losing what was never found - for monjinator
Title: losing what was never found
Author: puchuupoet
Recipient: monjinator
Pairing: Chuck/Castiel
Rating: nc-17
Word Count ~2870
Warnings: light bondage/blindfolding
Summary: Castiel goes to Chuck for guidance. What he finds is a little different than what he was looking for.
Notes: Set around mid-Season 5, when Cas is still optimistic and Chuck is still Chuck.
Based on the prompts: bondage/blindfolds, overcoming past trauma, helping the other feel secure in the relationship.
Beta'd by thunder_nari and chaosraven ♥
Castiel isn't quite sure what draws him to the broken-down house, but suddenly he's at the front door, shifting briefly from foot to foot before knocking. There's something that keeps him from entering the house unannounced, a ripple in the air that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It's been raining all day, a steady downpour that's left his clothes sticking to him and plastered down his hair.
He's searching for something, anything that could possibly drown out the buzzing in his head. It wasn't there before, when he had orders and a purpose. But now that the concept of doubt has crossed his mind, he is finding his head is filling more easily with other things; random aching thoughts that he wishes he could shake away.
Castiel shakes his head, trying to get rid of the water that's dripping down the back of his coat, trickling behind his ears and making his skin itch. There's been no movement behind the curtains, no sign of life other than what he knows is there. Castiel raises his hand and knocks several times against the door. He watches the shredded paint flake off and litter the deck, and is caught staring at the remnants when the door finally opens a cautious crack.
"You're not supposed to be here." Chuck sounds annoyed, and Castiel can see the lines around his eyes.
Castiel leans forward, "Where am I supposed to be?" He thinks he keeps his voice level, but Chuck just squints at him, runs his gaze up and down Castiel's body before opening the door the rest of the way and turning back down the hallway.
Castiel follows Chuck inside, carefully closing the door behind him. When he turns back around, Chuck's disappeared, but there's a sharp rattle of glass that Castiel follows to the living room.
Chuck is on the couch, curled around a bottle, gripping it tight. Castiel can't tell what is in the bottle, though it's still almost all the way full. He hopes maybe that means this is the beginning, rather than the end, until he steps forward and knocks into a paper bag full of empty glass bottles. Castiel's mouth is dry, a new physical sensation that he doesn't like. It reminds him that he's still wet. The fabric of his shirt is still itching at the small of his back but he can't quite reach around and scratch it. It's the same with the noise in his head. What should be clear instructions have faded into a low cacophony of maybes and grays; noises he wishes he could will away.
Castiel doesn't realize that he's been staring until Chuck coughs and Castiel shakes his head with a start. "Y'know, I'm not really set up to entertain right now, Cas," and the way Chuck practically growls out his name catches Castiel's attention. He takes a step forward, waits until Chuck's eyes drift up to his face, and then steps forward again.
"I don't want entertainment," Castiel's voice is low, needing. He's glad it's just Chuck here to witness this. "You have answers," Castiel gestures towards the bookcase full of various editions of the Winchester Gospel. First editions, limited release covers, comic book adaptations, Castiel's studied them all.
"I have the crap the angels stuck in my head, that's all."
Castiel's eyes flash. "You are the mouthpiece of God."
Chuck stands, fingers white where they grip at the neck of the bottle. "I'm the goddamn megaphone that's been used up and thrown away when the battery died, Cas. You think I have access to the inner circle of gossip going on up there? I've been cut off and who knows if that'll ever change."
Castiel feels his heart slow. He can hear it pounding inside his head, competing with the blur of voices and it catches him off guard. He's never heard Chuck speak like this before; his voice biting and hard, angry. Castiel wonders how many bottles of vodka and whiskey it takes to turn Chuck into a mean drunk.
Chuck shrugs his shoulders, raising the bottle to take a long pull from it. "Praying would probably get you your orders faster." Castiel can hear the bitterness in the words and something inside him starts to crack.
"How did He come to you? Why were you chosen?" Castiel can recognize the desperation spilling out, thinks maybe that he's begging, but Chuck has to know, has to tell Castiel what worked for him. Or else that means Castiel's run out of options, and he's not ready to accept that.
"Did you pray?" Castiel doesn't realize how close he's gotten until Chuck swings the bottle up to take another drink and Castiel flinches as it passes too close to his face.
Chuck barks out a laugh, shoulders shaking as it subsides into a cough. "Man, did I pray?" Chuck sounds incredulous. "I prayed that it would stop, that I could sleep without the booze and the painkillers and the fucking voices." Chuck raises the bottle and Castiel sees how quickly it's emptying. "Never did me any good." There's a low warning in Chuck's voice, in the way he doesn't move back when Castiel shifts from one foot to the other, but Castiel feels like he's almost there, like he's almost reached the answer he's been searching for.
"He listens... He always has." Castiel is suddenly unsure, glancing around the room before meeting Chuck's eyes. They're red-rimmed, and Castiel's eyes drop to the scruff darkening Chuck's face, the worn robe wrapped around his body. "Try again and see. Please. I know you can reach him." Castiel can't bring himself to meet Chuck's eyes again.
"What?" Castiel steps back at Chuck's voice suddenly echoing in the house. The rain's heavier now, a solid pattering against the windows, and Castiel realizes his heart is hammering, working its way up into his throat.
"How long are you going to keep using me, Cas? I mean, you want me to pray for you now?" Chuck shakes his head before finishing off the bottle, a long pull that leaves him wincing at the end. He wipes at his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, eyes dark as he stares at Castiel.
"Just...this once, please." Castiel drops his head when he asks this of Chuck, but manages to keep his eyes on Chuck's face. There's a warning twist in his gut, that maybe this isn't the way to go about things, but there's that saying Dean has: desperate times call for desperate measures and this is the most desperate Castiel can remember feeling.
"Get on your own knees then." Chuck's suddenly close to him, wide-eyed and louder than Castiel thought him to be capable of. "Ask for your guidance, your orders, whatever it is you need, but stop asking me!"
Castiel pauses at Chuck's words, licking his lips before dropping to the ground. The floor is hard on his knees and he can feel a brief spiral of pain up his thighs. He tilts his head to look up at Chuck, throat exposed and he kneads at his pants, palms damp.
"They don't talk to me anymore. There's just background noise. As if I'm always just out of reach. You're the only link I have to them. To Him." Cas' throat is dry when he finishes talking, and he does his best to meet Chuck's eyes.
"Jesus, Cas." Chuck runs his fingers through his hair before attempting to take a drink from the bottle he's still clinging to. He squints at it when nothing comes out, tosses it onto the couch cushion behind him. "Why'd you have to come here now?"
Castiel looks up at Chuck, at how Chuck's fingers are gripping at the edges of his robe and there's a twist in Castiel's gut. "You know what's going on, what I'm supposed to do, and you always have. Why shouldn't I come to you?"
"You've said that already..." Chuck's voice is low, almost a warning growl but Castiel pointedly ignores it. He's seen Sam and Dean work, watched them convince people that certain information needs to be shared. Castiel is confident that he can do that as well. It may not be right to trick a prophet of the Lord, but the reasoning is just.
"I need your assistance..." Castiel feels exposed like this, straining to keep his eyes on Chuck's face. He's almost concerned that if he thinks about it too much, he'll realize that there are other options out there, options not involving Chuck. Castiel doesn't want that, not when he's here already. Not when he's here like this.
"Listen, I'm not God. I'm not your dad or whatever. I can't help you that way." Chuck's voice is rough from the whiskey burn, with a soft waver that Castiel barely catches.
"Maybe. But you could. Please." If Castiel thought about it, he would say that it's most likely the please that sets everything into motion, pushing up against the liquor to send Chuck the rest of the way over the edge. But he doesn't want to think. He can't, really, with Chuck reacting and pressing closer.
Chuck moves with the ease of a practiced drunk, one hand yanking on the end of the robe's belt, the other reaching out to wrap in Castiel's hair. He pulls back as he steps closer, and Castiel accommodates him, tilting his head up until he can feel the ache in his neck. He never stops watching Chuck's face though, at the way Chuck's tongue licks at the corner of his mouth. Castiel can see Chuck's other hand out of the corner of his eye. He understands what's coming but he still flinches when Chuck begins wrapping the soft terrycloth belt around his head, covering his eyes.
Chuck lets go of Castiel's hair long enough to knot the ends of the belt together, and Castiel finds himself unconsciously leaning forward, wanting that touch back. He whimpers when Chuck runs his fingers through his hair again, softer this time, before Chuck lets his hand fall to cup Castiel's chin.
"You don't get it, do you?" Chuck hisses. "I was never in control, never had a say in any of it." His fingers trail over Castiel's lips. He strokes the lower one until Castiel's mouth parts and Chuck slips a finger in. It tastes like whiskey the more Castiel sucks on it, and he squirms under the blindfold when he hears Chuck groan.
The darkness makes Castiel hyper-aware of everything around him. It allows him to count the ridges on Chuck's thumb with his tongue, teasing more of those noises out of him. He has to breathe through his nose, an adjustment Castiel doesn't mind when the belt shifts lower and suddenly all he can smell is Chuck. Underneath the whiskey and pizza is the desperate pull of humanity and Castiel almost chokes on it, he wants it so bad.
Chuck's hand pauses on Castiel's head, fingers tightening until Castiel can see stars dancing across the blackness covering his eyes. He hasn't bothered closing them, just in case he might miss something, and his eyelashes catch on the cloth when he remembers to blink.
Castiel tentatively reaches out until his fingers brush against Chuck's bare legs, eliciting a gasp from Chuck that sends a chill down Castiel's spine. It's a different type of power than he's used to, drawing these noises and reactions out of Chuck. Castiel curves his fingers around Chuck's calves, slowly moving upward until the hem of the robe brushes against his forearms.
Chuck groans, a harsh noise against the backdrop of the storm that convinces Castiel to keep moving his hands upward. His palms skim over the fine hair on Chuck's thighs until there's worn fabric and a sudden heat that catches Castiel off-guard. He's seen this before, knows the mechanics of what happens. He's seen ecstasy come over people's faces, their limbs trembling as they cry out to God. While he had paid it no mind in the past, he considers the possibility of an unexplored option.
He keeps moving until his fingers are curled around the waistband of Chuck's boxers. He startles when Chuck's hands move from his head to wrap around his wrists, thumbs pressed on his pulse. Castiel blindly tilts his head up, wishing he could see Chuck's eyes.
The rain's calmed down, a low steady patter now that the wind has died off. Castiel is trembling under the blindfold, breath hitching in his throat when he hears Chuck whisper, "Yes." He can feel Chuck, the heat radiating off of him. Castiel can't bite back a moan when Chuck moves one hand, grazing it down Castiel's arm. Castiel whimpers at the light touch of Chuck's fingers tracing along his jaw line, down his neck until they're wrapping around his throat.
"Please..." Castiel doesn't realize that he's spoken out loud until Chuck's harsh chuckle breaks over the hum of the rain, and there's a darkness there that sends a shiver down Castiel's spine.
"You're on your knees already, Cas. See if God's still listening." There's a bitterness to Chuck's words, and Castiel remembers that he's not the only one who's been left in silence, hanging on to the bitter thread of hope and wanting.
Chuck sounds broken, dropped from his pedestal of prophet, left alone in silence with his amber bottles. Castiel feels the need to prove to him, to show him that faith is good, is needed and craved in the hard times, the desperate desolate times. Castiel doesn't know if Chuck is looking for God the same way he is, or if he's just wanting a break in the silence, something to reassure him that he's not alone.
Castiel presses forward, getting a surprised whimper from Chuck in return when Castiel tugs down on his boxers. There's an unfamiliar churning low in his belly - something he might have paid attention to if he wasn't so wrapped up in Chuck - tight and hot and suddenly wanting. Castiel wants to prove to Chuck that faith matters, somehow, even if he doesn't believe it himself sometimes.
He lets himself lean in, scooting his knees across the hard floor until Chuck is overwhelming all his senses and the only thing Castiel can do in return is press his mouth against Chuck's thigh, drawing out a low groan from him.
"Let me guide you," Castiel murmurs, not sure of his words, really, let alone the way his hands curve around to clutch at Chuck's ass to draw him closer. He can feel Chuck's hands on him, the sudden weight as Chuck tries to support himself when his legs turn loose.
Castiel lets himself go, running off the memories of what he's seen in the past, an off-set intuition. He takes Chuck in hand: slow strokes until Chuck is trembling against him and Castiel presses close, soft licks until he opens his mouth and suddenly can't feel where he stops and Chuck begins. Nothing he's seen or read or experienced has prepared him for the way Chuck shudders, the soft gasps as his hips hitch forward, thrusting into Castiel's mouth, his fingers gripping at Cas' shoulders and hair as he groans out Castiel's name.
Chuck's fingers catch in the belt, twisting it tighter when he comes. Castiel sees stars, white bursts echoing in his eyes as he swallows, his fingers gripping and kneading at Chuck's ass. He doesn't want to let go of him, can't, until Chuck straightens up and pulls back, dropping backwards onto the couch.
Castiel is floating blindly, overwhelmed by everything, and the last thing he wants to do is remove the blindfold and stand exposed. He hears the creak of the couch and waits, unsure of what's going on until he can feel the soft touch of Chuck's fingers untangling the belt. He lets his hands drop down to his knees. He wipes his sweaty palms off on his slacks and tries not to whimper, a sudden sense of loneliness ricocheting through him until it hurts.
The house has gotten darker. The only light is coming from the windows but it's still overwhelming. Chuck gently tugs the belt away and Castiel blinks as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. He's surprised to feel no shame when he looks up at Chuck. He feels a twinge of pride at the way Chuck's chest is still heaving, his eyes wide and glazed over.
There's a sense of clarity that Castiel clings to, a revelation, and he tries to reconcile the sight before him with how he imagines his Father to be. Chuck is still breathing hard, as if he can't comprehend what just happened. Castiel takes advantage of that to crawl forward, pulling himself up and Chuck down until they're both laid out on the couch, Castiel partially covering Chuck.
"Can you hear them?" Chuck's voice is sleepy, but Castiel can hear the seriousness in his tone, as if there was a secured outcome they were aiming for.
"I hear you." Castiel does his best to let himself relax. He tries to sync up his breathing with Chuck's. "That's all that matters," he murmurs.
Author: puchuupoet
Recipient: monjinator
Pairing: Chuck/Castiel
Rating: nc-17
Word Count ~2870
Warnings: light bondage/blindfolding
Summary: Castiel goes to Chuck for guidance. What he finds is a little different than what he was looking for.
Notes: Set around mid-Season 5, when Cas is still optimistic and Chuck is still Chuck.
Based on the prompts: bondage/blindfolds, overcoming past trauma, helping the other feel secure in the relationship.
Beta'd by thunder_nari and chaosraven ♥
Castiel isn't quite sure what draws him to the broken-down house, but suddenly he's at the front door, shifting briefly from foot to foot before knocking. There's something that keeps him from entering the house unannounced, a ripple in the air that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It's been raining all day, a steady downpour that's left his clothes sticking to him and plastered down his hair.
He's searching for something, anything that could possibly drown out the buzzing in his head. It wasn't there before, when he had orders and a purpose. But now that the concept of doubt has crossed his mind, he is finding his head is filling more easily with other things; random aching thoughts that he wishes he could shake away.
Castiel shakes his head, trying to get rid of the water that's dripping down the back of his coat, trickling behind his ears and making his skin itch. There's been no movement behind the curtains, no sign of life other than what he knows is there. Castiel raises his hand and knocks several times against the door. He watches the shredded paint flake off and litter the deck, and is caught staring at the remnants when the door finally opens a cautious crack.
"You're not supposed to be here." Chuck sounds annoyed, and Castiel can see the lines around his eyes.
Castiel leans forward, "Where am I supposed to be?" He thinks he keeps his voice level, but Chuck just squints at him, runs his gaze up and down Castiel's body before opening the door the rest of the way and turning back down the hallway.
Castiel follows Chuck inside, carefully closing the door behind him. When he turns back around, Chuck's disappeared, but there's a sharp rattle of glass that Castiel follows to the living room.
Chuck is on the couch, curled around a bottle, gripping it tight. Castiel can't tell what is in the bottle, though it's still almost all the way full. He hopes maybe that means this is the beginning, rather than the end, until he steps forward and knocks into a paper bag full of empty glass bottles. Castiel's mouth is dry, a new physical sensation that he doesn't like. It reminds him that he's still wet. The fabric of his shirt is still itching at the small of his back but he can't quite reach around and scratch it. It's the same with the noise in his head. What should be clear instructions have faded into a low cacophony of maybes and grays; noises he wishes he could will away.
Castiel doesn't realize that he's been staring until Chuck coughs and Castiel shakes his head with a start. "Y'know, I'm not really set up to entertain right now, Cas," and the way Chuck practically growls out his name catches Castiel's attention. He takes a step forward, waits until Chuck's eyes drift up to his face, and then steps forward again.
"I don't want entertainment," Castiel's voice is low, needing. He's glad it's just Chuck here to witness this. "You have answers," Castiel gestures towards the bookcase full of various editions of the Winchester Gospel. First editions, limited release covers, comic book adaptations, Castiel's studied them all.
"I have the crap the angels stuck in my head, that's all."
Castiel's eyes flash. "You are the mouthpiece of God."
Chuck stands, fingers white where they grip at the neck of the bottle. "I'm the goddamn megaphone that's been used up and thrown away when the battery died, Cas. You think I have access to the inner circle of gossip going on up there? I've been cut off and who knows if that'll ever change."
Castiel feels his heart slow. He can hear it pounding inside his head, competing with the blur of voices and it catches him off guard. He's never heard Chuck speak like this before; his voice biting and hard, angry. Castiel wonders how many bottles of vodka and whiskey it takes to turn Chuck into a mean drunk.
Chuck shrugs his shoulders, raising the bottle to take a long pull from it. "Praying would probably get you your orders faster." Castiel can hear the bitterness in the words and something inside him starts to crack.
"How did He come to you? Why were you chosen?" Castiel can recognize the desperation spilling out, thinks maybe that he's begging, but Chuck has to know, has to tell Castiel what worked for him. Or else that means Castiel's run out of options, and he's not ready to accept that.
"Did you pray?" Castiel doesn't realize how close he's gotten until Chuck swings the bottle up to take another drink and Castiel flinches as it passes too close to his face.
Chuck barks out a laugh, shoulders shaking as it subsides into a cough. "Man, did I pray?" Chuck sounds incredulous. "I prayed that it would stop, that I could sleep without the booze and the painkillers and the fucking voices." Chuck raises the bottle and Castiel sees how quickly it's emptying. "Never did me any good." There's a low warning in Chuck's voice, in the way he doesn't move back when Castiel shifts from one foot to the other, but Castiel feels like he's almost there, like he's almost reached the answer he's been searching for.
"He listens... He always has." Castiel is suddenly unsure, glancing around the room before meeting Chuck's eyes. They're red-rimmed, and Castiel's eyes drop to the scruff darkening Chuck's face, the worn robe wrapped around his body. "Try again and see. Please. I know you can reach him." Castiel can't bring himself to meet Chuck's eyes again.
"What?" Castiel steps back at Chuck's voice suddenly echoing in the house. The rain's heavier now, a solid pattering against the windows, and Castiel realizes his heart is hammering, working its way up into his throat.
"How long are you going to keep using me, Cas? I mean, you want me to pray for you now?" Chuck shakes his head before finishing off the bottle, a long pull that leaves him wincing at the end. He wipes at his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, eyes dark as he stares at Castiel.
"Just...this once, please." Castiel drops his head when he asks this of Chuck, but manages to keep his eyes on Chuck's face. There's a warning twist in his gut, that maybe this isn't the way to go about things, but there's that saying Dean has: desperate times call for desperate measures and this is the most desperate Castiel can remember feeling.
"Get on your own knees then." Chuck's suddenly close to him, wide-eyed and louder than Castiel thought him to be capable of. "Ask for your guidance, your orders, whatever it is you need, but stop asking me!"
Castiel pauses at Chuck's words, licking his lips before dropping to the ground. The floor is hard on his knees and he can feel a brief spiral of pain up his thighs. He tilts his head to look up at Chuck, throat exposed and he kneads at his pants, palms damp.
"They don't talk to me anymore. There's just background noise. As if I'm always just out of reach. You're the only link I have to them. To Him." Cas' throat is dry when he finishes talking, and he does his best to meet Chuck's eyes.
"Jesus, Cas." Chuck runs his fingers through his hair before attempting to take a drink from the bottle he's still clinging to. He squints at it when nothing comes out, tosses it onto the couch cushion behind him. "Why'd you have to come here now?"
Castiel looks up at Chuck, at how Chuck's fingers are gripping at the edges of his robe and there's a twist in Castiel's gut. "You know what's going on, what I'm supposed to do, and you always have. Why shouldn't I come to you?"
"You've said that already..." Chuck's voice is low, almost a warning growl but Castiel pointedly ignores it. He's seen Sam and Dean work, watched them convince people that certain information needs to be shared. Castiel is confident that he can do that as well. It may not be right to trick a prophet of the Lord, but the reasoning is just.
"I need your assistance..." Castiel feels exposed like this, straining to keep his eyes on Chuck's face. He's almost concerned that if he thinks about it too much, he'll realize that there are other options out there, options not involving Chuck. Castiel doesn't want that, not when he's here already. Not when he's here like this.
"Listen, I'm not God. I'm not your dad or whatever. I can't help you that way." Chuck's voice is rough from the whiskey burn, with a soft waver that Castiel barely catches.
"Maybe. But you could. Please." If Castiel thought about it, he would say that it's most likely the please that sets everything into motion, pushing up against the liquor to send Chuck the rest of the way over the edge. But he doesn't want to think. He can't, really, with Chuck reacting and pressing closer.
Chuck moves with the ease of a practiced drunk, one hand yanking on the end of the robe's belt, the other reaching out to wrap in Castiel's hair. He pulls back as he steps closer, and Castiel accommodates him, tilting his head up until he can feel the ache in his neck. He never stops watching Chuck's face though, at the way Chuck's tongue licks at the corner of his mouth. Castiel can see Chuck's other hand out of the corner of his eye. He understands what's coming but he still flinches when Chuck begins wrapping the soft terrycloth belt around his head, covering his eyes.
Chuck lets go of Castiel's hair long enough to knot the ends of the belt together, and Castiel finds himself unconsciously leaning forward, wanting that touch back. He whimpers when Chuck runs his fingers through his hair again, softer this time, before Chuck lets his hand fall to cup Castiel's chin.
"You don't get it, do you?" Chuck hisses. "I was never in control, never had a say in any of it." His fingers trail over Castiel's lips. He strokes the lower one until Castiel's mouth parts and Chuck slips a finger in. It tastes like whiskey the more Castiel sucks on it, and he squirms under the blindfold when he hears Chuck groan.
The darkness makes Castiel hyper-aware of everything around him. It allows him to count the ridges on Chuck's thumb with his tongue, teasing more of those noises out of him. He has to breathe through his nose, an adjustment Castiel doesn't mind when the belt shifts lower and suddenly all he can smell is Chuck. Underneath the whiskey and pizza is the desperate pull of humanity and Castiel almost chokes on it, he wants it so bad.
Chuck's hand pauses on Castiel's head, fingers tightening until Castiel can see stars dancing across the blackness covering his eyes. He hasn't bothered closing them, just in case he might miss something, and his eyelashes catch on the cloth when he remembers to blink.
Castiel tentatively reaches out until his fingers brush against Chuck's bare legs, eliciting a gasp from Chuck that sends a chill down Castiel's spine. It's a different type of power than he's used to, drawing these noises and reactions out of Chuck. Castiel curves his fingers around Chuck's calves, slowly moving upward until the hem of the robe brushes against his forearms.
Chuck groans, a harsh noise against the backdrop of the storm that convinces Castiel to keep moving his hands upward. His palms skim over the fine hair on Chuck's thighs until there's worn fabric and a sudden heat that catches Castiel off-guard. He's seen this before, knows the mechanics of what happens. He's seen ecstasy come over people's faces, their limbs trembling as they cry out to God. While he had paid it no mind in the past, he considers the possibility of an unexplored option.
He keeps moving until his fingers are curled around the waistband of Chuck's boxers. He startles when Chuck's hands move from his head to wrap around his wrists, thumbs pressed on his pulse. Castiel blindly tilts his head up, wishing he could see Chuck's eyes.
The rain's calmed down, a low steady patter now that the wind has died off. Castiel is trembling under the blindfold, breath hitching in his throat when he hears Chuck whisper, "Yes." He can feel Chuck, the heat radiating off of him. Castiel can't bite back a moan when Chuck moves one hand, grazing it down Castiel's arm. Castiel whimpers at the light touch of Chuck's fingers tracing along his jaw line, down his neck until they're wrapping around his throat.
"Please..." Castiel doesn't realize that he's spoken out loud until Chuck's harsh chuckle breaks over the hum of the rain, and there's a darkness there that sends a shiver down Castiel's spine.
"You're on your knees already, Cas. See if God's still listening." There's a bitterness to Chuck's words, and Castiel remembers that he's not the only one who's been left in silence, hanging on to the bitter thread of hope and wanting.
Chuck sounds broken, dropped from his pedestal of prophet, left alone in silence with his amber bottles. Castiel feels the need to prove to him, to show him that faith is good, is needed and craved in the hard times, the desperate desolate times. Castiel doesn't know if Chuck is looking for God the same way he is, or if he's just wanting a break in the silence, something to reassure him that he's not alone.
Castiel presses forward, getting a surprised whimper from Chuck in return when Castiel tugs down on his boxers. There's an unfamiliar churning low in his belly - something he might have paid attention to if he wasn't so wrapped up in Chuck - tight and hot and suddenly wanting. Castiel wants to prove to Chuck that faith matters, somehow, even if he doesn't believe it himself sometimes.
He lets himself lean in, scooting his knees across the hard floor until Chuck is overwhelming all his senses and the only thing Castiel can do in return is press his mouth against Chuck's thigh, drawing out a low groan from him.
"Let me guide you," Castiel murmurs, not sure of his words, really, let alone the way his hands curve around to clutch at Chuck's ass to draw him closer. He can feel Chuck's hands on him, the sudden weight as Chuck tries to support himself when his legs turn loose.
Castiel lets himself go, running off the memories of what he's seen in the past, an off-set intuition. He takes Chuck in hand: slow strokes until Chuck is trembling against him and Castiel presses close, soft licks until he opens his mouth and suddenly can't feel where he stops and Chuck begins. Nothing he's seen or read or experienced has prepared him for the way Chuck shudders, the soft gasps as his hips hitch forward, thrusting into Castiel's mouth, his fingers gripping at Cas' shoulders and hair as he groans out Castiel's name.
Chuck's fingers catch in the belt, twisting it tighter when he comes. Castiel sees stars, white bursts echoing in his eyes as he swallows, his fingers gripping and kneading at Chuck's ass. He doesn't want to let go of him, can't, until Chuck straightens up and pulls back, dropping backwards onto the couch.
Castiel is floating blindly, overwhelmed by everything, and the last thing he wants to do is remove the blindfold and stand exposed. He hears the creak of the couch and waits, unsure of what's going on until he can feel the soft touch of Chuck's fingers untangling the belt. He lets his hands drop down to his knees. He wipes his sweaty palms off on his slacks and tries not to whimper, a sudden sense of loneliness ricocheting through him until it hurts.
The house has gotten darker. The only light is coming from the windows but it's still overwhelming. Chuck gently tugs the belt away and Castiel blinks as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. He's surprised to feel no shame when he looks up at Chuck. He feels a twinge of pride at the way Chuck's chest is still heaving, his eyes wide and glazed over.
There's a sense of clarity that Castiel clings to, a revelation, and he tries to reconcile the sight before him with how he imagines his Father to be. Chuck is still breathing hard, as if he can't comprehend what just happened. Castiel takes advantage of that to crawl forward, pulling himself up and Chuck down until they're both laid out on the couch, Castiel partially covering Chuck.
"Can you hear them?" Chuck's voice is sleepy, but Castiel can hear the seriousness in his tone, as if there was a secured outcome they were aiming for.
"I hear you." Castiel does his best to let himself relax. He tries to sync up his breathing with Chuck's. "That's all that matters," he murmurs.