"What?" A frantic look, like he'd just been caught with his fly open.
Dean gestured. "Your wings. How come I can see them?"
"I don't know." Castiel's frown was the same severe face with which he pondered matters of life and death. "Perhaps you're adjusting to life as a future vessel. A piece of heaven,-- mojo, as you call it."
"Dude, they're huge. How do you get in the door with those things?"
"They're not solid," Castiel said. "They reflect the celestial existence within the human vessel."
"Oh." Dean looked disappointed. "I guess I can't touch them, right?"
His hesitation was enough to make Dean want to try.
He waited, though, always looking for a moment when Castiel's guard was down and he wouldn't get put halfway through the wall. That moment never came. Damn the unflinching vigilance of these angels.
So when he did make contact, it was by accident. They'd been walking down a street, and a kid came by on a skateboard. Dean saw a collision coming, didn't recognize it would be with an incorporeal part of Castiel's being, and reached over to guide it away.
Castiel seized up, winced, and groaned aloud.
"Oh, shit, man." Dean withdrew his hand. The skateboarding kid gave them a strange look and headed on down the road. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't realize it'd hurt you."
Castiel looked decisively at the ground. "It didn't... hurt," he said in a halting voice.
"It didn't? You looked like..."
"It didn't hurt." Castiel began to walk away.
"Wait, hold it!" Dean grabbed at him. His hand closed around pure silk, gossamer, gauze and moonlight, and Castiel moaned, legs wobbling, and stumbled off the road to grab hold of a nearby tree.
"Holy shit," Dean breathed, suddenly aware of what was going on.
"You're touching a very personal part of me." Castiel glowered at him, daring him to say something smart. "A place most people don't get to see. Of course they're sensitive."
And he took several gulps of breath, at which point Dean realized he still had his hand around it. It was soft and warm, like a baby's skin. Unable to stop himself, he stroked it a little more.
"Dean--" Castiel's voice was breaking. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder to steady himself. "Stop it--"
"So is it like getting a blowjob?" Dean wondered aloud.
"Be quiet."
"A wing job. I kinda like that..."
And Castiel came up with a much better way to shut Dean up.
"What?"
"I can see your wings."
"What?" A frantic look, like he'd just been caught with his fly open.
Dean gestured. "Your wings. How come I can see them?"
"I don't know." Castiel's frown was the same severe face with which he pondered matters of life and death. "Perhaps you're adjusting to life as a future vessel. A piece of heaven,-- mojo, as you call it."
"Dude, they're huge. How do you get in the door with those things?"
"They're not solid," Castiel said. "They reflect the celestial existence within the human vessel."
"Oh." Dean looked disappointed. "I guess I can't touch them, right?"
"No," Castiel said, looking somewhat alarmed. "Please don't touch them."
His hesitation was enough to make Dean want to try.
He waited, though, always looking for a moment when Castiel's guard was down and he wouldn't get put halfway through the wall. That moment never came. Damn the unflinching vigilance of these angels.
So when he did make contact, it was by accident. They'd been walking down a street, and a kid came by on a skateboard. Dean saw a collision coming, didn't recognize it would be with an incorporeal part of Castiel's being, and reached over to guide it away.
Castiel seized up, winced, and groaned aloud.
"Oh, shit, man." Dean withdrew his hand. The skateboarding kid gave them a strange look and headed on down the road. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't realize it'd hurt you."
Castiel looked decisively at the ground. "It didn't... hurt," he said in a halting voice.
"It didn't? You looked like..."
"It didn't hurt." Castiel began to walk away.
"Wait, hold it!" Dean grabbed at him. His hand closed around pure silk, gossamer, gauze and moonlight, and Castiel moaned, legs wobbling, and stumbled off the road to grab hold of a nearby tree.
"Holy shit," Dean breathed, suddenly aware of what was going on.
"You're touching a very personal part of me." Castiel glowered at him, daring him to say something smart. "A place most people don't get to see. Of course they're sensitive."
And he took several gulps of breath, at which point Dean realized he still had his hand around it. It was soft and warm, like a baby's skin. Unable to stop himself, he stroked it a little more.
"Dean--" Castiel's voice was breaking. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder to steady himself. "Stop it--"
"So is it like getting a blowjob?" Dean wondered aloud.
"Be quiet."
"A wing job. I kinda like that..."
And Castiel came up with a much better way to shut Dean up.
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