I crave the softness
Of his inner thighs
Against the sides
Of my face
(original poem by r.h. sin)
It’s only when they’re truly alone that he can do this. Open Dean up, nice and slow. Break him apart piece by delicious piece. Then spend all night putting him back together. Until his human is writhing and wailing and shattered beneath him, Castiel won’t be satisfied. It’s only when he can smash every wall Dean has and bring them crashing down that Cas feels truly at peace. Because this…this he can do right. Maybe his home is broken, maybe his wings are mangled, maybe his grace is a mere shadow of what is used to be, but this he could control. He could give his human, the Righteous Man, a moment of reprieve from the hideous responsibility that has been shoved upon him.
And the angel would be lying if he said he didn’t hunger for this too. Because that’s what Dean made him feel most of all. Pain, frustration, desire, love certainly. Hunger, however, was what gripped Castiel tight around the throat. Wanted to taste every inch of his hunter, swallow him whole, take that soul inside of himself. Keep it safe, warm, away from the cruel world his Father created for these helpless creatures.
Instead he settled for worshiping the human. He was an expert, after all. He’d kiss that rough, scarred skin. Feel the hard muscle underneath, nuzzle the patch of soft belly that Dean was so self-conscious about but Cas absolutely loved. He showered that torn body with affection until it was too much. Too much soft, too much of what Dean was unwilling to say out loud. Then Cas would use teeth and nails and maybe just a little bit of his Grace to get Dean writhing and bucking and whimpering.
Dean would shamelessly spread himself open. Sometimes on his hands and knees. Sometimes on his back with his knees pulled up to his chest. Always presenting, vulnerable, for his angel. And Castiel would drink it all up, soak it all in. The moment he breached Dean the hunter would sigh happily, as if coming home. His hole would spread and hug around Castiel, pulling him in greedily.
And Cas would drag it out. His cock sliding in slowly, so both he and Dean could feel every inch until he was finally nestled deep and hot and wet inside. Dean might wiggle, gripping the sheets or Cas with rough fingers. Begging the angel to move, damn it.
Cas would smile and snap his hips. Watch Dean’s cock twitch between them, neglected. Because Dean didn’t need to be touched to get off. Not with Cas. Just the feeling of Castiel on top of him, his weight, his strength, was all Dean needed.
So Castiel would move, eyes fluttering shut. Because, oh, the feel of Dean around him was always overwhelming. He’d seen universes created and destroyed. Had helped move the stars. Had danced with lightning. Flew through the galaxy, his wings blacker than the endless vastness of space and reflecting the infinite colors it created. But this…this was what undid him time after time. Dean was velvety heat, tight and welcoming. And he sang beneath him.
“Yes, Cas, yes…”
“Shit yeah, fuck me…hard, baby, fill me up…oh shit just like that!”
“Yeah…yess, yes, yes…Castiel!”
And Cas would gasp and spill inside, so abrupt and strong he was likely to blow a lamp or two. Dean would arch as Cas thrust, cock pumping his seed out and Dean taking it all in. Dean’s would paint their chests, warm and thick. All the while clinging to each other, bodies trembling. Cas’s Grace singing and thrumming just beneath the surface. Almost leaking through the pores in a desperate attempt to closer to that soul that it’d laid claim to so long ago.
Yes, it was these moments that Castiel craved. When they had the privacy of the bunker and the dark, and could tangle themselves in each other. Skin against skin, smelling of sex and sweat. And it wouldn’t be long before Cas would roll on top of Dean and sink inside, the human whimpering and taking him in easily. And Castiel would break the Righteous Man apart all over again.