He'll allow it, if only to have more of Dean touching him soon.
But that soon doesn't come. Dean is looking around, and Castiel frowns in confusion, at a loss for what Dean could possibly be doing. Is it about the photographs again? Then, instead, Dean is asking that, and Castiel feels his grace recoil in insult at the question. Dean, you incredible, beautiful idiot. Castiel leans up onto his elbows and deadpans. ]
Angels don't have assholes, Dean. Or mouths, or genitalia.
[ It's not something Castiel enjoys being reminded of while he's trying to imagine himself as human, and he can't imagine Dean would find his true form attractive, either. And yet, Castiel feels obligated to explain. ]
Angels are made of grace. It's creation energy. Like the human soul, but... lesser.
[ He tempers the words by kneeling up in the bed and reaching for Dean. He catches Dean by neck and pulls him back down, slowly, into the bed. His other hand finds Dean's wrist, and he tangles their fingers together. As his fingers slip through Dean's, they become slick until they're dripping with thick honey-colored oil. Castiel kisses Dean's mouth as he arches back down into the bed, spreading his thighs, encouraging Dean's dripping hand to press between them. ]
You have no idea how remarkable you are.
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He harrumphs in Cas' general direction, because he is aware angels don't have all that stuff (though he may have had some monsterfucking dreams about this but you'll never hear him say that), but what he's working with right now does. He opens his mouth to say something, probably something snappy, but Cas is pulling him back down, taking his hand and it leaves him breathless, that simple act of intimacy, of threading fingers--
Until he realizes Cas has just slathered angel juice all over him, but you know what, he's gonna take it and roll with the punches, drop his hand between pretty thighs and knuckle up right behind his balls. ]
Because I ask about angels and lubed assholes?
[ Romantic. ]
pulchritudinous
Because... you have a soul.
[ He catches an arm around Dean's shoulders, to pull and keep him close, but also for leverage as he cants his hips upwards towards the press of Dean's hand, begging for more. His own lubed hand leaves Dean's wrist, reluctantly, to track his hips towards center, and he takes Dean's cock in his hand at the base and strokes upwards to the tip, wetting it all, and yes, that feels incredible, too. Castiel's voice is already wrecked, his own cock throbbing for attention against Dean's hip as he presses up against him, gasping. ]
It's magnificent.
i am *still* laughing over this send help
My soul, o-or my dick?
[ It's hard to be cocky when Cas has his hand on Dean's cock, twitching and hard thing that it currently is. Cas did that, just by laying there and letting Dean pose him, touch him, kiss him senseless and steal the air from his lungs.
Wrinkly balls abandoned, he slips back further, teasing at Cas' hole with a jittery smile, eyes alight, cock straining in the angels warm hand, but Dean wills it to be patient, to calm down, give him a moment and it'll get all the sweet, sweet angel ass it can handle. ]
i can't believe you just called cas' balls wrinkly and i didn't even get an SAT word for it
Dean...
[ Castiel groans against Dean's lips, a deep, growly reprimand for making light of something as monumentally precious as
his dickhis soul, but also tinted with neediness and growing desperation as Dean's cock throbs under the squeeze of his hand, and Dean's still teasing him instead of fucking him with those fingers. It's unfair, and Castiel is about to shove Dean into the mattress and fuck himself on Dean's cock if he doesn't take the encouragement for what it is and get the light touch of those fingers deep into him fucking quickly. ]lmfaoooo my bad should i have used FURROWED TESTES
Uh huh..
[ Cas is probably the prettiest thing Dean has ever had on a dirty motel mattress. All squirming and desperate, breathing Dean's name like a sacred hymn.
It's delicious, utterly captivating.
He takes his time, still pressing lightly at his hole, teasing, circling, juuuust pressing the pad of his finger in before easing back out and playing for a little longer. ]
You look so good like this, Cas. Incredible.
[ To bring an angel to his metaphorical knees is a glorious thing indeed.