Title: I Will Hold On To You
Fandom: Supernatural
Ship: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Words: 2,744

This is totally unbeta'ed and my first go at writing slash. I weren't going to put it up or even finish it, but I figured I might as well. It's not my best work and I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Don't forget to review!

I Will Hold On To You

Soft moans slipped into the still air of the night, and melded with the sounds of traffic, from the nearby freeway, which carried in through the open window. The ramshackle motel room was cloaked in darkness, but a slither of moonlight crept across sweat-glistened skin, illusorily caressing it with warmth. Clothes lay scattered and discarded across the stained threadbare carpet. Shirts, reduced to little more than rags, evidenced the occupant's impatience. A tie had fallen, around the bed-knob, the knot hung loose, nearly undone. The occupant's hand reached up to grab the railing, near the tie. The hand was large and strong, undoubtedly masculine, just like the muscular arm that it was attached to; the arm that his lover's fingers glided smoothly across, stroking the curve of his muscles, until they reached his chest, where lips took over to brush the same pattern.

Tortuously slow, the lips moved over his exposed skin. The chapped lips across his sensitive flesh sent pleasurable waves coursing through his body and made a certain part of his anatomy very aware of his intentions. He felt his lover chuckle and the hands travelled down his body, hooking two thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. But before he could focus on the proximity of those hands to his hardening member he was distracted by a tongue flicking across his nipple, tracing circles that had his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his breath coming in short unsteady gasps. He couldn't contain the low, deep throated moan that vibrated through his chest as his nipple was sucked into a warm inviting mouth. He wondered how that mouth would feel on other parts of his body and then he couldn't control the way his hips bucked upwards, desperate to create some friction. He felt the lips curve into a smile against his chest.

"Tease," he grumbled, silently cursing the quivering in his voice that made it almost unrecognisable to his ears.

The hips that lightly pinned him against the bed suddenly ground down, hard and fast. He stifled the moans, killing them on his tongue. He felt the hardness against his thigh and he could've sworn that his heart skipped a beat. Then the hand that had dithered on the edge of his boxers, caressing the skin of his stomach, slipped inside and firmly gripped his cock. He panted breathlessly at the sensation. But the hand didn't move, it innocently rested there as a finger stroked a rhythmic pattern against his sensitive skin, while the other hand held down his hips, denying him the opportunity to create the friction he craved. Finally his lover spoke, the words whisper-soft and breathed against his skin.

"What did you call me?" The breathy sultry voice sounded familiar and yet alien at the same time.

He opened his eyes to find Castiel staring back at him, awaiting his response. For a second he was gripped by shock, and his heart pounded heart in his chest. The recognition of Castiel's sharp blue eyes invoked a strange mixture of fear and excitement to bubble within him. He could not remember how they had ended up in that bed together. In fact all his memories had turned into a hazy blur of touch and skin and emotion. All rational, logical thought left the building and he was completely at Castiel's mercy. Fruitlessly, he tried to raise his lips, to capture the soft pink lips in a fierce kiss, but Castiel was faster, and turned his head away, a playful smirk gracing his lips.

"Cas," he groaned in frustration.

The angel paused for a moment, tilting his head as though deep in thought and then shaking it. "No, I don't believe that was it," he answered, brushing his thumb over the tip of Dean's cock and then stilling movement once more.

He tried not to moan, and instead his breaths came out in shaky gasps that had Castiel's eyes shining with amusement. His lips trailed across Dean's jaw, moving lightly like a ghost of a kiss, until he reached his ear, where his teeth teased his earlobe. "What was it you called me, Dean?"

Almost losing control at the sensations flooding him Dean realised that he would have to answer. "A tease. I called you a tease," he whimpered, his voice thick with lust and desperation.

"Yes," he agreed. "You did, but I fail to see I am a tease when you never expressed what it is that you want." As he spoke he moved his lips forward until they almost, but not quite, brushed against Dean's. "Tell me, Dean. What is it that you want from me?"

"You," he stammered helplessly, coming completely undone under Castiel's attention. "Want you."

He heard the breath catch in Castiel's throat and observed his normally bright blue eyes darken with lust. "No," he countered, his voice even breathier and heavier than before. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific."

Dean sighed heavily and strained his lust-addled brain to form a coherent answer, but he wasn't quite sure what to say. He wasn't quite sure of anything. It was as though every moment other than the present was hazy and indistinctive, blurred around the edges, almost. He could barely remember how the situation had transpired, let alone he felt about it. However, his trail of thought ended with one swift movement of Castiel's skilled hands.

"Oh God," Dean moaned, his eyelids flickering closed, as he writhed and gasped and gripped the sheets. "I want this. I want everything." He opened his eyes and engaged his lover in a fierce stare. "I fucking love you Cas."

Castiel's eyes visibly brightened with those words, they glittered with electric blue sparks dancing across them and his skin started to radiate a soft golden glow. Dean was left breathless at the beauty of it, and slightly awed at the visible signs of his lover's true nature. Castiel's hands reached up to lovingly caress the side of his face and then he leaned down placing a soft kiss against his lips.

Dean responded eagerly. His lips moved desperately, trying to convey all of his emotions in that one kiss. His arms wrapped around Castiel, pulling their bodies closer. He moaned as their erections grinded against each other and felt a hit of smug satisfaction when he heard the same sound echoed by his lover. They soon lost themselves in the sensations of bucking, grinding, moving, touching. Their naked sweat glistened bodies writhed together, caught in the throes of pleasure. Moans, and gasps and pants echoed around the small motel room. When Cas's hand once again gripped his cock he almost lost control, and when he started to move he knew it wouldn't be long before he did. Moans, soft sighs, and indistinctive words started to stumble across his tongue and fall from his lips.

"Don't stop," he panted, as Castiel sucked and nipped at his neck, and his hand picked up the pace, pushing him close to the edge. However, the answer that he received was not the one that he was expecting.

"I think you should wake up, Dean," he answered, his voice eerily calm and without a trace of its former breathiness.

"Huh?" Dean responded, struggling to articulate as the hand seized to move, and he was filled with confusion and indignation. Then the edges of the room started to dissipate and he focused on the lust darkened eyes that lingered above him. "No," he pleaded uselessly. "Please don't leave me." The words were barely more than a soft murmur, falling into the humid night, and fading away as the darkness claimed him.

The motel room was eerily silent, completely devoid of the moans and gasps that had surrounded him a moment previously. He slowly opened his sleep-heavy eyes and took a moment to adjust to consciousness. He blinked a few times, his head groggy and confused and as the room came into sharp focus and he realised that he had been dreaming. Blurry, dreamlike images flooded his head and he stifled a groan. But before he could brood on the subject of his dream he realised that he was not alone. There was most definitely a weight on the bed next to him, and his laboured breaths were not the only ones in the room. Cautiously he turned his head and saw Castiel sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed.

Castiel remained inhumanly still, like a beautiful marble statue glistening under the soft moonlight. His eyes were focused on the wall opposite, seemingly deep in contemplation. He was dressed in his usual suit and trench coat, the tie hanging loosely around his neck, showing a trace of skin. Dean swallowed hard as unbidden images came back to him: His lips against that neck, pulling the tie loose and his hands travelling to the shirt buttons, desperate to taste more of that pale skin. He could feel his cheeks begin to warm as colour flooded them. Before he could avert his eyes Castiel turned his burning stare to him. It felt as though he could see right through him, and his heart pounded as he wondered if he knew what he had been visualising just a moment before. He guiltily averted his eyes and prepared for some kind of damning accusation, but none came.

Instead, Castiel spent a moment observing him intently, as if he was an object under a magnifying glass. He squirmed under his scrutiny. Finally, Castiel relaxed and spoke for the first time that night. "You're awake," he said simply, in his usual calming voice, so dissimilar those undone breathless whispers he had been imagining just a moment before. Usually Dean would make some smart-assed comment about stating the obvious but he didn't trust himself to speak. It was as though the air had been sucked from his lungs and all he could do was gape mutely.

His erection was still rock hard under the covers and he tried to will it away, ignoring the pounding of blood in his ears and the silent screaming for release. He knew that waking up with an erection would hardly be a subject of shock and that the assumption it had been Castiel he was dreaming about would be the furthest conclusion from the angel's mind, but he felt like he had to hide it from him. He could barely contain the fear that he would do or say something to allow Castiel to guess. He vaguely wondered if it would be considered a sin, after all lusting after an angel of the lord sounded like it might rank pretty high on the going to hell.

He shook his head free from the distracting thoughts, and concentrated on the present. Finally his throat felt loose enough to speak. "So are you going to tell me why you're here or do you usually watch me sleep?"

Castiel quickly averted his eyes and his face started to colour. His ears turned a bright shade of crimson. "I sometimes get concerned," he said quietly.

Dean's expression grew wary. "How often do you get concerned?" He asked carefully. The question was met with silence and awkwardness and Dean considered his question answered.

"Jesus Cas," he exclaimed. "Do you realise how creepy that is?"

Castiel lowered his head in shame. "I'm sorry," he said in a small guilt filled voice. "The first time it was an accident, I was concerned about how you were healing, but when you called my name I grew curious. That's why I kept coming back. The curiosity was overpowering."

When Castiel raised his guilty eyes Dean felt a strange tug in the pit of his stomach and he knew that he wasn't really mad at him. He couldn't understand why but he knew that he could never really be mad at him, even as he made his admittance to him Dean just wanted to pull him into his arms and tell him it was okay. He provoked all kinds of protective feelings within him. He pushed the urge aside and felt his face drain of blood as the full implications of his words set in. Castiel had heard every word that he muttered in his dreams: he had heard every declaration, every moan, every plea.

"Are you saying that I talk in my sleep?" Dean asked quietly.

"Sometimes," he whispered uncomfortably, the guilt more prevalent in his voice than before. "Sometimes you just moan."

"Oh," he murmured, his voice stunned and ridiculously high-pitched. "Oh shit."

The silence that followed was unbearable, thick and tense. It was like a slow building wall between them that neither of them would acknowledge and both were too scared to break down. The air hung heavy with silent words and Dean tried to avoid looking at him, he really did. His eyes were fixed solidly on his hands. But Castiel's eyes were fixated on him. He watched him as though he was trying to figure something out. Dean was very aware of the lingering stare and he wilted beneath it. He wished he could tell what he was thinking. It made him uncomfortable and he wished that something would happen to remove the attention from him. God, he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Eventually Castiel was the one to break the silence. "I do not understand," he admitted softly.

Dean sighed heavily, silently preparing for another awkward conversation. Surely he wouldn't make him explain how two guys would do it. He wasn't quite sure he'd want to explain that one. "What don't you understand?" he reluctantly asked.

Castiel's eyes shifted nervously and then they connected with his. Dean thought that he could almost feel the air buzzing with static electricity, and he wondered what it meant. Was this an angel thing or an attraction thing, or something else? Was he about to be struck down by a bolt of lightning? It wouldn't surprise him. Perhaps heaven would punish him for this.

"Why you grasp at each other's flesh and shout out our father's name," he answered his voice building with confidence as he spoke. "It's not the desire to procreate that drives you, how can it be when the act of intimacy doesn't even encompass the necessary reproductive organs to bear children? You would live in sin for a moment of grasping and moving. I cannot make sense of it."

It wasn't what Dean was expecting, and he wasn't sure he really had an answer for him, at least not one that he wanted to share. "It's not about sense, Cas," he answered flippantly. "There's not a whole lot of sense in it. You just do it."

"But why?" he pouted, like a perpetuant child, refusing to give way to the complexities of the world.

"Because we need to feel," he admitted quietly. The words fell from his lips before he could stop them. He took a deep calming breath before he proceeded to speak. "Things are crazy and uncontrollable and we need to feel connected to something bigger..." His eyes bore into Castiel's. "When everything around us is falling apart we hold onto each other so tightly because we're scared that if we let go we'll lose ourselves."

Comprehension flickered in Castiel's eyes. "You're scared of losing yourself?"

"Yes," Dean muttered, turning his head away. Castiel's hands came up to cup his cheek and he softly turned his face back to meet his.

"And you're scared of losing me?" He questioned, his eyes darkening with emotion.

"I'm always scared of losing you." The words lingered in the air. Dean became painfully aware of the proximity of Castiel's lips to his, and the way his fingers curled perfectly around his face. The breath caught in his lungs and his heart started to pound as he wondered what would happen next.

"I think I understand now," he announced softly, his hand slowly dropping from his face, but his fingers running gently down his cheek, almost a loving caress.

He pressed his lips lightly against Dean's forehead. Dean's eyes flickered closed as he breathed in his sweet intoxicating scent and enjoyed the feel of warmth against him.

"I promise I will always hold on to you," he whispered, his hands running comfortingly over Dean's shoulders. Warmth and tingles coursed through his body. And then the warmth was gone.

By the time Dean opened his eyes he was alone.