Closer.
Title: Closer.
Author: niela_xxx
Pairing: Dean/Castiel (Supernatural).
Rating: NC-17.
POV: 3rd person.
Summary: Castiel is losing his grace and Dean is losing his mind. They play with death; they know it's a dangerous game, but it's thrilling. It's turning them on.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, they are Kripke's. I'm just borrowing and I promise I will return unharmed. Please, don't sue.
Author Notes: For Renee. <3 Prompted with #053 - gunplay; Cas/Dean and the word "closer". 771 words.
“Cas.”
There is a warning in Dean's voice as he chokes out Castiel's name, a warning and a plea at the same time. Odd, how such a simple word can mean so many things, and Castiel feels proud that he is able to decipher them now. That's one of the few things he doesn't mind about this whole situation that Dean calls “getting rid of your angel mojo”.
But he doesn't reply to Dean, not verbally, and shifts on the bed. He switches the colt in his other hand, tracing Dean's quivering thigh with the cold metal. The handle fits in Castiel's palm perfectly, just like it does in Dean's; no surprise about Dean because the colt, not the colt, but the other, 1911 A1, is Dean's favourite.
Castiel glances up, into Dean's distracted eyes that are following the gun, and then moves it up, utterly fascinated by the soft groan Dean lets out.
He is not sure how they even ended up like this, Dean's pants pooled at the end of the bed, his T-shirt pushed up and revealing the firm muscles that form a perfect V, showing the way to Dean's currently most sensitive body part. Castiel is kneeling between Dean's spread legs, still wearing the stupid trench coat as if he couldn't physically take it off. He had rolled the sleeves up, though, and while one hand is holding the gun, the other is resting at Dean's knee, keeping his legs spread. He is teasing Dean with the gun, tracing it up and down his inner thighs and growing more and more fascinated because Dean is rock-hard.
Briefly, Castiel wonders if it's because it's him teasing Dean, or because it's the gun. It's loaded and they both know perfectly that if Castiel's fingers slipped or he became suddenly clumsy, it'd end up bloody. A part of Castiel is sure that this is what turns Dean so much,
“Cas...” Dean says again, and this time it is just a plea. Castiel understands immediately, and moves the gun lower, the metal gingerly sliding along Dean's erection, making the man bite back a moan.
It's thrilling, to know that he has such power over Dean; Dean who usually won't show his weak side to anyone, except Sam, maybe, occasionally. But right now, Dean is naked, exposed and vulnerable, at Castiel's mercy.
He repeats the movement, and Dean's hips buck forward. His cock is hard, red and leaking, sensitive to each stroke of the gun, and eventually, of Castiel's fingers as well, as he wraps his left hand around Dean's erection a little clumsily. He is holding the gun in his right hand, carefully sliding it lower. As it brushes Dean's opening, Castiel realises his hands are shaking almost as much as Dean's legs, and he looks up in Dean's flushed face.
“Dean,” he says, his voice unusually uncertain. They never went this far with the gun still loaded and Castiel is starting to be scared about hurting Dean.
“I want you,” Dean says and Castiel lets out a relieved sigh. He unloads the colt and leans over, letting it slide on the floor by the bed. When he looks back, Dean's fist is curled around his erection and he is jacking himself off, unable to wait a second longer.
Castiel doesn't want to let him wait, though, and he gently pushes Dean's hand away, replacing it with his own. He is now leaning over Dean, the edges of the trench coat brushing Dean's exposed skin and Castiel's hot breath washing over Dean's lips, his fist moving up and down Dean's erection steadily.
It only takes a while and Dean is gasping for breath, spurting over Castiel's fingers.
They stay like that for a minute, Castiel leaning over Dean, his forehead resting against Dean's shoulder; Dean melting against the bed, oblivious to the world around. Michael meet Lucifer for the final battle right there and then, and Dean wouldn't care.
Eventually Dean shifts, though, and Castiel understands. He pulls away from Dean, moving off the bed and turning away. He feels strange, dull ache on the inside that has nothing to do with a bulge in his pants that is slowly fading down. When he is with Dean, those rare minutes when Dean opens up for Castiel and allows him to get closer, no personal space bullshit, and emotionally too, that's when Castiel doesn't mind that he is losing his grace. But then Dean pushes him away, and Castiel wishes he could not feel anything.
By the time Dean dresses up again, Castiel is gone with a flutter of wings.
Author: niela_xxx
Pairing: Dean/Castiel (Supernatural).
Rating: NC-17.
POV: 3rd person.
Summary: Castiel is losing his grace and Dean is losing his mind. They play with death; they know it's a dangerous game, but it's thrilling. It's turning them on.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, they are Kripke's. I'm just borrowing and I promise I will return unharmed. Please, don't sue.
Author Notes: For Renee. <3 Prompted with #053 - gunplay; Cas/Dean and the word "closer". 771 words.
“Cas.”
There is a warning in Dean's voice as he chokes out Castiel's name, a warning and a plea at the same time. Odd, how such a simple word can mean so many things, and Castiel feels proud that he is able to decipher them now. That's one of the few things he doesn't mind about this whole situation that Dean calls “getting rid of your angel mojo”.
But he doesn't reply to Dean, not verbally, and shifts on the bed. He switches the colt in his other hand, tracing Dean's quivering thigh with the cold metal. The handle fits in Castiel's palm perfectly, just like it does in Dean's; no surprise about Dean because the colt, not the colt, but the other, 1911 A1, is Dean's favourite.
Castiel glances up, into Dean's distracted eyes that are following the gun, and then moves it up, utterly fascinated by the soft groan Dean lets out.
He is not sure how they even ended up like this, Dean's pants pooled at the end of the bed, his T-shirt pushed up and revealing the firm muscles that form a perfect V, showing the way to Dean's currently most sensitive body part. Castiel is kneeling between Dean's spread legs, still wearing the stupid trench coat as if he couldn't physically take it off. He had rolled the sleeves up, though, and while one hand is holding the gun, the other is resting at Dean's knee, keeping his legs spread. He is teasing Dean with the gun, tracing it up and down his inner thighs and growing more and more fascinated because Dean is rock-hard.
Briefly, Castiel wonders if it's because it's him teasing Dean, or because it's the gun. It's loaded and they both know perfectly that if Castiel's fingers slipped or he became suddenly clumsy, it'd end up bloody. A part of Castiel is sure that this is what turns Dean so much,
“Cas...” Dean says again, and this time it is just a plea. Castiel understands immediately, and moves the gun lower, the metal gingerly sliding along Dean's erection, making the man bite back a moan.
It's thrilling, to know that he has such power over Dean; Dean who usually won't show his weak side to anyone, except Sam, maybe, occasionally. But right now, Dean is naked, exposed and vulnerable, at Castiel's mercy.
He repeats the movement, and Dean's hips buck forward. His cock is hard, red and leaking, sensitive to each stroke of the gun, and eventually, of Castiel's fingers as well, as he wraps his left hand around Dean's erection a little clumsily. He is holding the gun in his right hand, carefully sliding it lower. As it brushes Dean's opening, Castiel realises his hands are shaking almost as much as Dean's legs, and he looks up in Dean's flushed face.
“Dean,” he says, his voice unusually uncertain. They never went this far with the gun still loaded and Castiel is starting to be scared about hurting Dean.
“I want you,” Dean says and Castiel lets out a relieved sigh. He unloads the colt and leans over, letting it slide on the floor by the bed. When he looks back, Dean's fist is curled around his erection and he is jacking himself off, unable to wait a second longer.
Castiel doesn't want to let him wait, though, and he gently pushes Dean's hand away, replacing it with his own. He is now leaning over Dean, the edges of the trench coat brushing Dean's exposed skin and Castiel's hot breath washing over Dean's lips, his fist moving up and down Dean's erection steadily.
It only takes a while and Dean is gasping for breath, spurting over Castiel's fingers.
They stay like that for a minute, Castiel leaning over Dean, his forehead resting against Dean's shoulder; Dean melting against the bed, oblivious to the world around. Michael meet Lucifer for the final battle right there and then, and Dean wouldn't care.
Eventually Dean shifts, though, and Castiel understands. He pulls away from Dean, moving off the bed and turning away. He feels strange, dull ache on the inside that has nothing to do with a bulge in his pants that is slowly fading down. When he is with Dean, those rare minutes when Dean opens up for Castiel and allows him to get closer, no personal space bullshit, and emotionally too, that's when Castiel doesn't mind that he is losing his grace. But then Dean pushes him away, and Castiel wishes he could not feel anything.
By the time Dean dresses up again, Castiel is gone with a flutter of wings.