[ 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}
no subject
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.
no subject
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.