Kinky Monday

[sansdatelimite]

So, I’m in one of those moods again so it’s time for another Kinky Monday (stolen shamelessly from tiptoe39).

No real rules. If I can't/won't write something, I'll just tell you. There may or may not be any sort of context. There will be porn. You'll get at least 100 words out of me.

If you want to leave more than one prompt, knock yourself out. I just

Comments

[sansdatelimite]

The press of their bodies is hard and hot and desperate. Castiel has Dean pinned to the wall from his shoulders to his knees and they’re pressed so close that it feels impossible, like they aren’t even two separate people anymore. Nothing can fit between the skin of their chests and stomachs and groins. Even if he could free his wrists from Castiel’s grip, Dean doubts he could snake a hand between their bodies to unbutton their pants and pull at their cocks.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Castiel pants between kisses. He’s torn between biting at Dean’s lips and sucking his tongue or trailing angry and possessive red marks down Dean’s jaw and neck and shoulders, snapping between the two randomly and quickly. There are going to be bruises and crescent shaped cuts in Dean’s hip from Castiel’s nails digging into Dean’s hip, but neither of them care.

This is the thing that has been hanging between them for days and weeks and months and years. It doesn’t matter how long, only that now Dean and Castiel are arching together, rutting against in each other in sharp thrusts in desperate attempts to get off. It was always going to come to this, and now that it finally has, Dean can’t be bothered with the specifics or the fact that Sam could come back any moment.

The only thing that does matter is that Castiel and Dean are here, both too desperate for this and each other to shuck off the last of their clothes. They were too busy trying to collapse against the first flat surface to care that Dean’s going to be bruised and marked for the world to see. None of that matters because -

“Dean”

- is the only thing Castiel can manage to cry out when he comes, his lips still firmly attached to Dean’s jaw, worrying the flesh between his teeth even as he whimpers pathetically. Castiel slumps forward against Dean, his breath shaky and wet against the skin of Dean’s neck, and he peppers all of Dean that he can reach with soft kisses.

The sudden change in Castiel - from fierce and possessive to lax and sweet - and the dampness of Castiel’s come - warm and thick and Dean can feel it, even through his jeans - is enough for Dean’s orgasm to rip through him, Castiel’s name on his lips. He stops rutting against the angel and slips to the floor, tugging Castiel down to the ground with him, ignoring idly annoyed thoughts about coming in his jeans like he was twelve.

Whatever Castiel is feeling now doesn’t show, and he slumps against Dean’s body bonelessly like he belongs there. They both need a minute to catch their breaths, because they’re going to have to talk about this, Dean knows that, because this is so sudden and new and terrifying. For now though, Castiel seems content to mouth at Dean’s throat and hum, “mine” and Dean likes it too much to stop him.