fic: sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell [dean/castiel]

Jun 25, 2012 12:45

Title: sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Spoilers/Warnings: End of S5. Kinda AU, not that there's enough plot here to tell. Sexual content.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Title from "Drumming Song" by Florence + the Machine.
Summary: There’s always something - a new hunt, a new fight, a new enemy - but every once in a while there’s this too, and Castiel has learned to take advantage of it while he can. ~1600 words.
A/N: Written for peachpai for the dc_summerlovin fic exchange. I had a lot of fun writing, so I hope you enjoy it! ♥ Prompt used: impromptu swimming in a river during a heat wave. I also threw in some cuddling. And maybe kinda domesticity?

It’s hot.

Castiel doesn’t feel the heat the same way a human would, but he is more acutely aware of it now than he has been in the past. Blame it on his recent brush with humanity - less of a Fall and more of a slow, bumpy slide - which left him with some lingering side effects, even after the restoration of his Grace. It’s not uncomfortable but it’s enough to make him shed a few layers, trench coat and blazer gone and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He steps out onto the front porch and the floorboards creak beneath his shoes. There is no breeze; the fan overhead hums loudly but doesn’t help the heat, blades barely stirring the thick air. The summer sun is bright, painting the landscape in vibrant shades of green and yellow, reflecting off the river south of the house. Birds and insects flit from one place to another, undeterred by the heat. It’s peaceful and that’s a rare thing, even now that the apocalypse is over. There’s always something - a new hunt, a new fight, a new enemy - but every once in a while there’s this too, and Castiel has learned to take advantage of it while he can. He’s been known to sit out here for hours, lost in thought, just enjoying the view.

Of course, it’s not the only view he’s getting at the moment. Dean’s attempts to beat the heat are slightly less modest than Castiel’s. He is currently stretched out in one of the chairs on the porch - only half in the chair at all, head resting on the back, eyes shut, and legs splayed in front of him. He’s wearing nothing but jeans, rolled up to his knees and slung obscenely low on his hips, and the obvious lack of underwear leaves very little to the imagination. Despite having seen Dean naked plenty of times, Castiel can’t help being taken in by all that skin, sun-tanned and slick, freckles standing out more than usual. Sweat beads in the hollow of Dean’s collarbone and Castiel’s mouth goes dry.

He feels the heat creeping under his own skin, unfurling slowly in his belly, as his eyes move of their own accord. They flick up briefly to Dean’s mouth before moving lower, to the faint trail of hair beneath his navel and the V of his hips leading to the waistband of his jeans.

“Why don’t you take a picture,” Dean says without opening his eyes. “It’ll last longer.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t look away. Dean cracks one eye open, lips curved into a smirk. He starts to stretch - long, lazy movements, arms extending over his head, back arching and jeans slipping a little lower, deliberately exposing even more skin. For millennia, Castiel watched his brothers Fall for the temptation of human flesh and never understood the appeal. Then Dean Winchester came along and proved himself to be the exception to every rule Castiel thought he knew.

That doesn’t mean he appreciates being teased. He looks away, focuses all of his attention on two birds perched on a nearby tree branch. He hears Dean chuckle, hears the chair creak under his weight, hears him mutter, “It’s hot.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Castiel replies dryly.

Dean snorts but doesn’t say anything else, and for a while they just sit there quietly, looking out at the river. Then Dean springs to his feet, pads down the porch steps. “C’mon,” he says.

“Where are we going?”

Dean rolls his eyes and grabs Castiel’s wrist - a pointless gesture, of course, but Castiel allows himself to be led. “Just come on, Cas.”

They walk until they reach the riverbank, where Dean announces that they’re going swimming. Castiel eyes the river suspiciously; even the water seems weighted down by the heat, current flowing smoothly but slowly.

“What?” Dean grins, looking from Castiel to the water and back again. “Scared to get your wings wet?”

“I am not afraid of anything,” Castiel says. “But water has never been angels’ favorite element.”

“Says the guy who ripped up the angel rulebook.” With that, Dean pops the button on his jeans and slides them down his thighs. Castiel watches as Dean steps out of his pants and tosses them to the ground, and he feels the heat seep underneath his skin again, into the space between his human form and his true self. His eyes stay firmly trained on Dean’s backside as he wades into the water, leaving Castiel standing on the bank.

“I see your point.”

Dean laughs and dives in head-first. He resurfaces, shaking water out of his hair, and leans back until he’s floating, looking up at Castiel expectantly. Castiel fully understands the invitation - even before Dean prompts him to “damn it, get your ass in here” - but it takes him a minute to actually start moving, caught up in watching Dean.

He can’t help but notice how relaxed Dean seems, like the weight that’s been crushing his shoulders all these years has been lifted. He’s so different from the broken man Castiel first met. He’s different even than he is when they leave here, when he’s back on the road with Sam, when his mind is on the job and his body braced for a fight. Castiel is different, too; restoring order in Heaven is an exhausting, insurmountable task. They both need this, a place where they can forget and rest and just be for a little while, and he’s amazed by how easy it’s become to do just that.

Finally, he snaps out of his thoughts and gets undressed.

Castiel feels the water the same way he feels the heat: the sensation is muted, but it’s there, and he’s more aware of it the longer he stays in. He’s not unfamiliar with the mechanics of swimming, and while knowing how something works is often very different from putting it into practice, he uses his knowledge along with a slight abuse of his powers to keep himself afloat. As Dean would say, he cheats. He doesn’t move with the same practiced ease that Dean does, but he does fair enough.

That is until Dean tries to drown him. He’s caught completely off guard when Dean splashes water in his face, pounces on him and drags him under. At first, Castiel is not amused - of course Dean would lure him into some new, human experience only to make fun of him and watch him fail - but it doesn’t take long for him to realize that it’s a game. Well, two can play. He feels Dean mouthing at his neck, sucking away the droplets of water there, and Castiel pulls him up for a kiss. Dean kisses back eagerly, opens his mouth and invites Castiel in, claws at his skin. Castiel grabs Dean’s hips, pulls him closer and lifts, and then sends him falling backward into the water. Dean kicks and flails his way back to the surface, laughing and trying to catch his breath at the same time. “You bastard, you are going down.”

They carry on that way for a while, like children, before they finally calm down. They float on their backs side by side, watching the sky overhead, letting the water slosh gently over their bodies.

Eventually, they swim back to shore. Castiel’s hair clings to his forehead, water dripping and rolling off of his skin. He’s just reached the pile of clothing when he feels Dean come up behind him, his chest flush against Castiel’s back, his mouth at his neck. Castiel leans into it, takes the hand that Dean presses against his stomach and guides it lower.

They end up on the ground, Dean grinding his hips down against Castiel’s, trailing kisses across his chest. Castiel has one hand tangled in Dean’s wet hair and the other slides between them, gripping Dean’s cock and pressing it alongside his own. Dean groans and buries his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck, bites and sucks at the skin there, and his hips set a steady, unhurried pace. He digs his fingers into Castiel’s hips so hard that, if he were human, they would leave bruises behind to match the ones he leaves on Dean.

Castiel flips them and quickens the pace, pushes them both closer and closer to the edge. He mouths at the tattoo on Dean’s chest, runs his tongue across his collarbone, tasting the sweat and river water there. Dean moves his hands from Castiel’s hips, drags blunt nails along his shoulder blades and slams his head back against the ground when comes. Castiel follows him over the edge, presses his forehead to Dean’s chest and keeps it there as he comes down, the breath he doesn’t need coming in short, shallows gasps against Dean’s skin.

They need to get up, but Castiel has absolutely no desire to and can’t help despairing when Dean shoves at his shoulder. Dean picks up Castiel’s discarded shirt and cleans them both up but he quickly tosses it aside again, grabs Castiel and pulls him back down, wrapping his arms around him. Castiel sinks into him, feels Dean’s heart beating and his soul thrumming.

The sun starts to set and they both have grass and leaves and dirt in some very undesirable places, but neither of can be bothered to care. They don’t go back to the house for a long time.

fanfiction, fic: spn: castiel/dean, fic: spn

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