Fic: Within a Room of Symbols
(Or, how Vin got her porn groove back.)
Title: Within a Room of Symbols
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Uh, sex. Bendy sex, even.
Words: 4,391
Summary: You could fit perfectly into the palm of my hand, but your presence fills this entire room. And I am filled, as you are welcome. - Saul Williams. (Or, more aptly, in which Dean and Castiel have a lazy weekend and some mindsex. And some real sex too, whaddayaknow?)
Notes: Written as belated birthday porn for my sister, who will most likely never see this post but provided me with flaily glee via email already. And who would I be without sharing the gift of porn with my lovely flist? It's the... Christmas spirit, or something.
You are nothing to be afraid of, yet I fear your presence and what you symbolize.
This is a room of symbols, and you have found your place within...
You could fit perfectly into the palm of my hand, but your presence fills this entire room -
And I am filled, as you are welcome.
~ ~ ~
Thin white sunlight edges in around the open blinds, making them shine like blades. It's seventy-two degrees and there's a nice breeze ruffling in through the window and Dean thinks he can hear a windchime tinkling out there somewhere, maybe a fountain or a river, the sounds of water and small dainty metallic clinks that remind him of what home must feel like.
Sam's carting Bobby down to Lincoln to pick up some supplies and counting on Dean to hold down the fort while he's gone - two days, three max, don't fuck anything up, he'd said. Dean has a house key in his pocket and a belly full of good food, some guaranteed down-time from the world melting itself down and an angel in his bed. Cas is doing his best impression of an octopus with how tightly he's suctioned to Dean's side. He makes a small, satisfied sound against Dean's chest and Dean stretches out, long and lean, pulling every kink out of his muscles.
He has no idea what time it is and it feels fucking fantastic not to care.
"It's hard to believe."
He feels a lazy stir along his side where Cas' hand lifts up and drops down again onto his stomach, a timid weight, like he's not quite sure he can touch. It took half an hour to convince him to lie down like this, and Dean's not quite sure why he did at all, but it's lazy and there's no one here to judge. It feels right, feels like they're supposed to lie like this, like maybe they should have done it sooner.
"What is?" Cas asks, voice low as he arches his neck back to look up at Dean. His chin digs into Dean's chest this way but Dean would never think about telling him to move.
He waves a hand before tucking it neatly under his head. "This doesn't feel like the end of the world, not to me at least. It's too quiet."
And it is, it seems wrong on so many levels but Dean can't really bring himself to care about that either.
"No," Cas says thoughtfully. "I supposed it doesn't."
He tucks back into Dean's side and doesn't say anything for a long time.
It's strange, this indefinable thing between them - how Dean finds new and interesting ways to let down a guard he didn't even know he had when he's with Cas. Nearest he can guess it's something to do with desperation, that razoredge they're constantly riding - Cas has got nothing to his name but a death sentence and Dean's not much better off. There's Sam, but the gulf dug out between them is rocky at best, a malfunctioning landmine at worst. They're stitched up these days but there are some parts of himself Dean would rather keep concealed from Sam, secret dark corners that Cas has witnessed and suffered and somehow still accepted. Cas knows him on a plane much more intimate than anyone else, and with how he disobeyed and tossed in his halo and fucking died for Dean, he guesses that makes them as even as they can be.
Dean wishes there were some way to thank someone for that, but there's not. He'd feel like an idiot for trying to talk it out, and anyway that's Sam's department, the sharing and caring thing. He can't say what Cas is to him, what this means to have Cas curled up and warm against his side, because it's all beyond definition and words don't always work. It can't be quantified, so Dean stopped trying to understand it a long time ago and just began living for it.
He supposes that's the thing about feelings that he wishes Sam would maybe realize so he wouldn't keep trying to break them down into neat conversations - feelings can't be captured, just felt. That's what they're there for, and Dean feels more for Cas than he thinks he can hold inside himself, can feel it bursting out of his seams with how close and physical and real he is right now, with how much he's done and given. There's really no end to it, the enormity of the sacrifices Cas would make for him, that he has made for him.
He flattens his hand and maps the sweep of Cas' back, wants to fit him into his palm and wrap him up, keep him safe, but Cas is something too large for that. Cas is wild and terrifying sometimes, the harnessed power of a storm wound tight, coiled up inside a frame that can't quite contain all of him.
Dean still wants to keep him, in his hand, arms, somehow. He wants to keep Cas and not have to let go.
Cas pushes up onto an elbow, a question mark on his face. Dean has just enough time to think that it's kind of adorable, and then to mentally slap himself for being such a fucking girl, before he's got a mouthful of angel tongue.
And that's nice, it's slick and warm and delicious and Dean finds himself craving more.
Cas pulls back far too soon and licks at his lips, kiss-flushed and soft. Dean cannot stop staring at them.
"What -" Dean gets out.
He stops when Cas' hand fits to his jaw, his face a mask of grave concentration that's all wrong for the moment but so Cas, it makes Dean want to smile.
"I won't leave," he says, like it's a fact pulled out of a dictionary, like it's inarguable truth.
Dean frowns and tongues a corner of his mouth where he can still taste Cas. "Thought I told you to stop using your Professor X magic on me."
One side of Cas' mouth pulls up. "You were practically screaming it, Dean."
Every place they meet is suddenly acutely obvious, Dean notices - the long slope of Cas' thigh slung over his knees, ankles knocking, the flat of Cas' chest fit to his side. Dean starts thinking about what Cas' skin must look like, feel like, under those clothes, and he can't stop and he knows Cas is there too. Cas is reading him, digging through his thoughts and Dean is letting him, opening himself up to however far inside Cas wants to go.
Dean licks his lips again to find his mouth has gone completely dry. "I want - Cas, this isn't, I don't -..."
It's the most graceless he's ever been in bed with anyone and it should be embarrassing but it's not. Cas is already so far beyond that border it doesn't even enter Dean's consideration.
"Swear it," he says, feeling like he's swallowed his tongue and a half dozen sand bags to boot. "Swear you're gonna stay."
"Of course," Cas says, the easiest thing in the world.
Dean trusts it.
He's thinking about what Cas' mouth tasted like and Cas must hear the thought too, and the filthy stream that chases it because he blushes, honestly blushes and Dean's grinning like an idiot. He doesn't have to say a thing because Cas already knows he wants him, Dean knows he knows.
Cas nods, but he looks tentative and like he doesn't quite get it. Dean's fingers come up under his chin and bend up to look him in the eye. "If you don't -"
"I do."
It's an easy admission and Dean sees no uncertainty cloud the weird blue of Cas' eyes, even up this close, so he drags him up and presses their mouths together again, licks at Cas' lips until they open to him and breathes into it. Cas is soft and pliable against his mouth, wet and smooth and a little hesitant. It's unbelievably endearing, how he kisses like he's not quite sure what he's getting himself into, but when Dean pushes at his clothes he doesn't protest. He slips out of his coat, unwinds his tie and rolls his shoulders out of the crisp white of his shirt and it leaves behind miles of pale flesh and a narrow waist, round arms, skin Dean wants to be all over right this second.
Cas goes onto his back easily when Dean pushes at his shoulder. He's staring at Dean with eyes too wide and trusting, staring right into his face like he holds all the answers to every question out there. It would have bothered Dean six months ago; now it's different. Now he bathes in the attention, meets Cas' eyes and rises up to swallow all the breath out of his mouth.
When Cas' hands come up to his waist and bunch at the hem of his shirt, Dean leaves his mouth behind in favor of his jaw. It's a rough path, prickly with stubble, and it's new, having that there at all, but he likes it, likes the sting on his lips and the curl of Cas' flavor on his tongue when he licks below his ear where it's slightly damp with sweat. He fastens his mouth over Cas' pulse point and his shirt rides higher, the beat under his tongue ratcheting faster. A small, needy sound shakes down from above and Dean slips out of his shirt, slides down and opens his lips around the pink blush of a nipple.
That awards him a gasp, like Cas has just discovered something profound and surprising, like he never expected it to feel so -
"Does that feel good?" Dean asks. He nips a little, moves across to even things out, sucks at the right one in turn.
"Yes," Cas says simply, halfway breathless. He watches Dean's tongue dart out quickly, bows up into it with his lips parted and swollen, his hand on the back of Dean's head. Dean shifts closer and laps at Cas' collarbone, settles over him and - Jesus Christ - Cas is fully hard against him, all systems go, and if Dean wasn't before he certainly is now.
It's Cas who pins him in place with a kiss the next time he raises his head. Cas who raises up off the bed and clings to him, his fingers tight behind Dean's ears holding their faces together, his knee riding the line of Dean's thigh. Dean makes a low noise in his throat and feels when it shakes onto Cas' tongue, tastes his own impatience poured back into him when Cas shifts, rocks against the crease of Dean's hip and moans into it.
Dean's already fighting with his jeans by the time Cas' head hits the pillow. Cas isn't helping much, with the way he's exploring Dean's arms with searching fingertips, like he's never quite felt anything so amazing, like he's stoned and touching something incredible. Dean shakes the thought and pops the button free, releasing some of the binding tension that's keeping his dick in a fucking vice with how hard he is. And, Jesus, he doesn't know if he's ever been this hard this fast in his life, not since he was seventeen with a skin mag in hand and maybe not even then. His hands won't stop shaking and Dean can't remember the last time that happened, if that's ever happened. But this is different, this is Cas, god, the things Cas does to him -
"Dean?"
The word reaches his ears and he looks up from where his forehead was against Cas' shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Please."
And he's not sure what Cas is asking for, but whatever it is he's going to give it to him.
He claims Cas' mouth with his own and dies a little with the hungry, faintly surprised sounds Cas makes when he sucks on his tongue or bites his lip. Dean pushes him into the mattress and cages him down, and Cas' hands find the wings of his hipbones and grasp, clutch blind and tight. "I want," Cas says when Dean moves down to suck on his throat. "I want."
"I know," Dean says quickly, because he does, he definitely does. Then the room spins and Cas is over him, one hand on each side of his head and kissing him so completely Dean can't begin to know how to breathe or think or function beyond this.
He grabs at Cas' hips but thinks better of it and goes for his belt instead. It comes undone easy and then there's the button, the zipper, and Cas slides up when Dean's hands slide down, over the soft curves of him, that sweet spot where ass meets thigh that Dean has half a mind to suck on till it bruises, and suddenly it's all gone and Cas is splendidly naked on top of him and it occurs to Dean that he's way too clothed for all of this.
Luckily Cas must be thinking the same, because he backs off and moves down Dean's body, taking the layers with him until they're in a puddle on the floor below. Hands that are too smooth move up his calves, going against the grain of hair and sliding up up up, until they meet between his thighs and push apart to leave a perfect gap for Cas to fill with his body.
He does, and it's unbelievable.
The first brush of Cas' mouth on his neck makes Dean shiver. Cas has never kissed anywhere else on his body but his mouth, except his forehead once, and the newness of it is breaking Dean apart at the seams. Cas is soft and careful, his mouth warm and alive, moving curiously along the cords of Dean's neck, the hard ridge of his collarbone. His tongue flicks out occasionally to taste, and Dean can't decide if he wants to gasp or groan each time it does.
He does both when Cas opens his mouth wide and laves at the smooth glide of muscle where shoulder becomes neck, and oh, yeah, that's going to be there for days.
Dean quirks a smile and grounds out, "Cas."
He looks up, wild-haired and wet-mouthed, his eyes hooded and wanting. Dean short-circuits, just a little, and runs a hand through the chaos of his hair.
"How far do you want to take this?"
He figures it's a legitimate question, Cas being a virgin and all, that maybe he wants to take things slow, baby steps, one thing at a time.
Cas' face doesn't lose its seriousness when he says, on the edge of a breath, "As far as we can."
He kisses Dean then, messy and quick, before he pulls back and says, "Dean," catches a hand in his hair and moves the other down between their bodies to find Dean's cock and stroke it, once, slow and experimental. "Dean, I want it all."
He doesn't have to say it twice. Dean slams his eyes shut and opens them just as quickly to find Cas still watching him, always watching him, taking in the flickers of electric pleasure that bolt through Dean each time Cas turns his wrist that certain way, squeezes barely enough to feel, like he's afraid Dean's going to break underneath him.
Dean thinks he might be okay with it if he did.
He reaches blindly down the strangely cool length of Cas' body until he finds him, hard and warm and heavy. Cas stutters above him, snaps his eyes shut and tightens his shoulders when he moves into it. Nobody's ever touched him like this before and Dean thinks he might go crazy with the knowledge that he's doing it right now, he's touching Cas and making him shiver and squirm into the warm hollow of his palm. He's the first one, the only one.
Cas moves away like it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do when Dean pushes him back. He makes a small sound of protest and clutches at Dean's wrist when he moves from the bed, but Dean backs him into the sheets with a kiss, presses his wrists at his shoulders and says, "Just a sec."
The ten seconds it takes to find the bottle is too long and he feels depleted of warmth by the time he makes it back. Cas is on him in an instant, like he's starved for it, his mouth finding Dean's in a magnetic pull and opening wide against him, letting him in. His hand is damp and hot against Dean's ribs when he pulls slightly, then pushes like he can't quite decide, before finally he settles on swinging a knee over Dean's waist and climbing over him, all spidery lines and a freakish kind of grace that's just too fluid, too fucking beautiful, to be any kind of human. The thought should probably make Dean apprehensive, or at least make him question what he's doing, but it only makes him clutch harder at Cas' shoulder, strain against the weight of Cas across his lap, because he wants. He doesn't want a human or even something above it, below it, it doesn't fucking matter because he wants Cas and there is nothing else out there like him, nothing even close.
Cas is moving down his body before Dean's brain can catch up, licking at the convergence of his ribs to sternum down to his navel, his hipbone, that quick curl of tongue blazing a solid trail of glistening need that has Dean tipping his head back and seeking out the mess of Cas' hair to find a grip, hold on.
"Jesus, Cas, you don't have to -"
He shuts up, changes his mind, when Cas's mouth finds him where it needs to. It's slippery and wet and so fucking hot, so sweet it makes him instantly dizzy, and he wants to buck up into it, feel the back of Cas' throat but he doesn't. He barely doesn't, only because it feels fucking incredible with how Cas is sucking at him in short little cat-licks, smooth curious things that swirl and dip around him, and those lips, fuck, Dean can't imagine them being made for a whole lot other than this.
An undignified sound is the best he can manage when Cas sucks him a little deeper and pulls off with a noise that's ten kinds of obscene, wet and hungry and excited. He shifts up Dean's body and kisses him, deep and fast, doesn't give Dean time to adjust to the strange tang of himself on Cas' tongue. But then he's curling back out of reach and locking his elbows above Dean, and saying, "Dean, you have to - I don't -"
Dean feels around until he finds the bottle. His hands are shaking and he doesn't remember ever wanting anything so bad, not a person, not life when he was almost dead, not salvation, nothing. It's crippling and exhilarating and he doesn't think he can survive it.
"Here," he breathes and pulls Cas up just a little to straddle his waist.
"You have to tell me," Cas finishes, as if Dean hasn't already figured it out by now and taken Cas into his hands to guide him.
The cap pops and his fingers are slicked quickly, his palm adhering to the curve of Cas' thigh near his waist. "Here, come here," he says, pulls Cas down, fits their mouths together and stifles the groan when he pushes in for the first time. Cas bites down on his lip, goes still, pulls the sheets into tight wrinkles at Dean's shoulders.
Dean finds the hard curve of him and wraps around, distracting him with a half-slick hand. It's only a few strokes and a quick press later and Dean's two fingers deep and Cas can't seem to decide between moving forward or moving back. He finds the round of Dean's shoulder and molds his hand to it, fingers digging in hard as he moves above.
He's so hot, tight, so smooth that Dean can't begin to imagine how it's going to feel to be buried inside as far as he can go, seated against Cas' body and riding it out.
The thought nearly makes him lose it.
He says Cas' name, repeats it when Cas is too lost to hear him the first time. "Turn over," he says softly, finding both sides of Cas' hips and pushing back, pushing over.
Cas goes willingly and spins over without restraint, the glide of his back too smooth to be real. Dean reaches out and touches it, feels that it is, follows it down until he's holding onto Cas' hip and sliding over him completely. He drops his head to taste the mist of sweat that's beading on Cas' neck, curling the short hairs there, then finds the soft rounds of his ass, thumbs pushing apart until he's there, one slow, steady push that catches Dean's breath and forces a whimper from Cas, choked off in the crook of his wrist.
It's too good, too complete and intimate. It doesn't make a damn bit of sense and Dean thinks he should maybe stop, think about it, but Cas murmurs his name all breath and want, and Dean pushes in, all the way in, bottoms out and Cas just spreads his thighs as wide as he has to and takes it all.
Dean is almost convinced he's dying until the sudden rip of a breath flooding his lungs, like a man come up from burial and he remembers that, brings him back around and he moves.
Cas shudders and leans forward, then back into it, taking as much of Dean as he can until they're flat together, until Dean's buried as deep inside as he can go. He slides back, rocks forward, builds a steady cadence and thinks he really is dying, this has to be dying, there's no way -
"Dean -"
Cas shifts up in one smooth movement and straightens his arms, finds the headboard and gets his palms around it, pushes back and gasps. His voice goes rougher than usual and strained, harsh fragmented sounds that Dean can't quite make out as words. Cas reaches back to find his wrist and pulls it forward, positions it well enough that Dean gets the message and clings to the headboard again. Dean does get it, wraps his hand around Cas and works him in time with every measured push and drag, pulls him toward the edge harder and quicker until Cas loses his voice in a gasp, chokes on a breath and makes one low, long sound that's positively wicked, and he's gone.
His muscles flutter and his head falls forward until Dean's staring at the bump of his first vertebrae, wanting to taste it. He says Dean's name, all broken and cracked like bad vinyl, and it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do but Dean pulls out and says, "Cas, hey."
He is liquid in Dean's hands, wrung out and dazed, boneless, as Dean turns him around and guides him down the bed. "Like this," Dean says between kisses, "lie down." Cas looks briefly confused and Dean aches all over, needing to come right now, and kisses him again, pushes him into the bed and spreads his legs wide, holding on to that spectacular juncture where hip meets thigh. "Lie down, I wanna see you," Dean breathes into his neck, and Cas moans something desperate and alive.
He shudders and arches, comes back to himself in an instant and he's all over Dean, if not a little more clumsy and a lot more wet than before. He says Dean's name, low and sure, reaches down and finds him and guides them back together, and it's the hottest fucking thing Dean's ever witnessed.
Cas' knees hike up and he moves down into a better angle. Somewhere between his cock sinking back into that impossible heat and Cas twisting up to land his legs over Dean's shoulders Dean thinks there's no way anyone could be this fucking good, there's no way someone could have such a presence and confidence without having done this before, because Cas is owning him.
Dean thinks he maybe always has.
Then Dean has a perfect angle and he's giving it, all of it, shaking apart and slowly unraveling with the hard line of Cas' eyes locked onto him and the rasp of his own breathing, his own voice utterly stripped and devastated, burning Cas' name into the air.
He comes deep inside Cas' body and it feels like flying apart everywhere at once, like being obliterated by light.
Cas' eyes flutter shut with it for just a moment, then blink back open clear and dark and otherworldly. His jaw works to form words but Dean cuts him off with a groan, says, "God," and rocks his way through it.
When he's sewn back together enough to think again he slips out, but doesn't miss the tiny hitch of Cas' breath when he does. Dean folds Cas' legs back down and flattens them carefully against the mattress, kisses the instep of his foot, the inside of his knee, his thigh, the damp crease of his hip. Dean is positive he's never going to be able to breathe again.
He stretches out over Cas' body and finds the backs of his shoulders, curls around, holds tight. Feels the weight of Cas' hand on the back of his neck and the rushing rumble of his pulse struggling to plateau to normalcy.
Cas' skin is buzzing with warmth and alive beneath his, utterly human in the way he pants for breath and how it's sticky between them. They're filthy but Dean doesn't care, doesn't give even half a damn because this is what he wants, what he's been looking for without even knowing it. He clutches at Cas' back and presses a kiss into his shoulder, open-mouthed and burning, moves up his neck and covers his mouth in a kiss and breathes, just breathes, because it's all he could ever hope to do, the best he could fight to give, and Cas deserves it, he deserves it all and so fucking much more.
Cas says, "thank you," into Dean's hair and Dean's not sure what he means, if he's talking about the sex or how he'd give the world and more if he could, that thought that hangs between them heavy as the air they share, but he doesn't question it and he doesn't let go.
He holds on, and so does Cas.
Title: Within a Room of Symbols
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Uh, sex. Bendy sex, even.
Words: 4,391
Summary: You could fit perfectly into the palm of my hand, but your presence fills this entire room. And I am filled, as you are welcome. - Saul Williams. (Or, more aptly, in which Dean and Castiel have a lazy weekend and some mindsex. And some real sex too, whaddayaknow?)
Notes: Written as belated birthday porn for my sister, who will most likely never see this post but provided me with flaily glee via email already. And who would I be without sharing the gift of porn with my lovely flist? It's the... Christmas spirit, or something.
You are nothing to be afraid of, yet I fear your presence and what you symbolize.
This is a room of symbols, and you have found your place within...
You could fit perfectly into the palm of my hand, but your presence fills this entire room -
And I am filled, as you are welcome.
~ ~ ~
Thin white sunlight edges in around the open blinds, making them shine like blades. It's seventy-two degrees and there's a nice breeze ruffling in through the window and Dean thinks he can hear a windchime tinkling out there somewhere, maybe a fountain or a river, the sounds of water and small dainty metallic clinks that remind him of what home must feel like.
Sam's carting Bobby down to Lincoln to pick up some supplies and counting on Dean to hold down the fort while he's gone - two days, three max, don't fuck anything up, he'd said. Dean has a house key in his pocket and a belly full of good food, some guaranteed down-time from the world melting itself down and an angel in his bed. Cas is doing his best impression of an octopus with how tightly he's suctioned to Dean's side. He makes a small, satisfied sound against Dean's chest and Dean stretches out, long and lean, pulling every kink out of his muscles.
He has no idea what time it is and it feels fucking fantastic not to care.
"It's hard to believe."
He feels a lazy stir along his side where Cas' hand lifts up and drops down again onto his stomach, a timid weight, like he's not quite sure he can touch. It took half an hour to convince him to lie down like this, and Dean's not quite sure why he did at all, but it's lazy and there's no one here to judge. It feels right, feels like they're supposed to lie like this, like maybe they should have done it sooner.
"What is?" Cas asks, voice low as he arches his neck back to look up at Dean. His chin digs into Dean's chest this way but Dean would never think about telling him to move.
He waves a hand before tucking it neatly under his head. "This doesn't feel like the end of the world, not to me at least. It's too quiet."
And it is, it seems wrong on so many levels but Dean can't really bring himself to care about that either.
"No," Cas says thoughtfully. "I supposed it doesn't."
He tucks back into Dean's side and doesn't say anything for a long time.
It's strange, this indefinable thing between them - how Dean finds new and interesting ways to let down a guard he didn't even know he had when he's with Cas. Nearest he can guess it's something to do with desperation, that razoredge they're constantly riding - Cas has got nothing to his name but a death sentence and Dean's not much better off. There's Sam, but the gulf dug out between them is rocky at best, a malfunctioning landmine at worst. They're stitched up these days but there are some parts of himself Dean would rather keep concealed from Sam, secret dark corners that Cas has witnessed and suffered and somehow still accepted. Cas knows him on a plane much more intimate than anyone else, and with how he disobeyed and tossed in his halo and fucking died for Dean, he guesses that makes them as even as they can be.
Dean wishes there were some way to thank someone for that, but there's not. He'd feel like an idiot for trying to talk it out, and anyway that's Sam's department, the sharing and caring thing. He can't say what Cas is to him, what this means to have Cas curled up and warm against his side, because it's all beyond definition and words don't always work. It can't be quantified, so Dean stopped trying to understand it a long time ago and just began living for it.
He supposes that's the thing about feelings that he wishes Sam would maybe realize so he wouldn't keep trying to break them down into neat conversations - feelings can't be captured, just felt. That's what they're there for, and Dean feels more for Cas than he thinks he can hold inside himself, can feel it bursting out of his seams with how close and physical and real he is right now, with how much he's done and given. There's really no end to it, the enormity of the sacrifices Cas would make for him, that he has made for him.
He flattens his hand and maps the sweep of Cas' back, wants to fit him into his palm and wrap him up, keep him safe, but Cas is something too large for that. Cas is wild and terrifying sometimes, the harnessed power of a storm wound tight, coiled up inside a frame that can't quite contain all of him.
Dean still wants to keep him, in his hand, arms, somehow. He wants to keep Cas and not have to let go.
Cas pushes up onto an elbow, a question mark on his face. Dean has just enough time to think that it's kind of adorable, and then to mentally slap himself for being such a fucking girl, before he's got a mouthful of angel tongue.
And that's nice, it's slick and warm and delicious and Dean finds himself craving more.
Cas pulls back far too soon and licks at his lips, kiss-flushed and soft. Dean cannot stop staring at them.
"What -" Dean gets out.
He stops when Cas' hand fits to his jaw, his face a mask of grave concentration that's all wrong for the moment but so Cas, it makes Dean want to smile.
"I won't leave," he says, like it's a fact pulled out of a dictionary, like it's inarguable truth.
Dean frowns and tongues a corner of his mouth where he can still taste Cas. "Thought I told you to stop using your Professor X magic on me."
One side of Cas' mouth pulls up. "You were practically screaming it, Dean."
Every place they meet is suddenly acutely obvious, Dean notices - the long slope of Cas' thigh slung over his knees, ankles knocking, the flat of Cas' chest fit to his side. Dean starts thinking about what Cas' skin must look like, feel like, under those clothes, and he can't stop and he knows Cas is there too. Cas is reading him, digging through his thoughts and Dean is letting him, opening himself up to however far inside Cas wants to go.
Dean licks his lips again to find his mouth has gone completely dry. "I want - Cas, this isn't, I don't -..."
It's the most graceless he's ever been in bed with anyone and it should be embarrassing but it's not. Cas is already so far beyond that border it doesn't even enter Dean's consideration.
"Swear it," he says, feeling like he's swallowed his tongue and a half dozen sand bags to boot. "Swear you're gonna stay."
"Of course," Cas says, the easiest thing in the world.
Dean trusts it.
He's thinking about what Cas' mouth tasted like and Cas must hear the thought too, and the filthy stream that chases it because he blushes, honestly blushes and Dean's grinning like an idiot. He doesn't have to say a thing because Cas already knows he wants him, Dean knows he knows.
Cas nods, but he looks tentative and like he doesn't quite get it. Dean's fingers come up under his chin and bend up to look him in the eye. "If you don't -"
"I do."
It's an easy admission and Dean sees no uncertainty cloud the weird blue of Cas' eyes, even up this close, so he drags him up and presses their mouths together again, licks at Cas' lips until they open to him and breathes into it. Cas is soft and pliable against his mouth, wet and smooth and a little hesitant. It's unbelievably endearing, how he kisses like he's not quite sure what he's getting himself into, but when Dean pushes at his clothes he doesn't protest. He slips out of his coat, unwinds his tie and rolls his shoulders out of the crisp white of his shirt and it leaves behind miles of pale flesh and a narrow waist, round arms, skin Dean wants to be all over right this second.
Cas goes onto his back easily when Dean pushes at his shoulder. He's staring at Dean with eyes too wide and trusting, staring right into his face like he holds all the answers to every question out there. It would have bothered Dean six months ago; now it's different. Now he bathes in the attention, meets Cas' eyes and rises up to swallow all the breath out of his mouth.
When Cas' hands come up to his waist and bunch at the hem of his shirt, Dean leaves his mouth behind in favor of his jaw. It's a rough path, prickly with stubble, and it's new, having that there at all, but he likes it, likes the sting on his lips and the curl of Cas' flavor on his tongue when he licks below his ear where it's slightly damp with sweat. He fastens his mouth over Cas' pulse point and his shirt rides higher, the beat under his tongue ratcheting faster. A small, needy sound shakes down from above and Dean slips out of his shirt, slides down and opens his lips around the pink blush of a nipple.
That awards him a gasp, like Cas has just discovered something profound and surprising, like he never expected it to feel so -
"Does that feel good?" Dean asks. He nips a little, moves across to even things out, sucks at the right one in turn.
"Yes," Cas says simply, halfway breathless. He watches Dean's tongue dart out quickly, bows up into it with his lips parted and swollen, his hand on the back of Dean's head. Dean shifts closer and laps at Cas' collarbone, settles over him and - Jesus Christ - Cas is fully hard against him, all systems go, and if Dean wasn't before he certainly is now.
It's Cas who pins him in place with a kiss the next time he raises his head. Cas who raises up off the bed and clings to him, his fingers tight behind Dean's ears holding their faces together, his knee riding the line of Dean's thigh. Dean makes a low noise in his throat and feels when it shakes onto Cas' tongue, tastes his own impatience poured back into him when Cas shifts, rocks against the crease of Dean's hip and moans into it.
Dean's already fighting with his jeans by the time Cas' head hits the pillow. Cas isn't helping much, with the way he's exploring Dean's arms with searching fingertips, like he's never quite felt anything so amazing, like he's stoned and touching something incredible. Dean shakes the thought and pops the button free, releasing some of the binding tension that's keeping his dick in a fucking vice with how hard he is. And, Jesus, he doesn't know if he's ever been this hard this fast in his life, not since he was seventeen with a skin mag in hand and maybe not even then. His hands won't stop shaking and Dean can't remember the last time that happened, if that's ever happened. But this is different, this is Cas, god, the things Cas does to him -
"Dean?"
The word reaches his ears and he looks up from where his forehead was against Cas' shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Please."
And he's not sure what Cas is asking for, but whatever it is he's going to give it to him.
He claims Cas' mouth with his own and dies a little with the hungry, faintly surprised sounds Cas makes when he sucks on his tongue or bites his lip. Dean pushes him into the mattress and cages him down, and Cas' hands find the wings of his hipbones and grasp, clutch blind and tight. "I want," Cas says when Dean moves down to suck on his throat. "I want."
"I know," Dean says quickly, because he does, he definitely does. Then the room spins and Cas is over him, one hand on each side of his head and kissing him so completely Dean can't begin to know how to breathe or think or function beyond this.
He grabs at Cas' hips but thinks better of it and goes for his belt instead. It comes undone easy and then there's the button, the zipper, and Cas slides up when Dean's hands slide down, over the soft curves of him, that sweet spot where ass meets thigh that Dean has half a mind to suck on till it bruises, and suddenly it's all gone and Cas is splendidly naked on top of him and it occurs to Dean that he's way too clothed for all of this.
Luckily Cas must be thinking the same, because he backs off and moves down Dean's body, taking the layers with him until they're in a puddle on the floor below. Hands that are too smooth move up his calves, going against the grain of hair and sliding up up up, until they meet between his thighs and push apart to leave a perfect gap for Cas to fill with his body.
He does, and it's unbelievable.
The first brush of Cas' mouth on his neck makes Dean shiver. Cas has never kissed anywhere else on his body but his mouth, except his forehead once, and the newness of it is breaking Dean apart at the seams. Cas is soft and careful, his mouth warm and alive, moving curiously along the cords of Dean's neck, the hard ridge of his collarbone. His tongue flicks out occasionally to taste, and Dean can't decide if he wants to gasp or groan each time it does.
He does both when Cas opens his mouth wide and laves at the smooth glide of muscle where shoulder becomes neck, and oh, yeah, that's going to be there for days.
Dean quirks a smile and grounds out, "Cas."
He looks up, wild-haired and wet-mouthed, his eyes hooded and wanting. Dean short-circuits, just a little, and runs a hand through the chaos of his hair.
"How far do you want to take this?"
He figures it's a legitimate question, Cas being a virgin and all, that maybe he wants to take things slow, baby steps, one thing at a time.
Cas' face doesn't lose its seriousness when he says, on the edge of a breath, "As far as we can."
He kisses Dean then, messy and quick, before he pulls back and says, "Dean," catches a hand in his hair and moves the other down between their bodies to find Dean's cock and stroke it, once, slow and experimental. "Dean, I want it all."
He doesn't have to say it twice. Dean slams his eyes shut and opens them just as quickly to find Cas still watching him, always watching him, taking in the flickers of electric pleasure that bolt through Dean each time Cas turns his wrist that certain way, squeezes barely enough to feel, like he's afraid Dean's going to break underneath him.
Dean thinks he might be okay with it if he did.
He reaches blindly down the strangely cool length of Cas' body until he finds him, hard and warm and heavy. Cas stutters above him, snaps his eyes shut and tightens his shoulders when he moves into it. Nobody's ever touched him like this before and Dean thinks he might go crazy with the knowledge that he's doing it right now, he's touching Cas and making him shiver and squirm into the warm hollow of his palm. He's the first one, the only one.
Cas moves away like it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do when Dean pushes him back. He makes a small sound of protest and clutches at Dean's wrist when he moves from the bed, but Dean backs him into the sheets with a kiss, presses his wrists at his shoulders and says, "Just a sec."
The ten seconds it takes to find the bottle is too long and he feels depleted of warmth by the time he makes it back. Cas is on him in an instant, like he's starved for it, his mouth finding Dean's in a magnetic pull and opening wide against him, letting him in. His hand is damp and hot against Dean's ribs when he pulls slightly, then pushes like he can't quite decide, before finally he settles on swinging a knee over Dean's waist and climbing over him, all spidery lines and a freakish kind of grace that's just too fluid, too fucking beautiful, to be any kind of human. The thought should probably make Dean apprehensive, or at least make him question what he's doing, but it only makes him clutch harder at Cas' shoulder, strain against the weight of Cas across his lap, because he wants. He doesn't want a human or even something above it, below it, it doesn't fucking matter because he wants Cas and there is nothing else out there like him, nothing even close.
Cas is moving down his body before Dean's brain can catch up, licking at the convergence of his ribs to sternum down to his navel, his hipbone, that quick curl of tongue blazing a solid trail of glistening need that has Dean tipping his head back and seeking out the mess of Cas' hair to find a grip, hold on.
"Jesus, Cas, you don't have to -"
He shuts up, changes his mind, when Cas's mouth finds him where it needs to. It's slippery and wet and so fucking hot, so sweet it makes him instantly dizzy, and he wants to buck up into it, feel the back of Cas' throat but he doesn't. He barely doesn't, only because it feels fucking incredible with how Cas is sucking at him in short little cat-licks, smooth curious things that swirl and dip around him, and those lips, fuck, Dean can't imagine them being made for a whole lot other than this.
An undignified sound is the best he can manage when Cas sucks him a little deeper and pulls off with a noise that's ten kinds of obscene, wet and hungry and excited. He shifts up Dean's body and kisses him, deep and fast, doesn't give Dean time to adjust to the strange tang of himself on Cas' tongue. But then he's curling back out of reach and locking his elbows above Dean, and saying, "Dean, you have to - I don't -"
Dean feels around until he finds the bottle. His hands are shaking and he doesn't remember ever wanting anything so bad, not a person, not life when he was almost dead, not salvation, nothing. It's crippling and exhilarating and he doesn't think he can survive it.
"Here," he breathes and pulls Cas up just a little to straddle his waist.
"You have to tell me," Cas finishes, as if Dean hasn't already figured it out by now and taken Cas into his hands to guide him.
The cap pops and his fingers are slicked quickly, his palm adhering to the curve of Cas' thigh near his waist. "Here, come here," he says, pulls Cas down, fits their mouths together and stifles the groan when he pushes in for the first time. Cas bites down on his lip, goes still, pulls the sheets into tight wrinkles at Dean's shoulders.
Dean finds the hard curve of him and wraps around, distracting him with a half-slick hand. It's only a few strokes and a quick press later and Dean's two fingers deep and Cas can't seem to decide between moving forward or moving back. He finds the round of Dean's shoulder and molds his hand to it, fingers digging in hard as he moves above.
He's so hot, tight, so smooth that Dean can't begin to imagine how it's going to feel to be buried inside as far as he can go, seated against Cas' body and riding it out.
The thought nearly makes him lose it.
He says Cas' name, repeats it when Cas is too lost to hear him the first time. "Turn over," he says softly, finding both sides of Cas' hips and pushing back, pushing over.
Cas goes willingly and spins over without restraint, the glide of his back too smooth to be real. Dean reaches out and touches it, feels that it is, follows it down until he's holding onto Cas' hip and sliding over him completely. He drops his head to taste the mist of sweat that's beading on Cas' neck, curling the short hairs there, then finds the soft rounds of his ass, thumbs pushing apart until he's there, one slow, steady push that catches Dean's breath and forces a whimper from Cas, choked off in the crook of his wrist.
It's too good, too complete and intimate. It doesn't make a damn bit of sense and Dean thinks he should maybe stop, think about it, but Cas murmurs his name all breath and want, and Dean pushes in, all the way in, bottoms out and Cas just spreads his thighs as wide as he has to and takes it all.
Dean is almost convinced he's dying until the sudden rip of a breath flooding his lungs, like a man come up from burial and he remembers that, brings him back around and he moves.
Cas shudders and leans forward, then back into it, taking as much of Dean as he can until they're flat together, until Dean's buried as deep inside as he can go. He slides back, rocks forward, builds a steady cadence and thinks he really is dying, this has to be dying, there's no way -
"Dean -"
Cas shifts up in one smooth movement and straightens his arms, finds the headboard and gets his palms around it, pushes back and gasps. His voice goes rougher than usual and strained, harsh fragmented sounds that Dean can't quite make out as words. Cas reaches back to find his wrist and pulls it forward, positions it well enough that Dean gets the message and clings to the headboard again. Dean does get it, wraps his hand around Cas and works him in time with every measured push and drag, pulls him toward the edge harder and quicker until Cas loses his voice in a gasp, chokes on a breath and makes one low, long sound that's positively wicked, and he's gone.
His muscles flutter and his head falls forward until Dean's staring at the bump of his first vertebrae, wanting to taste it. He says Dean's name, all broken and cracked like bad vinyl, and it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do but Dean pulls out and says, "Cas, hey."
He is liquid in Dean's hands, wrung out and dazed, boneless, as Dean turns him around and guides him down the bed. "Like this," Dean says between kisses, "lie down." Cas looks briefly confused and Dean aches all over, needing to come right now, and kisses him again, pushes him into the bed and spreads his legs wide, holding on to that spectacular juncture where hip meets thigh. "Lie down, I wanna see you," Dean breathes into his neck, and Cas moans something desperate and alive.
He shudders and arches, comes back to himself in an instant and he's all over Dean, if not a little more clumsy and a lot more wet than before. He says Dean's name, low and sure, reaches down and finds him and guides them back together, and it's the hottest fucking thing Dean's ever witnessed.
Cas' knees hike up and he moves down into a better angle. Somewhere between his cock sinking back into that impossible heat and Cas twisting up to land his legs over Dean's shoulders Dean thinks there's no way anyone could be this fucking good, there's no way someone could have such a presence and confidence without having done this before, because Cas is owning him.
Dean thinks he maybe always has.
Then Dean has a perfect angle and he's giving it, all of it, shaking apart and slowly unraveling with the hard line of Cas' eyes locked onto him and the rasp of his own breathing, his own voice utterly stripped and devastated, burning Cas' name into the air.
He comes deep inside Cas' body and it feels like flying apart everywhere at once, like being obliterated by light.
Cas' eyes flutter shut with it for just a moment, then blink back open clear and dark and otherworldly. His jaw works to form words but Dean cuts him off with a groan, says, "God," and rocks his way through it.
When he's sewn back together enough to think again he slips out, but doesn't miss the tiny hitch of Cas' breath when he does. Dean folds Cas' legs back down and flattens them carefully against the mattress, kisses the instep of his foot, the inside of his knee, his thigh, the damp crease of his hip. Dean is positive he's never going to be able to breathe again.
He stretches out over Cas' body and finds the backs of his shoulders, curls around, holds tight. Feels the weight of Cas' hand on the back of his neck and the rushing rumble of his pulse struggling to plateau to normalcy.
Cas' skin is buzzing with warmth and alive beneath his, utterly human in the way he pants for breath and how it's sticky between them. They're filthy but Dean doesn't care, doesn't give even half a damn because this is what he wants, what he's been looking for without even knowing it. He clutches at Cas' back and presses a kiss into his shoulder, open-mouthed and burning, moves up his neck and covers his mouth in a kiss and breathes, just breathes, because it's all he could ever hope to do, the best he could fight to give, and Cas deserves it, he deserves it all and so fucking much more.
Cas says, "thank you," into Dean's hair and Dean's not sure what he means, if he's talking about the sex or how he'd give the world and more if he could, that thought that hangs between them heavy as the air they share, but he doesn't question it and he doesn't let go.
He holds on, and so does Cas.