Fic: Closer to God (Dean/Castiel)
So apparently Sundays are for porn. *cough*
ANYWAY...12 days to go! Previous ficlets here.
Title: Closer to God
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None, really
Warnings: Um. More than the usual amount of potential blasphemy. Also, see summary.
Length: ~400 words
Summary: For a kink_meme prompt that was, essentially, “rimming.” And that’s basically all this is.
Closer to God
Castiel doesn’t see anything dirty about it. Nothing dirtier than anything else about the day-to-day existence of humanity, all blood and sweat and skin. Everything designed to feel, to provoke a response. Just to be close to it feels akin to standing at the base of a tornado, to riding the winds of a hurricane. It is a way-one of the only ways these days-that he can feel closer to God.
Dean takes him there, Dean with his scarred golden skin, his clenched fists twisting the sheets, his guilty-ecstatic moans. Gasping, “Cas, oh Jesus, Cas,”-prayer and blasphemy in one-as Castiel opens his vessel’s mouth and runs his vessel’s tongue down the crack of Dean’s ass.
Why? He can hear the call and response: Because he wants to make Dean lose his pain in pleasure.
Why? Because there’s nowhere on this body he doesn’t want to claim as his own.
Why? Because…well, it’s ineffable, surely.
Ineffable, indescribable: the way Dean shudders and bucks beneath him as Castiel tongues around his hole, teases the sensitive skin, and pushes inside. The noises Dean makes, that he attempts to muffle against the pillow. But Castiel can hear: Dean sounds like he is being pulled apart and remade, reshaped under Castiel’s careful ministrations. He’d done it once-rebuilt Dean’s body, healed Dean’s soul-but just because they now both walk the mortal plane does not mean there are not options available to him. He can still move inside Dean, brush his inner passage with his tongue again and again, and write the Word there.
God is with you, Dean. I am with you.
Rutting against the sheets, his own borrowed body caught up in this moment that is both wholly human and entirely divine, Castiel moves his tongue in and out like a snake’s. But it is not the knowledge of good and evil he brings.
I am in you. Dean, God is in you.
Their semen spills, smears together on the sheets. Dean whispers his name in a voice that sounds shattered, broken; that sounds like that of a new man.
Castiel sweetens the taste of his mouth and kisses him until they both stop trembling.
Uriel, had he not proved traitorous, would say that Castiel was sullying himself, rolling around in the mud. But Castiel doesn’t see anything dirty about it.
There’s nothing dirty about the human expression of love.
ANYWAY...12 days to go! Previous ficlets here.
Title: Closer to God
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None, really
Warnings: Um. More than the usual amount of potential blasphemy. Also, see summary.
Length: ~400 words
Summary: For a kink_meme prompt that was, essentially, “rimming.” And that’s basically all this is.
Closer to God
Castiel doesn’t see anything dirty about it. Nothing dirtier than anything else about the day-to-day existence of humanity, all blood and sweat and skin. Everything designed to feel, to provoke a response. Just to be close to it feels akin to standing at the base of a tornado, to riding the winds of a hurricane. It is a way-one of the only ways these days-that he can feel closer to God.
Dean takes him there, Dean with his scarred golden skin, his clenched fists twisting the sheets, his guilty-ecstatic moans. Gasping, “Cas, oh Jesus, Cas,”-prayer and blasphemy in one-as Castiel opens his vessel’s mouth and runs his vessel’s tongue down the crack of Dean’s ass.
Why? He can hear the call and response: Because he wants to make Dean lose his pain in pleasure.
Why? Because there’s nowhere on this body he doesn’t want to claim as his own.
Why? Because…well, it’s ineffable, surely.
Ineffable, indescribable: the way Dean shudders and bucks beneath him as Castiel tongues around his hole, teases the sensitive skin, and pushes inside. The noises Dean makes, that he attempts to muffle against the pillow. But Castiel can hear: Dean sounds like he is being pulled apart and remade, reshaped under Castiel’s careful ministrations. He’d done it once-rebuilt Dean’s body, healed Dean’s soul-but just because they now both walk the mortal plane does not mean there are not options available to him. He can still move inside Dean, brush his inner passage with his tongue again and again, and write the Word there.
God is with you, Dean. I am with you.
Rutting against the sheets, his own borrowed body caught up in this moment that is both wholly human and entirely divine, Castiel moves his tongue in and out like a snake’s. But it is not the knowledge of good and evil he brings.
I am in you. Dean, God is in you.
Their semen spills, smears together on the sheets. Dean whispers his name in a voice that sounds shattered, broken; that sounds like that of a new man.
Castiel sweetens the taste of his mouth and kisses him until they both stop trembling.
Uriel, had he not proved traitorous, would say that Castiel was sullying himself, rolling around in the mud. But Castiel doesn’t see anything dirty about it.
There’s nothing dirty about the human expression of love.