Ready
Warmth collects around his muscles, his bones, sinking Castiel down; feeling as if the mattress beneath him is pulling him under—his weight ever increasing. Every remaining, involuntary jolt of his body makes it weaker. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, leaving Dean's blurry shape resting at the bottom of his vision. The heat rising from his lower half feels stronger now, or perhaps, he is only just sensing its intensity. It burns his stomach and the warmth running from Dean's resting hand, is scalding his hip. Cas blinks, trying to let his mind come back together, but pieces still seem to be gone, pushed away with each one of Dean's magnificent strokes. Castiel feels lucky . . . luck encased in a thin layer of guilt, thinking maybe he could have had this sooner and everything would have been fine, if he had just let Dean continue the night before.
"Cas . . . you okay, man?" Dean whispers and Cas brings his focus back to him; watching as Dean leans there next to him, all his weight on his elbow, the curving lines of his shoulders sliding down to connect with the hills on his arms. The dim light from the hall is struggling hard to push around the man's broad chest. Cas tries to respond but his throat seems to have closed. The yelling from earlier and all the groaning now, not to mention the tightening bite marks on his neck—his voice has stepped out. Cas just nods instead.
Dean gives a concerned smile, "Was—was that okay?" he asks softly, looking away a little, almost shy.
Cas nods again, feeling the corners of his mouth curve, and a small chuckle dance up his reddened throat.
"Thank god!" Dean huffs, letting his locked elbow break just before falling on the bed and rolling next to Cas; his hand finally slipping from Cas's boxers, leaving an icy void on his skin.
Goosebumps race up Castiel's body, shivering him- his spine becoming a raging, fault line. Dean notices the movement and looks at the wrecked man out of the corner of his eye, laughing a little. Cas sneaks a look back, thinking that nothing has ever quite touched him more than Dean's smile in this moment, after what had just taken place. If the world suddenly imploded, Cas would hold on to this and be content. Dean lets that smile grow while turning his head and staring at the air. They lay in silence; their lines spanning the length of each other; skin, outstretched in the darkness, letting it dance on their stomachs.
"I can't believe that just happened." Dean mumbles.
Cas maintains his view, not sure if he wants to see the expression on Dean's face, knowing that a change of heart could always be close. He stays silent instead, feeling the air thicken.
Dean sharply inhales after a few more seconds, as if he forgot how to breath, "Fuck, I never thought I would . . . ya know." giving a laugh to hug his words.
"Me either." Cas chokes out, the attempts, ripping his tender throat. Dean offers another soft chuckle, and then quiet takes over again.
The stillness of the bed seems impossible but the presence next to him is overpowering. Cas wants desperately to speak but he has more than a sore esophagus to blame for his silence, the entirety of the English language seems to have escaped his mind.
"I should probably wash my hands." Dean says finally; startling Cas a little, making him wonder if he was really that lost in thought or if he could actually be falling asleep.
"Yeah." Castiel coughs, "go ahead."
Dean lets out a laugh, "Dude, you sound like you swallowed acid."
"My throat—" Cas croaks, "it feels like I did."
Dean props himself up again, all his weight on his elbow, causing the bed to sink a little, dipping Cas down and making his head spin.
"How about I get you some water too?" Dean asks softly, and Cas finally turns his head to fully look at the man beside him. Even in the dark, the pale green of his eyes is vivid.
Cas nods once more, letting another smile curve his cheeks.
The bed bounces and shakes as Dean scoots his heavy body off of it. The moment his feet touch the floor, he disappears from the room, and Cas returns his gaze to the smooth, white ceiling—a miniscule part of him wondering if Dean will actually return. He hears the echoing sound of water on metal, and then the squeak and clank of various cupboards being opened and shut. Finally, the sound of more water rushes through the house—then fades, before quiet footsteps pound ever closer; until Dean is standing in the door frame. Castiel peeks at him, water in hand, jeans sagging on his hips, the dark red waistband of his briefs, peeking over the top. He strains his neck to further take in the sight. It's an exciting image, as well as soothing. He isn't quite sure if he'll ever see it again, not in this context—but he would sell his soul to ensure it.
After a moment, Cas's eyes focus a little more against the light, only just noticing the rounded peak to the right of the man's zipper. Now he feels what Dean must have been feeling before; a guilt bubbles through him and he wonders if he'll even have the strength to reciprocate. He knows he could manage with that sort of pent up pressure, but he isn't sure if Dean can do the same. Castiel certainly doesn't want Dean to have to ask for it, or to feel the need to take care of it himself. He knew what had just occurred stemmed a little from Dean feeling like he owed him, but Cas doesn't want to enable that point of view.
Dean walks to the edge of the bed, stopping just at Cas's feet, stretching out his arm to hand him the glass of water. Cas lifts himself up, embarrassed by the struggle in doing so. Finally erect, he takes the large cup from Dean's grasp and quickly gulps it down—wishing there was some way to suspend the cool water. Dean smiles down at him, and Cas returns the look, lips still to the glass, causing it to dribble a little from the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, easy tiger!" Dean laughs.
Cas finishes off the last sip and Dean takes the glass, quickly placing it on the nightstand and returning to his post in front of Castiel, as if waiting for a queue. Cas just stares up at the man, who looks adorable in his anxiety. Dean's eyes dance back and forth between his own and he knows that Dean is eager, but Cas isn't quite why; finding the new upright position rather mentally disassembling. His gaze then falls again to the large bulge, now sitting in front of his face, just an arm's reach away. Before he can think, Cas's fingers stretch out, curling into Dean's waistband—pulling the man close. Dean's eyes widen as he shuffles forward. The bulge grows and jumps as Cas undoes the button, sliding the zipper down slowly, watching every click catch Dean's breath.
The hard wood floors seem to yank the pants down from the man's hips, and they accumulate in a rumpled pile around Dean's ankles. The man quickly dances the rest of the way out of denim, finally kicking them to the side and out of the way. Cas's hands hover in the air and he begins to feel a little uneasy about what he is doing- not that he is exactly sure. The memories run through his head, of past dalliances. One woman sat in front of him, much like he is doing now with Dean, and proceeded to take him into her mouth as far as she could go. He found the sensation immensely pleasing. It is one he is sure Dean has experienced many more times than he, but each time was probably just as enjoyable. Castiel would like to be able to give Dean that feeling, anything really, to make his friend feel at ease-happy. The thought of a satisfied grin on Dean's face made Cas's softened bulge throb a little again- surprising him that anything could awaken his lower body so soon after Dean's attention. Yes, making Dean feel that way is the most arousing thing Cas can think of to do. The thought of being so close to something so fragile on Dean's body isn't bad either- there's a trust needed for that. If Dean will let him, Castiel wants to- if he can.
He knows the motions—that one woman had been quite enjoyable to observe; but to actually perform the act himself? The thought is rather unnerving. What about his gag reflex? What if he accidentally scrapes Dean with his teeth? That is a very sensitive area on a man's body and he knows that if used indelicately, it can lead to days of discomfort. Cas resolves to finally move his hands, knowing that Dean won't appreciate the wait, and analyzing the situation certainly won't make things any easier. Cas just needs to try.
The ridges of Dean's stomach tightly pull at his naval and Cas figures he can work his way down from this point—something for him to enjoy, to ease him into the process. He glides his fingers over the bumps on Dean's abdomen; stopping every now and then to give a particular freckle a tongue-filled kiss— only if it looks exceptionally needy that is, and many do. Dean doesn't seem to mind Cas's hesitation. The man rolls back his head and heaves heavy breathes that gust from his throat with each gliding touch of Castiel's tongue. Cas's lips finally brush against the gathered band of Dean's boxers. He looks up at Dean, blue eyes straining, as he bites the fabric with his teeth, pulling it down, getting a little help from his fingers. He pulls it lower and lower until the length of Dean springs out, grazing the side of Cas's scruffy cheek.
Dean's face seems to freeze, his mouth open and motionless for a moment, before his jaw bounces on wavering words, "Cas, this is, umm . . . you don't have to do this, man." but the eagerness Cas reads in Dean's eyes says differently.
He knows he could stop, use his hands like he had before, like he showed Dean how to do; although, he was just as unsure of what he was doing then. Both circumstances, however, did turn out quite well for being so un-researched. Perhaps, this will be the same; perhaps he has a knack with pleasing Dean. He certainly hopes he does, because his lips seem to have already committed—placing one, soft kiss onto the freshly uncovered cock in front of him.