So Quite New by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rockstarpeach for <user site="livejournal.com"
Apr. 12th, 2014 04:00 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
springflingmod.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
spn_springflingTitle: So Quite New
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: Adult
Castiel stands at the sink along the wide wall of the laundry room, absently working a small ketchup stain in his tie over with a washcloth. Leave it Dean had suggested, when they got back to the bunker but Castiel doesn't. It'll only take a moment.
Dean's in the room with him, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, watching him. Watching his fingers grip and scrub, holding the tie solid and tight.
He rinses out the suds and brings the tie higher, rubs the wet patch with his thumb and nods to himself in approval. It's a nice tie " one Dean made him wear along with a nice suit to pose as private security for 'send kids to camp' fundraiser. Funny, taking out the shapeshifter who had disguised herself as the camp coordinator hadn't so much as loosened a stitch.
It was that burger afterwards that did the damage.
"Done yet?" Dean teases and Castiel shoots him a glare over his shoulder.
"You and Sam might think about taking the same kind of care with your own belongings," he answers. Dean only chuckles in response.
Castiel steps back from the sink and reaches up to pin his tie to the clothesline that runs the length of the room. There are hangers there, too. Wooden ones and Castiel gives it only a moment's pause before he decides that airing out the jacket and pants would probably be a good idea. He rids himself of the jacket first, hangs it up next to his tie and then he starts on his pants. He takes off his belt, undoes his button and zipper and as he starts to lower the waistband down his thighs he hears a soft whistle.
He ignores it, but when he bends over to step out of his pants Dean continues.
"Damn," Dean says. "Well, okay, if you seriously can't wait until we get back to my room..." Castiel can hear him smiling. Castiel smiles as well but he hides it in the folds of his trousers as he works them onto the hanger, then the line.
"Do you ever think about anything else?" he chastises. It's only for show. Really, he knows that Dean does, especially these days. Dean's got much more on his mind than sex and honestly, Castiel sometimes has a hard time understanding what it is about himself that Dean finds so attractive.
He's trapped in a body that isn't his, or wasn't his, at first. It belonged to someone who took decent enough care of it, ate well and exercised and clipped his nails and cut his hair, but for Castiel, this body has only ever been utilitarian. Until Dean, that is.
It exorcises demons, it shoots guns, it reads books and interviews witnesses and it scrubs stains out of ties. But it's always just been a tool. Until Dean.
"Like you weren't thinkin' it, too," Dean shoots back. He kicks off the wall and stalks closer, one slow step at a time with his eyes hooded and his lips parted and no, Castiel hadn't been thinking it, but he sure is, now.
Because Dean is beautiful. His soul, yes, that goes without saying and it's what got Castiel's attention in the first place. But his physical appearance is what makes Castiel's breath catch and his pulse run thready, makes his previously unconsidered cock shift and stiffen and makes his tie-scrubbing fingers twitch with the need to grab something else entirely.
"Not here," Castiel says, but it comes out as barely a squeak when Dean reaches him, grabs his hips and pins him in place against the sink. Dean's lips close over the side of his throat and Castiel whimpers, cranes his head further to give Dean better access. He's not being convincing he knows, when he says again, "Not here, Dean."
Dean takes pity though, the soft vibrations of his laughter carrying over into Castiel's own body as he pulls his lips free and steps back.
"Okay," Dean agrees, fingers curling around Castiel's ass, digging in slightly before he draws back his hand. "Okay, my room."
He leads the way and Castiel follows.
They're not even all the way through the door when Dean spins, grabs him and shoves. Castiel lands against the wall, a soft thud and his breath gets knocked out, but then Dean's right there, breathing it back in again.
Castiel feels because his fingers reach out and drift over Dean's skin. He breathes because Dean breathes with him. His body comes alive because Dean touches him with desire. Because in Dean's eyes, he's worth touching. In Dean's eyes he's beautiful.
Dean has no idea. Oh, he knows he was Castiel's first but he doesn't understand what that really means. He doesn't understand that sex wasn't anything Castiel had even considered before they met. Doesn't know that the very idea holds no appeal, that this body he's living in feels no kind of pleasure, except at Dean's touch.
He thinks that Castiel just... hadn't gotten around to it.
It's probably better that way. Dean would crumble under the pressure, if he knew the truth. He can't handle that level of importance. Castiel has been with others, but they couldn't compare, couldn't make his body feel even a fraction of what it does when he's with Dean.
The world spins and he's on the bed, on his back with Dean over him, mouth glued to Castiel's collar bone as his fingers scramble at the buttons on Castiel's dress shirt. They make quick work and all the while Castiel feels it over his skin, the bones of his ribs and the flesh over his chest. He feels Dean, the way Dean touches him and his body feels good, feels amazing, feels alive.
His body, forged and hijacked to serve only God and Heaven, suddenly and wholly becomes a vessel of unbearable desire, of pride. It shouldn't be right, Castiel knows that. Pride is a sin but he doesn't care because with Dean looking down at him, fingers pressing and gripping the backs of Castiel's thighs, he can't help it. He is proud.
His body is good, it does good things. It makes Dean fall apart, it makes Dean curse and flush and squeeze his eyes shut. It makes Dean look at him like he can't believe how lucky he is and how could that possibly be a bad thing?
Dean slips Castiel out of his underwear, blunt tips of his fingers digging and poking into his crevices, the fleshy bits of his thighs and belly. They all light up, too, by the grace of Dean's caress and when Dean smirks down at him, wraps his skilled, soft fingers around Castiel's erection, he loves it. Castiel loves this, he loves Dean, but most of all he loves what Dean does to him.
He loves the way Dean makes him feel, like he's more than just flesh and bone, like he's putty in Dean's hands, like his physical shape is more than a means to an end. Here on this bed, underneath Dean it's about the journey, about how they get there and not where they're going. And Castiel understands.
He understands why people dress extravagantly and style their hair and show themselves off, because here, under Dean, Castiel wants to show off, too. He feels wonderful, loves that he feels that way and he wants Dean to covet his body. In these moments he should. In these moments, Castiel thinks he should.
Castiel's body is humming, his fingers are skittering over Dean's arms, feeling the tension where he holds himself up and then down over Dean's back, muscles sleek and strong and firm. He feels Dean's thighs become bare to his own, feels the warm skin of Dean's cock against his own and then Dean's hands are back on his hips, Dean's knees are urging his thighs further apart and Castiel's fingers are curling into Dean's hair, tight and needy.
"So fucking hot," Dean mumbles, dips his hips and his cock slides up inside Castiel, without any fanfare. It should probably hurt. It's dry save for Dean's pre-come and Castiel hasn't been stretched out to accommodate Dean's ample girth, but Dean doesn't seem to care.
Maybe because Castiel doesn't, either. Just spreads his legs and digs his fingers into Dean's shoulder blades.
His arms light up where Dean touches him, his ribs and his hips and his legs tingle where they brush against Dean's. His cock pulses and his hole flutters and opens, begs until Dean's all the way inside and fucking him hard.
He comes. Dean comes.
That's not what's important, not to Castiel, but Dean rings in the events with praises and hollers and when they're both finished he falls down and folds his arms around Castiel, pulls him close.
"Jesus," Dean says. "That was fucking..." He pauses, swallows, shifts so he can look down at Castiel's face. "...hot."
Castiel laughs then, because 'hot' isn't exactly eloquent praise but it's coming from Dean, after all. He likes the idea of Dean finding him 'hot'.
"I love you," Castiel says, because he feels like Dean needs to hear it. What they did, that was about about love. It makes sense for Castiel to complete the circuit.
Dean laughs, though. Deep and loud and he pulls Castiel closer, rolls him half on top of Dean and he hooks his leg over Castiel's to keep him there.
"Really. Fucking. Hot," is what Dean says, when Castiel allows himself to be kissed into submission.
Dean loosens his grip around Castiel's waist and his hand glides lightly up and along Castiel's ribs, to his shoulder and down again.
"I know it's not you," Dean whispers, like a confession in his ear. "Not really. But I love this body every bit as much as I love what's inside."
"Dean..." he gasps, doesn't know what he wants to say to that. 'Thank you' seems ludicrous, given he had very little to do with his current physical appearance.
"I'd love any body you chose. I'd even fuck you in your true form, but..." He breaks off then, tucks his face into Castiel's neck and laughs. "But you probably wouldn't even feel it. And my dick would probably disintegrate or something. In any case... I'm glad. I love this body."
And when Dean lays Castiel out and presses a hundred open-mouthed kisses to the length of his torso, down his legs and up again and over his chest to his neck, when he tickles and massages and bites into the flesh over Castiel's hipbones Castiel sighs, whimpers and pulls Dean closer. Tells him "more" and "please" and "yes".
Tells him "anything". Tells him "I love you."
But that's not what Dean wants to hear, Castiel is only now realising. It's not Dean that Dean wants Castiel to love. That's old news.
When Dean finally takes him again, cries out and makes the same promises with his lips on Castiel's skin as he did with his words, Castiel loves this body, too.
END
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: Adult
Castiel stands at the sink along the wide wall of the laundry room, absently working a small ketchup stain in his tie over with a washcloth. Leave it Dean had suggested, when they got back to the bunker but Castiel doesn't. It'll only take a moment.
Dean's in the room with him, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, watching him. Watching his fingers grip and scrub, holding the tie solid and tight.
He rinses out the suds and brings the tie higher, rubs the wet patch with his thumb and nods to himself in approval. It's a nice tie " one Dean made him wear along with a nice suit to pose as private security for 'send kids to camp' fundraiser. Funny, taking out the shapeshifter who had disguised herself as the camp coordinator hadn't so much as loosened a stitch.
It was that burger afterwards that did the damage.
"Done yet?" Dean teases and Castiel shoots him a glare over his shoulder.
"You and Sam might think about taking the same kind of care with your own belongings," he answers. Dean only chuckles in response.
Castiel steps back from the sink and reaches up to pin his tie to the clothesline that runs the length of the room. There are hangers there, too. Wooden ones and Castiel gives it only a moment's pause before he decides that airing out the jacket and pants would probably be a good idea. He rids himself of the jacket first, hangs it up next to his tie and then he starts on his pants. He takes off his belt, undoes his button and zipper and as he starts to lower the waistband down his thighs he hears a soft whistle.
He ignores it, but when he bends over to step out of his pants Dean continues.
"Damn," Dean says. "Well, okay, if you seriously can't wait until we get back to my room..." Castiel can hear him smiling. Castiel smiles as well but he hides it in the folds of his trousers as he works them onto the hanger, then the line.
"Do you ever think about anything else?" he chastises. It's only for show. Really, he knows that Dean does, especially these days. Dean's got much more on his mind than sex and honestly, Castiel sometimes has a hard time understanding what it is about himself that Dean finds so attractive.
He's trapped in a body that isn't his, or wasn't his, at first. It belonged to someone who took decent enough care of it, ate well and exercised and clipped his nails and cut his hair, but for Castiel, this body has only ever been utilitarian. Until Dean, that is.
It exorcises demons, it shoots guns, it reads books and interviews witnesses and it scrubs stains out of ties. But it's always just been a tool. Until Dean.
"Like you weren't thinkin' it, too," Dean shoots back. He kicks off the wall and stalks closer, one slow step at a time with his eyes hooded and his lips parted and no, Castiel hadn't been thinking it, but he sure is, now.
Because Dean is beautiful. His soul, yes, that goes without saying and it's what got Castiel's attention in the first place. But his physical appearance is what makes Castiel's breath catch and his pulse run thready, makes his previously unconsidered cock shift and stiffen and makes his tie-scrubbing fingers twitch with the need to grab something else entirely.
"Not here," Castiel says, but it comes out as barely a squeak when Dean reaches him, grabs his hips and pins him in place against the sink. Dean's lips close over the side of his throat and Castiel whimpers, cranes his head further to give Dean better access. He's not being convincing he knows, when he says again, "Not here, Dean."
Dean takes pity though, the soft vibrations of his laughter carrying over into Castiel's own body as he pulls his lips free and steps back.
"Okay," Dean agrees, fingers curling around Castiel's ass, digging in slightly before he draws back his hand. "Okay, my room."
He leads the way and Castiel follows.
They're not even all the way through the door when Dean spins, grabs him and shoves. Castiel lands against the wall, a soft thud and his breath gets knocked out, but then Dean's right there, breathing it back in again.
Castiel feels because his fingers reach out and drift over Dean's skin. He breathes because Dean breathes with him. His body comes alive because Dean touches him with desire. Because in Dean's eyes, he's worth touching. In Dean's eyes he's beautiful.
Dean has no idea. Oh, he knows he was Castiel's first but he doesn't understand what that really means. He doesn't understand that sex wasn't anything Castiel had even considered before they met. Doesn't know that the very idea holds no appeal, that this body he's living in feels no kind of pleasure, except at Dean's touch.
He thinks that Castiel just... hadn't gotten around to it.
It's probably better that way. Dean would crumble under the pressure, if he knew the truth. He can't handle that level of importance. Castiel has been with others, but they couldn't compare, couldn't make his body feel even a fraction of what it does when he's with Dean.
The world spins and he's on the bed, on his back with Dean over him, mouth glued to Castiel's collar bone as his fingers scramble at the buttons on Castiel's dress shirt. They make quick work and all the while Castiel feels it over his skin, the bones of his ribs and the flesh over his chest. He feels Dean, the way Dean touches him and his body feels good, feels amazing, feels alive.
His body, forged and hijacked to serve only God and Heaven, suddenly and wholly becomes a vessel of unbearable desire, of pride. It shouldn't be right, Castiel knows that. Pride is a sin but he doesn't care because with Dean looking down at him, fingers pressing and gripping the backs of Castiel's thighs, he can't help it. He is proud.
His body is good, it does good things. It makes Dean fall apart, it makes Dean curse and flush and squeeze his eyes shut. It makes Dean look at him like he can't believe how lucky he is and how could that possibly be a bad thing?
Dean slips Castiel out of his underwear, blunt tips of his fingers digging and poking into his crevices, the fleshy bits of his thighs and belly. They all light up, too, by the grace of Dean's caress and when Dean smirks down at him, wraps his skilled, soft fingers around Castiel's erection, he loves it. Castiel loves this, he loves Dean, but most of all he loves what Dean does to him.
He loves the way Dean makes him feel, like he's more than just flesh and bone, like he's putty in Dean's hands, like his physical shape is more than a means to an end. Here on this bed, underneath Dean it's about the journey, about how they get there and not where they're going. And Castiel understands.
He understands why people dress extravagantly and style their hair and show themselves off, because here, under Dean, Castiel wants to show off, too. He feels wonderful, loves that he feels that way and he wants Dean to covet his body. In these moments he should. In these moments, Castiel thinks he should.
Castiel's body is humming, his fingers are skittering over Dean's arms, feeling the tension where he holds himself up and then down over Dean's back, muscles sleek and strong and firm. He feels Dean's thighs become bare to his own, feels the warm skin of Dean's cock against his own and then Dean's hands are back on his hips, Dean's knees are urging his thighs further apart and Castiel's fingers are curling into Dean's hair, tight and needy.
"So fucking hot," Dean mumbles, dips his hips and his cock slides up inside Castiel, without any fanfare. It should probably hurt. It's dry save for Dean's pre-come and Castiel hasn't been stretched out to accommodate Dean's ample girth, but Dean doesn't seem to care.
Maybe because Castiel doesn't, either. Just spreads his legs and digs his fingers into Dean's shoulder blades.
His arms light up where Dean touches him, his ribs and his hips and his legs tingle where they brush against Dean's. His cock pulses and his hole flutters and opens, begs until Dean's all the way inside and fucking him hard.
He comes. Dean comes.
That's not what's important, not to Castiel, but Dean rings in the events with praises and hollers and when they're both finished he falls down and folds his arms around Castiel, pulls him close.
"Jesus," Dean says. "That was fucking..." He pauses, swallows, shifts so he can look down at Castiel's face. "...hot."
Castiel laughs then, because 'hot' isn't exactly eloquent praise but it's coming from Dean, after all. He likes the idea of Dean finding him 'hot'.
"I love you," Castiel says, because he feels like Dean needs to hear it. What they did, that was about about love. It makes sense for Castiel to complete the circuit.
Dean laughs, though. Deep and loud and he pulls Castiel closer, rolls him half on top of Dean and he hooks his leg over Castiel's to keep him there.
"Really. Fucking. Hot," is what Dean says, when Castiel allows himself to be kissed into submission.
Dean loosens his grip around Castiel's waist and his hand glides lightly up and along Castiel's ribs, to his shoulder and down again.
"I know it's not you," Dean whispers, like a confession in his ear. "Not really. But I love this body every bit as much as I love what's inside."
"Dean..." he gasps, doesn't know what he wants to say to that. 'Thank you' seems ludicrous, given he had very little to do with his current physical appearance.
"I'd love any body you chose. I'd even fuck you in your true form, but..." He breaks off then, tucks his face into Castiel's neck and laughs. "But you probably wouldn't even feel it. And my dick would probably disintegrate or something. In any case... I'm glad. I love this body."
And when Dean lays Castiel out and presses a hundred open-mouthed kisses to the length of his torso, down his legs and up again and over his chest to his neck, when he tickles and massages and bites into the flesh over Castiel's hipbones Castiel sighs, whimpers and pulls Dean closer. Tells him "more" and "please" and "yes".
Tells him "anything". Tells him "I love you."
But that's not what Dean wants to hear, Castiel is only now realising. It's not Dean that Dean wants Castiel to love. That's old news.
When Dean finally takes him again, cries out and makes the same promises with his lips on Castiel's skin as he did with his words, Castiel loves this body, too.
END
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-04-12 10:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-12 11:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-12 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-13 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-14 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-15 05:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-16 03:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-25 05:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-25 05:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-25 05:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-25 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-25 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-25 05:19 pm (UTC)I went with ee cummings because I saw that poem and immediately thought it suited their relationship well. Then this fic basically wrote itself :)
no subject
Date: 2014-04-25 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-27 12:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-28 05:40 pm (UTC)