inonebasket | (no subject)

Dean looks momentarily startled, opening his mouth to say something, stopping, shutting it...and looking away.

He'll just...finish his beer now.

Castiel takes another one, cracks it open and sets it down on the table in front of Dean.

Dean appreciates Castiel's devotion to the rapid destruction of Dean's liver.

He chugs that beer, too. And a third.

Actually, by the time he's done, between the whiskey at the club and the beer at the motel, Dean is fast approaching intoxicated. It's not too bad. He could still drive. Maybe. If he had to. But he's definitely approaching the threshold of drunk.

He gestures to Cas, crooking his fingers in a beckoning motion. "C'mere."

Cas thinks he recognizes that tone of voice and tries not to look too eager as he rises and walks around the table. His heart beats just a bit harder in his chest. "Yes?"

Dean fists his hand in Castiel's shirt and pulls him down to eye level.

"I don't care about your true form. I can't see it." Somehow, Dean manages to shrug with his eyebrows. "But sometimes? I wish I could. Because it's probably pretty freaking amazing. Chrysler building. Wings." His eyes slide away from Cas for a second, leaving him staring into space. "We've gotta get your wings back."

It's important, what Dean is saying. Castiel registers that on some level, the same level where his tiny specks of collected Grace hum and yearn to be complete, where memories of flight faster than the human mind can perceive settle and wait to be experienced again. A deep, instinctual part of Cas that will never be different; just as God created humans to be what they are, so did he create angels to fly. Cas wants his wings back too.

But right now, he's still more human than angel, and right now his eyes are focused on Dean's lips as they move. He swallows. Th-thmp th-thmp th-thmp a little faster behind his ribs.

Dean is drunk, Cas, don't listen to the ramblings of a drunk man.

"You're...weedy. I can't picture wings on you--I mean. I mean I've seen silhouettes of 'em, when angels die. Just can't picture it."

But Dean isn't making a move. Cas isn't sure if he's allowed, so he'll just. Continue to stare at Dean's mouth.

"The shadows of my wings you've seen are representations. The size of my true wings cannot be measured by human standards as it varies depending on how I use them."

"So you're a grower, not a shower." Dean snorts. "That figures."

That seems to be all the conversation Dean had in mind because he yanks on Cas' shirt again, sitting up straight to close the distance between them and cover Cas' mouth with his own.

Oh thank fuck.

Cas climbs right onto Dean's lap without any prompting this time, straddling his legs and gripping the back of the chair with one hand, the other arm around Dean's shoulders.

Well. Cas sure has figured out this making out thing real quick, hasn't he? Not that Dean's complaining.

Now that he has a lap full of angel, Dean actually relaxes, resting his hands on Cas' hips. Dean is in a motel room in Vegas, with a damn Angel of the Lord in his lap. A virgin Angel of the Lord. He can't help but feel like he's dirtying Cas up a little bit. It's kind of a nice "fuck you" to upstairs, actually. For many reasons.

Cas is a quick learner.

After a while Cas needs to pull back for some air, and Dean probably needs to breathe as well so it's good for all parties involved when he finally does so. He rests his forehead against Dean's, eyes closed and panting. "I'm not sure what to do next." Like, he's pretty sure they're supposed to do something after open-mouthed kisses, but he's not positive about what exactly that something is.

Breathing is overrated. Dean left his eyes open when they kissed, doesn't see the need to close them now.

Screw it. Dean's drunk and he hasn't gotten laid in...a while. He slides his hands up Cas' sides, rucking up his shirt and y'know what? Skin is skin, even on a male body, and Dean really really likes touching it.

"Lucky for you, I know what I'm doing." To a degree.

For about five seconds, Castiel shuts down in a fit of absolute terror.

-but then he remembers that this is Dean, and it's fine because Dean is everything he's wanted, and Cas has been wanting Dean so badly and he's fine with this. He lets out the breath he'd been holding and, after a moment of hesitation, slides forward in Dean's lap so their bodies are pressed together.

Castiel's lips are against Dean's ear and he's not sure what to do with himself, so he just holds onto the back of the chair and Dean's shoulder and tries not to inadvertently fuck anything up.

Virgins. This is why Dean prefers ladies with a little more experience.

Dean lets his hands drift up Cas' spine, distantly noting that it feels like Cas' tits are kind of small and--Oh right. Cas isn't a lady.

Anyway, there's going to be a lot more than just 'their bodies' pressed together if Cas keeps his lips where they are. Dean might be drunk, yes, but not so much that he can't get it up, and his ears are kind of a weak spot.

"Cas."

Cas turns his head slightly and his lips are right there when he whispers, "Dean?"

God, he's stupidly nervous. He hopes Dean doesn't call it off this time.

Oh for the love of--

There is no good reason for that to turn him on.

Dammit, Cas.

Dean lifts his hands, curling one around the back of Castiel's neck and burying the other in his hair, dragging him into a kiss. Nope. Doesn't look like Dean's calling it off this time.

Okay. Okay then.

The next few minutes are filled with the kind of desperate making out that comes from a man who's never gotten this much action before in his life. His hands are everywhere; eventually Cas gets bold enough to unbutton Dean's shirt down far enough to shove his hands in there, too, pressing down along his skin over his collarbone and chest.

Cas would have already kissed all over Dean's neck if not for his hands holding him steady, and within moments Cas picks up on Dean's cues and actually nips at his lips with his teeth, sucks on Dean's tongue, even growls once or twice. Yeah, he's really into this. Really into it.

Very obviously into it, if Dean's paying attention to what's going on down south.

Fast learner. Thank god Dean managed to land an observant angel. Two, if he counts Anna. Which he doesn't.

He really should let Cas loose, since the whole hand in the hair thing is a flagrant violation of the first rule Dean laid out for them, but he figures that rule was more for Cas than for himself anyway. So it's probably fine. It's not like Cas is complaining. Well, not that Dean's giving him much of a chance.

Eventually, he's forced to break for air again because somewhere along the line, Cas actually learned how to kiss, and now Dean's a little breathless. He lets go of Cas' neck, actually pushes him back a bit, but it's only long enough to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way and peel it off. The second it's gone, tossed carelessly to one side, Dean tucks his hands under the hem of Cas' shirt and pulls it up hoping to heaven that it's clear he wants it off because he really doesn't trust his voice at the moment.

Yeah. Cas isn't the only one into it.

Thankfully being a virgin doesn't make Cas completely stupid, so when Dean pulls the hem of his shirt up Cas takes the hint and yanks it the rest of the way off, hurriedly tossing it aside. He takes advantage of Dean's hands elsewhere and ducks his head to scrape his teeth along Dean's jaw, the stubble like sandpaper.

Cas's hands roam all over Dean's torso, one pausing to trace the handprint on his shoulder as the other strokes across his chest, fingers catching on his nipple. Cas isn't really doing anything specific; he's just touching Dean as much as possible, doing as much as he can. There's very little thinking going on, since most of his blood is rushing straight down to his dick.

Yeah, well the lack of blood to his brain might. Hard to tell.

Dean groans--actually groans--and splays a hand against Cas' chest. Male or not, the situation is making his gut twist in increasingly awesome ways. He slings his arm around Cas' waist, yanking him as close as possible and god yes, they are both enjoying this a lot, aren't they? But it can't last, if only because Dean's spine is starting to cramp. They need to relocate.

"Cas. We need--" Words, Dean. Use your words. Even when they're hard. Dean's hard. He pushes against Cas. "Move. Gotta move. Get on the bed."

And oh fuck if Cas is understanding this sensation correctly -hard to tell, everything's fuzzy- Dean's just as turned on as he is. Cas gives a full-bodied shudder at that knowledge, straight down his spine and shaking his core, and he pants before kissing Dean's jaw, drags his teeth over the shell of his ear, pulls his lobe between his lips and sucks. He can't move ok he's making out with you, can't stop doing that, not even for a second.

Well, maybe not quite as turned on as Cas is, but pretty damn close. Close enough.

"Cas--oh. Damn."

Honestly, at this point, Cas is making out like a champ. It's really hammering home how much attention he pays to Dean that he's picking up on all the cues so fast. Dean's been with some incredibly observant girls, but never long enough for them to really find his hot spots. With ten minutes, Cas could probably find them all.

He tries again, a little firmer this time, fingers digging into Cas' hip.

"I mean it, Cas. Get on the bed. C'mon, five seconds." It's not like he's asking Cas to run a marathon, Dean just wants to move ten feet to the right.

Give Cas a few more killer sessions like this and maybe he'll be able to keep his composure for long enough to walk ten feet to the right.

Dean's grip and tone combined are enough to finally rattle him out of that stupor, and even though Cas has to take a second to collect himself, forehead to Dean's shoulder as he just breathes, eventually he slides off of Dean's lap with an apologetic mumble of, "Of course." His voice is like wet gravel, and he has to clear his throat. "My apologies."

"Don't--don't apologize." Oh god, don't apologize. And please, give Dean a second to regain his wits. He takes a deep breath, waving toward the bed. "Go on."