fic: MMOM #15: Glory be to god for dappled things 2 (Dean/Castiel)
Title: Glory be to god for dappled things 2
Author: eggblue
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Dean, Sam, and Castiel are not belong to me.
Word Count: 1150
Notes: Pre-4.19. At Castiel’s favorite secret spot in the forest, angel masturbation-fantasies-as-prayer occur. The first fic is not necessary to read; title for both comes from Gerard Manley Hopkins.
Castiel sits in the ancient forest, under the moonlight, and longs for his Father to hear him.
His wings shine silvery white, bright as the moon. Dark green moss covers the ground underneath the canopy of the trees, soft against his naked skin.
He roams his hands over his body and thinks about his human charge, his fire, his light. His Father’s creation. If his Father could create Dean, and if he could believe in him, then Dean could fulfill his Father’s will. It was what he believed, when all else was lost.
Castiel sits in privacy and prays for Dean. He prays for his soul to find peace. He prays for Dean to need him, and he prays that he can deliver.
He prays for Dean to have wings - white, with flecks of golden and brown.
He would show Dean what an angel can feel; not an alien’s feelings, not robots, not statues. He would lie Dean down on the soft moss and lay himself down on top of him, pressing his pale torso - flat plane of his stomach, soft sex - to the dappled, vibrating feathers at Dean’s back.
Castiel would press their bodies together, press his forehead to the hard curve of Dean’s ass, close his eyes, and just rock their bodies back and forth. Limbs would tangle with wings as they grab at each other, falling and writhing and crying out with the high sharp sounds of the angels. Their bodies would roll in the moss, their weights heavy on each other.
Castiel would use his tongue then, dive it into Dean’s puckered hole again and again as he presses his hardening sex against Dean’s impossibly soft and vibrating feathers, and listen to Dean moan low in his throat.
Castiel would flip Dean over at the sound, until they were lying on their sides, facing each other. The angel would take his sex - smelling of earth, smelling of human -- into his mouth and feel Dean do the same.
Dean - beautiful as the angels, true as man - giving and taking with the best of both.
And his Father had to have known what he was doing when he created Dean, and then sent the angel Castiel to watch over him every day of his life. Surely he could see this, surely he knew.
In the ancient forest, Castiel closes his eyes to the moon and closes his hands around his sex in prayer. He prays, and thinks of Dean, and imagines his dappled wings beating over their heads, shadows flying over the moon.
When he comes, he screams his Father’s true name to the heavens, so certain of an answer.
Later, when the moon is fading, and his body is spent, Castiel knows he will not receive a sign, or a sound, or a single word. He drops his head to the ground between his knees, listens for Dean, and hears nothing still.
When the sun finally rises, Castiel’s tears are gone, and he goes to face the coming war alone.
Author: eggblue
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Dean, Sam, and Castiel are not belong to me.
Word Count: 1150
Notes: Pre-4.19. At Castiel’s favorite secret spot in the forest, angel masturbation-fantasies-as-prayer occur. The first fic is not necessary to read; title for both comes from Gerard Manley Hopkins.
Castiel sits in the ancient forest, under the moonlight, and longs for his Father to hear him.
His wings shine silvery white, bright as the moon. Dark green moss covers the ground underneath the canopy of the trees, soft against his naked skin.
He roams his hands over his body and thinks about his human charge, his fire, his light. His Father’s creation. If his Father could create Dean, and if he could believe in him, then Dean could fulfill his Father’s will. It was what he believed, when all else was lost.
Castiel sits in privacy and prays for Dean. He prays for his soul to find peace. He prays for Dean to need him, and he prays that he can deliver.
He prays for Dean to have wings - white, with flecks of golden and brown.
He would show Dean what an angel can feel; not an alien’s feelings, not robots, not statues. He would lie Dean down on the soft moss and lay himself down on top of him, pressing his pale torso - flat plane of his stomach, soft sex - to the dappled, vibrating feathers at Dean’s back.
Castiel would press their bodies together, press his forehead to the hard curve of Dean’s ass, close his eyes, and just rock their bodies back and forth. Limbs would tangle with wings as they grab at each other, falling and writhing and crying out with the high sharp sounds of the angels. Their bodies would roll in the moss, their weights heavy on each other.
Castiel would use his tongue then, dive it into Dean’s puckered hole again and again as he presses his hardening sex against Dean’s impossibly soft and vibrating feathers, and listen to Dean moan low in his throat.
Castiel would flip Dean over at the sound, until they were lying on their sides, facing each other. The angel would take his sex - smelling of earth, smelling of human -- into his mouth and feel Dean do the same.
Dean - beautiful as the angels, true as man - giving and taking with the best of both.
And his Father had to have known what he was doing when he created Dean, and then sent the angel Castiel to watch over him every day of his life. Surely he could see this, surely he knew.
In the ancient forest, Castiel closes his eyes to the moon and closes his hands around his sex in prayer. He prays, and thinks of Dean, and imagines his dappled wings beating over their heads, shadows flying over the moon.
When he comes, he screams his Father’s true name to the heavens, so certain of an answer.
Later, when the moon is fading, and his body is spent, Castiel knows he will not receive a sign, or a sound, or a single word. He drops his head to the ground between his knees, listens for Dean, and hears nothing still.
When the sun finally rises, Castiel’s tears are gone, and he goes to face the coming war alone.