[FIC]: A Place in the Sun (Dean/Castiel, Adult)
[A Place in the Sun]
SPN. Dean/Castiel. NC-17. ~900 words; schmoopy pornlet. Vague S5. For my kissbingo card to the prompt emotion: happiness.
~
They fall to the earth, human and angel, a tangle of arms and legs, hands and lips, teeth and tongue. It's springtime in the Blue Ridge; the sun is high in the sky, and the grass moves like an ocean beneath them. Dean laps down the curve of Cas's neck, the wide dip of his collarbone, the gentle span of his naked chest. Burrowing close, Cas bites down on Dean's shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to have Dean gasping, clutching, whispering, "Cas, fuck you. Gonna, yeah, just fuck you."
It feels like they've been at this for hours, the quiet work of bodies in motion. Cas nuzzling the sharp edge of Dean's chin, and Dean laughing quietly, thinking of just how dangerously close Bobby and Sam are, waiting back at the cabin. But the hunt is over, the case solved, and for a moment, Dean remembers that life doesn't always have to be a constant struggle, that life can be this as well. Content to just move his lips against the fragile line of Cas's spine, tasting wet grass, salt, blood, earth. Cas, all long and smooth, writhing beneath him, while Dean's hips ride the glorious spill of his body. They twist on the wet ground, grapple and wrestle, and for a moment Cas's hands are like the sun, like a burn on Dean's skin.
Dean wants to laugh because laughter is rare, wants to get drunk on this moment, when they're both so fucked out and high from a hunt, from being alive when dying is the only thing anyone is managing to do these days. But all Dean can concentrate on is pinning Cas down, holding him still, kissing him breathless. The kiss is hungered, something out of a fever dream, open-mouthed and messy, heavy with spit and tongue, thick with need and desperation; a clash, a battle. Mouths sliding, slick and wet-hot, hands gripping, and bodies moving together in a heated roll.
Against Dean's ears, Cas is begging him for more, voice so filthy, low, and rough, so out of control, so unlike his usual steady pitch. Dean undoes them, unsnapping jeans, pulling pants and boxers down in a hurried rush toward nakedness and completion. Dean shudders as his cock brushes against Cas's own. When they slide together, they're clumsy, overeager; they grind and rut like teenagers, every movement jerky and rushed. As they speed up, Dean grabs both of their cocks in hand, jacks them long and hard. Cas's hips buck up, and Dean thrusts down, and all that wet friction and heat is more than enough to push them over.
Dean clings and trembles, heat flaring through his limbs, a shock of white blossoming behind his eyes. Underneath him, Cas is flushed, his chest heaving, his eyes unfocused, completely lost in blissed-out pleasure. For the moment they are bound together, bodies still and breathless, the air filling up with everything that is between them.
They linger after, a soft lull in the dying day, pillowed deep down in the thick grass, snuggled one into the other. Dean's body is slack and pliant; he's feeling mellow, feeling good. Cas is murmuring something Dean can't quite make out as Dean walks his fingers across the warm stretch of Cas's back, across his lax muscles, small movements that send Cas sighing in contentment.
The sky is a watercolor of soft blues, pinks, and yellows; a smudge of white fleecy cloud. Their bodies dry in the warm spring air, and time stands stills, the world itself forgotten. Dean doesn't know how this will end, but he knows everything is better because they're doing this together.
A soft touch of lips against his shoulder, dry and warm. Dean turns his head to see Cas looking at him as he pushes up onto his elbows. As Cas leans over Dean, he blocks the sun, and for a moment the amber evening light frames his wild tufts of hair, creating the illusion of a halo around Castiel's head. Dean smirks, thinks about how crazy it is to have this half-fallen half-naked angel by his side.
Cas leans in, pushes his lips against Dean's own; a soft, drowsy kiss. Dean welcomes it, breathing warm against Cas's mouth. When Dean pulls back, Cas's eyes are bright, his halo gone.
"Cas," Dean says, but he doesn't say anything more, doesn't know what is left to say these days. He simply closes his eyes as Cas's lips brush against his cheekbone, caressing the soft bruise around his right eye. Cas's naked body then presses warm against his own, cock sliding against cock, and Dean chuckles because they're both already ready for another go. The sound of his laughter thrums against the shared spaces where their skin touches.
Dean pulls Cas closer for another kiss. Their mouths brush, their tongues stroke, and this single dizzying kiss seems to cover the entire world. This kiss is not the beginning, nor the end. It's something in the in-between: something needed, something shared. Heat and breath, focus and reflection. Life.
"We should do this more often," Cas murmurs, mouth to mouth, heart to heart.
Dean smiles against his lips. Whispers, "Definitely."
-fin-