And we're caught within the crossfire,
Of heaven and hell,
And we're searchin' for shelter,
Lay your body down.
—Brandon Flowers, Crossfire
:::
This was Heaven and Hell.
Castiel found Heaven in the way that Dean touched him. The tender way his fingertips brushed his skin, when he moaned softly against his ear. His warmth whispered soft promises, his kisses sweeter than wine. Here, in Dean's arms, Castiel felt hope. Here, beneath Dean's weight, Castiel felt complete.
Hell wasn't knowing that Lucifer wore Dean's face, that it was his brother who began to pound into him hard and recklessly. Hell was knowing that he'd never be this close to Dean, that he'd never be able to feel him like this, taste him. As blunt nails dug into his skin, Castiel knew that pain wasn't his torture. It was how much he longed for Dean, how deep that want was and how it clung to his bones. Torture was his crushing need, the way it left him hopeless and despaired. In his living Hell, Castiel knew that he and Dean would never share the same space, becoming one in the heat of passion. He found his Heaven in these little moments, when his brother took on the face of the man he truly loved and tortured him. If this was the only way to find his Heaven, to be with Dean, then he welcomed Hell with open arms.
Castiel forgot about his Hell when Heaven's light shined down on him. When Dean kissed his lips and held him close, when his own orgasm shot through his body, Castiel felt as if he had been touched by God Himself. His hope, his elation, his momentary peace, burned to the ground when Dean melted away, when his brother took his place. That moment of Heaven was gone and Hell was the revelation that he'd never have Dean at all.
Then again, Hell was what he deserved.