[ Cas feels good every time they fuck, but there's something about knowing that the angel can feel everything, for real, that has Dean's head spinning in circles, the heat around the tip of his cock nearly unwinding him right there.
A few steady breaths in and he pushes deeper, agonizingly slow, centimeter by centimeter, until his hips are flus to Cas', warm skin on skin, a wrecked noise dragged out deep from his chest. ]
[ the muscles in his arms are burning. it's strange to realize it's impossible to tune out. it doesn't overpower the sensation of dean sinking inside him, but somehow manages to heighten it— the way his attention is split between two disparate needs of his body but continually forced to redirect. it burns, a little, even with the generous application of oil, but he likes the sharpness of it.
he wants to rock back but doesn't, lets dean continue to drive the pace until he's fully sheathed. much like the first time, he can't quite stops marveling about even at the concept: that dean is inside of him, that they're joined in this way. he stares down at the grass crushed beneath his hands, mouth hanging open, and breathes. his fingertips are white where they're indenting the earth, his knuckles flushed pink. ]
[ Dean's gonna lose his goddamn brain like this, clutching at Cas, knees aching on the dirt, body trembling at the sensation of being buried inside of Cas, cock sheathed in tight, slick heat. ]
Fuck,
[ It's breathed out in a shuddery voice, hips moving of their own volition, out and in, out and in, slow and gentle. ]
You okay? You good?
what the hell did i do to the second sentence of that second paragraph lmfao
[ when dean begins to move, he can hardly breathe. which is a bit of a problem, considering he currently has to. he chokes, softly, only for the breath to rush out of him all at once, his sudden following inhale a whimper as the friction becomes a blooming heat. unfurling in his gut, unraveling through every inch of his body, leaving him sweat-slicked. he begins to move with dean, then, completely involuntarily— so that he doesn't even realize he's doing it for the first several moments. ]
Yes, but— I can't—
[ his arms are about to give out. and it's either suffer the indignity of letting it happen and smashing his face into the dirt, or give in and go down the graceful way. he opts for the latter, folding one arm and then the other, propping himself on his elbows, putting the onus of his weight on his shoulders. then he presses his cheek into the cool grass and exhales. ]
[ He runs a hand down his back, smoothing fingers over his spine, feeling every vertebrae, every inch of skin. He's warm, fire under Dean's hand, and he groans again, hips jerking, slapping once into Cas' ass. ]
You-- okay, is that, does that hurt?
[ To be ass up under Dean Winchester, face in the grass? ]
[ he pushes the words out of his mouth to reassure dean, and they're the truth. the change in angle leaves him feeling more exposed, but does he actually mind that feeling? he's been cavorting around in a loincloth for the past several weeks, some part of him that he doesn't entirely understand hoping that dean would notice his body, this body.
and then he just offered himself up on a silver platter, instead. well, that's one way to get someone's attention. this is probably the neediest he's been since they started doing having sex, impatient and all too human with his powers snipped. he breathes in the scent of the grass, the rich, earthy dirt, and sighs. ]
[ His voice is ragged, low; velvet dragged over glass, a whiskey rumble. Cas is beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and Dean's hands grip his hips tight, mine. This is mine. ]
[ yes, he does, and he thinks he would tell dean what he wants, except that he can't get the words out. he opens his mouth, shoulders trembling as he tries to prop himself up again— the muscles strain, rippling beneath the tan skin of his smooth back, a gasp slipping out from between his lips. dean's fingers dig into his spread thighs again, and he has no defense built up against this— can't help it when he cries out and splatters cum over the scratchy grass beneath them, clamping hard and hot around dean's cock inside him while pleasure burns through him like a brand. ]
[ Well, fuck. That's not what he intended. The moment he feels Cas tense up around him, Dean moves, rolling into him, dragging his dick over Cas' prostate, fucking the orgasm out of him so he doesn't leave Cas wanting.
Still. Damn. ]
God, you're so gorgeous Cas, I love it when you're like this, you're so reactive. I can't believe you come like this just off my cock, friggin' incredible.
[ the words come out pinched, and oh, god. the way dean moves inside him unravels him completely, his fingers digging into the dirt and pulling up grass, chlorophyll green smeared across his knees when he squirms and presses back, trying to get more friction in just that one spot, please, more— when it gets too much, he's not going to be able to push it this time, but he doesn't care.
[ well... to be fair, it really doesn't make much difference. he was going to let dean come inside him, and it's not like that wouldn't have made a huge mess. he's forgetting he can't just clean them up with a snap of his fingers.
granted, he's not thinking much of anything at all, with dean's cock still stretching him wide. ]
[ His hips start to move again, quicker, harder, until he can feel himself teetering, right there on the precipice, fingers digging into Cas' hips until he can't anymore. Dean pulls out with a slick pop, a hand going to his cock as he comes with a wreck moan, sticky ribbons of warm cum splattering over the angels back. ]
[ dean could do anything to him and he would let him. he still maintains that he's doing this for him, regardless of how he feels about it. maybe the truth is that he just enjoys being led. it feels good not to have to think about it, to know that dean will take care of the logistics.
the pleasure builds into something sharp, and cas pants against the grass, skin slick, covered in a sheen of sweat that catches the warm, evening sun. he presses his forehead to the earth, feeling its movement beneath them, and shudders when dean pulls out to splatter hot ejaculate across the skin. his cock gives a feeble twitch, and he reaches between his legs to touch it, just to see how it might feel— too much, immediately, but he squeezes himself anyway, fisting a few times until he's whining and can't take it any longer, until it hurts.
then he lets go, shivering against the ground, beginning to grow cold again. ]
[ He empties onto Cas' back so hard he sees stars, bursts of light behind squeezed eyelids, a whimper in his throat that matches Cas' little whine.
When it's over, when every drop has splattered over perfect skin and Dean is spent, he trembles, muscles twitching, leaning over Cas to gather him up, pull him close even if the stick of cum is between them, thick and viscous, smeared over back and chest. He lays them down, winding around Cas tightly, face pressed against his neck, licking at sweaty skin. ]
[ the words twist in his gut, and he doesn't know what to make of the sensation; the sharp pull through his center that makes the feeling of cum smeared across his back and sticking their skin together somehow pleasurable, instead of disgusting. he lays his arm over dean's arm around his middle, tightening his shaky fingers around dean's wrist. ]
[ a laugh bubbles up out of him, soft and hoarse. it's just, uh, simultaneously embarrassing to hear it put that way, and endearing that dean is so self-conscious suddenly. he squeezes his wrist in what's meant to be reassurance, then pauses and gently— hesitantly— uncurls his fingers and slides his hand down to overlap with his own. ]
No, no, I'm all right.
[ but there's a lump in his throat, a feeling of his chest being squeezed, and he doesn't quite know what it means. ]
[ Dean breathes a sigh of relief, pressing his face right into Cas' hair as he flips his hand to rest palm to palm, lacing his fingers with his angels.
[ by his logic, dean should be thanking him, but he can't shake the habit. it just seems like the right thing to do, when dean is giving him this kind of pleasure. he lets dean lace their fingers, squeezing his hand, glancing down to look at their twisted together fingers. ]
[ there's a catch of emotion in his voice that normally doesn't reside there, and that should be enough for dean to tell that what he said was affecting. it's a strange thing. he has a habit of taking certain figurative terms of speech too literally, owing to the fact that his native language isn't modern english, and a cultural gap several billion years vast.
and perhaps he simply struggles with context for his own reasons, possibly—
but he knows what dean means when he says that.
he doesn't know if it's true. if, figuratively, or literally, it could possibly be true. but the idea arrests him all the same. because he wants that, wants to fit— is desperate to fit anywhere, to be wanted for anything, but more than all of that— is desperate to belong with dean. to have a place with him in the world. his fingers squeeze tighter, trembling with the force of it. he's not strong enough to hurt him this way. ]
[ Dean's feeling a little raw, pressed up against Cas despite the semen between them. He'd watched Cas die again, for what had felt like the billionth time, and his heart feels...cracked open. Exposed. His hold on Castiel tightens and he breathes in, hitched, catching in his throat on thorns.
Cas squeezes his fingers and he squeezes back, keeping his face pressed into sweaty hair, committing the moment to memory. ]
Yeah, Cas. We're like...
[ He thinks on it a moment, shifting on the ground, uncomfortable but barely noticing. ]
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[ Cas feels good every time they fuck, but there's something about knowing that the angel can feel everything, for real, that has Dean's head spinning in circles, the heat around the tip of his cock nearly unwinding him right there.
A few steady breaths in and he pushes deeper, agonizingly slow, centimeter by centimeter, until his hips are flus to Cas', warm skin on skin, a wrecked noise dragged out deep from his chest. ]
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he wants to rock back but doesn't, lets dean continue to drive the pace until he's fully sheathed. much like the first time, he can't quite stops marveling about even at the concept: that dean is inside of him, that they're joined in this way. he stares down at the grass crushed beneath his hands, mouth hanging open, and breathes. his fingertips are white where they're indenting the earth, his knuckles flushed pink. ]
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Fuck,
[ It's breathed out in a shuddery voice, hips moving of their own volition, out and in, out and in, slow and gentle. ]
You okay? You good?
what the hell did i do to the second sentence of that second paragraph lmfao
Yes, but— I can't—
[ his arms are about to give out. and it's either suffer the indignity of letting it happen and smashing his face into the dirt, or give in and go down the graceful way. he opts for the latter, folding one arm and then the other, propping himself on his elbows, putting the onus of his weight on his shoulders. then he presses his cheek into the cool grass and exhales. ]
lmfao
You-- okay, is that, does that hurt?
[ To be ass up under Dean Winchester, face in the grass? ]
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[ he pushes the words out of his mouth to reassure dean, and they're the truth. the change in angle leaves him feeling more exposed, but does he actually mind that feeling? he's been cavorting around in a loincloth for the past several weeks, some part of him that he doesn't entirely understand hoping that dean would notice his body, this body.
and then he just offered himself up on a silver platter, instead. well, that's one way to get someone's attention. this is probably the neediest he's been since they started doing having sex, impatient and all too human with his powers snipped. he breathes in the scent of the grass, the rich, earthy dirt, and sighs. ]
I— I need you to keep—
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[ His voice is ragged, low; velvet dragged over glass, a whiskey rumble. Cas is beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and Dean's hands grip his hips tight, mine. This is mine. ]
Tell me what you want. Tell me.
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Still. Damn. ]
God, you're so gorgeous Cas, I love it when you're like this, you're so reactive. I can't believe you come like this just off my cock, friggin' incredible.
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[ the words come out pinched, and oh, god. the way dean moves inside him unravels him completely, his fingers digging into the dirt and pulling up grass, chlorophyll green smeared across his knees when he squirms and presses back, trying to get more friction in just that one spot, please, more— when it gets too much, he's not going to be able to push it this time, but he doesn't care.
cock still dribbling, he forces out: ]
I want you... to keep going. Until you finish.
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[ He wants to keep going, to fuck Cas into kingdom come, but he might have a better idea. ]
How about I come all over your back, huh? Little reverse pearl necklace.
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[ dean he is not in the place to be trying to understand your weird metaphors.
but that doesn't sound like a bad idea, if it's what dean wants to do. ]
Uh, okay...
[ do they... have anything to clean up with. oh well, they'll learn the hard way if they don't. ]
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[ Well. They have deans duffle and all his clothes in it, but no real way to wash them. Oh well. ]
Doesn’t matter. Imma fuck you a little then come all over you. Okay?
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[ well... to be fair, it really doesn't make much difference. he was going to let dean come inside him, and it's not like that wouldn't have made a huge mess. he's forgetting he can't just clean them up with a snap of his fingers.
granted, he's not thinking much of anything at all, with dean's cock still stretching him wide. ]
I want... want you to.
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[ His hips start to move again, quicker, harder, until he can feel himself teetering, right there on the precipice, fingers digging into Cas' hips until he can't anymore. Dean pulls out with a slick pop, a hand going to his cock as he comes with a wreck moan, sticky ribbons of warm cum splattering over the angels back. ]
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the pleasure builds into something sharp, and cas pants against the grass, skin slick, covered in a sheen of sweat that catches the warm, evening sun. he presses his forehead to the earth, feeling its movement beneath them, and shudders when dean pulls out to splatter hot ejaculate across the skin. his cock gives a feeble twitch, and he reaches between his legs to touch it, just to see how it might feel— too much, immediately, but he squeezes himself anyway, fisting a few times until he's whining and can't take it any longer, until it hurts.
then he lets go, shivering against the ground, beginning to grow cold again. ]
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When it's over, when every drop has splattered over perfect skin and Dean is spent, he trembles, muscles twitching, leaning over Cas to gather him up, pull him close even if the stick of cum is between them, thick and viscous, smeared over back and chest. He lays them down, winding around Cas tightly, face pressed against his neck, licking at sweaty skin. ]
You're beautiful.
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Dean— I—
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[ He's not ashamed, exactly. But he's a little sheepish. ]
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No, no, I'm all right.
[ but there's a lump in his throat, a feeling of his chest being squeezed, and he doesn't quite know what it means. ]
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His. ]
Mm. Good. Me too.
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[ he would hope so. ]
That was, um— Thank you.
[ by his logic, dean should be thanking him, but he can't shake the habit. it just seems like the right thing to do, when dean is giving him this kind of pleasure. he lets dean lace their fingers, squeezing his hand, glancing down to look at their twisted together fingers. ]
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[ He rubs his thumbs over Cas' knuckles, keeping their fingers laced and twisted up, unwilling to let go. ]
You're so good. Perfect, like -- we fit, you know? We fit together.
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[ there's a catch of emotion in his voice that normally doesn't reside there, and that should be enough for dean to tell that what he said was affecting. it's a strange thing. he has a habit of taking certain figurative terms of speech too literally, owing to the fact that his native language isn't modern english, and a cultural gap several billion years vast.
and perhaps he simply struggles with context for his own reasons, possibly—
but he knows what dean means when he says that.
he doesn't know if it's true. if, figuratively, or literally, it could possibly be true. but the idea arrests him all the same. because he wants that, wants to fit— is desperate to fit anywhere, to be wanted for anything, but more than all of that— is desperate to belong with dean. to have a place with him in the world. his fingers squeeze tighter, trembling with the force of it. he's not strong enough to hurt him this way. ]
Do you... mean that?
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Cas squeezes his fingers and he squeezes back, keeping his face pressed into sweaty hair, committing the moment to memory. ]
Yeah, Cas. We're like...
[ He thinks on it a moment, shifting on the ground, uncomfortable but barely noticing. ]
Puzzle pieces. Right?
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