Before the Showdown

[winchester_lost]

It was the night before. Tomorrow they were moving out, and they were going to take the Colt and try to kill Lucifer. Kill Sam. He still didn't like the thought. He understood that in this time Sam was Lucifer's vessel, and he liked to think that he'd done everything he could to find another solution

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[winchester_lost]

Dean was trying to behave, to play to Cas' demands, but not touching was hard, so very hard. His hands trembling, clutching against his wrists in desperate need to hold onto something. He wanted so much to glide his fingers through Cas' raven hair, or clutch hard against firm shoulders. Holding onto that thought, having to fight his urges to obey Cas' demand. And yet, somehow, there was just something about Cas that made listening feel like the right choice.

Dean decided it had quite clearly been the right decision when Cas smiled at him, those words sending a shiver down his spine. It was obscene, but in a very, very good way, made only better by the way that finger pressed deeper inside of his body, touching against his prostate. Dean couldn't help the way that he jerked, the way he cried out sharply at the feeling of it, like almost-electric pleasure that jolted through him. His body was shaking, trembling as he panted in an effort to catch his breath, staring down his body at the man nestled between his thighs.

Dean's voice was rough, ragged as he moaned at the feeling of Cas pressing another finger inside of his body. And then lips were wrapping around his cock, and he groaned, low and rough as Cas slid down his length. He'd been lost to the pleasure almost since they'd started, but like this, he just unraveled. His back arching, his eyes rolling back as he tossed his head back against the pillows. His nails digging into his forearms at the feel of it, the way the sensations pressed together, roiling and crashing in such a way it felt like too much, like he might drown under the feel of it all.

Cas' fingers inside of him teasing and stroking against his prostate as his cock pressed against the back of the man's throat, sliding further. His body was shaking, and Dean was never quiet, but if he had shame - which he didn't - he might actually have been embarrassed at the entirely wanton cries and squeals of pleasure that fell from his lips. There were tears in his eyes from the sheer intensity of it all. No one had ever been this good, had ever known how to unravel him so quickly. And God, he wanted more.

Needed, craving, desperate as he jerked and shuddered and writhed against Cas.

[seekthesilence]

Cas lingered there, pressed on, taking a moment to collect himself before swallowing again and taking him deeper, nose brushing up against Dean's body. It was worth it. Dean was so out of control, so loud, so desperately wanton. He stroked his prostate slowly, trying to build up his pleasure, bring it in tight and hot before he pulled everything away because he wanted Dean breathless and screaming for it when he took him.

He watched everything, drank in the ragged moans and the way he was shaking beneath his touch. He would remember this during lonely nights, the obvious shock at how good this was and how well Cas knew him, the sounds that he was making, the shape of his pretty mouth when he cried out. He moaned thickly around Dean's cock, knowing that he liked that, the way the sound felt good, unexpected vibration with just a hint of tightening in his throat.

If he wanted to fuck him before he came, he'd have to stop now, have to pull away or else he'd be carrying him through his orgasm first, and though it was tempting the truth was that he wanted all of this desperation hardly controlled when he took him. He wanted him with hands grasping, nails digging in, legs tight and tugging and eager. So he pulled away, taking a deep breath as he came away from Dean's cock and eased his fingers out of him. He hadn't planned this well, he was still wearing his pants, and he shifted back, quickly working to wrestle them off. He was breathless and flushed with need. He'd let this go on too long, so worked up himself and so acutely in tune with how worked up Dean was that he felt he couldn't possibly move fast enough, couldn't make his hands work to get out of his pants. It was as though his mind, his hands, and his cock were all going at wildly different speeds and he couldn't coordinate them. It was actually rather endearing to see him this way, frantic and fumbling.