[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]