Chapter Text
Dean doesn't know if he could ever say it aloud, but he never gets tired of being around Cas, sitting with him, talking to him, looking at him ...and their hugs, though few in number throughout the overall span of years they've known each other, are all the more meaningful for that.
Castiel thinks so too, but now they clutch each other, subsequent separation be damned as they catch and hold, hair brushing to cheek and face buried in coat, Dean clenching cloth in one hand and tugging, yanking at Cas's coat to rid him of it, and doing the same with the jacket of his suit. He reaches out to pull the angel along by belt loops and stops only when the backs of his own legs brush or rather thud against the edge of his bed and he sinks into the memory-foam mattress, head tipping back as he practically growls for Cas to come on and take him, "get up here, please". As much desperation as demand is in his tone of voice whilst gripping now and tugging at the angel's shirt, fingers scrabbling a bit at the cloth of it. Dean wants to believe this, feel and do as much as he can, even not knowing how heavenly physics work, if he's truly feeling Cas's real form and everything or if he's like some head lamp clutching a literal wave of light.
He doesn't know what can be done but he has to ask. After everything else, he's gotta ask. He fumbles "Can I -" his fingers at buttons of dress shirt, Dean's hands shake, he shifts and rolls his hips deeply. "Cas, will you let me -" he can't even finish a sentence. Ducking his head, spikes of hair shivering as he moves, Dean manages at last to say "...lemme take this damn shirt off, man" grabbing the sides of the collar he spreads away from the slopes of Cas's shoulders, watching the ripple of muscles and feeling the strength of the angel's arms and hands as he braces them on each side of Dean's face, fingers pushing through his hair once more. Dean lets out a high, small, almost -whimper as the angel hauls his body up, knees straddling Dean's hips as he hovers over the hunter. Those blue eyes sparkle as he looks into Dean's face and holds him close. Firm, yet also gentle, and with such tenderness and ... almost an awe that makes Dean feel hot and he abruptly ducks his head, not knowing where to look.
Placing his knees on either side of the other's body Cas exhales through his nose, dipping down to press his lips to Dean's in a kiss that sears deeply, Dean exhaling a high almost grunt almost whimper in response. Drawing back, Cas looks into Dean's face again, seeing a darkening, widening of pupils in that glorious green gaze.
There is no hint of shame when he speaks, no hesitation other than the deliberation over words to properly voice what he wants. And apparently what the guy wants is "We can do whatever you want, Dean." His lips press together for a moment then. "I want only to show you the depths of my devotion. —Please... I'd be..." Honored. He wets his lips, then practically whispers, "Guide me. Tell me how I can show you…"
Dean's breath catches, eyes widening as the guy moves. He couldn't be saying - well, he's nOT saying, but he's definitely implying...nah, what the hell - angels don't do that...
Do they?
Well. Clearly Cas is offering, and he is different, has always been different from every other angel, so. He obviously does. Whether any of this is appropriate or not has gone out the window. Dean can't help biting his lower lip and looking at Cas with an ache that burns and throbs and shoots through him. He squirms, shifting on the bed and swallowing. Cas is still gazing at him, and Dean gulps, wets his lips and says "...I want this foam to remember —us, man. You to-" his voice drops close to a mumble, and he's dropped his face again, gesturing vaguely in the air as his face heats up.
"What is it, Dean?" Cas's gravel tone is calm and gentle. Dean feels his eyes starting to prickle but he is NOT going to cry right now. That would be absolutely ridiculous.
He blurts out "I want you to take me an' pound me into this mattress," and flicks his eyes up to look through his lashes into the other's eyes.
Cas appears for the briefest of moments to freeze, his eyes widen, and unease begins to encroach upon the gleaming glory of Dean's green
"Or- not. Never mind, it's stupid -"
"Dean." Suddenly Cas drops one hand to cup Dean's chin and cheek, the other gripping at his shoulder. His fingertips drag over skin, leaving gooseflesh to rise in the wake of his touch. "None of what you've just said is stupid. I would be happy, I am happy to do whatever you ask of me. As long as it will not hurt you."
He's so serious. Sincere. It makes Dean's head spin and his heart would go haywire if he was still living. As it is, he wishes he could create body out of soul or that Cas could rebuild him again lightning-quick because he wants to feel all of this. The muscle aches, the burn and stretch and throbbing that builds and starts to coalesce into a molten feeling coursing through him.
Dean surges up and catches hold of Cas's face, curves fingers around the guy's neck and tugs him into a kiss, yanking his weight down even as he himself twists onto his stomach on the bed.
Cas makes a sound in his throat and his thumb slides back and forth across Dean's skin. He carefully lowers his weight and rolls into Dean's back, his buttocks and legs, pushing the fabric of his t-shirt up and away from rolling muscles. Tugging up cloth and trailing down his lips to layer kisses over skin that shivers and sweats, only by cloth thus far touched.
Meanwhile Dean expels a groan of pleasure, shifting shoulders, rolling body and hips to drop and press himself deeper into the memory foam mattress. He reaches up and gets ahold of Cas's left arm, pulling and encouraging the other to wrap it around his chest. Cas clenches and then flattens out his hand, fingers and palm stroking and skating across the skin of Dean's torso and abdomen. Dean sucks in air and squeezes eyes shut, ducking his face, lips pressing to and fingers clenching around Cas's arm, hand running up and down, over and over, until Dean's hips have started moving in a repetitive rolling motion that the angel joins, shifting himself to press against Dean's back from shoulders all the way down. Chin over Dean's shoulder, hands and body on the move. Dean feels himself as well as Cas; and with every thrust and throb he is aching to be even closer, to touch and feel within the hold his best friend has on him- (now, as the angel grinds his hips and curls fingers in Dean's waistband and then his own, shimmying and sliding free) and touches, stretches, feels what is the two of them, at last, together.
That if, could he live again, this could happen, could continue to be real. That they are real now, even in Heaven.