There was something off in the way Dean allowed him this. Every time he'd pictured anything between them, Dean was the one in charge. Not that Castiel would complain about, how had Dean so eloquently stated it? Pitching? But it wasn't the way he thought it would go.
Somewhere in the middle, between time slowing in a way that very well could have been literal and the sweat rolling down his back being either his or runoff from Dean's arms, it started to make sense. The angel clung to him desperately, kissing harshly like he wasn't sure if Cas was going to be there from one second to the next.
Castiel refused to speed up, kissing across Dean's jaw and to his ear in an attempt to soothe him. "Dean."
It was one simple syllable, but it did the job. Dean sighed and moaned shakily, nails sitting atop his skin instead of digging in like spurs.
"Cas." The nickname came out so weakly, pathetically that Castiel could hardly believe it was the same voice that nearly split his skull.
He hiked Dean's leg up his side and groped at the taut muscles of the tanned thigh. "My good angel."
A trembling whimper rattled out and Cas met Dean's eyes, glazed over and far-off as they were. They kissed, lips and tongues giving and giving and giving until Castiel felt like his lungs would burn out of his chest if he didn't pull back.
"My warrior." Dean's eyes closed, tongue darting out to taste Castiel on his own skin. Cas leaned in and started speaking to him, voice hushed and secretive, lost between Dean's ear and the pillow. "Glorious angel."
Dean's head pushed back, neck and spine arching under the hunter's body. Once again his nails were digging in, this time for a different reason. "Cas, Cas fuck, I'm gonna—"
"I only pray to you, Dean. My strong angel." He barely had warning before light exploded behind Dean's eyelids and his body clamped down. Castiel was drawn in with him, orgasm cresting through his blood, thumping with his pulse as he spilled into the other man.
Dean pulled him close, refused to let him up and he didn't complain. He kissed across Dean's collarbone, nuzzling a small pool of sweat in the hollow of the angel's throat. The shape of his lips seemed perfect for wrapping around the sharp angle of Dean's Adam's apple, tongue dipping forward to taste salt and skin.
"My holy angel." He hardly expected Dean to respond, was barely conscious and coherent himself.
Never the less, Dean did respond, ever the studious soldier. "Yours."