The curve of Dean's bottom lip against Castiel's isn't sexual, exactly—it is on a different level, at least, a more complicated one. It feels more like an etheral renewal as their mouths drag together, warrm and rough and wet in a way Castie always associated with the inferiority of humans.

He is anything but human, though, not with his wings and his grace. Castiel remembers putting Dean back together freshly raised from Hell, paying special attention to the particular details about him, like the palm of his hand with its gentle roughness. Now that hand is cupping the back of Castiel's neck and playing with the hair at the base of his hairline. Castiel gasps into Dean's mouth as that hand tightens in his hair and pulls him back.

Dean's mouth descends on his neck, and Castiel arches against him unconsiously. It's amazing, the feeling of heat that rushes through him when Dean presses his teeth just this side of too hard into his Adam's apple. Castiel remembers with a jolt that Dean used to be a vampire, and he wonders what those teeth would feel like splitting him open and sucking him dry.

He thinks it would be salvation because it is Dean.

Instead, Dean buries his nose underneath Castiel's chin and moans softly, "God, Cas. So good."

Castiel hums in agreement, his throat sore and dragging from what they've been doing these past few days. His hands slide up, one under the back of Dean's shirt to clutch at the backside of his ribs and the other to brush over the spot where he once marked Dean.

Dean shudders anyway, even with the brand gone, a full body movement that causes him to look up and claim Castiel's mouth again.

Castiel is fallen, has been to Heaven and Hell and Purgatory, and somehow he's found the most beautiful thing in existance to be here in this man's arms. He has never loved anything more. Once upon a time, he mistook his obedience to his Father as unending love, but now he knows it is nothing but detatched reverence.

Dean, however. He reveres, loves, cherishes Dean like nothing else, worships the skin on his chest with his tongue amd chases the feeling of Dean falling apart beneath him. He is so lovely when breaking down into his basest human instincts, legs tightening around Castiel's hips and calling for Jesus.

It is the closest Castiel believes Dean will ever come to praying. He shouldn't find it as arousing as he does.

Even now, as Castiel rolls them over so he can press Dean down into the bed and rock his hips down, Dean says, "Jesus," in a half-breathy moan. "Cas, please."

But Castiel isn't looking for that. He backs off, pulls his hips back to level even as Dean spreads his legs wider and hitches his knees up higher. He has learned intimately the power of pleasure he holds over Dean like this, the way he can hold Dean down and force him just to take or hold off and make him promise to beg, borrow, and steal for his release.

And all the while, he will hold Dean's mouth in his, bending down and over in a way that would be impossible for a human.

Castiel wants that, will take it later, but now he kisses Dean, pressing prayers into his mouth and licking his way around the edges of Dean's teeth. Dean is a benediction, he is a blessing, and all his good wishes culminate in the give and take of his mouth with Castiel sucking on his bottom lip.

This man, this act, they are decidedly not inferior. They are a religion within themselves, achingly wonderful and sweetly fufilling. Castiel would fall again and again for this feeling, for hands urging his hips downward and Dean's desperate whimpers in the back of his throat. Castiel swallows them all and tucks them away inside his heart like a million precious love letters.

He wants to remember this feeling always.

originally posted on my tumblr xx