Angel Voices (SPN; Dean/Castiel; R/M; #388: Lyrics)
Title: Angel Voices
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: Soft R/M
Challenge/Prompt: SlashtheDrabble #388: Lyrics
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 500
Date Written: 23 February, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission.
Castiel's deep voice fills the small hotel room while Dean paces outside the bathroom. The words are meaningful, but it's not the gospel lyrics that demand the hunter's attention held riveted. It is the voice singing them itself. He's never heard such a beautiful sound.
He turns again, guzzling another beer, and approaches the fridge. "Come on, Cas!" he calls, hoping he'll stop singing. "We haven't got all night!" They haven't got a lead to follow, but that's not the problem, either. He doesn't have all night to think about something he can't have and he shouldn't even want.
He snatches open the refrigerator door and groans. He'd forgotten this was his last beer. He slams the door shut, jugs the last of it, and throws the bottle in the trash can. He kicks the counter in frustration. Now there's nothing to keep him from concentrating on the way Castiel's voice fills the room. It's as though he can hear the Angel's words washing over everything and inside of him.
He wants him inside of him. Dean groans again and runs bruised hands over his tired face. He's got enough damn things to fight as it is without having to fight his own manhood. It isn't right! He shouldn't be having this kind of a reaction to a freaking Angel!
But he is, and the more Castiel sings, the more he wants to slip into that tub behind him, take the Angel into his arms, and show him everything humanity has to offer. The door opens just then, and Dean whirls toward it, eyes wide and desperate for an escape. "What?" Sam asks, entering with arms full of groceries from his latest run to the 7-11.
Dean's eyes quickly scan the bags. No beer. No wine. Nothing to help. Not even a damn porno magazine. "Sorry," Sam says, as though he can read his mind, "they were out, and they don't sell beer."
"What?! What kind of freaking convenience store doesn't -- You know what, never mind." Dean shakes his head, grabs his jacket and keys, and heads for the door. "I'm gonna go find a bar." Get some beer and get freaking laid, he thinks to himself, slamming the door behind him on Castiel's song that just won't stop.
Reaching the Impala's safety, Dean cranks his music open as loud as his Baby's speakers will go, but even Led Zeppelin can't seem to drown out the Angel's deep baritone. The words he sang sing inside of Dean, making him groan with burning need even as he stomps on Baby's accelerator.
Left inside the hotel's shower, Castiel looks up as he hears the Impala roar out of the parking lot. He sighs as he turns off the water. Perhaps it was wrong. Okay, so it was definitely wrong and probably one of many bad habits he's picked up from being around humans so much, but he'd certainly wanted Dean to join him. He dries, still aching for hands that will never be his.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: Soft R/M
Challenge/Prompt: SlashtheDrabble #388: Lyrics
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 500
Date Written: 23 February, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission.
Castiel's deep voice fills the small hotel room while Dean paces outside the bathroom. The words are meaningful, but it's not the gospel lyrics that demand the hunter's attention held riveted. It is the voice singing them itself. He's never heard such a beautiful sound.
He turns again, guzzling another beer, and approaches the fridge. "Come on, Cas!" he calls, hoping he'll stop singing. "We haven't got all night!" They haven't got a lead to follow, but that's not the problem, either. He doesn't have all night to think about something he can't have and he shouldn't even want.
He snatches open the refrigerator door and groans. He'd forgotten this was his last beer. He slams the door shut, jugs the last of it, and throws the bottle in the trash can. He kicks the counter in frustration. Now there's nothing to keep him from concentrating on the way Castiel's voice fills the room. It's as though he can hear the Angel's words washing over everything and inside of him.
He wants him inside of him. Dean groans again and runs bruised hands over his tired face. He's got enough damn things to fight as it is without having to fight his own manhood. It isn't right! He shouldn't be having this kind of a reaction to a freaking Angel!
But he is, and the more Castiel sings, the more he wants to slip into that tub behind him, take the Angel into his arms, and show him everything humanity has to offer. The door opens just then, and Dean whirls toward it, eyes wide and desperate for an escape. "What?" Sam asks, entering with arms full of groceries from his latest run to the 7-11.
Dean's eyes quickly scan the bags. No beer. No wine. Nothing to help. Not even a damn porno magazine. "Sorry," Sam says, as though he can read his mind, "they were out, and they don't sell beer."
"What?! What kind of freaking convenience store doesn't -- You know what, never mind." Dean shakes his head, grabs his jacket and keys, and heads for the door. "I'm gonna go find a bar." Get some beer and get freaking laid, he thinks to himself, slamming the door behind him on Castiel's song that just won't stop.
Reaching the Impala's safety, Dean cranks his music open as loud as his Baby's speakers will go, but even Led Zeppelin can't seem to drown out the Angel's deep baritone. The words he sang sing inside of Dean, making him groan with burning need even as he stomps on Baby's accelerator.
Left inside the hotel's shower, Castiel looks up as he hears the Impala roar out of the parking lot. He sighs as he turns off the water. Perhaps it was wrong. Okay, so it was definitely wrong and probably one of many bad habits he's picked up from being around humans so much, but he'd certainly wanted Dean to join him. He dries, still aching for hands that will never be his.
The End