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“I adore you,” Castiel whispers, his hot breath fanning against Dean’s neck, smelling distinctly of alcohol.
Dean feels a tremble run through his body.
“Y-you’re drunk, man,” Dean counters, but he himself hears that his voice is a bit shaky, brought out of balance by the warm, strong body pressing up against him.
“Yes,” Castiel agrees easily, “but I adore you nonetheless.” He nuzzles his nose behind Dean’s ear and presses a tiny kiss to the sensitive skin there.
Dean whimpers, feeling his stomach tighten and warmth rising up inside him. “Uh, Cas, I–” he tries to move away, his face burning, but Cas grasps his shoulder, stilling him with the simple touch alone, and kisses a tender line up his neck.
“You are so beautiful, Dean. Your soul, your body, all of you is radiant.”
“Cas–”
“In all of my existence, I have never looked upon anything that could have compared to your beauty.” Cas’ hand settles low and hot on the small of Dean’s back, grounding and promising and titillating. “I need to worship you properly, bring proof to the depth of my adoration for you, thoroughly praise the pureness of your heart.”
“Cas,” Dean pleads, and he feels his eyes sting with tears. Because it’s too much and he knows that Cas couldn’t possibly be genuine, that he’s only saying all that shit because he is drunk, making Dean hope for something he will never get and something he will never hear sober.
“Dean,” Cas responds, his lips working warmly and wetly against the skin of Dean’s neck, “I want to make love to you, Dean. Please, let me–”
“You don’t,” Dean breathes out, hating the pathetic little shudder in his voice. “You don’t mean that. You only say that shit ‘cause you’re drunk and horny and you’re not used to that yet, so–”
“No,” Cas cuts in, and the resolutness of his voice instantly shuts Dean up. Cas lets his kisses wander to Dean’s cheekbones, where his lips are soon replaced by his thumb, angling his face so that Cas can catch his gaze earnestly.
And surprisingly enough, despite the haze of alcohol, there is determination and lucidity in his blue eyes.
“Dean,” Cas says, so low that it could only be heard by Dean, only by someone as close as he is. “I mean every word of what I say.”
Dean shyly averts his gaze, blinks somewhere between Cas’ jaw and his throat. But Cas gently tilts his chin up, smiles softly at him when he makes eye contact again.
“I want to make love to you, Dean,” Cas rumbles, and his smile blossoms into something else, as if relieved by the truth of it and by that he is finally able to speak it. “I have wanted to for a long time. You are the most precious being of my whole existence, you are so beautiful–” Dean clenches his eyes shut, because for Cas, former Angel of the damn Lord, to call him, Dean Winchester, fuck-up extraordinaire, the most precious being of his whole existence is nothing short of blasphemy, it’s dragging his own Father’s name through the mud. But Cas doesn’t continue speaking for as long as Dean has his eyes shut, and his silence and his gently circling thumb wordlessly coax Dean to open them again. When Dean finally dares to, he is rewarded with the sight of pleased eye crinkles. “I promise you that you are deserving of any worship I am still capable of, and anything beyond that.”
Dean swallows hard, wishing the boiling heat inside him would stop, but with every second in which Cas’ hands and gaze are still on him, it only seems to grow. It’s terrible, and the most terrible thing of it all is that Cas does indeed seem earnest, true in what he says. As if he means it, that he is not just drunk and horny, but that he does think that Dean could be more than an easy, convenient fuck for him. Because there is nothing but adoration in his gaze, and hope, and it makes Dean crumble, makes him sigh deeply and wanting and just as hopeful.
Dean is weak, because he, too, has wanted this for a long time.
“If you,” Dean begins hesitantingly, and Cas stares at him unerringly, and the familiarity of it is comforting, “if you still feel that way in the morning, you can try again. Tell me all that shit sober and– and touch me,” he swallows again, cheeks flaming, “and maybe something might come out of it.”
And just as Cas has used it before, radiant is now the word that comes to Dean’s mind; because the huge, gummy grin spreading all over Cas’ face, making his eyes shine, his crinkles grow deeper and mess up his nose, his whole features relax and only tighten in happiness, is like staring into the sun, celestial in the truest sense of the word.
“I will,” Cas promises in a hushed and reverent tone, looking at Dean in wonder and endless gratitude, leaning forward to press one more kiss to his forehead. “In the morning, I will thoroughly show you my adoration and everything you are deserving of.”
And Dean, torn between a hotness very low in his stomach and calling Cas out on the sappiness of his words, simply smiles and enjoys the tender kiss, one of the few first of hopefully many to come. “Counting on it.”
*
It’s the sound of running water and the brushing of teeth that slowly draws Dean out of his sleep, and it’s coupled with the feeling of something being missing. He’s not able to place what would be missing, though, can barely remember the evening before in his sleepy haze, but things come slowly back to him when he reaches towards the other side, of the bed, as if in expectation for there to be something, someone, and finds it empty.
And strangely enough, that is what is weird and what is missing, even though it should be the expected state of things, is what he has gotten used to over the years, not— whatever he was hoping for. No phantom feelings of arms wrapped around him, holding him securely, of lips pressing against the nape of his neck, of a constant chant of sweet words that were, unlikely as it sounds, directed at him.
The sound of the motel room’s bathroom door falling shut has Dean instantly awake.
Out of a reflex, he is already grabbing beneath his pillow, looking for a weapon that is not there, and when he looks up in the panic that always swamps him with being unarmed and vulnerable, he stiffens out of a completely different reason than before.
Because out of the bathroom, Cas has come, is coming, dressed in his rumpled dress shirt and the boxers Dean has managed to get him down to the night before, but he’s wearing nothing beyond that and a look of determination on his face. And it’s with that look that he strides forward, towards Dean and the bed, both still waiting on him, and he doesn’t even slow down once he’s got his knees on the mattress, crawling forward with the same fluency and resolution as he had when walking, and it takes Cas no time at all to reach the head of the bed, to hover on his hands and knees above a wide-eyed Dean, to stare down on him with dark eyes.
Dean thinks he might not be breathing, but he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know. How could something like breathing be relevant when there’s a determined former Angel of the Lord blanketing his body with his own, all strong lines and set intent and the warmth Dean was already missing after getting to enjoy it only once.
Dean is nothing but a pathetic, unbreathing heap that’s covered by a mountain that looks like it’s going to fuck him into next week. Or something like that. Whatever his skill with metaphors, it changes nothing about the fact that there are thick, muscled arms to each side of his head and a strong body that promises all kinds of things. Things that involve Dean being taken roughly and absolutely thoroughly.
Dean hears himself swallow. Which the angel seems to take as a cue.
“I adore you,” Cas says, and Dean feels just as disbelieving and undeserving of these three little words as before, and they are so out of place with what Dean has expected. But that doesn’t keep Cas from going. “All that is still left of me, whether grace or soul or the body that is now mine, aches for you. Screams out for me to heed the bond that we share, to achieve unity with you in whatever way you grant me.”
And wow, that is new, but it’s just as overwhelming and exorbitant as everything Cas said the night before, and Dean doesn’t know how he could react in any other way then, how he could not just try to avert his eyes and body again. Though for his body, there is no means of escaping, too fenced in is he. And Cas’ gaze, too, he seems not to be able to escape from.
It’s a moment of hesitation, for Dean at least. Of considering whether he should step back, shove Cas off, even though he really, really doesn’t want to. Maybe Cas feels that, his dilemma that actually isn’t so much a dilemma as Dean not allowing himself stuff, despite craving them with everything he has.
Because then suddenly, Cas’ lips are back where they belong, pressing against Dean’s neck, ever-so-softly, and his whole body arches in to Dean, a dome of warmth and a buzz of clean electricity above him, lightening him up.
Making Dean feel good and safe and loved.
For one moment, Dean forgets all about his doubts and hesitations and about how this couldn’t possibly be true, that there is no former celestial being pressing down on him, no Castiel The Terrible, only Cas, who said he was longing for Dean, and if he was longing for Dean even a fraction of how much Dean longed for him, then it must have been unbearable.
It’s why Dean becomes reckless, why he reaches out with his hands and grabs Cas’ face with them, to force him away from Dean’s neck and to guide him up instead, up to where Dean’s lips are open and waiting and suddenly done with waiting, then claiming, claiming, forcing a sweet moan from Cas, making his angel sing and press all of his body against Dean’s, the hard line of his desire, making Cas grasp for him in return, with greedy hands and even greedier lips.
And the hotness between Dean’s legs comes so suddenly, yet has been swelling for years, and the physical realization of it seems to be just as much of a turn-on for Cas as Cas’ is for Dean, because as soon as Dean bucks up against him, their erections sliding together through two layers of sheer fabric, Cas grows into their kiss and thrusts back almost violently. It makes Dean whimper in his arousal and the reality of it all, and it must be this whimper that softens Cas just that bit, that has him pull away from Dean’s lips for one painful moment, to breathe and stare at Dean, who stares back, green and blue.
And written on Cas’ face are the exact same emotions as Dean feels inside himself: relief, wonder, admiration, need, something more, something that Dean has known all along about, but is still too scared to name. In the cowardly depths of his heart, he hopes that maybe Cas will do so for him.
“Dean,” Cas begins as if he wants to say something more, but instead of going on about things Dean won’t believe if told, only through actions, he shuffles his hard and hot length away from Dean’s, just that bit. And Dean whines with the loss, but Cas shushes him with a small sound and a smiley kiss to the tip of his nose. And in the next moment, Dean already doesn’t feel like whining anymore, when Cas pulls down Dean’s boxers, exposing just exactly how much he wants Cas, and Cas pulls down his own boxers, not just telling of how much he wants Dean, but also of what a nice, thick cock Jimmy had been packing.
It makes Dean moan wantonly, makes him beg in tiny little “Cas, Cas, Cas”s for his angel to instantly let all those fantasies in his mind come true, but Cas seems to have regained his patience. He doesn’t hold Dean down and fuck him hard like Dean wants to, doesn’t split him open on his cock, neither does he sit back and tell Dean to ride him hard and fast; instead, his lips find Dean’s again, just like his hips regain their closeness, but this time, Cas’ hand also sneaks between them. His big palm gathers both Dean’s and his own erection, a slight slickness to them thanks to the precum Dean is too aroused to be embarrassed about. And when there is finally contact between them, when Dean feels with his very own cock how hard he has gotten Cas, he lets out a helpless moan and fucks up into Cas fist.
Cas makes a huffing sound as if laughing, but his expression is too dark with arousal for the amusement to show on his face. So, he presses his lips demanding against Dean’s, tightens his hold around their cocks and jerks his hand quickly up and down the lengths of them.
And Cas swallows each of Dean’s little moans and pleas, kissing him in fast succession when he is the one who can’t but moan and call out for Dean.
Especially when Dean can feel how both of them have gotten so hard and slick, they must be close, and when with it, Cas becomes vocal again. Not only does he have troubles keeping his lips against Dean’s in order to stave off his own moans, but he, once again, starts going on about ridiculous things, stuff that sounds too good to be true, to be believed.
Such as when he bites into Dean’s bottom lip and tells him that he has dreamt of touching and holding Dean before he even knew what his desire was, what this physicality was that he was craving for.
And when Cas works his index fingers between the two cocks and presses it up and down, massaging the sensitive organs almost painfully, he confesses, “Once I understood that I wanted to take you to bed, I thought my longing was shameful and debauched, that someone as full of light and goodness and purity as you are could only ever by sullied by the touch of the likes of me.”
But when it’s Dean who is mindlessly biting and sucking at Cas’ lips, small tears dripping down the corners of his eyes because of how good, how absolutely, mindblowingly fantastic Cas’ fingers and his cock and his words feel, Cas tells him with a smile that is only evident in his voice that, “Despite it all, it didn't stop me from me from wrapping my hand around my own cock, from imagining what it would be like to be honest like this with you, to show you what your beauty and righteousness were to a celestial being such as myself, what they did to me. Because you are so pure and beautiful that it is already sinful again, and it had been impossible right from the beginning, ever since I first laid eyes and hands on you, that I could not have wanted you, that I could not have fallen for you in every way imagineable.”
And right when Dean wants to protest, when he wants to apologize, that Cas rapidly moves his hand and fucks into his fist, almost painfully against Dean’s aching and throbbing cock, and he promises, in a whisper and in the filthiest voice possible, that all of it, that Dean was worth it.
And it is then that Dean sobs and screams and his whole vision fills with a white haze and a warm blue, and his ears are pierced by a high-pitched sound that might be either himself screaming or the sound of an angel coming all over him, though the only sensations his body and mind really do register are nothing but pleasure and kisses and adoration, and Dean accepts it all, accepts Cas’ breathed-out confession and promises and the animalistic encounter of their bodies and minds and the pounding, painful, all-encompassing ecstasy, and the blackness that eventually overtakes him.