Dean/Castiel, er, it ended up being a bit of all the prompts..?, NC17janie_tangerineAugust 29 2010, 21:10:58 UTC
It’s embarrassing, how much Dean needs this; not that he’ll ever say it to anyone’s face, but thankfully he never has to tell Cas anything. He kind of just already knows, and Dean has come to terms with that. He really has.
There’s still a part of him which won’t just relent and accept how much he can’t help wanting this. It’s not just that he wants to lay on a bed, his legs spread, Cas’s tongue slowly tracing his lips while a long, sticky finger works its way up inside Dean. Dean can’t even talk when it happens, because while Cas is careful and never sends him over the edge too soon, he has this ability to kill Dean’s capacity of speech in a very, very short while. It isn’t even that he likes it.
It’s that he physically needs to be like this. He needs to feel helpless under Castiel and to trust him to take care of things, because he’s the only one who can and the only one Dean will let as close. After all if Cas hasn’t balked out of his life after seeing him in Hell and dying for him more than once, he won’t balk out of it now. Which is exactly another thing Dean needs, and so he has stopped fighting it, in spite of that part of him. It’ll shut up, eventually.
Cas always kisses him slowly, thoroughly, for a long time; his tongue will trace Dean’s lips and then map the inside of his mouth and meet Dean’s in lazy strikes before parting for a second and then leaning down and kissing him again. Or maybe not on his mouth but on his pulse point, and that always makes Dean whimper in a way that would really make him feel self-conscious for eternity, if he cared.
But he doesn’t, not when Cas has just added a second finger, and he’s bending the both of them inside Dean, and fuck if it isn’t driving Dean crazy. He moves them slowly forward and backward, reaching his prostate just a handful of times, a small smile never disappearing from his lips. He always keeps his eyes open and looks down at Dean like he’s honored to this, like he’d do it for eternity if he could, like he loves having Dean under his hands like this, bare and spread open and just for Cas and no one else. Dean tries to look, but most times he can’t and his eyelids flutter closer, and when it happens Cas usually places a kiss over each of them while his fingers keep on scissoring inside Dean, at ease like that hot, tight channel is made just so they could fit, one at first and then two and then three. Three is usually when Dean starts losing it and just tries to move his hips as much in order to meet Cas’s fingers as they work their way inside him, but that’s all he can manage most times. And Cas still looks at him like that, and his other hand stays on Dean’s cheek, his thumb moving up and down until it rests on Dean’s lips and traces them, too. By then all Dean can say is fuck and please and Cas, mostly. (Okay, he also blasphemes a lot, but those three words are the most common ones.)
He comes not much later, with Cas’s tongue plunging inside his mouth and Cas’s fingers restlessly hitting a place that won’t ever fail to drive Dean over the edge, while they crook and bend slightly. Dean never gets to talk because Cas always (like now) is kissing him as he shakes through his orgasm, and Dean likes to think that if someone gets to swallow his moans, that person is Cas. This particular time Cas didn’t even have to touch him to make him come, but it’s just so intense that there hadn’t been the need. And Dean just loves that Cas never takes his fingers out fully until Dean has ridden the orgasm out, until his body has stopped shaking from pleasure and until the lights behind his eyelids disappear for good.
He always falls asleep with his head on Cas’s shoulder after, not that he feels embarrassed about that anymore, but all the way through Cas has always looked at him with that soft, impenetrable gaze that says everything Dean wants to hear even if it isn’t out loud. And as ridiculous as it sounds, Dean has come to need that look, too. And so he lets himself drift away when he’s sure he still has it, and if Cas’s arms tighten around his waist just a beat later, he won’t be the one stopping it.
There’s still a part of him which won’t just relent and accept how much he can’t help wanting this. It’s not just that he wants to lay on a bed, his legs spread, Cas’s tongue slowly tracing his lips while a long, sticky finger works its way up inside Dean. Dean can’t even talk when it happens, because while Cas is careful and never sends him over the edge too soon, he has this ability to kill Dean’s capacity of speech in a very, very short while. It isn’t even that he likes it.
It’s that he physically needs to be like this. He needs to feel helpless under Castiel and to trust him to take care of things, because he’s the only one who can and the only one Dean will let as close. After all if Cas hasn’t balked out of his life after seeing him in Hell and dying for him more than once, he won’t balk out of it now. Which is exactly another thing Dean needs, and so he has stopped fighting it, in spite of that part of him. It’ll shut up, eventually.
Cas always kisses him slowly, thoroughly, for a long time; his tongue will trace Dean’s lips and then map the inside of his mouth and meet Dean’s in lazy strikes before parting for a second and then leaning down and kissing him again. Or maybe not on his mouth but on his pulse point, and that always makes Dean whimper in a way that would really make him feel self-conscious for eternity, if he cared.
But he doesn’t, not when Cas has just added a second finger, and he’s bending the both of them inside Dean, and fuck if it isn’t driving Dean crazy. He moves them slowly forward and backward, reaching his prostate just a handful of times, a small smile never disappearing from his lips. He always keeps his eyes open and looks down at Dean like he’s honored to this, like he’d do it for eternity if he could, like he loves having Dean under his hands like this, bare and spread open and just for Cas and no one else. Dean tries to look, but most times he can’t and his eyelids flutter closer, and when it happens Cas usually places a kiss over each of them while his fingers keep on scissoring inside Dean, at ease like that hot, tight channel is made just so they could fit, one at first and then two and then three. Three is usually when Dean starts losing it and just tries to move his hips as much in order to meet Cas’s fingers as they work their way inside him, but that’s all he can manage most times. And Cas still looks at him like that, and his other hand stays on Dean’s cheek, his thumb moving up and down until it rests on Dean’s lips and traces them, too. By then all Dean can say is fuck and please and Cas, mostly. (Okay, he also blasphemes a lot, but those three words are the most common ones.)
He comes not much later, with Cas’s tongue plunging inside his mouth and Cas’s fingers restlessly hitting a place that won’t ever fail to drive Dean over the edge, while they crook and bend slightly. Dean never gets to talk because Cas always (like now) is kissing him as he shakes through his orgasm, and Dean likes to think that if someone gets to swallow his moans, that person is Cas. This particular time Cas didn’t even have to touch him to make him come, but it’s just so intense that there hadn’t been the need. And Dean just loves that Cas never takes his fingers out fully until Dean has ridden the orgasm out, until his body has stopped shaking from pleasure and until the lights behind his eyelids disappear for good.
He always falls asleep with his head on Cas’s shoulder after, not that he feels embarrassed about that anymore, but all the way through Cas has always looked at him with that soft, impenetrable gaze that says everything Dean wants to hear even if it isn’t out loud. And as ridiculous as it sounds, Dean has come to need that look, too. And so he lets himself drift away when he’s sure he still has it, and if Cas’s arms tighten around his waist just a beat later, he won’t be the one stopping it.
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*flails*
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