[ 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.
no subject
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.