The Poetry of the Senses [Supernatural - Dean/Castiel]
Title: The Poetry of the Senses
Summary: But for Dean it is the imperfections that Castiel looks for, the little things, and he knows that it is the prelude to the Fall.
Rating: R (for swearing and sex)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoiler Warnings: If you know who Castiel is you can read this.
Disclaimer: Supernatural = not mine.
Notes: Title from Honore de Balzac. Here is me finally getting my porn on with Dean and Castiel. Um - I didn't set out to do it. *shrugs* Further Notes at the bottom. This is a little outside of my usual style, I think.
Every human being is perfect in their own particular way, they are all his Father’s children, and Castiel enjoys discovering this. But for Dean it is the imperfections that Castiel looks for, the little things, and he knows that it is the prelude to the Fall.
Those who Watch…
It is a decadence, a self-indulgence that Castiel should not allow himself, to watch Dean. Dean does not see him. Although, Castiel is becoming more and more certain that Dean feels he is there without knowing that he is there.
Castiel doesn’t watch Dean’s private moments, those that are only meant to be experienced by him alone, and he doesn’t intrude on the quiet moments of perfection with Sam. That would be wrong.
Castiel does watch: Dean’s eyes and mouth when he eats, his hands when he maintains their weapons, his face when he listens to music, the way his leg bounces with nervous energy when he is still for too long.
Castiel chooses small moments to remember, that he keeps close within himself when the endless battles settle heavily on his heart, and knows it is wrong to cherish them so much. They are: snowflakes settling on Dean’s bare head, the first time Dean looked at him without anger, Dean passing an errant ball back to the children who had lost it, Dean leaning against the car with his brother, sharing a silence.
Castiel watches and knows that it is the beginning of the end.
Instinct, those who Listen to it…
Dean doesn’t realise that every time he says Castiel’s name it brings him to Castiel’s attention. If Castiel focuses in the right way he can hear what Dean is saying, no matter how great the distance between them. This is how Castiel hears the first time Dean calls out for him in his sleep.
Castiel is so startled that he doesn’t override the instinct that comes from his vessel, the instinct that tells him to go to Dean, and finds himself in a dark motel room before he can think.
Dean is awake. Castiel can hear his breathing, short and sharp, and knows that it is not the pattern of sleep. Dean shifts on his bed, sheets rasping against his skin, and turns with a huff of breath.
“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks thickly, blinking at Castiel. A thin line of light slants across Dean’s body, highlighting an unexpected nudity, and Castiel has to turn his eyes away.
“You called for me,” Castiel says before he can stop himself. Dean makes a strange sound.
“I called for you?” he asks, incredulous. Castiel nods, knowing Dean will not be deterred from a path once he starts down it, and flexes his hands at his sides.
“You must be hearing things,” Dean says, his voice growing more lucid by the moment. “’Cos I don’t remember doing that.”
“You were asleep,” Castiel says. “Dreaming, I believe. Though not of Hell.”
Castiel recognises that this is an unusual occurrence at the same time as he notices the flush of red on Dean’s face. Angels do not need light to be able to see.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to come all the way here just ‘cos I said your name, Cas,” Dean says, shrugging one shoulder. Castiel tries desperately to ignore the way the shrug makes Dean’s muscles ripple across his body.
“You may have needed help,” Castiel says but he can hear how weak it sounds. It is an excuse. What he really wants to say is: I could no more not heed your call than that of my Lord Father. But that would be blasphemy.
“Does this mean that you’ll always come when I call?” Dean asks and there’s something…different in his voice, a note of something Castiel can’t understand.
“If you have need of me, I will come,” Castiel says, meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean holds his eyes for a long time in the darkness, as if he’s searching for something. Castiel does not know if he’ll find it.
“Good to know,” Dean says finally, turning back into his pillow. “Now fuck off so I can go back to sleep.”
Castiel thinks for a moment of reprimanding Dean for his vulgarity but realises that once he starts he may not be able to stop. Dean’s imperfections run deep. Instead Castiel steps away from Dean and returns to his journey. He wonders why Dean didn’t notice that the bed beside him was empty.
Forgiveness is the Scent…
Castiel cannot place the scent that follows Dean wherever he goes. It is familiar and unknown at the same time and that is so like Dean Castiel almost laughs. More often than not the scent is buried beneath that of alcohol and Castiel cannot get close enough to Dean to make sense of it.
Dean is in a human bar and Castiel is drawn there when Dean speaks his name. As soon as Castiel arrives he can smell the thick scent of sulphur in the air and his hidden wings bristle when he senses multiple demons.
“Thank, well, you know,” Dean says when Castiel appears at his side. Dean is back to back with Sam, the demon’s knife in one hand, and the brothers turn constantly to keep their attackers in sight.
“Please tell me you’re allowed to help us,” Sam says, never looking away from the demons.
“We’re awesome but we’re not that awesome,” Dean adds, hand flexing around the knife.
“I can help,” Castiel says, though he knows he shouldn’t - this is not his mission. He joins the brothers in their fight and drives his share of demons back to Hell, filling them with Holy Fire.
Dean slumps against him briefly when the fight is finished, a press of a shoulder against Castiel’s, and Castiel is alarmed by his response. He recognises the smell beneath everything now, the scent that graces Dean, a scent that is familiar because it is his own and unfamiliar because it is coming from an unexpected place.
“Dude, you’ve got blood on your shirt,” Dean says, leaning away again. He looks pointedly down at Castiel’s clothing. Castiel raises a hand to the expunge the stains but is stopped when Dean grabs his arm and pulls him towards the men’s room.
“You really ought to get more clothes, Cas,” Dean says, grabbing sheet after sheet of paper towel and wetting it under the tap. The harsh fluorescent light washes the colour out of Dean’s features and makes him look wan and ill. There are deep, dark circles under Dean’s eyes and Castiel knows that they have been made by lack of sleep.
“I’ve become used to these clothes,” Castiel says, quelling the urge to reach out and touch Dean’s face. That is not an urge he should have.
“Yeah, but you can’t just go about in the same clothes all the time,” Dean says, washing away the blood with dexterous fingers. “People’ll think you’re weird.”
“I am rarely in the same place for any particular length of time,” Castiel says, attempting a shrug. “There’s not enough time for people to notice my clothes.”
“Huh, guess so,” Dean says, frowning down at the bloodstain. “Okay, this isn’t coming out.”
“Let me,” Castiel says. He pushes Dean’s hands away, though it pains him to do so, and runs a hand down his shirt. He can smell the blood, metallic in the air still heavy with sulphur, and then it is gone.
“Neat trick,” Dean says, eyes narrowing. “So why’d you let me try to wash it out?”
“Because you seemed to enjoy it,” Castiel says and feels a corner of his lip twitch. Dean’s expression goes through several subtle changes, each more interesting than the last.
“Listen, Cas -” Dean begins but Castiel is forced to stop him.
“I must go,” Castiel says, Uriel’s voice filling his ears. The demons are attacking another seal. Dean nods tightly and Castiel is gone. He doesn’t think he imagines the lingering scent of Dean that follows him.
Yes, I now Feel…
Another bar but this time there are no demons, just Dean, lonely and sad. Castiel doesn’t ask where Sam is because he already knows.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” Dean says and his words are slow, imperfect.
“You have need of me,” Castiel says and the shrug is a little better this time. “I never specified what that need would have to be.”
They sit in silence. Dean picks at the label on his bottle in between drinks. Castiel watches him from the corner of his eyes, notes the paleness of his skin, dark light in his eyes, the spread of freckles on his cheeks.
“This was a stupid idea,” Dean says suddenly, pushing his bottle away from him.
“What?” Castiel asks, tilting his head. Dean scowls at him.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, leaning on the table as he stands. “Just…go back to your smiting or whatever you do when you’re not hanging about like a bad smell.”
“I smell bad?” Castiel asks, choosing to ignore the rest of the sentence. Dean barks a harsh laugh.
“No, you don’t,” Dean says with a shake of his head. “That’s half the point.”
“I don’t -” Castiel says but Dean cuts him off with a curt hand gesture.
“I am not having this conversation here,” he says. He grabs the sleeve of Castiel’s coat and pulls him up and away from the table, leads him out of the bar.
The air is cold and Castiel’s vessel shivers at the change of temperature. Dean walks around in a circle in front of him, mumbling to himself.
“Dean, I don’t understand,” Castiel says and it pains him to say it, he hates not being able to understand. It is his duty to understand.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” Dean asks, stopping. He doesn’t look at Castiel, instead staring up at the stars as if he can find meaning in them.
“Noticed what?” Castiel asks, truly lost now.
“You,” Dean points at him without looking. “You smell like…like. You smell like me and I smell like you. It’s freakin’ weird.”
Oh. And then again, out loud: “Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh’,” Dean says, dropping his head to glare at Castiel. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me but you’ve got to undo it - it’s driving me mad.”
What Castiel doesn’t say: that he’s certain he’s not driving Dean mad, that it’s the dreams of Hell that are driving him mad, that Dean is looking for any excuse.
Instead: “I never meant for this to happen.”
“You and me both,” Dean says, shoulders slumping. “I was meant to do my time downstairs in return for Sammy’s life and that was going to be it, forever. Now I’m here, fighting some Holy War, and Sam’s probably in more trouble than he was before and to top it all off I smell like angel. All the time.”
Castiel has no answer for this speech, no answer that he can articulate at least. Dean stares at him and Castiel stares back and the air between them is painfully thick. Castiel knows only a second before Dean speaks and has no time to prepare.
“Fuck it,” Dean says, reaching out. He fists a hand in Castiel’s jacket and pulls him close. The other hand slides into Castiel’s hair, thumb dragging along his jaw, and tilts his head. Dean looks into his eyes, giving him just enough time to pull away.
Castiel doesn’t pull away and it is ecstasy and light and wonder. Dean’s hands curl against him, fingers pressing as he tries to pull Castiel into him, and Castiel raises his hands in imitation.
Dean’s hair slides through his fingers. One hand slides under Dean’s shirt and touches flesh. Dean’s tongue slides against his own. Dean’s nose presses against his. Dean’s body is hard against his.
The imperfections are perfect and Castiel is falling fast.
Tasted the most Sublime…
Dean’s skin tastes of Heaven though Castiel doesn’t think Dean would think of it like that. It is salt-slick and warm and Castiel can feel the blood burning beneath it. He presses his lips against Dean’s neck as Dean shifts against him and he’s not at all sure how they made it to the motel room.
Dean’s fingers drag and catch in Castiel’s shirt, pulling buttons open, sliding against exposed flesh. Castiel gasps at it, thrills to the pleasure that spirals down his spine, and bends to taste Dean’s mouth again. Dean breathes a warm laugh into Castiel’s mouth and Castiel’s really not sure how humans get anything done with all this available to them.
Dean pushes Castiel’s shirt off and away, Dean’s is discarded somewhere on the floor, and the smooth drag of their skin against each other makes Castiel shudder. Dean’s fingers press into his hips and there’s a brief moment that feels like falling and Castiel finds himself on his back, Dean spread over him.
“This is gonna fuck things up for you, isn’t it?” Dean asks, voice thick and rough and even as he asks he lowers his head to drag his tongue along Castiel’s jaw.
“I don’t know,” Castiel replies honestly, tracing Dean’s spine with his fingers. Dean sighs against his neck.
“What about, y’know, him,” Dean gestures at Castiel and it takes him a moment to realise that Dean is referring to the vessel.
“Gone,” Castiel says and it still hurts to think it, that he couldn’t protect the human he inhabited. “He died, some time ago. It wasn’t your fault.”
The statement is pre-emptive, knowing that Dean will think it no matter what Castiel says. Dean stills for a long moment and Castiel wonders if this moment is broken.
“Good,” Dean says at last, shifting down Castiel’s body. “He shouldn’t have to see the stuff you do.”
Unspoken in the air: he shouldn’t be here for this. The vessel’s spirit has been rewarded with a place in Heaven and it is better this way. Castiel refrains from mentioning exactly when the spirit died. He doesn’t think Dean would approve.
Dean pulls his pants open and in one remarkable movement removes them with a swiftness Castiel didn’t think was possible. Castiel feels exposed. Though he has been in this body for several months he hasn’t given much thought to exploring it, beyond his initial need to know how to care for it. No, not ‘this’ body, his body.
Dean runs a hand along Castiel’s…what is the word for this? Castiel’s mind goes blank as pleasure seeps through his body.
“Dick,” Dean says and for a moment Castiel thinks he’s spoken aloud but from the grin on his face he knows that Dean is simply providing education. “Cock, penis, prick - there’s a bunch of words for it. Pick one you like.”
Castiel laughs. It’s the first time it’s ever felt natural to do so and it rumbles through his body with surprising effectiveness. Dean smiles then bends his head to nuzzle Castiel’s cock through his underwear. With another quick movement the...boxers, his body’s memory provides, are removed and Dean’s hand wraps around his cock and Castiel’s whole body arches into it.
“What?” he manages, looking down at Dean. Dean’s answer is a smile that is dangerous and filthy with lust. Castiel holds out a hand and Dean allows him to pull him up for a kiss that makes Castiel feel aflame.
Somewhere Dean had divested himself of clothing and there’s a slick slide of his cock against Castiel’s and, no, Castiel was wrong before. This is Heaven. He should know.
“Jesus,” Dean breaks the kiss and whispers blasphemy into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel shivers and with a hesitant hand reaches for Dean’s cock. Dean’s forehead presses against Castiel’s as he slides a hand up and down the cock, feeling the unusualness of it and the perfect fit in his imperfect human hand.
“Like this,” Dean says and his own hand closes about Castiel’s and shows him. Hard. Fast. Dean moans against Castiel’s shoulder and moves a shaking hand onto Castiel’s cock, echoing the rhythm he has set Castiel.
There’s heat all around and in Castiel, like his body is made solely of burning fire. It is a reminder of what it is like to be free of human flesh and bone and Castiel glories in it. His hips shift of their own will and Dean settles firmer between his legs, pressing them against one another.
Something, a deep spark, settles in the base of Castiel’s spine and begins to spread through his whole body. Dean’s breath is harsh in his ear and his kisses taste of fire and light. Castiel’s chest burns with his own harsh breath and his free hand flutters free until it lands on Dean’s hip, fingers pressing in hard enough to bruise.
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathes again. “Faster, please, faster.”
Castiel is powerless to disobey and moves his hand quicker over Dean’s cock, finding that Dean swears ruthlessly when he drags a thumb over the tip. Castiel swears for the first time in his eternity when Dean does the same to him.
Dean’s body shakes and he pulls his head up to look into Castiel’s eyes and what Castiel sees there is far, far beyond lust and so much more that it is all he can do to not be lost all at once.
“You -” Dean begins but anything more is lost in the sigh that falls from his lips as his climax soars through him. Castiel follows, oh, Castiel follows and his body falls apart and his sight fails and his ears can make no sense of anything and he burns. Castiel can taste the sky.
“Holy shit,” Dean says when all is done. There is a wetness spreading between them but Dean doesn’t seem to notice, looking down at Castiel with warm eyes. Castiel turns his head and presses a feather kiss against the mark he left on Dean so long ago and Dean shivers gently.
“Will you Fall?” Dean asks, intent edged with guilt.
“I do not know,” Castiel says, raising a hand to brush a benediction on Dean’s forehead. Dean’s eyes close and Castiel breathes out a soft breath. “This feels right. Maybe I will not.”
“Hope not,” Dean says, a sudden grin flashing as he slide to one side. “I’ve got used to having an angel on my side.”
Dean’s side. Not God’s side, not Lucifer’s side. Dean’s side and Castiel sees the Plan laid out in the spread of Dean’s limbs. And he is thankful.
---------------
Further Notes: Quotes from - Sight (Gabriel Heatter), Sound (CS Lewis), Smell (Unknown), Touch (Edgar Allan Poe), Taste (Johann Kaspar Lavater)
Have the feeling that this is not a new concept for Dean/Castiel sexy funtiems. I've mentioned in comments that I love exploring the little moments and Five Senses fic seemed amongst the best ways to explore them.
Summary: But for Dean it is the imperfections that Castiel looks for, the little things, and he knows that it is the prelude to the Fall.
Rating: R (for swearing and sex)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoiler Warnings: If you know who Castiel is you can read this.
Disclaimer: Supernatural = not mine.
Notes: Title from Honore de Balzac. Here is me finally getting my porn on with Dean and Castiel. Um - I didn't set out to do it. *shrugs* Further Notes at the bottom. This is a little outside of my usual style, I think.
Every human being is perfect in their own particular way, they are all his Father’s children, and Castiel enjoys discovering this. But for Dean it is the imperfections that Castiel looks for, the little things, and he knows that it is the prelude to the Fall.
Those who Watch…
It is a decadence, a self-indulgence that Castiel should not allow himself, to watch Dean. Dean does not see him. Although, Castiel is becoming more and more certain that Dean feels he is there without knowing that he is there.
Castiel doesn’t watch Dean’s private moments, those that are only meant to be experienced by him alone, and he doesn’t intrude on the quiet moments of perfection with Sam. That would be wrong.
Castiel does watch: Dean’s eyes and mouth when he eats, his hands when he maintains their weapons, his face when he listens to music, the way his leg bounces with nervous energy when he is still for too long.
Castiel chooses small moments to remember, that he keeps close within himself when the endless battles settle heavily on his heart, and knows it is wrong to cherish them so much. They are: snowflakes settling on Dean’s bare head, the first time Dean looked at him without anger, Dean passing an errant ball back to the children who had lost it, Dean leaning against the car with his brother, sharing a silence.
Castiel watches and knows that it is the beginning of the end.
Instinct, those who Listen to it…
Dean doesn’t realise that every time he says Castiel’s name it brings him to Castiel’s attention. If Castiel focuses in the right way he can hear what Dean is saying, no matter how great the distance between them. This is how Castiel hears the first time Dean calls out for him in his sleep.
Castiel is so startled that he doesn’t override the instinct that comes from his vessel, the instinct that tells him to go to Dean, and finds himself in a dark motel room before he can think.
Dean is awake. Castiel can hear his breathing, short and sharp, and knows that it is not the pattern of sleep. Dean shifts on his bed, sheets rasping against his skin, and turns with a huff of breath.
“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks thickly, blinking at Castiel. A thin line of light slants across Dean’s body, highlighting an unexpected nudity, and Castiel has to turn his eyes away.
“You called for me,” Castiel says before he can stop himself. Dean makes a strange sound.
“I called for you?” he asks, incredulous. Castiel nods, knowing Dean will not be deterred from a path once he starts down it, and flexes his hands at his sides.
“You must be hearing things,” Dean says, his voice growing more lucid by the moment. “’Cos I don’t remember doing that.”
“You were asleep,” Castiel says. “Dreaming, I believe. Though not of Hell.”
Castiel recognises that this is an unusual occurrence at the same time as he notices the flush of red on Dean’s face. Angels do not need light to be able to see.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to come all the way here just ‘cos I said your name, Cas,” Dean says, shrugging one shoulder. Castiel tries desperately to ignore the way the shrug makes Dean’s muscles ripple across his body.
“You may have needed help,” Castiel says but he can hear how weak it sounds. It is an excuse. What he really wants to say is: I could no more not heed your call than that of my Lord Father. But that would be blasphemy.
“Does this mean that you’ll always come when I call?” Dean asks and there’s something…different in his voice, a note of something Castiel can’t understand.
“If you have need of me, I will come,” Castiel says, meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean holds his eyes for a long time in the darkness, as if he’s searching for something. Castiel does not know if he’ll find it.
“Good to know,” Dean says finally, turning back into his pillow. “Now fuck off so I can go back to sleep.”
Castiel thinks for a moment of reprimanding Dean for his vulgarity but realises that once he starts he may not be able to stop. Dean’s imperfections run deep. Instead Castiel steps away from Dean and returns to his journey. He wonders why Dean didn’t notice that the bed beside him was empty.
Forgiveness is the Scent…
Castiel cannot place the scent that follows Dean wherever he goes. It is familiar and unknown at the same time and that is so like Dean Castiel almost laughs. More often than not the scent is buried beneath that of alcohol and Castiel cannot get close enough to Dean to make sense of it.
Dean is in a human bar and Castiel is drawn there when Dean speaks his name. As soon as Castiel arrives he can smell the thick scent of sulphur in the air and his hidden wings bristle when he senses multiple demons.
“Thank, well, you know,” Dean says when Castiel appears at his side. Dean is back to back with Sam, the demon’s knife in one hand, and the brothers turn constantly to keep their attackers in sight.
“Please tell me you’re allowed to help us,” Sam says, never looking away from the demons.
“We’re awesome but we’re not that awesome,” Dean adds, hand flexing around the knife.
“I can help,” Castiel says, though he knows he shouldn’t - this is not his mission. He joins the brothers in their fight and drives his share of demons back to Hell, filling them with Holy Fire.
Dean slumps against him briefly when the fight is finished, a press of a shoulder against Castiel’s, and Castiel is alarmed by his response. He recognises the smell beneath everything now, the scent that graces Dean, a scent that is familiar because it is his own and unfamiliar because it is coming from an unexpected place.
“Dude, you’ve got blood on your shirt,” Dean says, leaning away again. He looks pointedly down at Castiel’s clothing. Castiel raises a hand to the expunge the stains but is stopped when Dean grabs his arm and pulls him towards the men’s room.
“You really ought to get more clothes, Cas,” Dean says, grabbing sheet after sheet of paper towel and wetting it under the tap. The harsh fluorescent light washes the colour out of Dean’s features and makes him look wan and ill. There are deep, dark circles under Dean’s eyes and Castiel knows that they have been made by lack of sleep.
“I’ve become used to these clothes,” Castiel says, quelling the urge to reach out and touch Dean’s face. That is not an urge he should have.
“Yeah, but you can’t just go about in the same clothes all the time,” Dean says, washing away the blood with dexterous fingers. “People’ll think you’re weird.”
“I am rarely in the same place for any particular length of time,” Castiel says, attempting a shrug. “There’s not enough time for people to notice my clothes.”
“Huh, guess so,” Dean says, frowning down at the bloodstain. “Okay, this isn’t coming out.”
“Let me,” Castiel says. He pushes Dean’s hands away, though it pains him to do so, and runs a hand down his shirt. He can smell the blood, metallic in the air still heavy with sulphur, and then it is gone.
“Neat trick,” Dean says, eyes narrowing. “So why’d you let me try to wash it out?”
“Because you seemed to enjoy it,” Castiel says and feels a corner of his lip twitch. Dean’s expression goes through several subtle changes, each more interesting than the last.
“Listen, Cas -” Dean begins but Castiel is forced to stop him.
“I must go,” Castiel says, Uriel’s voice filling his ears. The demons are attacking another seal. Dean nods tightly and Castiel is gone. He doesn’t think he imagines the lingering scent of Dean that follows him.
Yes, I now Feel…
Another bar but this time there are no demons, just Dean, lonely and sad. Castiel doesn’t ask where Sam is because he already knows.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” Dean says and his words are slow, imperfect.
“You have need of me,” Castiel says and the shrug is a little better this time. “I never specified what that need would have to be.”
They sit in silence. Dean picks at the label on his bottle in between drinks. Castiel watches him from the corner of his eyes, notes the paleness of his skin, dark light in his eyes, the spread of freckles on his cheeks.
“This was a stupid idea,” Dean says suddenly, pushing his bottle away from him.
“What?” Castiel asks, tilting his head. Dean scowls at him.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, leaning on the table as he stands. “Just…go back to your smiting or whatever you do when you’re not hanging about like a bad smell.”
“I smell bad?” Castiel asks, choosing to ignore the rest of the sentence. Dean barks a harsh laugh.
“No, you don’t,” Dean says with a shake of his head. “That’s half the point.”
“I don’t -” Castiel says but Dean cuts him off with a curt hand gesture.
“I am not having this conversation here,” he says. He grabs the sleeve of Castiel’s coat and pulls him up and away from the table, leads him out of the bar.
The air is cold and Castiel’s vessel shivers at the change of temperature. Dean walks around in a circle in front of him, mumbling to himself.
“Dean, I don’t understand,” Castiel says and it pains him to say it, he hates not being able to understand. It is his duty to understand.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” Dean asks, stopping. He doesn’t look at Castiel, instead staring up at the stars as if he can find meaning in them.
“Noticed what?” Castiel asks, truly lost now.
“You,” Dean points at him without looking. “You smell like…like. You smell like me and I smell like you. It’s freakin’ weird.”
Oh. And then again, out loud: “Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh’,” Dean says, dropping his head to glare at Castiel. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me but you’ve got to undo it - it’s driving me mad.”
What Castiel doesn’t say: that he’s certain he’s not driving Dean mad, that it’s the dreams of Hell that are driving him mad, that Dean is looking for any excuse.
Instead: “I never meant for this to happen.”
“You and me both,” Dean says, shoulders slumping. “I was meant to do my time downstairs in return for Sammy’s life and that was going to be it, forever. Now I’m here, fighting some Holy War, and Sam’s probably in more trouble than he was before and to top it all off I smell like angel. All the time.”
Castiel has no answer for this speech, no answer that he can articulate at least. Dean stares at him and Castiel stares back and the air between them is painfully thick. Castiel knows only a second before Dean speaks and has no time to prepare.
“Fuck it,” Dean says, reaching out. He fists a hand in Castiel’s jacket and pulls him close. The other hand slides into Castiel’s hair, thumb dragging along his jaw, and tilts his head. Dean looks into his eyes, giving him just enough time to pull away.
Castiel doesn’t pull away and it is ecstasy and light and wonder. Dean’s hands curl against him, fingers pressing as he tries to pull Castiel into him, and Castiel raises his hands in imitation.
Dean’s hair slides through his fingers. One hand slides under Dean’s shirt and touches flesh. Dean’s tongue slides against his own. Dean’s nose presses against his. Dean’s body is hard against his.
The imperfections are perfect and Castiel is falling fast.
Tasted the most Sublime…
Dean’s skin tastes of Heaven though Castiel doesn’t think Dean would think of it like that. It is salt-slick and warm and Castiel can feel the blood burning beneath it. He presses his lips against Dean’s neck as Dean shifts against him and he’s not at all sure how they made it to the motel room.
Dean’s fingers drag and catch in Castiel’s shirt, pulling buttons open, sliding against exposed flesh. Castiel gasps at it, thrills to the pleasure that spirals down his spine, and bends to taste Dean’s mouth again. Dean breathes a warm laugh into Castiel’s mouth and Castiel’s really not sure how humans get anything done with all this available to them.
Dean pushes Castiel’s shirt off and away, Dean’s is discarded somewhere on the floor, and the smooth drag of their skin against each other makes Castiel shudder. Dean’s fingers press into his hips and there’s a brief moment that feels like falling and Castiel finds himself on his back, Dean spread over him.
“This is gonna fuck things up for you, isn’t it?” Dean asks, voice thick and rough and even as he asks he lowers his head to drag his tongue along Castiel’s jaw.
“I don’t know,” Castiel replies honestly, tracing Dean’s spine with his fingers. Dean sighs against his neck.
“What about, y’know, him,” Dean gestures at Castiel and it takes him a moment to realise that Dean is referring to the vessel.
“Gone,” Castiel says and it still hurts to think it, that he couldn’t protect the human he inhabited. “He died, some time ago. It wasn’t your fault.”
The statement is pre-emptive, knowing that Dean will think it no matter what Castiel says. Dean stills for a long moment and Castiel wonders if this moment is broken.
“Good,” Dean says at last, shifting down Castiel’s body. “He shouldn’t have to see the stuff you do.”
Unspoken in the air: he shouldn’t be here for this. The vessel’s spirit has been rewarded with a place in Heaven and it is better this way. Castiel refrains from mentioning exactly when the spirit died. He doesn’t think Dean would approve.
Dean pulls his pants open and in one remarkable movement removes them with a swiftness Castiel didn’t think was possible. Castiel feels exposed. Though he has been in this body for several months he hasn’t given much thought to exploring it, beyond his initial need to know how to care for it. No, not ‘this’ body, his body.
Dean runs a hand along Castiel’s…what is the word for this? Castiel’s mind goes blank as pleasure seeps through his body.
“Dick,” Dean says and for a moment Castiel thinks he’s spoken aloud but from the grin on his face he knows that Dean is simply providing education. “Cock, penis, prick - there’s a bunch of words for it. Pick one you like.”
Castiel laughs. It’s the first time it’s ever felt natural to do so and it rumbles through his body with surprising effectiveness. Dean smiles then bends his head to nuzzle Castiel’s cock through his underwear. With another quick movement the...boxers, his body’s memory provides, are removed and Dean’s hand wraps around his cock and Castiel’s whole body arches into it.
“What?” he manages, looking down at Dean. Dean’s answer is a smile that is dangerous and filthy with lust. Castiel holds out a hand and Dean allows him to pull him up for a kiss that makes Castiel feel aflame.
Somewhere Dean had divested himself of clothing and there’s a slick slide of his cock against Castiel’s and, no, Castiel was wrong before. This is Heaven. He should know.
“Jesus,” Dean breaks the kiss and whispers blasphemy into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel shivers and with a hesitant hand reaches for Dean’s cock. Dean’s forehead presses against Castiel’s as he slides a hand up and down the cock, feeling the unusualness of it and the perfect fit in his imperfect human hand.
“Like this,” Dean says and his own hand closes about Castiel’s and shows him. Hard. Fast. Dean moans against Castiel’s shoulder and moves a shaking hand onto Castiel’s cock, echoing the rhythm he has set Castiel.
There’s heat all around and in Castiel, like his body is made solely of burning fire. It is a reminder of what it is like to be free of human flesh and bone and Castiel glories in it. His hips shift of their own will and Dean settles firmer between his legs, pressing them against one another.
Something, a deep spark, settles in the base of Castiel’s spine and begins to spread through his whole body. Dean’s breath is harsh in his ear and his kisses taste of fire and light. Castiel’s chest burns with his own harsh breath and his free hand flutters free until it lands on Dean’s hip, fingers pressing in hard enough to bruise.
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathes again. “Faster, please, faster.”
Castiel is powerless to disobey and moves his hand quicker over Dean’s cock, finding that Dean swears ruthlessly when he drags a thumb over the tip. Castiel swears for the first time in his eternity when Dean does the same to him.
Dean’s body shakes and he pulls his head up to look into Castiel’s eyes and what Castiel sees there is far, far beyond lust and so much more that it is all he can do to not be lost all at once.
“You -” Dean begins but anything more is lost in the sigh that falls from his lips as his climax soars through him. Castiel follows, oh, Castiel follows and his body falls apart and his sight fails and his ears can make no sense of anything and he burns. Castiel can taste the sky.
“Holy shit,” Dean says when all is done. There is a wetness spreading between them but Dean doesn’t seem to notice, looking down at Castiel with warm eyes. Castiel turns his head and presses a feather kiss against the mark he left on Dean so long ago and Dean shivers gently.
“Will you Fall?” Dean asks, intent edged with guilt.
“I do not know,” Castiel says, raising a hand to brush a benediction on Dean’s forehead. Dean’s eyes close and Castiel breathes out a soft breath. “This feels right. Maybe I will not.”
“Hope not,” Dean says, a sudden grin flashing as he slide to one side. “I’ve got used to having an angel on my side.”
Dean’s side. Not God’s side, not Lucifer’s side. Dean’s side and Castiel sees the Plan laid out in the spread of Dean’s limbs. And he is thankful.
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Further Notes: Quotes from - Sight (Gabriel Heatter), Sound (CS Lewis), Smell (Unknown), Touch (Edgar Allan Poe), Taste (Johann Kaspar Lavater)
Have the feeling that this is not a new concept for Dean/Castiel sexy funtiems. I've mentioned in comments that I love exploring the little moments and Five Senses fic seemed amongst the best ways to explore them.