There are trails in the skin between the hairs of Samandriel's peach fuzz. It covers his entire body like a blanket, soft and blond like the lightest golds in the sunrise. His hair's darker on his head, almost brown looking when it gets long enough. Cas loves when he lets it grow out, loves the way it's honeyed and silky just like his skin or his eyes. The overall tone of his body, his voice, his touch, all of it is just so damn sweet that Cas could swear it was bad for him.
Except that there's nothing wrong with the pout of Samandriel's lips, flushed dark pink and spit-slick from kissing for the better part of twenty minutes. Somehow kissing always distracts them, even when Cas is buried deep, hard and wide in Samandriel's pliant body. Those lean legs are spread apart, and Cas is surprised the younger man's hips haven't popped. It's so filthy, the way his thighs part so readily. But only for him, only ever for Castiel.
Some nights he'll lean down and savor, let his mouth map the divides and parts between the hairs as they lead up like an atlas to Samandriel's cock. Many times even lower still, nuzzling and licking his balls until he's whining and begging, tilting his hips out to ask to have his ass filled. Hard to believe they met in a fucking church with just how wanton and sinful Samandriel is. Then again, it's easy to imagine the angels they're named after crying in shame that prayers are called out to them and to God with cursing and coming mixed in.
Not like that's the worst thing Castiel has done.
Samandriel's fingers tangle themselves in his hair and he remembers he needs to shower. Maybe he'll use the flowery soap in the caddy under the head, the coconut Samandriel found. The smell will linger on his skin, surrounding him the entire day that they're apart. When he was younger he never understood the term lovesick, but now he does with perfect clarity.
It is a sickness, the way Samandriel has wiggled into his are holes in his spirit that were never meant to be there, open and bleeding like he was shot point-blank. Maybe he was, maybe the angels they were named after sent down a cupid just to rip them open for their blasphemy. The punishment for calling on an angel during sex may well be to have every waking moment of your every living day spent obsessing over the person named after such a holy creature.
Or maybe Castiel's childhood has left him with some lingering bitterness toward organized religion. Either option seems likely.
And how could he not obsess? The feeling of Samandriel's lips on his skin imprints itself like a tattoo, the shape and warmth of them etched into his nerve endings with a faultless accuracy that makes his fingers twitch and his eyes dart, looking desperately, always searching.
He shifts his hips and the air is dragged from his lungs, throat burning as he exhales onto Samandriel's skin. It's slick, the heat of him scorching as Castiel pulls back and eases in slowly. If Cas had ever been one to pray, he's pretty sure his heart's belting out hymns now.
A hand trails down from his hair to his back, nails digging in to goad him and tempt him. One of his own hands grasps the side of a slender hip, skin yielding beautifully for him. There'll be bruises and he'll slide the tips of his fingers over them, then his lips and tongue, lavishing them with attention and focus to rival any religious ceremony.
Samandriel's Adam's apple bobs under his lips, throat working even though it must be drying out. His mouth hasn't closed, pleasured sighs breaking into pleas, frantic begging heating the air between them. Their eyes meet and for a moment it's like the lights have blown out, everything dark except for the tunnel-vision that has him zeroed in on the man laid out under him.
"Cas." His brows furrow, his voice hissing and broken.
Castiel's chest constricts, teeth clicking as his jaw clenches. His hips roll as he forces his way back in, head falling down to lick up a new path marked by a bead of sweat. His teeth gouge into the pulse beating on the side of Samandriel's neck, red welts shining with pain and spit when he pulls back. More sweat is lapped up as he soothes the bite, wide stripes licked upward until he feels the edge of an earlobe.
The growl of his voice is darker than normal, lust and need coloring it in a way that thrills him when he hears it in contrast to the high whine of his partner keening for him. "Touch yourself."
Samandriel scrambles to obey, his other hand leaving Castiel's hair in favor of wrapping around his own cock. It's awkward as hell, he can't grip the shaft properly, instead having to focus on rubbing all over the head. Castiel drinks the sigh out of his mouth, licking along his teeth and lips until he pulls away with heavy-lidded eyes to watch the arch of Samandriel's neck.
It's always intense, but even more when he watches the change happen as he feels it. Samandriel's body squeezes him tight and right in that moment those sharp blue eyes open, so lost and hopeless, looking like all they can see is Castiel. He's the world in this moment, and there's a vicious satisfaction ringing through his blood and his heart with it that has his lips curling into a smile which looks more like a snarl.
He thrusts forward hard, feeling the pressure that's built swell further. His body grows heavy, feeling like he's sinking, winding tighter and tighter until his hips can't even move anymore and, "fuck!"
Castiel sags into Samandriel's body, lungs burning because every breath is tainted with Samandriel's sweat and scent and there's no way he can breathe and be satisfied with what little he gets. Oxygen does nothing when what he really needs won't fit inside his lungs.
Samandriel hums happily, petting up and down his back, hugging him close. Castiel smiles and nuzzles the bite mark he left, kissing it before moving up to kiss Samandriel again. He's softening, sweat is rolling down his spine and come is sticky on their stomachs, the air turning colder around them. Even now they lose themselves in a kiss, and Castiel loses himself in every trail he can follow that will lead him back to here.