It was the night before. Tomorrow they were moving out, and they were going to take the Colt and try to kill Lucifer. Kill Sam. He still didn't like the thought. He understood that in this time Sam was Lucifer's vessel, and he liked to think that he'd done everything he could to find another solution
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Yanking his jeans down from his hips, the trail of kisses stopped at the base of his cock and his hand caught it again, curled around his length as he let his lips drag along it, slowly, and he kept eye contact because he wanted to watch Dean watching him. He wanted to see the heavy, half-lidded expression that was all undisguised lust.
He let his tongue drag over the head, licking him slowly and then again, more intently, and he closed his lips around it and sucked. He leaned his free hand against Dean's hip, holding him down, aware that in just a few seconds of not getting quite enough, Dean's hips were going to buck to get
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Cas had always been special. In the back of the Impala, he could feel his Light, through touches, through the way he pressed fingers against that burn that still marked his arm. This Cas was human, didn't have that feeling of Light bleeding through his pores, and yet, he was still special. Even intoxicated and sexual and impossibly human, there was still something about Cas that drew him in more than just the prospect of sex ( ... )
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