When We're Both Lost (NC-17)
Jan. 11th, 2009 12:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skidmo_ficTitle: When We’re Both Lost
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Dean/Anna
Word Count: 2906
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Warnings: Assumes knowledge through Heaven and Hell.
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: Grace is a beautiful and terrible thing
A/N: Just something that came to me after rewatching Heaven and Hell
Maybe herein lies the place where grace starts
That when we’re both lost then God is found.
-Heaven Heals by the Normals
Sam’s gone to bed, but Dean couldn’t sleep, so he’s sitting on a barstool at the bar down the street from their motel, sipping a beer and watching a rerun of Cheers.
He doesn’t sleep much at all anymore, truth be told. Too many nightmares. Too many monsters chasing through his dreams.
He finds he’s not at all surprised when Castiel slides onto the stool next to his. Castiel orders a water and sits quietly, shoulders hunched in that awkward pose he always seems to have. Dean waits, but Castiel doesn’t say anything.
After a long silence, Dean sipping his beer, Castiel seeming to forget his water, Dean says, “You looked, didn’t you?”
Castiel doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t look away from his intent perusal of the stained bar top. “When?”
“When she…angeled up.”
Castiel nods.
Dean takes another long sip. “What did she look like?”
“Beautiful. Beautiful and terrible. Grace is a beautiful and terrible thing.”
“Do you…I mean…” Dean frowns. He isn’t sure what he wants to ask or if he really wants to know the answer at all. “Did you look like that? Before you took this…vessel thing? Were you like that?”
“I was,” Castiel says softly, and he turns to look at Dean, his face that calm, impassive mask that makes Dean want to shake him, want to ask if he doesn’t ever just want to goddamn feel something. “Beautiful and terrible. It is our Grace that makes us that way. To see such a powerful thing face to face is more than you can stand.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that.” He catches the bartender’s eye and orders another beer. When it arrives, he takes a long, slow drink, draining half the glass. “Uriel said you ‘like’ me.”
“He did?” A flicker of something moves across Castiel’s face. Dean thinks it might be surprise.
“Yeah, he did. I didn’t think you guys were allowed to do that.”
“To do what?”
“Like people. Have emotions. Get attached. Whatever.” He waves his hand vaguely. “I thought you were all Warriors of God, and that’s it.”
Castiel almost smiles. At least, Dean thinks that’s what that twitch in the corner of his mouth was. “There is no shame in appreciating His creation. You were made in His image, and that is a thing of greater beauty even than Grace.”
Dean gives a disbelieving snort into his glass.
Castiel just watches him silently. Eventually he says, “You had relations with her, with Anna. When she was human.”
Dean closes his eyes, remembering the touch of her lips, the heat of her skin, the sadness in her eyes. “So what if I did?”
“Why?”
He doesn’t look disapproving or judgmental when he asks this. He just looks curious.
And Dean can’t give the glib answer he’d give anyone else just now about anyone else(because she’s hot…because she was there…because I was horny, all of which are true but none of which are the answer), because this is Castiel and they’re talking about Anna, and both of them deserve better from Dean.
“Because she knew. She knew what I did, and she wanted me anyway. She knew what I did, and she still wanted to be human.” He looks at Castiel then, because he thinks this is the part Castiel will have the hardest time understanding. “And sometimes sex is the only good thing about being one of us.”
Castiel holds his gaze, and Dean can almost see him working it out in his mind, trying to understand.
“Show me?”
Dean just stares at him.
“Have I said something wrong?”
He keeps staring. When did he become the booty call of choice for angels everywhere? If Uriel hits him up next, he’s going to seriously contemplate therapy of some sort.
He drains the rest of his beer before responding. “When you say, ‘show me,’ you mean like…”
“Sex is clearly important to you. I would like to understand that, but I have not experienced it.”
“Dude, you don’t just ask a guy to fuck you because you’re curious.” Dean did. Once. When he was very young and still trying to work out how this whole ‘sex’ thing worked. But that was different. He didn’t know the guy, and he didn’t tell the guy that’s why he wanted to fuck.
Of course, now he’s curious again. Anna had still been human. She’d felt, she’d had desires, she’d known what she wanted and why. How would Castiel be different? Would his face finally show something other than calm obedience or barely contained rage?
“How am I supposed to ask?”
“I don’t know,” Dean huffs, frustrated and on the verge of ordering another beer. “Like it’s something you actually want to do. Like you actually want me to fuck you.” The mere idea is ridiculous, Dean thinks. Why would Castiel want Dean to fuck him? How the hell would that fit into whatever plan he had for Dean?
“I do,” Castiel says, clearly confused. “I want you to fuck me.”
Whatever happens later, Dean decides, this whole experience will have been worth it just to hear Castiel say ‘fuck’.
He drops a twenty on the bar to pay for his beers and slides off the stool, heading for the door. Castiel doesn’t follow him until Dean turns around at the door and says, “You comin’ or what?”
He doesn’t turn around again until he gets to the Impala. He slides into the driver’s seat, and Castiel gets in the other door shortly afterward.
They can’t do this in the hotel—no way Sam would wait outside for that—so Dean starts the engine and takes off. Somewhere out of town, somewhere dark and quiet. The sort of place where monsters and spirits tend to hang out, but what does Dean need to worry about that for? He’s got a fucking angel in his car. Nothing’s messing with him tonight.
Castiel doesn’t say anything as they drive. He just watches Dean. It should make Dean uncomfortable—it usually does when Castiel looks at him like that—but tonight it doesn’t. It makes him nervous. It even turns him on a little. Castiel can focus, and Dean can’t help wondering how that will translate to sex.
There’s a dark, little side road he and Sam passed on their way into town, and Dean pulls into it, driving down a little ways before pulling off the side of the road, parking the Impala under a big, old oak tree.
He takes the keys out of the ignition and sets them on the seat between him and Castiel, just staring straight ahead through the windshield. It’s the first time he’s had to mentally prepare himself to do this in years, and that thought alone is enough to make him shake himself and turn to Castiel.
Castiel has unbuckled his seatbelt and is looking at Dean with that same, calm, curious expression, his hands folded in his lap.
“Well, if we’re gonna do this, let’s do it,” Dean says roughly. He leans across the car to kiss Castiel, meaning it to be quick, hard, messy, but Castiel’s face is soft, his eyes wide, and Dean finds himself cupping the back of Castiel’s head in his hand, nudging their noses together, kissing him gently.
There isn’t much to the kiss, just a soft press of lips, no tongue even, but Dean’s heart is racing, and even when he pulls back, he doesn’t really. His fingers stay in Castiel’s hair, playing gently with the soft strands. Castiel’s eyes are even wider now, and Dean can feel his breath as it leaves Castiel’s mouth, warm against Dean’s lips.
“Well?” he says quietly.
Castiel’s tongue sweeps out across his lips, and Dean wonders if he’s trying to taste Dean. “That was…”
Maybe Castiel doesn’t have the word to describe it. Maybe angels don’t come ready made with a vocabulary for kissing. Maybe he just doesn’t want to waste his energy on words. Whatever it is, instead of finishing his sentence, he just leans forward the few centimeters necessary to press his lips against Dean’s again, his hands coming up to hold Dean’s arms.
Dean kisses him back, cautiously deepening it, swiping his tongue out over Castiel’s lips until Castiel opens his mouth, letting Dean inside. He tastes just like any other man (not that Dean’s had all that much experience kissing men), and that surprises Dean. He’d almost thought Castiel would taste…holy. The realization that Castiel is no different from anyone else he’s kissed (at least not physically) makes Dean pull away again.
Castiel’s hands stay on his arms, and he looks at Dean with something like frustration.
“What?” he whispers, brows furrowed, fingers flexing on Dean’s biceps. “Did I do something wrong?”
Dean almost laughs. Castiel is so very much like a teenage girl her first time. He manages to restrain himself, though, only a hint of a smile in the corners of his eyes when he says, “No. You’re doing just fine,” and presses a palm to Castiel’s chest just to feel his heart beating hard and fast.
Castiel seems to take this as a request for more. He kisses Dean again, this time taking more control of the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to meet Dean’s. His hands start to move from Dean’s arms as well, sliding over Dean’s chest, his back, even venturing down just below Dean’s waist before skating back up again.
Dean returns the favor, sliding his hands up under Castiel’s trench coat and jacket, pushing them off his shoulders. Castiel is reluctant to remove his hands from Dean’s body even to take off his clothing, so Dean leaves them tangled around Castiel’s elbows as he yanks off Castiel’s tie. The shirt comes next, buttons harshly undone, Dean’s hands moving quickly underneath it, skating over warm, smooth skin, pushing the fabric down Castiel’s arms as well.
Castiel’s movement is restricted enough now that he has to pull back to get the offending garments out of the way, and Dean is almost surprised to see that Castiel’s pupils are dilated. If he didn’t think angels weren’t capable, he’d swear Castiel had lust in his eyes.
As soon as his hands are free, Castiel reaches for the hem of Dean’s shirt, pulling it quickly off, like an impatient kid unwrapping a Christmas present.
There’s nothing impatient about the way he looks at Dean once the shirt is off, though. His eyes slide slowly over Dean’s chest and stomach, hands following just as slowly. He flicks a thumbnail experimentally over one of Dean’s nipples, and Dean groans, a thread of desire running straight to his groin.
Castiel looks up sharply at the noise, and Dean says, “There’s more room in the backseat.” His voice is low and gruff, and it almost doesn’t sound like him.
Castiel nods, and Dean climbs over the seat into the back with Castiel following close enough behind that he lands on top of Dean’s back before Dean has a chance to turn over.
For a brief moment, Dean wants nothing more than for Castiel to tug down his jeans and fuck him hard and fast, but given Castiel’s complete lack of experience, he figures that would be a very bad idea. Instead, he shifts under Castiel, turning to face him, and is rewarded with a low moan as his hips drag across Castiel’s groin.
Dean’s tongue snakes across his dry lips as he eyes the visible bulge in Castiel’s pants, and he reaches for Castiel’s belt almost without thinking, tugging it open and making quick work of the button and zipper.
Castiel seems frozen above him, breath caught in his chest, dark eyes on Dean’s, as if he’s not sure what happens next, doesn’t know if what Dean is about to do will hurt him or be the most amazing thing he’s ever felt, and when Dean’s hand brushes over his erection, Castiel lets out his breath so fast it’s almost a sob. He grabs Dean’s wrist and presses Dean’s palm hard against his groin, rocking against the pressure.
“Whoa,” Dean says quietly. “Slow down there, cowboy. It’s better that way.”
Castiel nods, slowly releasing his grip on Dean’s hand. “Yes…yes, slowly.”
Dean slides his hand up Castiel’s chest and around the back of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, slow and deep. He rocks his hips against Castiel’s, and Castiel whimpers softly into his mouth. Neither of them breaks the kiss as Castiel’s hands run down Dean’s stomach to his belt, carefully working it open and then undoing his jeans.
Dean doesn’t push into his touch. He lets Castiel set the pace, inhaling sharply when Castiel pulls his jeans and boxers down and wraps his hand gently around Dean’s dick.
“It is…hot,” Castiel murmurs, running his hand over the skin.
Dean bites back a moan as Castiel bends down for a closer look. He sniffs, dragging the tip of his nose along the length of Dean’s cock. When he gets to the tip, he slides a finger through the clear liquid seeping out, and Dean gasps, breath coming in pants. Castiel brings his finger to his mouth and flicks his tongue over it, and it should be absolutely filthy, but it isn’t. There’s a curious sort of innocence about Castiel, and while his actions are undoubtedly arousing, there is nothing remotely perverse about them.
His eyes slip shut as Castiel’s mouth slides over his hips, up his belly. And when they do, he takes a deep breath through his nose and smells something that isn’t Castiel, isn’t him, isn’t even the leather and gas smell of the Impala.
It’s Anna.
He opens his eyes again, looking down at Castiel.
He didn’t love her, certainly wouldn’t think of her while doing this if he were anywhere else, with anyone else, but he can’t stop himself now.
Castiel lifts his head and looks up at Dean, frowning for a moment. His face has the same look on it that it did when he watched Dean and Anna together that night—confusion melting into an unwanted understanding. He slides up Dean’s body and holds himself over Dean.
“You are thinking of her.” And again, it isn’t accusatory or judgmental, it’s just…there. Just a statement of fact.
Still, Dean feels a little ashamed as he nods.
“That is natural, is it not? You were with her here. I am sure we are the only angels you have been with.”
Dean laughs dryly. “You got that right.”
Castiel nods and lowers himself on top of Dean, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Do you want to stop?”
He should, probably. He shouldn’t still be hard, shouldn’t still have that ridiculous desire to have Castiel inside him. But he does.
“No,” he whispers, taking Castiel’s hand gently and moving it back to his cock. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Very well.” He kisses Dean again, stroking him slowly.
With Castiel leading, the pace is less rushed, less frantic. Dean doesn’t know how Castiel can be this patient, not when he can feel how hard he is, Castiel’s cock pressing against his hip.
He doesn’t want to ask Castiel to fuck him—he’s afraid, afraid of what it would mean to let the angel inside him—so he slowly shifts them until he’s lying on top, and carefully pushes Castiel’s pants down. Castiel kicks off his shoes and uses his feet to get his pants and underwear all the way off.
Dean looks down at him, still panting, and Castiel’s face is still calm and open, trusting. He should turn Castiel over, take him from behind. It would be easier for them both, but he can’t look away from Castiel’s eyes.
“Are you okay like this?” he asks, hoping Castiel will know what he means and why he’s asking.
“Yes.” Castiel runs a hand slowly up Dean’s arm. “I trust you.”
Dean swallows and almost stops there, but Castiel pulls him down for a kiss, rocking against him, and Dean gets lost in the heat of Castiel’s mouth, the insistent, throbbing pressure of Castiel’s dick against his stomach, and the next thing Dean knows, he’s got Castiel stretched and wet and looking almost desperate. He fumbles to roll a condom on and slowly rocks into Castiel, both of them moaning as he does.
It’s quicker than it was with Anna, though he takes it as slowly as he can. He strokes Castiel quickly, giving a faint smile when he catches the right angle and Castiel groans out a soft, “Oh, oh, ohhhhhh…Dean,” eyes wide and surprised as his body shudders and he spills over Dean’s hand, rippling around Dean. A few seconds later, Dean lets out a rough yell, coming hard before collapsing on top of Castiel.
He lets Castiel hold him for what feels like hours, trying not to relax into him, trying not to let Castiel see how much he needs this part of it now, how much he needs to be touched by someone who knows who he is, what he became.
Castiel doesn’t say anything, but he slowly strokes Dean’s spine, wrapping himself around Dean to keep him warm, and eventually reaching into the front seat for his coat to drape it over them.
And though he fights it as long as he can, Dean falls asleep like that. And for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream of hell.
fin
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Dean/Anna
Word Count: 2906
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Warnings: Assumes knowledge through Heaven and Hell.
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: Grace is a beautiful and terrible thing
A/N: Just something that came to me after rewatching Heaven and Hell
Maybe herein lies the place where grace starts
That when we’re both lost then God is found.
-Heaven Heals by the Normals
Sam’s gone to bed, but Dean couldn’t sleep, so he’s sitting on a barstool at the bar down the street from their motel, sipping a beer and watching a rerun of Cheers.
He doesn’t sleep much at all anymore, truth be told. Too many nightmares. Too many monsters chasing through his dreams.
He finds he’s not at all surprised when Castiel slides onto the stool next to his. Castiel orders a water and sits quietly, shoulders hunched in that awkward pose he always seems to have. Dean waits, but Castiel doesn’t say anything.
After a long silence, Dean sipping his beer, Castiel seeming to forget his water, Dean says, “You looked, didn’t you?”
Castiel doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t look away from his intent perusal of the stained bar top. “When?”
“When she…angeled up.”
Castiel nods.
Dean takes another long sip. “What did she look like?”
“Beautiful. Beautiful and terrible. Grace is a beautiful and terrible thing.”
“Do you…I mean…” Dean frowns. He isn’t sure what he wants to ask or if he really wants to know the answer at all. “Did you look like that? Before you took this…vessel thing? Were you like that?”
“I was,” Castiel says softly, and he turns to look at Dean, his face that calm, impassive mask that makes Dean want to shake him, want to ask if he doesn’t ever just want to goddamn feel something. “Beautiful and terrible. It is our Grace that makes us that way. To see such a powerful thing face to face is more than you can stand.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that.” He catches the bartender’s eye and orders another beer. When it arrives, he takes a long, slow drink, draining half the glass. “Uriel said you ‘like’ me.”
“He did?” A flicker of something moves across Castiel’s face. Dean thinks it might be surprise.
“Yeah, he did. I didn’t think you guys were allowed to do that.”
“To do what?”
“Like people. Have emotions. Get attached. Whatever.” He waves his hand vaguely. “I thought you were all Warriors of God, and that’s it.”
Castiel almost smiles. At least, Dean thinks that’s what that twitch in the corner of his mouth was. “There is no shame in appreciating His creation. You were made in His image, and that is a thing of greater beauty even than Grace.”
Dean gives a disbelieving snort into his glass.
Castiel just watches him silently. Eventually he says, “You had relations with her, with Anna. When she was human.”
Dean closes his eyes, remembering the touch of her lips, the heat of her skin, the sadness in her eyes. “So what if I did?”
“Why?”
He doesn’t look disapproving or judgmental when he asks this. He just looks curious.
And Dean can’t give the glib answer he’d give anyone else just now about anyone else(because she’s hot…because she was there…because I was horny, all of which are true but none of which are the answer), because this is Castiel and they’re talking about Anna, and both of them deserve better from Dean.
“Because she knew. She knew what I did, and she wanted me anyway. She knew what I did, and she still wanted to be human.” He looks at Castiel then, because he thinks this is the part Castiel will have the hardest time understanding. “And sometimes sex is the only good thing about being one of us.”
Castiel holds his gaze, and Dean can almost see him working it out in his mind, trying to understand.
“Show me?”
Dean just stares at him.
“Have I said something wrong?”
He keeps staring. When did he become the booty call of choice for angels everywhere? If Uriel hits him up next, he’s going to seriously contemplate therapy of some sort.
He drains the rest of his beer before responding. “When you say, ‘show me,’ you mean like…”
“Sex is clearly important to you. I would like to understand that, but I have not experienced it.”
“Dude, you don’t just ask a guy to fuck you because you’re curious.” Dean did. Once. When he was very young and still trying to work out how this whole ‘sex’ thing worked. But that was different. He didn’t know the guy, and he didn’t tell the guy that’s why he wanted to fuck.
Of course, now he’s curious again. Anna had still been human. She’d felt, she’d had desires, she’d known what she wanted and why. How would Castiel be different? Would his face finally show something other than calm obedience or barely contained rage?
“How am I supposed to ask?”
“I don’t know,” Dean huffs, frustrated and on the verge of ordering another beer. “Like it’s something you actually want to do. Like you actually want me to fuck you.” The mere idea is ridiculous, Dean thinks. Why would Castiel want Dean to fuck him? How the hell would that fit into whatever plan he had for Dean?
“I do,” Castiel says, clearly confused. “I want you to fuck me.”
Whatever happens later, Dean decides, this whole experience will have been worth it just to hear Castiel say ‘fuck’.
He drops a twenty on the bar to pay for his beers and slides off the stool, heading for the door. Castiel doesn’t follow him until Dean turns around at the door and says, “You comin’ or what?”
He doesn’t turn around again until he gets to the Impala. He slides into the driver’s seat, and Castiel gets in the other door shortly afterward.
They can’t do this in the hotel—no way Sam would wait outside for that—so Dean starts the engine and takes off. Somewhere out of town, somewhere dark and quiet. The sort of place where monsters and spirits tend to hang out, but what does Dean need to worry about that for? He’s got a fucking angel in his car. Nothing’s messing with him tonight.
Castiel doesn’t say anything as they drive. He just watches Dean. It should make Dean uncomfortable—it usually does when Castiel looks at him like that—but tonight it doesn’t. It makes him nervous. It even turns him on a little. Castiel can focus, and Dean can’t help wondering how that will translate to sex.
There’s a dark, little side road he and Sam passed on their way into town, and Dean pulls into it, driving down a little ways before pulling off the side of the road, parking the Impala under a big, old oak tree.
He takes the keys out of the ignition and sets them on the seat between him and Castiel, just staring straight ahead through the windshield. It’s the first time he’s had to mentally prepare himself to do this in years, and that thought alone is enough to make him shake himself and turn to Castiel.
Castiel has unbuckled his seatbelt and is looking at Dean with that same, calm, curious expression, his hands folded in his lap.
“Well, if we’re gonna do this, let’s do it,” Dean says roughly. He leans across the car to kiss Castiel, meaning it to be quick, hard, messy, but Castiel’s face is soft, his eyes wide, and Dean finds himself cupping the back of Castiel’s head in his hand, nudging their noses together, kissing him gently.
There isn’t much to the kiss, just a soft press of lips, no tongue even, but Dean’s heart is racing, and even when he pulls back, he doesn’t really. His fingers stay in Castiel’s hair, playing gently with the soft strands. Castiel’s eyes are even wider now, and Dean can feel his breath as it leaves Castiel’s mouth, warm against Dean’s lips.
“Well?” he says quietly.
Castiel’s tongue sweeps out across his lips, and Dean wonders if he’s trying to taste Dean. “That was…”
Maybe Castiel doesn’t have the word to describe it. Maybe angels don’t come ready made with a vocabulary for kissing. Maybe he just doesn’t want to waste his energy on words. Whatever it is, instead of finishing his sentence, he just leans forward the few centimeters necessary to press his lips against Dean’s again, his hands coming up to hold Dean’s arms.
Dean kisses him back, cautiously deepening it, swiping his tongue out over Castiel’s lips until Castiel opens his mouth, letting Dean inside. He tastes just like any other man (not that Dean’s had all that much experience kissing men), and that surprises Dean. He’d almost thought Castiel would taste…holy. The realization that Castiel is no different from anyone else he’s kissed (at least not physically) makes Dean pull away again.
Castiel’s hands stay on his arms, and he looks at Dean with something like frustration.
“What?” he whispers, brows furrowed, fingers flexing on Dean’s biceps. “Did I do something wrong?”
Dean almost laughs. Castiel is so very much like a teenage girl her first time. He manages to restrain himself, though, only a hint of a smile in the corners of his eyes when he says, “No. You’re doing just fine,” and presses a palm to Castiel’s chest just to feel his heart beating hard and fast.
Castiel seems to take this as a request for more. He kisses Dean again, this time taking more control of the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to meet Dean’s. His hands start to move from Dean’s arms as well, sliding over Dean’s chest, his back, even venturing down just below Dean’s waist before skating back up again.
Dean returns the favor, sliding his hands up under Castiel’s trench coat and jacket, pushing them off his shoulders. Castiel is reluctant to remove his hands from Dean’s body even to take off his clothing, so Dean leaves them tangled around Castiel’s elbows as he yanks off Castiel’s tie. The shirt comes next, buttons harshly undone, Dean’s hands moving quickly underneath it, skating over warm, smooth skin, pushing the fabric down Castiel’s arms as well.
Castiel’s movement is restricted enough now that he has to pull back to get the offending garments out of the way, and Dean is almost surprised to see that Castiel’s pupils are dilated. If he didn’t think angels weren’t capable, he’d swear Castiel had lust in his eyes.
As soon as his hands are free, Castiel reaches for the hem of Dean’s shirt, pulling it quickly off, like an impatient kid unwrapping a Christmas present.
There’s nothing impatient about the way he looks at Dean once the shirt is off, though. His eyes slide slowly over Dean’s chest and stomach, hands following just as slowly. He flicks a thumbnail experimentally over one of Dean’s nipples, and Dean groans, a thread of desire running straight to his groin.
Castiel looks up sharply at the noise, and Dean says, “There’s more room in the backseat.” His voice is low and gruff, and it almost doesn’t sound like him.
Castiel nods, and Dean climbs over the seat into the back with Castiel following close enough behind that he lands on top of Dean’s back before Dean has a chance to turn over.
For a brief moment, Dean wants nothing more than for Castiel to tug down his jeans and fuck him hard and fast, but given Castiel’s complete lack of experience, he figures that would be a very bad idea. Instead, he shifts under Castiel, turning to face him, and is rewarded with a low moan as his hips drag across Castiel’s groin.
Dean’s tongue snakes across his dry lips as he eyes the visible bulge in Castiel’s pants, and he reaches for Castiel’s belt almost without thinking, tugging it open and making quick work of the button and zipper.
Castiel seems frozen above him, breath caught in his chest, dark eyes on Dean’s, as if he’s not sure what happens next, doesn’t know if what Dean is about to do will hurt him or be the most amazing thing he’s ever felt, and when Dean’s hand brushes over his erection, Castiel lets out his breath so fast it’s almost a sob. He grabs Dean’s wrist and presses Dean’s palm hard against his groin, rocking against the pressure.
“Whoa,” Dean says quietly. “Slow down there, cowboy. It’s better that way.”
Castiel nods, slowly releasing his grip on Dean’s hand. “Yes…yes, slowly.”
Dean slides his hand up Castiel’s chest and around the back of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, slow and deep. He rocks his hips against Castiel’s, and Castiel whimpers softly into his mouth. Neither of them breaks the kiss as Castiel’s hands run down Dean’s stomach to his belt, carefully working it open and then undoing his jeans.
Dean doesn’t push into his touch. He lets Castiel set the pace, inhaling sharply when Castiel pulls his jeans and boxers down and wraps his hand gently around Dean’s dick.
“It is…hot,” Castiel murmurs, running his hand over the skin.
Dean bites back a moan as Castiel bends down for a closer look. He sniffs, dragging the tip of his nose along the length of Dean’s cock. When he gets to the tip, he slides a finger through the clear liquid seeping out, and Dean gasps, breath coming in pants. Castiel brings his finger to his mouth and flicks his tongue over it, and it should be absolutely filthy, but it isn’t. There’s a curious sort of innocence about Castiel, and while his actions are undoubtedly arousing, there is nothing remotely perverse about them.
His eyes slip shut as Castiel’s mouth slides over his hips, up his belly. And when they do, he takes a deep breath through his nose and smells something that isn’t Castiel, isn’t him, isn’t even the leather and gas smell of the Impala.
It’s Anna.
He opens his eyes again, looking down at Castiel.
He didn’t love her, certainly wouldn’t think of her while doing this if he were anywhere else, with anyone else, but he can’t stop himself now.
Castiel lifts his head and looks up at Dean, frowning for a moment. His face has the same look on it that it did when he watched Dean and Anna together that night—confusion melting into an unwanted understanding. He slides up Dean’s body and holds himself over Dean.
“You are thinking of her.” And again, it isn’t accusatory or judgmental, it’s just…there. Just a statement of fact.
Still, Dean feels a little ashamed as he nods.
“That is natural, is it not? You were with her here. I am sure we are the only angels you have been with.”
Dean laughs dryly. “You got that right.”
Castiel nods and lowers himself on top of Dean, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Do you want to stop?”
He should, probably. He shouldn’t still be hard, shouldn’t still have that ridiculous desire to have Castiel inside him. But he does.
“No,” he whispers, taking Castiel’s hand gently and moving it back to his cock. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Very well.” He kisses Dean again, stroking him slowly.
With Castiel leading, the pace is less rushed, less frantic. Dean doesn’t know how Castiel can be this patient, not when he can feel how hard he is, Castiel’s cock pressing against his hip.
He doesn’t want to ask Castiel to fuck him—he’s afraid, afraid of what it would mean to let the angel inside him—so he slowly shifts them until he’s lying on top, and carefully pushes Castiel’s pants down. Castiel kicks off his shoes and uses his feet to get his pants and underwear all the way off.
Dean looks down at him, still panting, and Castiel’s face is still calm and open, trusting. He should turn Castiel over, take him from behind. It would be easier for them both, but he can’t look away from Castiel’s eyes.
“Are you okay like this?” he asks, hoping Castiel will know what he means and why he’s asking.
“Yes.” Castiel runs a hand slowly up Dean’s arm. “I trust you.”
Dean swallows and almost stops there, but Castiel pulls him down for a kiss, rocking against him, and Dean gets lost in the heat of Castiel’s mouth, the insistent, throbbing pressure of Castiel’s dick against his stomach, and the next thing Dean knows, he’s got Castiel stretched and wet and looking almost desperate. He fumbles to roll a condom on and slowly rocks into Castiel, both of them moaning as he does.
It’s quicker than it was with Anna, though he takes it as slowly as he can. He strokes Castiel quickly, giving a faint smile when he catches the right angle and Castiel groans out a soft, “Oh, oh, ohhhhhh…Dean,” eyes wide and surprised as his body shudders and he spills over Dean’s hand, rippling around Dean. A few seconds later, Dean lets out a rough yell, coming hard before collapsing on top of Castiel.
He lets Castiel hold him for what feels like hours, trying not to relax into him, trying not to let Castiel see how much he needs this part of it now, how much he needs to be touched by someone who knows who he is, what he became.
Castiel doesn’t say anything, but he slowly strokes Dean’s spine, wrapping himself around Dean to keep him warm, and eventually reaching into the front seat for his coat to drape it over them.
And though he fights it as long as he can, Dean falls asleep like that. And for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream of hell.
fin
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Date: 2009-01-11 09:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-11 08:56 pm (UTC)