Grace: Fallen 2/2 [SPN, Destiel, R]

[uncannycucumber]

Title: Fallen
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Genre: angst, romance
Parts:  Feathers + Fallen 1/2 + Grace 
Warnings: Violence, consensual sexual situations
Summary: "Losing your grace can't be half as bad as you think. The only bite you took was a bit off, you know? There's a reason some angels really dig mortality."

Important note: Despite the third person POV, all that is described is what the character in the center experiences. Nothing stated about others or the surroundings is absolute, everything is subjective.

A/N: I hate angel porn. I hate angel porn. I hate porn. I hate writing it. I can't. I just can't. Fuck dicks and boners to hell and beyond. In this context, this can be taken literally. As usual, this should be rather spoiler free.


(<--- Part 1)

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sam hesitated when Dean sat down by the table, his hair sticking here and there and barely any light left in his eyes. He was pale and his eyes were swollen from the lack of quality rest and the way he drank his coffee made it seem like he wasn't even tasting it in his mouth.

The younger didn't know if he should open his mouth at all. He was afraid Dean wouldn't want to talk, or worse, that he'd turn it against Sam somehow. The full truth was that Sam hadn't exactly wanted to be woken up to see what he saw, but he'd seen it, and what he'd witnessed worried him more than anything so far had managed after the day they'd arrived there.

"Dean," he begun, deciding that bringing it up now was the only way to get it through at all, a mistake he might later regret if he allowed it the chance, "I saw what happened last night between you and Cas. I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but if you ever do - I just want to let you know that I already know, so you can come to me first."

Dean looked up at him very slowly, his words still sinking in. A lot of emotions passed his features, leaving him with none at all.
He sipped his coffee and shrugged.
"Awkward," he said, stretching the word, and from his tone it was clear he dismissed the feelings associated with the memory.

Sam suspected he was pushing back guilt as well. His brother's guilt was familiar to him. It was a force that never left Dean alone. It had been there perhaps forever, building up to the unknown point where he wouldn't be able to take it anymore. Out of the million things that could kill them at any moment, Sam feared Dean's guilt would be the one to take him out.
More than anything he wished the older would talk, no matter how it'd come out, but he never did. He kept it all to himself, ashamed of any sign of weakness, amongst which for himself he counted the need for a shoulder. That was who Dean was - he believed he alone was responsible for everything. On top of the burdens he carried for others he also had to carry his own, but he never allowed himself to become one for anyone else. He feared it more than anything - from day one he'd always had to keep quiet about himself, put his own good aside for that of others, beginning from their mother and continuing on to Sam, then from Sam to everyone else, and now there was Castiel.

With the aura of defeat, Sam picked up the day's newspaper and slid it across the table to Dean.
"I was just reading this, look," he begun and reached from behind his laptop to pat a certain article from the bottom of the page.
Dean's gaze fell upon it and stayed upon the headline.
"Bobby and I found a few relevant articles from earlier years that might help us get to the heart of this, but I think we're running out of time, we need to get there as soon as possible."

Dean muttered something, but Sam's attention was caught by the footsteps descending the stairs and he didn't hear him. Through the open door he saw Castiel landing barefooted on the floor from the last step of the stairs, still buttoning a collared shirt and looking like he wasn't quite familiar with how it was supposed to work. Apparently Dean had expected Sam to reply and, left in silence, had raised his eyes to look what was keeping the younger so occupied and then noticed his grin. Prompted by it, the older turned around to see what Sam had been staring at.

"Jesus, Cas, it's not that hard," he huffed and rose up from his chair, nearly knocking his cup of coffee over, "How the hell do you intend to pass for a human if you don't even know how to dress yourself? Seriously."

Sam couldn't help smiling at them when Dean gently slapped Castiel's hands off of the buttons and did them for him in a couple refined movements. Castiel lowered his gaze looking ashamed, and as he did so, Dean pressed a finger under his chin and lifted his head up again.
"Cheer up, fluffy. Get some coffee and wake up."

The markings on the angel's neck, from what Sam had managed to see past the shirt and Dean's hands and from what was still visible on the skin above where the shirt reached up to, were extremely painful-looking and there was no way to count them as anything other than the signs of violence that they in full truth were. Seeing them was not nearly as odd or awkward as Sam had expected, but it did give him all the more reason to worry. He turned back to his laptop without paying attention to the page he was on, mechanically scrolling down uncaring of its contents.

He'd been very close to interrupting the two last night, and as his memory returned to the bruises on the angel's neck, he wished he had. But even then, he still did not know what he could have done, and he didn't know what he would do now or even what were the possible options he had to begin with. Beneath it all, he feared it would turn worse, and one potential way to worsen it was to trigger it through poking around carelessly. He hated being his brother's therapist for one reason; he didn't know how to handle the anger that had grown inside Dean like a cancer for years. The only thing he'd ever achieved by trying to help had been making everything worse than it had already been.
For that, he feared to even try this time.
If there was something he didn't want to ruin, it was the last bit of hope Dean had in his life. In the end however, if things wouldn't change, Dean would put that light out himself and the result would be exactly the same, if not worse.

*

Bobby raised his eyes and looked Dean in the eye.
"No, no ye won't," he said simply and threw a bag of weapons to the back of his car, "You're in no damn condition whatsoever to hunt."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but the words simply didn't get past the shock he felt. Sam avoided looking at him, and through it all, he somehow managed to reaim his anger towards him instead.
"You're behind this, aren't you?" he spat out, taking a step towards Sam.

Bobby laid an arm across his chest, preventing him from proceeding. The look on his face was disbelieving, and the look on Sam's was shocked and insulted.
"What? Behind what, Dean?" Sam asked, letting his arms fall down from where he'd crossed them on his chest, "It was Bobby's decision. I've got nothing to do with it."

"The boy's speaking the truth," Bobby said and pushed Dean the couple steps back until he was in front of him again, "But your reaction just proves me right, son. You ain't goin' anywhere. Besides - we can't leave Cas here alone. He's like a bit of fresh meat hung out in plain sight if he's alone. If it helps any, I thought we'd leave him with the best we have, and the best just so happens to be you."

Dean wasn't sure which hurt him more, the look Sam was still giving him or the kindness behind the strict decisiveness in Bobby's voice. Unable to argue, he turned his back on them both and stormed back inside, slamming the door behind him. As he ran up the stairs and then up to the attic, he felt like he was 14 all over again and John had just commanded him to stay with Sam and stop complaining about it like a little kid.
All he wanted to do was to curl up in his bed and hide under the blanket, but he wasn't going to sink that low - instead, he walked up to the window and watched Bobby pack up the car, sit behind the wheel and drive off with Sam on the front seat next to him. The sun was slowly setting, although it would still be a few hours until dark.
He wasn't entirely surprised to hear footsteps upon the creaky stairs, but he wished Castiel would have stayed off and let him be. He was trembling and in a state of weakness he didn't want anyone to see, much less Castiel who'd already faced him like that and hadn't gotten out of it unharmed.

The closer the angel got, the tenser Dean got until even the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. His whole body was in flight or fight state, his heart racing in his chest and his eyes locked upon the horizon, not really seeing it at all.
The warmth of Castiel's arms around his waist felt like rubbing numbing balm on wounds. He didn't say anything, merely stood there behind him, holding him, and slowly Dean noticed he was calming down again and his body relaxed into the other's touch. It was a sluggish process but the fact it happened was a miracle to him.
The older laid his chin on Dean's shoulder and he could feel him breathing against his neck.

"Is now a bad time to ask you for a favour?" Castiel asked softly.
Dean raised his hand to touch the male's face, feeling the smoothness of his shaved skin, tracing down a scab he knew was there by his chin. The angel leaned into the touch, his body pressing firmly against Dean's. Dean closed his eyes and breathed in his scent. It was changing, slowly but certainly. Somehow the new tone of it was more familiar to Dean than the one he had accepted as Castiel's scent and he knew that the change had occurred because the body was all Castiel now. The vessel he'd occupied had become his own flesh and was adjusting to him, its old soul's memory fading from it with each passing day.

"No," Dean replied breathlessly, his entire concentration upon the feel of the other so near him, "Now might be the best time."

Castiel huffed, the tip of his nose pressing against Dean's head right behind his ear. He'd never felt such a touch there, the intimacy of the contact a whole different level from anything that he'd ever experienced on such an unsignificant part of his body. The other's skin was cold there but Dean's warmth caught onto it fast. He felt the moisture of the angel's breath upon his neck and on the back of his ear.

"Practice with me," Castiel pleaded.

"As in with weapons, right?"

"Yes."

Dean moistened his dried lips and nodded.
"How's your body feeling?" he asked.

"Weak, but like a work in progress; improvable."
He tilted his head like a pet when Dean rubbed the curve of his jaw gently with his fingertips, the motion turning to gentle scratching when he noted the reaction it prompted in the other. He noticed he was smiling - it felt like the hurt inside him subsided and healed with the expression alone. An aching sort of melancholic happiness settled inside him, replacing the former bitterness and warming him from inside out until he felt it was hard to breathe.

*

They started from basics, warming up with disarming practice on unloaded guns. Dean had never trained with Castiel before and the seriousness of his attitude toward it surprised him. Once they got into it, there was no sign of shyness or hesitation in the angel. He seemed to have discarded his emotions entirely and no matter how many times he got it wrong, he never once seemed frustrated or demotivated to try again.
It soon dawned to Dean that Castiel would without a second of questioning continue a single practice to perfection, no matter how tired he was or how many bruises he'd acquire in the process. As they moved onto theory, going through the basics of how to prepare a gun for firing, how to aim with it, how to shoot with it and how to return it to a safe state, he realised his respect for the other had significantly increased during the past hour alone. He'd never gotten this close to the professional warrior the other was by birth. They'd fought together, but that was in an environment where they all did what they knew best how to do. They'd never practiced, never repeated a single move over and over and over again and sustained blows until imperfection shed like old skin from the way their bodies knew the motion, like it had been imprinted into their muscles.

He was quick to learn, too - Dean never once had to worry he'd grow tired of teaching him. Instead he started worrying he'd soon have nothing left to teach. When he saw the male's arms trembling under the weight of the light gun and when his own arms ached like there was a fire burning them each time he tried to move he knew they'd done a month's practice in less than four hours. What they hadn't achieved was removing the restlessness from inside him. He wasn't exhausted enough for it to be gone, and so, when Castiel had shot his last bullet, Dean charged him without a warning, disarming him before he could react. It was him however who first landed on the ground, the angel on top of him, pressing him down with his hand upon his throat - Dean's body reacted before he caught his breath again, knee pressing into the angel's side, throwing him off balance and allowing the human a second to get up again. His legs trembled as he dodged a grab but doing so gave Castiel just enough time to pull himself up as well. A hint of a smile crossed his face and for a reason Dean couldn't understand it paralyzed him on the spot for a fraction of a second. It was his mistake, and for that, he landed back on the ground with a bleeding lip and a bruised tongue. Grimacing, he grabbed Castiel by the shirt and dragged him down.

Instead of a punch he pressed his lips against the older's and kissed him, blood from his mouth spreading upon the male's mouth and dripping down their chins. The angel's lips joined in, first timidly, then bit by bit more bravely until the tip of his tongue brushed against the wound at the side of Dean's mouth, gathering a drop of his blood and bringing it between his own lips.
Dean's fingers were in Castiel's hair, pushing him down, his other arm around the angel's body still, gripping and tearing at his shirt.
Their lips parted and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Somehow, Castiel's knees were on both sides of Dean's hips and his hands were both in Dean's hair, one more on the back of his neck than on his head anymore. They breathed heavily, bodies trembling one at a time like the same shiver was echoing between them. The angel's fingers were cold as ice and he was pale when Dean looked at him, his face stained with the younger's blood, a drop of it running down his neck still.

In a surreal change in the mood, a late bird whistled in the distance, and for the moment they both stared into one another's eyes, full of emotions that didn't have a natural-feeling outlet. Dean knew how the other ached, he ached in the same exact manner but just like Castiel he felt frozen in time, unable to move any part of him, blood still dripping down his injured lip and soaking up the chest of his shirt one drop at a time.
As seconds ticked by he started fearing Castiel would move away again, that he'd walk out of the situation, but when he looked the other in the eye he couldn't see a trace of that in his expression, nothing about him seemed to imply he was going to pull up and leave anytime soon.
Instead, his mind seemed to be working along the tracks Dean's was, trying to find the words to break the spell binding them in place.

They never found those words. Instead in the end the older leaned closer again, hesitating briefly before pressing his lips against Dean's in a very questioning manner. Dean parted his instantly in an invitation for the other to continue, his fingertips descending from the angel's hair onto the back of his neck and stroking the area gently as their mouths learned a common rythm and motion. The longer the kiss lasted, the easier it got and the more Dean wanted it to last. He noticed he was being pushed back by the older leaning forwards into the kiss and slowly he gave up to it, landing on his back with the angel bending over him, their lips still joined throughout the slow motion fall.
As Castiel's hips pressed against him in the new position they'd taken Dean's suspicions were confirmed - he was just as aroused as he was, and the pressure on them both made Castiel jolt and Dean let out a muffled moan into the kiss.
His hair was standing up and his heart threatened to break out of his chest, beating so loud he heard its sound from the outside as well as from the inside as the blood it pumped flooded violently inside him beat by beat.

The kiss they shared seemed to gain from the unexpected touch of their hips and Dean couldn't not notice the way the angel pressed against him again, this time with caution, as if to see if the feeling would repeat itself. The younger grabbed the male's short hair and pulled at it, raising his hips against Castiel's, pressing onto him and moving just enough to make sure the other felt how it was like to him for him to grind against Dean's body like that, how it was both the most erotic touch he'd ever felt and at the same time, the most torturous ever applied on him, as it never got strong enough. His hint wasn't caught up - the angel gasped slightly and turned to kiss him on his neck. At that point, Dean didn't even care anymore. He kept his hips pushed up against the other's and moved them, one leg climbing over and bending around Castiel's thighs for support.

"You're killing me," he whispered breathlessly, "Please just let me die."

He felt Castiel's smile against his neck and tugged at his hair again.
"Wouldn't you rather die indoors?" the angel asked, his words like soft kisses upon the oversensitive skin.

Dean caught his breath and made sure his tongue still worked, shivering, forcing his body to stop grinding against the older.
"No," he finally said, clawing frustratedly at the ground below with his free hand until the undersides of his nails were full of dirt, "I'd rather hold you close right here and never let go again. But you're right."

His fingers let go of the other's hair and, together with the dirtied hand, bent around his shoulders instead, pushing him down from on top of his body so that he could sit up. He had sand in his hair too, it trickled down his neck and fell inside his shirt. Castiel had rolled on the ground quite gracefully; his bright blue eyes were focused upon Dean and his lips were parted all too invitingly, making the younger's body respond with an animalistic urge to just abandon all reason and logic and pin him down right there.

Instead, he smiled and lowered his gaze.
"Let's get a room."

*

At first hey didn't get further than the living room. Castiel could have - his legs seemed stiff and unwilling to follow his orders to move, but at least he had the will to do so. Dean wanted nothing more than to jump back on him and have all of him, regardless of how it would happen. His legs refused to move where they should have brought him, instead leading him to Castiel. He watched like through mist as he took a hold of the male's waist and turned him to face him, everything only turned real when their lips met again and he felt the angel's body shivering against his.

The older's fingers pushed into his hair. It surprised Dean how naturally he responded now and how little there was left of the earlier confusion about how to react to many things relating to closeness and especially things edging sexuality. He pushed the angel against the stairs and found his fingers trapped in the borrow shirt's hem - unthinking, he undid the knot and let his hands underneath the shirt, pulling it off, then backing from Castiel just for long enough to tear off his own shirt. Immediately after letting go of the cloth he returned, pressing against the older. He felt breathless from the manner the other was so close to him, how their skins rubbed together without anything in between and how firm Castiel's shape was against him, unlike any he'd gotten this close to before.

A tiny disappointed whimper escaped the younger as Castiel pushed him back, gently but decisively. His fingers stayed upon Dean's waist and he held him there, a startled little smile upon his lips and the familiar tilt of his head present to forward a message Dean's mind wasn't processing. For a while he seemed like he was going to say something, but he couldn't find the words and instead took Dean's hand, leading him up the few first steps and picking up his pace then, their hands parting.
The younger followed him clumsily, his feet still not working as he wanted them to, but it was like a rope had been tied around him that had its other end around Castiel; the further the other moved, the more Dean's body ached to feel him again, and the better control he had over his legs in order to catch up with the male again.

He closed the door behind them, locking them in the comfortable privacy of the attic room. Castiel walked all the way to their messy bed, standing on the mattresses as he turned towards Dean again, holding out his hand, his smile encouraging now.
Dean moved to him and allowed the older to pull him close. The burn of the moment before had left him. It was replaced with a more quiet need to be close and he wondered whether this was more the way Castiel wanted him to be. He leaned to the angel's body and breathed in his scent, feeling his fingers tracing his back and finally bending around the collar of his jeans. The skin Dean was leaning against was warm and that warmth seemed to radiate from him and wrap around Dean's body too.

His fingers joined Castiel's fingers by his jeans and guided them to the front over his belt. They undid it together, Castiel's fingers mostly tugging when Dean's handed them the belt, as the younger wasn't trusting him with the task of opening the buckle from that angle. Once the belt was off, he left Castiel's hands on the spot and turned his attention to the older's jeans. He undid the button and the zipper and let them hang loose - Castiel did the same for his.
They kissed again. The only thing that held the bits of clothing on them was the closeness of their bodies.

The angel took Dean's hand and pulled him down on the bed. They ended up in a half-sitting, half-lying position, eyes on each other at all times. Dean pushed his again cold fingertips under the other's jeans and on top of his hip that was still covered by one more layer of cloth.
"I'm a little lost," Castiel admitted and laid his head down on the pillow.

His casual tone made Dean grin. His voice was changing too - the old monotonous, low voice he'd always had was being pushed aside by a voice with more variety in it, a pattern of speech with tones unique to the angel. It was clearly affected by Dean's way of talking, he recognised many of the tones Castiel used as those most familiar to him from his own speech, but it had its own colours and quirks tying the influences together, and that was what made it so interesting for the younger to listen to. He was growing more fond of it each time he heard it, and watching it evolve so fast was fascinating.

"Yeah?"

That was the most intelligent thing Dean could come up with, and he topped it with an apologetic smirk, through which he noticed he was breathing. Even now that everything moved at such a sluggish pace, he was still out of breath.

"This seemed a lot easier in porn."

The younger snorted. He brought his hand over to Castiel's side and traced the skin over his ribs and abdomen, enjoying the manner his hair stood up from the touch and especially the tiny jolt that moved his hips every time Dean's fingers touched a spot that had gathered up sensitivity from touches nearby.
"I don't think you've even been watching the right sort," the younger huffed and laid his head down near Castiel's.

The angel smiled slightly and shook his head.

"You know," Dean said and turned his eyes to his hand that rose up along the other male's body all the way to his chest.
He was used to the coarseness of the older's skin around his neck and hands and face - the softness of the parts that were nearly always covered by clothes surprised him.
"Everything would be so much easier if you'd chosen a female vessel."

It was Castiel's turn to huff.
"I didn't pick a vessel for this," he said, his voice implying he was well aware that Dean was teasing him, but then it changed entirely serious for the next part, "And Dean... there are other reasons. While angels are essentially genderless, we do have a preference individually, an identity that can be called male or female. It is not the same thing, but... how to put it? If I'd been created as a human, I would have been born a male. You can't escape that. I don't really understand why you try so hard to forget it. You do not need to justify it."

Dean's eyes widened a little and he glanced into Castiel's eyes. Then he chuckled surprisedly, noticing Castiel was right about that. He did hope, somewhere deep inside, that he could forget the fact he was there with a man, or more accurately, a masculine entity. It was bothering him.
He felt Castiel's hand joining with his and his fingers closed around it, seeping the warmth of the other's into himself.
Castiel brought their hands up to Dean's face and stroked his cheek gently with the back of his own hand, examining his eyes as he did so. His leg moved around Dean's and pulled his lower body closer until their bodies were together.

"When I first saw you," he said quietly, again moving their hands down, this time onto Dean's abdomen, "You were torn and scarred beyond recognition. I held you for just a moment as I brought you out with me, but all that time I felt why you were so important. Inside the tortured surface of the soul I grabbed was an unparalled amount of strength and willpower, and so much desire to do the right thing."

Dean looked away. He closed his mind from the memory but took in the older's words, his heart aching in response to them. He wasn't sure if it was a compliment, but the way Castiel spoke told him that the memory meant a world to him.

"Right now..." the angel continued, bringing the tip of his nose against Dean's neck and breathing in his scent, "I feel you the same way as I did then. You're broken, but inside, you have a light unmatched in this world, and it still shines bright."

"Stop analysing me. You scared off a hooker with that once and you'll end up doing the same thing with me if you're not careful."

Castiel huffed. His breath sent shivers down Dean's spine.
"I won't scare you off. I'm inviting you closer."

Dean looked at him surprisedly. Then, taking the words at face value, he rolled on top of his angel and kissed him. Now it was his turn to pin the other down. He could feel how hard the male was against him under the last bits of clothing and impulsively, he brought his hands on his waist and undid those last layers of fabric from between them, first from Castiel and then from himself. When he was done, he returned where he'd been - he could feel the other's heartbeat against his own chest and the softness of his abdomen against his, but nothing matched the way he felt when he could just bring his arms around the older and feel him there in full, skin to skin, just like he was.
"Tell me something about yourself. Unlike you, I don't read minds."

Castiel smiled. He bent his left leg so that Dean felt himself slipping between them. His knee pressed against the mattress under them, restabilising him where he was, as Castiel leaned the leg he'd pulled up agains the side of his hip.
For once, having a long eye contact with the angel didn't make Dean feel strange. Now it felt like something he needed and enjoyed greatly while it lasted.

"I don't have all that much to tell," Castiel said after a moment of silence, his hand landing on the back of Dean's neck to stroke him as they laid there.
Dean felt the same impatience in his body as haunted his own, but this felt like the right way to go about this - slowly and strangely, unlike he'd ever slept with anyone before.
They were remaking the rules of the game from scratch. It made it more exciting for Dean. He was an old player, but the game he played now was the one he'd been waiting for. It had never been meant to be like the rest, because nothing about them was like what had come before.

"You have everything to tell. Problem is you don't know where to start, which things matter," the younger corrected Castiel's argument and pressed a finger upon his lips.

He felt the tip of the male's tongue touching it very briefly, and with a quiet laughter, he pulled it off again. Castiel wet his lips and closed his eyes, bringing Dean's head down until their lips met.
"Why don't you tell me, Dean," he spoke into the kiss, his words barely audible, "what you know of me?"

"Because," Dean replied, and his words slipped right past the older's lips into his mouth, "I'm afraid that if I try, I'll know that I've barely scraped the surface - that what you are is something I can't understand."

Castiel picked the last word off of his mouth. The inner sides of his lips felt cool against Dean's lips as they joined together, but his tongue was warm, and it had absolutely no idea what it was supposed to do when Dean introduced his to it.
In a moment, he pulled back to laugh, landing a spontaneous kiss on the lips he'd abandoned. Castiel looked at the ceiling above their heads, smiling.
"I don't understand any of this," he sighed, sounding comically content about it.

"Don't worry, you'll learn. You're one lewd son of a bitch for an angel, figuring most of this stuff out all by yourself so fast. I don't understand how I'm supposed to keep up with everything you're learning, tomorrow you'll already know your way around this better than I do."

"Is that jealousy I hear in your tone?"

Dean kissed the tease off of the angel's lips and, feeling he was getting much too comfortable again, pressed his knee against the male's groin with a smug look on his face. Castiel's body jerked against his and the angel let out a muffled sound of pleasure, closing his eyes and revealing his neck by bending his head back. He was beautiful like that, exposed and vulnerable. The whole pose he'd taken was glowing with the absolute trust he held in Dean at that precise moment. Knowing that, seeing it so certainly and undeniably in front of him, left a sense of warmth and confidence inside the younger as he leaned to kiss the older's Adam's apple and the soft pit between his collarbones.
"Tell me, Dean," Castiel murmured, fingertips rubbing at the younger's scalp, "Who am I?"

Dean kissed the bump on his neck once more and adjusted his body against Castiel's again so that he could relax. The hair on the older's stomach prickled against his abdomen. The feeling made him smile.
"I don't know, Cas, do I? You're an angel, a warrior, and you suck at French kissing. You always try too hard and reach too high and you're sort of insane."

The human felt the older's chuckle more than he heard it. It was like a gentle punch against his body. Castiel pressed his bent leg against Dean's body and rubbed the back of his head to the pillow as if to make its shape more comfortable, his smile being the only thing Dean could see.
"We're alike, you and I," the angel said softly, sounding like the thought really pleased him at the moment.
Then, without a warning, he pushed Dean down on his side on the mattress.

"Show me how you want to be touched."

The words made the younger grin. He felt blood gathering to the tips of his ears and all over his cheeks but decisively ignored this detail. Instead he took Castiel's hand in his and pressed it against his hip, taking eye contact before stopping to think how he'd like to proceed.
Carefully he moved Castiel's palm across the shape of his waist and down his body until their fingers brushed through the coarse hair surrounding his hardened length, finally reaching it and bending around it together. It required Dean to concentrate on only holding control over his muscles to stop his hips from bucking up to the touch immediately, and even despite that, he still jolted slightly but noticeably into it. He felt his abs straining and breathed in and out, eyes partially closed, mind blank.
His fingers caressed the skin of Castiel's hand.

"That's a good pressure," he muttered, forcing himself back on the track.

He opened his eyes to look into Castiel's, involuntarily licking his lips at the sight.
"And," he added, taking his hand off of the other's and stroking his face instead, "You don't have to wait for me to guide you through it. I'm pretty sure you have an idea what to do next."

A hint of a smile lit up the other's features.
"You'd tell me if I did something wrong."

"I will," Dean huffed and pushed his hand into the older's hair, "But just please hurry up."

His first reaction to the shy movement of the other's hand along his shaft was a wave of relief washing over him and taking the tension from his muscles. The next was to bring all that tension back along with a nearly unbearable amount of pleasure tingling inside his body. His lips parted to let out a sigh, a moan and to draw in a hasty breath as his fingers bent against the older's scalp. He felt Castiel breathing against him, noticing his eyes were closed again. He didn't even want to open them, just feeling the other there so close to him was enough to assure him they both were really there. Their scents had entwined and become something new, something that was both of them and yet neither conclusively. Dean's hips bucked into the touch, demanding rather than asking for more, the trembling of his body adding a hint of desperation to the tone.
Castiel's lips traced the skin of his neck, not quite kissing him. His breath was warm and left behind a feel of moisture cooling off on his skin. He read Dean's reactions well, it was clear from the manner his touches became braver and more curious, leaving the insecurity behind entirely in just a couple minutes. With women, a handjob like this would have counted as foreplay. With Castiel, Dean felt they were making love that way. He didn't feel a need for more. This was almost perfect - the only thing he lacked was the feel of the other against his own hand. The thought of touching the angel made his heart race. His breathing was heavy and fast from both his arousal and nervousness, the breathless chuckle that escaped him born out of the latter only as he pushed his hand down between them, passing Castiel's hand and seeking out his body instead.

The angel buried his head against Dean's neck the moment the younger's fingers bent around his erection. The angle was difficult for Dean, but he caught the hang of the mirrored movement quickly nonetheless, his skin on goosebumps from what felt like overload of feelings resulting from simultaneously pleasuring Castiel, receiving pleasure from him, and feeling his face rub against his sensitive neck. He tasted blood in his mouth again and as he licked his lip dry from the drops seeping out of the cut upon it, he closed his eyes and let his breathing flow free and as vocally as his body willed. His free hand bent around Castiel's body, his fingers pressing against his back in a desperate attempt to seize the moment by rooting himself in the spot as his body seemed to burn from inside out.
A part of him longed for words, a reassurance that what he did was right and felt good, but just when his bliss was compromised by that longing, Castiel pulled back just enough to make their lips meet again. The kiss opened what little was still holding together the wound on Dean's lip but neither of them cared, barely noticed, or if so, then enjoyed the detail in some twisted manner they didn't wish to explore further.
The angel's lips moved from the younger's lips and caught the lobe of his ear instead, nipping at it and sucking at it gently. Then he seemed to stop to breathe there, his each exhale catching into the sensitive inner side of the ear, the sound of the air hitting the skin multipled by a hundredfold so close to the eardrum.
Their hands still worked, keeping both of their bodies in ecstacy, but for that second, Dean concentrated only on what he heard, expecting words or anything at all. What he did not expect was the silent chuckle the other let out before brushing his ear with the tip of his nose.

"You are more beautiful than what paradise could offer, and I do not regret choosing you over it," Castiel said, his breathless voice hoarse in its low, gentle tone.

"Shut up," Dean replied and escaped the things he felt in the kiss he gave to the side of the older's neck.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~