Dec 23, Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, Down by the Seaside Title: Down by the Seaside Fandom: Supernatural Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel Rating/Warnings: Explicit Disclaimer:here Prompt:this picture Summary: Castiel had known Dean was a man of action from the first time he'd seen him. He could work with that. A/N: Title is from this Led Zeppelin song.
Dean was a man of action. Castiel had known this from the first time he'd laid eyes on him, and all he'd seen since had only confirmed that initial impression. Fine. Now that he'd finally spoken the words, Castiel could return to the more comfortable language of actions.
“Why don't we move this under the covers?” Dean had suggested.
Gripping Dean's shoulders tight, Castiel dragged him over to the bed, dropping him onto it unceremoniously before quickly shedding his own clothes and pulling the towel off Dean. Dean, apparently still chilled from his shower, pulled the covers down and climbed under them. Castiel knelt beside him and pressed their lips together, a small sound of pleasure resonating through him as Dean opened to him.
Castiel returned to his earlier explorations, no longer desperate to reassure himself Dean was safe, but needing to touch, caress, worship every inch of him nonetheless. Hands followed eyes and lips followed hands as he worked his way from face to neck, neck to chest, chest to arms and hands, drawing each finger into his mouth by turn and reveling in the lewd sounds Dean made each time. From hands and fingers, he moved on to Dean's stomach, nipping and licking his way downward, resisting the fingers tangled in his hair that tried to rush him.
Bypassing where Dean obviously wanted him, Castiel ghosted his fingers along the lines of Dean's thighs, indulging himself by tracing out the things he wanted to say in his own language, things that did not translate from Enochian to English or, indeed, any human language, but that truly captured what he was trying to communicate. Just another way in which actions would have to suffice.
Kneeling almost at the end of the bed, he held and caressed each foot. He wanted to do more, wanted to worship them with his mouth as well, but he knew Dean found that strange. As it was, he was looking at Castiel intently, brows furrowed over eyes that showed only a thin ring of emerald around pupils blown wide with desire. Those eyes had become Castiel's guide, the beacon of light he looked to when trying to find his way through the storms that forever swept around them both. That, too, he traced into Dean's skin, pressing the final punctuation into the sole of his left foot.
As if he knew what Castiel had just done, Dean looked away, a familiar look of doubt washing over his features.
“Cas?” Dean's voice was barely above a whisper but might as well have been a shout. With just that one word, he managed to ask several things. Castiel chose to answer at least two of them in one shot.
Dean scrambled to obey so quickly Castiel couldn't help wonder how much was eagerness to find out what the angel would do next and how much was simply turning away. Turning away to hide those eyes from his gaze. He couldn't think about that right now.
Castiel lowered his body over him, keeping his full weight off but relishing the feel of skin against skin. He allowed himself only a moment of this before moving so that he knelt with knees to either side of Dean's hips and could bend to graze the nape of Dean's neck with his teeth before sliding them just a hair to the right and biting down.
Dean gasped and writhed.
Castiel smiled as he smoothed his hands over Dean's back, then followed with his mouth across shoulder blades, down the ridge of his spine. When he reached Dean's buttocks, he once again used his teeth, wringing more gasps from Dean and finally a plea.
“Please what?” he asked.
“Cas!” Dean replied, his voice laced with exasperation or possibly just frustration.
Deciding that was as much an answer as he was likely to get, Castiel parted the twin muscles and ran his tongue along Dean's cleft. He was rewarded with a string of creative profanity, and so he repeated the movement twice more before settling to trace the tight ring of muscle. He kept his touch light at first, circling, circling, then pressing just a bit. Dean's hips jerked, and Castiel gripped them more firmly to keep them still. With a lusty sigh, Dean finally relaxed into the caresses enough for Castiel to press his tongue inward.
Castiel rolled his eyes. He'd have retorted that was, of course, the general idea, but he had no intention of stopping what he was doing to speak. As he worked Dean gently open, he reached blindly for the nightstand, just a few inches too far away. He heard the drawer open and close, and then felt the bottle he sought pressed into his hand. He twisted his tongue just so by way of saying “thank you,” and Dean squirmed again.
This time, Castiel did pull back, kneeling up and opening the bottle of lubricant to coat his fingers liberally.
“Hold still, Dean,” he commanded.
For a moment, the hunter's body tensed, and Castiel wondered if he'd touched on some previously undiscovered trigger. It was only a moment, though, and then Dean appeared to melt into the bed, eyes going from screwed tightly shut to merely half-lidded. With a sigh of relief, Castiel parted Dean's buttocks again and traced his opening lightly with a single finger. He pressed inward and paused once past the initial resistance, watching Dean's face carefully. Seeing nothing but pleasure in the parted-lip smile, he pressed further, crooking his finger once it was fully encased in Dean's warmth.
This time, when Dean writhed, Castiel didn't reprimand him, just used his free hand to hold him still. While he didn't want Dean rutting against the bed and coming too soon, that was the reaction he'd been aiming for.
As Dean again let flow a string of curses, Castiel continued to work his finger in and out, hitting that bundle of nerves each time. He added a second finger, then a third. When Dean started begging for release, Castiel removed his hand completely and freed Dean's hips.
“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean demanded.
“Turn over,” he replied again.
Once Dean lay on his back again, Castiel stared into his eyes again, until Dean lidded them and laid his head back in resignation. Castiel raked his eyes over the body before him, then took hold of Dean's hips again, holding them still as he took Dean into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around the head of Dean's cock, he savored the salty-bitter-musky taste of him before lowering his mouth further to take as much of him in as he could. After so much teasing, it was only a matter of a few familiar movements of tongue and just enough teeth before Dean was yelling his pleasure and filling Castiel's mouth with his essence. Castiel swallowed every drop, continuing to suck and lick until he was sure he had missed none.
Pulling away gently, he walked his hands up alongside Dean's body to kiss him, letting Dean taste himself in Castiel's mouth. The kiss was long and languid, but in this position, Castiel could not help rutting against Dean's hip, finally allowing himself some of the pleasure he'd lavished on the hunter. Pulling away, he looked into Dean's eyes, silently asking.
“God, yes, Cas, please.” Dean breathed.
Retrieving the bottle, Castiel poured more lubricant into his hand, this time coating his cock, noting with satisfaction the way Dean watched, breaths picking up again. He grabbed a pillow and shoved it under Dean's hips, raising legs to shoulders and lining himself up before finally, finally sinking into the welcoming heat of Dean's body.
All patience exhausted, Castiel gave Dean the barest of moments to adjust before he began to move. He'd had every intention of drawing this out, taking him long and slow, but he was unable to resist his body's drive to claim, rapidly thrusting deeper and deeper, barely able to hold back from using his full strength. A storm of need swept through him, and he needed his beacon to ground him, to stop him from shattering them both.
“Open your eyes,” he ground out.
Dean complied, and the look in that gaze was his undoing. Everything Dean had both said and left unsaid hung between them as pleasure ripped through Castiel's body and he poured himself into Dean. Castiel stilled, willing the moment to last.
It didn't, of course, and there was the inevitable separating and repositioning and half-hearted attempts at sparing the sheets before giving up and tangling together in a comfortable heap. This time it was Dean who cupped Castiel's chin in his hand and brought their mouths together, lazily but thoroughly kissing him. When he pulled back, Castiel could tell he was moments away from slipping into a deep and sated sleep. He traced another Enochian phrase on the skin that had once borne the mark of the angel's hand.
“Me too, Cas,” Dean said so softly that Castiel doubted a human would have been able to make out the words. “Me too.”
As Dean's eyes slipped shut and he drifted into slumber, Castiel smiled and pulled him closer, settling in to watch over him. Apparently that was no longer “creepy.” Castiel pressed a gentle kiss to Dean's forehead, the hunter's words echoing through his mind. He almost wished he, too, could sleep. Instead he contented himself with watching and waiting for those eyes to open again.