FIC: "Divided" - 1/1, R, Dean/Castiel, Supernatural
Title: Divided
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Summary: Between sin and salvation.
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. I don't own any of the characters...they're all the property of Eric Kripke. I'm just playing with them for a bit.
Notes: The 'twenty-fourth day of Christmas', and this one is for nighean_isis in appreciation of her wonderful prompt for phantisma's month of comment!porn.
This is wrong, this is wrong, this is... Dean ignores the tiny voice in his head, slams a fist against the brick wall in front of him. His breath comes in huffs and gasps, each one catching in his throat before exploding out of him. The entire time, his hand moves in perfect rhythm with his breathing.
He can feel the night pressing in on him, gliding over his skin, cool air soothing the sting brick has left on his knuckles. He grunts again, low in his throat, and twists his wrist as he pulls his hand up his cock. So close, almost there, just...
It's wrong and twisted, but the only thing Dean can picture is a face with piercing blue eyes and full lips, a face that looks at him in wonder, in confusion. Dean's fingers tighten, spasm along his length, and he gasps, growling as his hips jerk against his fist. So damn close, please...
And Dean's knows he's damning himself as his forehead presses against the wall, hand moving faster along his cock, entire body shuddering, but it feels so good. He tries not to imagine how his hand would feel right now, tries and fails. It's all he can think of, all he's been able to think of since the night he woke in the motel to find an angel watching him.
It's a sin, going to Hell again, going... When his orgasm slams into him, Dean throws his head back, howls his release to the night.
When it's over, he still trembles, breath coming softer now, slower, and Dean feels dirty for the first time in his life. He's not sure how he can face him next time, not sure how he's going to make eye contact.
The handprint seared onto his shoulder throbs then, the pain sharp and brief, and Dean gasps.
No, Dean...never damned. Not by me...
Dean sinks to his knees, palms pressed flat to the brick wall, and a single tear slides down his cheek as the soft voice continues to whisper in his ear.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Summary: Between sin and salvation.
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. I don't own any of the characters...they're all the property of Eric Kripke. I'm just playing with them for a bit.
Notes: The 'twenty-fourth day of Christmas', and this one is for nighean_isis in appreciation of her wonderful prompt for phantisma's month of comment!porn.
This is wrong, this is wrong, this is... Dean ignores the tiny voice in his head, slams a fist against the brick wall in front of him. His breath comes in huffs and gasps, each one catching in his throat before exploding out of him. The entire time, his hand moves in perfect rhythm with his breathing.
He can feel the night pressing in on him, gliding over his skin, cool air soothing the sting brick has left on his knuckles. He grunts again, low in his throat, and twists his wrist as he pulls his hand up his cock. So close, almost there, just...
It's wrong and twisted, but the only thing Dean can picture is a face with piercing blue eyes and full lips, a face that looks at him in wonder, in confusion. Dean's fingers tighten, spasm along his length, and he gasps, growling as his hips jerk against his fist. So damn close, please...
And Dean's knows he's damning himself as his forehead presses against the wall, hand moving faster along his cock, entire body shuddering, but it feels so good. He tries not to imagine how his hand would feel right now, tries and fails. It's all he can think of, all he's been able to think of since the night he woke in the motel to find an angel watching him.
It's a sin, going to Hell again, going... When his orgasm slams into him, Dean throws his head back, howls his release to the night.
When it's over, he still trembles, breath coming softer now, slower, and Dean feels dirty for the first time in his life. He's not sure how he can face him next time, not sure how he's going to make eye contact.
The handprint seared onto his shoulder throbs then, the pain sharp and brief, and Dean gasps.
No, Dean...never damned. Not by me...
Dean sinks to his knees, palms pressed flat to the brick wall, and a single tear slides down his cheek as the soft voice continues to whisper in his ear.