Disclaimer: I don't own a thing, obviously. A.N. Aaand here it ends. Finally, I know! XD Hope you all enjoy this.
When they finally part, Cas almost follows Dean's mouth right back, unwilling to stop. A harsh pant reminds him that humans do need to breathe, at least every now and then. Oops. He didn't expect the experience to be that overwhelming, in a brain-wiping kind of way.
He must look as sheepish as he feels, because once he gets his breath back, Dean chuckles. "Hey, Cas. Top marks, really. Be proud."
"Not yet. Not until you're completely happy." He's an angel on a mission. And he's not going to be proud at little steps forward.
"That...huh, might take awhile." Dean's smile has a self-deprecating tilt.
"We have all the time in the universe." The Apocalypse might be impending, but he's not going to let that little detail separate the two of them. Not ever, not unless Dean's feelings about them change.
"Not if you don't put a sock on the doorknob, we don't." This time, Dean's smile is bright, eyes twinkling.
Castiel knows all about Enochian sigils, and he is aware that people can use all kinds of symbols and ingredients for spells, communication and assorted ends. This still sounds weird. Time is a finicky thing, but he's pretty sure human clothing can not influence it in any significant way, no matter its positioning. He doesn't object aloud, but he stares at Dean, confused.
"You don't want us to be interrupted again, do you?" his beloved asks.
Oh. No, he very much doesn't. And sure, Sam's aware that they'll be busy, but should what Dean wants run longer than they both expect...it might be wise.
Dean tosses him one (clean, from his duffel) sock, and Cas almost ceremoniously complies, closing the door behind him.
"Now...what do you want, Dean?" His voice becomes even lower than usual, all by itself. Normally he's careful to pitch it a little lower than his vessel would normally use. After all, he did create discomfort for Dean before having one, his own usual angelic vibration too high-pitched for him. So what if he's hypercorrecting. Just making extra sure to be good for him.
The way Dean shivers now doesn't feel like distress...at all. "Whatever," he groans. "Cas, if you really want more...You better prove it."
Cas grins. Oh, he plans to, as many times as his beloved requires. "I will. But I've never touched another, so you'll have to tell me. I need to be sure I'm doing the right thing."
Dean's next moan is almost as deep as Cas' own voice had been. "Ok, yeah, I can do that." He pants again. "Probably. Touch me? Before I lose my mind?"
Cas nods, all too eager. He can do that. He wants to do that. He kisses Dean again, because he can. One hand cradling him again, like the treasure he is. The other slipping along his body, sneaking under his shirts, seeking skin to ground the both of them.
Dean's hands are back on him, too, tugging impatiently on the coat.
Cas isn't trying to read his partner's mind, per se. Dean's just broadcasting so loudly (maybe they do have something in common) that the image of both of them, naked, flashes behind his eyelids with perfect clarity.
Always willing to please, Cas thinks all their clothes in a heap on the nearest chair, and they obey.
Dean blinks at him, green eyes wide and hungry. "Nice," he purrs, and then his hands are on Cas, restlessly sliding across his skin, raising goosebumps of pleasure. Cas imitates him, growing confident (there's no better mentor he could wish for, after all), gently teasing a perked nipple. The moan that earns him is wild, and Dean's hands turn more grabby, as if looking for support under the onslaught of pleasure.
The angel leads him towards the bed. Surely Dean'll be more comfortable there. His beloved goes more than willingly, dropping on it and tugging, as if afraid Cas would not follow. Which is silly indeed. Dean only has to say the word, and Cas would go with him anywhere, anytime.
"Not a dream, is it?" Dean suddenly asks, voice husky.
"Very real...Have you dreamed this, before?" Cas is curious. He can't help himself.
Dean turns his head aside, almost hiding. "Mmmaybe."
"I want to make it come true. In detail. Please, Dean. "
That earns him another groan. "Don't wanna use my mouth for talking." For pouting. apparently, which looks devastatingly gorgeous on him - like everything else.
Cas can indulge him. Always will, if it's at all doable. "Just think about what you want. It worked well before, didn't it?"
"Mm-mmh" Dean says, flushing (and he looks possibly even prettier) but not protesting Castiel's plan to read his mind. He could often be so protective of his privacy. Then again, he hadn't known how Cas felt then.
The angel is almost - almost - distracted by his beloved's hands and lips, now emboldened, surer, exploring body parts that Cas had no idea would be so very sensitive. Who knew that the nerves behind his ear could make the room's spotlight explode? (Cas didn't mean to, and his wings spread reflexively, protecting them from an accident.)
Dean laughs, exhilarated and a little smug, and there's no room for Cas to feel guilty or awkward about it, because he'd give so much to hear it as often as possible.
They keep exploring each other, slow and rapt, hands and lips and just a little teeth, when the image flashes through Dean's mind. They're both learning, in a way, and even with the eagerness coursing through them both, rushing the relief of such a long, long yearning would feel a little like a sacrilege. Every keen and pant, moan and whine forms a counterpoint concert that echoes through them - and possibly beyond, like a powerful incantation.
Desire rolls in waves off them, breaking against each other but never quite cresting. Time melts and slips between their fingers. Usually Castiel feels it around him, but at the moment, he couldn't say if he laid Dean on his bed five minutes or centuries ago.
Another image flashes through Castiel's head, a random bottle in Dean's duffel, but this time he doesn't move. Not with Dean undulating against him. No matter what it contains, he can't be serious. They don't need a break. Not right now.
Dean lightly kicks his shin. "Come on, Cas! Lube!"
"What for?" Cas's head tilts in confusion.
"Because I need you," his beloved whines.
"You have me." The angel has never been more earnest. It'd help if things started making sense though.
"No, I..I want you, and...Look, you're not gonna fit otherwise, okay?" A much more explicative image follows, and frankly Cas won't be surprised if some psychic in the next town gets it too, so intense it is.
The angel chuckles, and Dean shudders under him. "I'm not joking," his beloved protests, nipping at Cas' throat.
"Trust me?" he rumbles. A heartbeat, and Dean nods.
Cas's hand slips lower, sliding gently round and round his beloved's hole. Dean tenses, but doesn't try to dislodge him. Some gentle teasing doesn't see him relaxing yet, so Cas lets one fingertip penetrate him. The pulse of grace that follows makes his beloved gasp.
"What?"
"You know I am capable of manipulating the human body," Cas reminds him gently. He's healed him already. Knitting a rib isn't in a completely different realm from easing a tightly wound muscle.
"Is that...allowed?" Dean pants against his shoulder.
"Discretional powers," Cas replies, which is true. He doubts that Dean wants to hear about exactly how many blessings they have right now.
The angel still goes slow, more focused than he's ever been despite how fundamentally easy this is. But he's drinking in everything, details adding up until it's almost too much to keep his head straight. The hot, silky, perfect feel of Dean's inner walls around his fingers, pushing inside him one at a time, probing, tentative. The way his body answers to him, docile and eager, especially when Cas discovers the effect of a certain gland's stimulation. Each whine and groan, the near senseless chant of, "More more more more" his beloved soon devolves into.
It's distracting. Overwhelming. Sublime.
"Now, Cas." Dean's lost any shred of patience he might have clung to for now, but it's fine. He's finally fully relaxed. Open for him.
The angel rumbles his assent, and - yes. Joined. As close as possible on this plane. He can see (and feel, and taste) the appeal. Dean around him, still so tight, as if he doesn't want to let him go ever again. Hips rolling, pleasure spiking, and Cas is in control, must be in control before something else explodes, and he can. For Dean. It's difficult, though.
His beloved's approval is vocal and enthusiastic. It would make this the best experience in his life, even if his body didn't speak to Cas all on its own, thrilled, wanting, praiseful. It's more potent than even his own vessel's never before encountered (well, not by Cas) perceptions, neurons firing in surprising patterns, because it's Dean. Dean, finally happy, near deliriously so, and because of him.
Bodily delights aside, how do you reach a goal so long sought, and not let it rush to...every single part of you, really?
Time and space are pulsing and bending again, just as they are. Not that Cas has the brainpower to care at the moment, Dean his everything, each breath, each shiver a vibration Cas has made himself in tune with. Every flash of pleasure reverberates through them, until he's not even sure what's purely Dean's and what's his. Cas' control is slipping, but not his desire, no, his need for his beloved's bliss.
They're wound together now, inextricably, and even while he yearns for this forever he knows it can't last, not so intense, not... And then it's suddenly so much more, Dean clamping down on him, screaming his name, painting Cas white. The angel's wings spread, unbidden, self-restraint gone, and -
The flutter in the air gets Sam's attention. Angel coming.
It's Gabriel, which could be unnerving enough. Yes, they've helped each other lately, but he's never going to forget what the archangel can do. The fact that he's pale, mouth drawn, as if he's trying not to hurl, sends panic stabbing through his heart. Please no. Things were supposed to go well.
Weirdly, Gabriel's holding a laptop, but Sam's already one step from the door. No, he doesn't care what Gabriel is up to, and he definitely doesn't want to stay here and watch, or - whatever might be his plan.
"You're going to regret it if you go."
"Fuck you," Sam grouses, but he stills. If it's a threat, he needs to know the full extent of it.
Gabriel looks a bit more like himself, and blurts out, "You don't happen to have archangel-strength earplugs, by any chance?"
"What?" He's getting whiplash here. How do you even...soaked in holy oil? Or what?
"Not so lucky, of course." Gabriel pushes the laptop into his hands. "Here, yours is definitely toast, so - thought I'd prevent that specific earplugs aren't on the table, though... Someone gotta fiddle with Cas' volume controls, seriously. Or install some in the first place."
Oh. Well, they've met Anna, and...Things are suddenly falling into place. Sam can't help it. He should commiserate - he has an oversharing brother of his own, even if after the fact. Instead, he chuckles. "Finally success, huh?"
Gabriel nods, still wincing a little. "I kinda want to see Michael's face now. Do you think it's safe?"
"I don't exactly have much data on him, you know," Sam huffs.
"Right. Almost forgot."
Forgot what? Before he can investigate, Gabriel's gone again. Where to, Sam frankly doesn't care.