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Summary
Castiel licks his lips and looks up. His lips look pretty chapped, but they are surprisingly soft. What Dean doesn't know is that Castiel actually uses liberal amounts of chapstick. His lips are as soft as angels' wings.
Dean sighs as he ghosts his hands along the angel's arms, never quite touching the undoubtedly attractive arms that lay underneath the sleeves of the trench coat.
"God dammit, Dean! Stop ghosting your hands and touch me already!"
