fic: MMOM #21: The Limits of Being (Dean/Castiel)
Title: The Limits of Being
Author: eggblue
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Sam, Dean and Castiel are not belong to me.
Word Count: 715
Notes: A falling story. This story is dedicated to calling out character names during sex and cigarettes. (Also, 10 more days to go!)
Not yet.
I will fall when this is over.
At first, Dean likes that Cas is shy - he doesn’t like to look.
But Dean likes it, so he doesn’t stop. What he doesn’t expect, is that he would call Castiel’s name. When he couldn’t tell the difference between his hand and his loins, his breathless moans and his crying.
“Oh oh oh,” and “Cas, Cas…,” as he moves.
“Castiel, Castiel,” when he comes.
When he does, Castiel looks away at the last moment.
But when he does look, Dean thinks -- when he watches him being human, calling out in need, coming like a man -- Dean begins to want that.
Then, one day, Castiel is asking him, more and more.
Watching him with eyes going lighter and lighter blue, almost pale, with anger or passion.
Sometimes when they do this, Cas’ eyes grow dark lapis blue with sadness. It will always be strange to Dean. Alien-like.
The more they did this, Dean moving, Cas watching, the more it meant and the less it helped.
The more Cas looked, the more Dean could see he wanted.
Dean would ask him, when would Castiel end his stand-off with the war, when Dean himself was lost in desperation -- free hand gripping the steering wheel, turned towards Cas just inches away...
“Not yet. When this is over.”
Cas keeps his promise. Until Castiel’s control starts to bleed into Dean. Until Dean’s every sense of physical desire bleeds into Cas.
Until Dean needs his permission for this.
“Cas, Cas, now, please, now… now…” His hand tight on the steering wheel, his arm braced against the car window, spreading wider and so close so close.
Castiel takes a breath -- long, ragged, aching - as he looks Dean up and down, presses back against the seat for a better view. “Now, Dean.”
Always best for themselves alone.
“Cas !”
The angel’s gaze always makes him feel worthwhile. It makes him feel. There were no limits.
If Cas were an angel no longer, would it still feel this way?
If Cas would close the gulf between their bodies with a kiss, or the touch of his hand, would it be dangerous?
Would it be the one thing that makes those walls - the walls of desperate demons and fallen angels, the human masses and the vengeful god - finally fall in around them?
So Dean does wait, for Cas to do the thing he would wait for.
And maybe he will never fall. Maybe this is a lie they tell themselves, to quiet the crushing loneliness that seemed to appear the moment Dean ascended from his own grave, the moment Castiel first appeared on the earth.
“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”
The quiet the loneliness with a daydream of the future, a languid movement in the dark of the night, breathing in unison and wrapped around each other, a sense of what one would lose without the other.
Castiel tests the limits of being an angel; Dean tests the limits of being a man.
“Good things do happen, Dean.”
“Not in my experience.”
It’s always too much to risk.
Finally, years pass. The war ends. Scores of humans and angels are dead. Sam is dead.
Dean is old, lean and worn down. He wonders when the good things will happen.
One day Castiel asks him: “One more time Dean. For me to look upon you.”
Dean looks at his oldest, truest friend now, and he knows. “You waited so long, Cas. I’m not the man I was. Not the man you wanted. Not anymore.”
“You have never been anything less than everything to me, Dean. Perhaps I am not going to be a man that you want.” He speaks nothing but plain truth. “But there is nothing for me as I am. I long to be rid of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dean?” he asks for the last time. “Will you do this for me?”
And Dean doesn’t delay, or put it off, or say, “Not yet.”
He says, “Yes.”
Would it be faithful and true, that kiss. Would it be more than a lifetime’s worth of bleeding into one another, that kiss.
Would it finally be for themselves alone, earthbound and endless and real, that kiss.
The End
Author: eggblue
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Sam, Dean and Castiel are not belong to me.
Word Count: 715
Notes: A falling story. This story is dedicated to calling out character names during sex and cigarettes. (Also, 10 more days to go!)
Not yet.
I will fall when this is over.
At first, Dean likes that Cas is shy - he doesn’t like to look.
But Dean likes it, so he doesn’t stop. What he doesn’t expect, is that he would call Castiel’s name. When he couldn’t tell the difference between his hand and his loins, his breathless moans and his crying.
“Oh oh oh,” and “Cas, Cas…,” as he moves.
“Castiel, Castiel,” when he comes.
When he does, Castiel looks away at the last moment.
But when he does look, Dean thinks -- when he watches him being human, calling out in need, coming like a man -- Dean begins to want that.
Then, one day, Castiel is asking him, more and more.
Watching him with eyes going lighter and lighter blue, almost pale, with anger or passion.
Sometimes when they do this, Cas’ eyes grow dark lapis blue with sadness. It will always be strange to Dean. Alien-like.
The more they did this, Dean moving, Cas watching, the more it meant and the less it helped.
The more Cas looked, the more Dean could see he wanted.
Dean would ask him, when would Castiel end his stand-off with the war, when Dean himself was lost in desperation -- free hand gripping the steering wheel, turned towards Cas just inches away...
“Not yet. When this is over.”
Cas keeps his promise. Until Castiel’s control starts to bleed into Dean. Until Dean’s every sense of physical desire bleeds into Cas.
Until Dean needs his permission for this.
“Cas, Cas, now, please, now… now…” His hand tight on the steering wheel, his arm braced against the car window, spreading wider and so close so close.
Castiel takes a breath -- long, ragged, aching - as he looks Dean up and down, presses back against the seat for a better view. “Now, Dean.”
Always best for themselves alone.
“Cas !”
The angel’s gaze always makes him feel worthwhile. It makes him feel. There were no limits.
If Cas were an angel no longer, would it still feel this way?
If Cas would close the gulf between their bodies with a kiss, or the touch of his hand, would it be dangerous?
Would it be the one thing that makes those walls - the walls of desperate demons and fallen angels, the human masses and the vengeful god - finally fall in around them?
So Dean does wait, for Cas to do the thing he would wait for.
And maybe he will never fall. Maybe this is a lie they tell themselves, to quiet the crushing loneliness that seemed to appear the moment Dean ascended from his own grave, the moment Castiel first appeared on the earth.
“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”
The quiet the loneliness with a daydream of the future, a languid movement in the dark of the night, breathing in unison and wrapped around each other, a sense of what one would lose without the other.
Castiel tests the limits of being an angel; Dean tests the limits of being a man.
“Good things do happen, Dean.”
“Not in my experience.”
It’s always too much to risk.
Finally, years pass. The war ends. Scores of humans and angels are dead. Sam is dead.
Dean is old, lean and worn down. He wonders when the good things will happen.
One day Castiel asks him: “One more time Dean. For me to look upon you.”
Dean looks at his oldest, truest friend now, and he knows. “You waited so long, Cas. I’m not the man I was. Not the man you wanted. Not anymore.”
“You have never been anything less than everything to me, Dean. Perhaps I am not going to be a man that you want.” He speaks nothing but plain truth. “But there is nothing for me as I am. I long to be rid of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dean?” he asks for the last time. “Will you do this for me?”
And Dean doesn’t delay, or put it off, or say, “Not yet.”
He says, “Yes.”
Would it be faithful and true, that kiss. Would it be more than a lifetime’s worth of bleeding into one another, that kiss.
Would it finally be for themselves alone, earthbound and endless and real, that kiss.
The End