Raphael approaches sex with the confidence of someone who once described in detail to Dean where they would cut him open to pull out his liver the fastest with the least damage and with the awkward hesitance of someone who will never quite be used to having five fingers on each hand. It leads to situations like them taking hold of his erection once it springs up — and how could it not, when wrestling with an archangel always ends with Dean flat on his back with them on top? — and then sitting there unmoving with it in their hand, not sure if they even want to continue. More than once, the two of them have made it halfway there, stripped down, bed creaking, and Raphael has suddenly needed to stop. Dean always does. He's a big boy; he can handle his blue balls with his own hand, thanks. If Raphael's going to have sex with him, he wants them to enjoy it the entire time.

That's why he's encouraging when they do seem comfortable. He winds them up with the foreplay he's learning they enjoy best: No kisses but his mouth on their neck makes them sigh, no biting but they love when he lets them scratch up his back and especially when he groans in response, no grinding unless they initiate it but touching their chest just might make them start. Raphael's a puzzle he loves figuring out, and his reward is when they shove him over onto his back and get on top. His cock aches as it strains up to reach between their legs, but Dean swallows that down to focus on them.

"How's it feel down there?" Dean asks. "Ready to go, or should we do something else?" Raphael's expression is unreadable as they wrap their hand around his dick and press it back against themselves. "I'd love to eat you out. Just scoot up a little, take a seat." He sticks his tongue out, as though Raphael needs to be told where he wants them to sit. They look up, meet his eyes, then back down at where his dick is sliding between their folds. He sucks in a breath. Their clit rubs against his shaft, making Raphael grunt in the back of their throat.

"No, I want this," they say. They sound certain, and Dean's sure as hell not going to question them. Raphael gets shocky when they're annoyed, and Dean's really more of a spanking guy than into electricity stuff.

They sink down onto him slowly. Dean braces his hands against their thighs, watching their face for any sign of discomfort. For someone who is unused to having a body, Raphael wears expressions freely. The strongest connection between this vessel and their last is that their smile is the same shape.

Raphael finds a rhythm that has Dean's mouth running in no time. He can't help himself. They feel amazing, and he needs them to know it. If it all comes out sounding like cheap porn dialogue, well, at least he's honest about where he gets his ideas from.

"Fuck, Raphael, ride that dick. Make yourself come on it, b-" His first stumble comes when his brain supplies him his usual baby, and he has to backtrack fast, "ba- beautiful?" That's the right one to go with, as Raphael looks surprised and pleased at the compliment. Dean relaxes. "Can I rub your clit?" he asks. They nod, and he sits up on one elbow, reaching between their legs with his other hand. They have one of the prettiest clits he's ever seen (Leaves him thinking about if he'd find their dick just as pretty, and by now, he thinks he really would.) and he rolls his thumb over it. Raphael moans for the first time, an undisputed victory for him.

"Yeah, handsome," he tests, and he gets a confused frown, "I mean, uh, gorgeous." Raphael eyes flick skyward for a moment, as though they're praying for help to stand fucking him any longer. "You're so hot inside. So fucking wet." He keeps his finger on their clit, speeding his movements whenever they rise to let his cock drag out of them. "I can't wait to lick my come back out of you. I'm gonna suck on your clit till it's sore. You want that, ba- Raphael? You wanna fuck my dick until you come and then smother me in your pussy?" He has no idea if his dirty talk does anything for them, but he's also not sure if he can actually stop now that he's started.

"Dean," Raphael moans. Dean wants to push himself up and get his mouth on their tits again, but he doesn't want to upset the angle they've got working for them. He makes do.

"Take it deep, sweetheart, that's fucking-" He sucks in a breath, reminds himself that he's got to make them come first. That's just polite, no matter how tight they are around him… "Fuck, you're such a good-"

A few times in Dean's life, he's felt the entire world slow to a crawl. He's heard each individual heartbeat in his ears, slowly pumping. He's seen the attacking claws of a werewolf swinging down at his face like it's stuck in molasses. The clocks all stop and his mind starts to whir and he knows that if he can't find a way out of this, he's looking at a future in a wooden box six feet under.

Now, he's never had that happen to him during sex, but Raphael is always teaching him new tricks.

The first word is already out of his mouth. There's no turning back. He can feel the second shape forming, his lips moving. Raphael's eyes are focused on him intently. He's got to figure out what to say. His usual praise flies out the window. He's going to have to come up with something sweet to call them and fast.

Shit. He's got nothing.

The world speeds back up. With all the grace of a turtle on its back in the middle of a highway, a word falls out of his mouth, and he has no idea what it will be until it reaches his own ears, "buuuaahthhey."

Raphael stops dead. Dean's dick is very angry with him for that.

"What did you say?" they ask. Dean swallows.

"I didn't say anything," he lies, despite the fact that Raphael is on top of him and was watching his mouth when he spoke.

Raphael stares at him.

"Uhm," Dean's brain has stalled.

Raphael's nail dig into his chest as their lips purse. Dean is about to beg them to not smite him when he sees their shoulders shake. Their mouth pulls tighter. Their eyes squeeze shut.

And finally, they fail to hold their laughter back any longer.

Dean has heard Raphael chuckle before. He's made them huff in feigned annoyance. He's never heard them like this before, bowed over his body and laughing loudly with their whole chest. Dean's unease disappears as he watches them. He's pretty sure the panes of glass in the windows across the room are vibrating. A crack of thunder rolls far overhead when they glance up to meet his eyes again only to tumble right back into laughter.

Dean bites his lip to hold back a moan. Every time they laugh, they tighten around his dick. Raphael catches their breath, slumping over him. Dean steadies them, running his hand up and down their back, feeling the final shivers of joy that escape them. Raphael rests their forehead against his chest. He can feel them sigh heavily against him.

"'Good they'," they echo.

"Sure, make fun of me for trying to be affirming," Dean mutters, but even he can hear how fond it sounds.

"They," Raphael emphasizes, and Dean flushes. He turns his head away when they look up at him to try and hide it.

"What else was I supposed to say?" Raphael pushes themselves to sit up, making Dean grit his teeth against moaning as the position surrounds his dick in their heat again.

"Why are you calling me 'good' at all?" they question. Dean flushes worse, burning hot to the tips of his ears.

"I don't know, it's- it's just what you say. Good girl, good boy, good- uh." Raphael tips their head slightly, looking unconvinced. "It's a thing," he insists.

"Is that why you're always running your mouth while we have sex?"

"I am not-"

"You've never shut up. Not once since we met." Dean can't help grinning at them.

"Hey, feel free to get off my dick any time you want."

"I'm not done using it," Raphael says, and to prove it, they rise a little and slide back down the shaft. Dean's the one who whines at the feeling.

"G-good they," he edges out around the noises they force from him. Raphael puts a hand over his mouth.

"When I am done, I'm putting this to better use than babbling," they say, firmly. Dean's dick twitches as they lift their hand away.

"Whatever you want, sir," he says, more breathless than he intends to let on, and he's about to flinch at his own words when he hears Raphael inhale sharply.

"I like that," they whisper. "Say it again."

"Yes, sir," Dean obeys eagerly.

He ends the night with muscles that ache in places he didn't know they could and one very satisfied archangel.