[ 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. ]
no subject
"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?