(no subject)
Title: OTP
Author: starrycastiel
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Word Count: 200
Summary: Dean. Castiel. Bed.
Castiel likes to exhaust him, run him ragged with strange angelic affection, with jaunts to far-flung beaches, the pebbled curve of lakes; he likes to steal Dean apple pies from the best patisseries the world has to offer. Castiel always likes it when Dean is happy, likes to press Dean deep into the mattress, even before waking, leave Dean feeling well-fucked, and unable to ever say that he wasn't loved, completely cherished.
And when Dean's exhaustion makes Dean go quiet, Castiel gently licks at the hollow of Dean's throat. Because after a day in bed, Dean's skin smells like salt, feels soft and smudged with scars and freckles. He'll nap on the bed, and Castiel will lie beside him, with a book slumped on his chest, fingers embracing a dogeared page- a prophecy that an angel would fall in love with a human in the end-times. And Dean's lips might be kiss-swollen, cheeks and tips of ears flushed rosy. His lashes would be dangerously dark against his skin, like the way Castiel would paint beauty, lush and slothful.
Comments are loved!
Author: starrycastiel
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Word Count: 200
Summary: Dean. Castiel. Bed.
Castiel likes to exhaust him, run him ragged with strange angelic affection, with jaunts to far-flung beaches, the pebbled curve of lakes; he likes to steal Dean apple pies from the best patisseries the world has to offer. Castiel always likes it when Dean is happy, likes to press Dean deep into the mattress, even before waking, leave Dean feeling well-fucked, and unable to ever say that he wasn't loved, completely cherished.
And when Dean's exhaustion makes Dean go quiet, Castiel gently licks at the hollow of Dean's throat. Because after a day in bed, Dean's skin smells like salt, feels soft and smudged with scars and freckles. He'll nap on the bed, and Castiel will lie beside him, with a book slumped on his chest, fingers embracing a dogeared page- a prophecy that an angel would fall in love with a human in the end-times. And Dean's lips might be kiss-swollen, cheeks and tips of ears flushed rosy. His lashes would be dangerously dark against his skin, like the way Castiel would paint beauty, lush and slothful.
Comments are loved!