Castiel hadn't just been doing his job. He'd been doing his job while desperately trying to hide how he felt for Dean, trying to keep his superiors from catching on to how deep his feelings for him went
( ... )
Dean wasn't judging Cass' kisses. Not when he wanted, needed more. There was desire, there was passion, and he needed to feel that, because it was so hard to believe that this was real. The way that those fingers held onto his tie, using it like a leash to pull him back into the kiss, nibbling at the hunter's lower lip. It made Dean moan, his eyes fluttering, his hands clutching at Cass' own suit coat and pulling him close as their lips met again.
Dean wasn't as coordinated in this as he usually was, thanks to the alcohol. He settled for raw and intense, for passion, desire, need, love, lust; all the things Dean had tried so hard to hide. But, suddenly it felt like it was unnecessary. Because fuck he prayed this wasn't just the alcohol. He was telling himself it wasn't just the alcohol. If it was... well, he'd deal with that in the morning.
For now, though, he was intent on enjoying this surprising turn of events. That apparently meant undoing the buttons of his shirt.
Dean was so noisy. He was moaning and his breathing was so loud and he could practically hear the frantic beating of his heart. Castiel wanted to do things to him, he wanted to strip them both down and press himself so close that all he could feel was Dean's body.
Castiel knew this wasn't the alcohol. The alcohol was letting him do it, letting him stop worrying about all the reasons this was a bad idea and just go for it. But the alcohol wasn't responsible for how he felt, for how much he wanted this.
He felt Dean's hands on him, felt him starting to unbutton his shirt. He liked the direction this was going, and he'd apparently forgotten they were outside, on the Impala, in a parking lot. The lot was dark, and the town was small. He could hardly see Dean in front of him. That wasn't stopping him from letting his hands fall down to Dean's waist and tugging him close, bringing him close enough that when he leaned forward he was rubbing up against Dean.
Dean simply wasn't concerned with the fact that they were outside the motel, in the parking lot. All he could focus on at the moment was Castiel, was kissing him, was how the former angel felt underneath his hands, under his lips. Dean was sucking softly at the other's bottom lip as fingers continued deftly unfastening the small, pearly buttons of his white button-down shirt, not even bothering to remove his tie. And then fingers were pushing the fabric apart, sliding over flesh, touching, feeling against his chest.
And it was good, so very good. Dean's eyes were dazed in the darkness, his eyelashes fluttering over glazed hazel-greens as he gazed up at the angel. Leaning in, kissing Castiel hard and passionate and needy as his hands stroked down his chest and along his sides. The way that Cass held onto his tie, holding onto him like that had his heart skipping beats as it pounded in his chest.
Suddenly, all he could think was why the fuck hadn't he done this sooner?
Castiel was trying to find skin now, too, but nowhere near as skillfully as Dean was. He'd untucked that white button down and fumbling at the buttons, starting at the bottom, but he'd never had to deal with the mechanics of clothing until now. He wasn't even terribly good at tiny buttons when they were his own, and when he was sober.
Then, probably by accident, his hand slipped down and pressed fully between his legs. He wasn't sure why he was surprised to find him hard in his pants, but he was. It showed on his face, in the dim light afforded by some distant streetlight. But then he recovered and pressed down against him, his hand heavy and squeezing slowly, fingers feeling over him and finding where they needed to touch to stroke the length of it through his pants a little awkwardly.
Dean was finding it disturbingly endearing how Cass' hands fumbled over the buttons of his shirt, exposing skin as he unfastened them toward Dean's collar. He preferred sluts, he liked people with experience, as he was so fond of saying, but Castiel made it somehow adorable, and Dean wasn't quite so sure that it was just the liquor. Of course, the man clearly had some sort of idea as to what he was doing, judging by how their hips were rubbing together. And then there was a hand over his erection, and Dean couldn't help but moan, his head tilting back. His hands palming down the former-angel's sides and then back up his chest, flat nails scratching lightly. His strong fingers then shifting up to grasp strong shoulders and tug Cass closer, deeper into the friction
( ... )
Dean's hands were rough and strong, but the way he was touching him alternated between gentle and biting, the scrape of nails dragging down his skin.
Cass wasn't completely aware that the sounds that he could hear weren't just Dean, they were his own as well. When he felt knees tight against his hips he let out a hard, breathy moan and pressed forward, feeling his own erection hard against the back of his hand and Dean's against his palm. As Dean started to undo his pants, he moved his hand, not wanting a barrier between them.
He reached for Dean's pants and couldn't immediately work the button, so he fisted the waistband and pulled him closer, using the waist of it as a handle before trying again, both hands working without coordination or skill. Clothes were a terrible idea. Castiel decided right then that clothes were arguably the worst invention of all time.
He liked the sounds that he made, the way that Castiel moaned as their bodies moved together. Dean gasped as that hand against his cock was removed, but it turned into a shuddering moan when they were instead rubbing together. Hands were then on Dean's slacks, and all he could do was jerk into the suggestion of having them off, having both their pants off and grinding together, and so much more, so very soon
( ... )
Cass was unspeakably glad that Dean had taken over un getting his pants undone, because there were far too many fastenings keeping them on and Cass was fumbling and getting frustrated. His hands stayed perhaps uncomfortably close throughout, though, fingertips moving over Dean's hands, reaching into his pants before Dean had even finished opening them
( ... )
Dean groaned loudly in obvious pleasure as Cass pressed him down firmly against the car with his body. Cass moving against him, it was awkward and disjointed, but it was still a hot, delicious mimicry of sex. A hand grabbing his arm, lips kissing against his jaw with a hot breath of his name that teased temptingly against the skin of his neck, a hand stroking against his thigh through the fabric of his slacks.
"Uh... Cass... I want you to fuck me. Do you want to fuck me?"
It was drunken, maybe a little slurred, and definitely a lot less smooth than his usual pickup lines, especially considering that Dean's mouth was all but fastened to Cass' face as he breathed it hotly against skin.
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Dean wasn't as coordinated in this as he usually was, thanks to the alcohol. He settled for raw and intense, for passion, desire, need, love, lust; all the things Dean had tried so hard to hide. But, suddenly it felt like it was unnecessary. Because fuck he prayed this wasn't just the alcohol. He was telling himself it wasn't just the alcohol. If it was... well, he'd deal with that in the morning.
For now, though, he was intent on enjoying this surprising turn of events. That apparently meant undoing the buttons of his shirt.
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Castiel knew this wasn't the alcohol. The alcohol was letting him do it, letting him stop worrying about all the reasons this was a bad idea and just go for it. But the alcohol wasn't responsible for how he felt, for how much he wanted this.
He felt Dean's hands on him, felt him starting to unbutton his shirt. He liked the direction this was going, and he'd apparently forgotten they were outside, on the Impala, in a parking lot. The lot was dark, and the town was small. He could hardly see Dean in front of him. That wasn't stopping him from letting his hands fall down to Dean's waist and tugging him close, bringing him close enough that when he leaned forward he was rubbing up against Dean.
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And it was good, so very good. Dean's eyes were dazed in the darkness, his eyelashes fluttering over glazed hazel-greens as he gazed up at the angel. Leaning in, kissing Castiel hard and passionate and needy as his hands stroked down his chest and along his sides. The way that Cass held onto his tie, holding onto him like that had his heart skipping beats as it pounded in his chest.
Suddenly, all he could think was why the fuck hadn't he done this sooner?
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Then, probably by accident, his hand slipped down and pressed fully between his legs. He wasn't sure why he was surprised to find him hard in his pants, but he was. It showed on his face, in the dim light afforded by some distant streetlight. But then he recovered and pressed down against him, his hand heavy and squeezing slowly, fingers feeling over him and finding where they needed to touch to stroke the length of it through his pants a little awkwardly.
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Cass wasn't completely aware that the sounds that he could hear weren't just Dean, they were his own as well. When he felt knees tight against his hips he let out a hard, breathy moan and pressed forward, feeling his own erection hard against the back of his hand and Dean's against his palm. As Dean started to undo his pants, he moved his hand, not wanting a barrier between them.
He reached for Dean's pants and couldn't immediately work the button, so he fisted the waistband and pulled him closer, using the waist of it as a handle before trying again, both hands working without coordination or skill. Clothes were a terrible idea. Castiel decided right then that clothes were arguably the worst invention of all time.
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"Uh... Cass... I want you to fuck me. Do you want to fuck me?"
It was drunken, maybe a little slurred, and definitely a lot less smooth than his usual pickup lines, especially considering that Dean's mouth was all but fastened to Cass' face as he breathed it hotly against skin.
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