( dean has never had an issue with self-confidence. he knows he's attractive, that he's a good kisser, that he can pick up on what someone likes or doesn't like quickly enough that it makes him more than just a proficient lover. that castiel is so attuned to him would have made all of this even simpler – had he been actually trying to make an impression instead of leaning so heavily on instinct, riding out every little sensation and chasing it down in hopes of more, essentially winging it like he has a habit of doing with every other aspect of his life.
he's never had a penchant for over-thinking things, for letting his thoughts get ahead of him and wait for the rest of his everything to catch up, and now is no exception. except … for maybe the fact that he's already found himself so caught up in the taste of castiel's mouth against his own that there's barely a coherent thought left in his head at all, the difference made between pushing forward and hanging back, taking everything for what it's worth or a slow crawl to an even slower build. and if the tug in the very middle of his chest that comes from the brush of thumbs over his cheekbones is any indication, there's something in him that wants to do right by this.
which means.
he can't let himself get away with anything he would normally pull.
which means –
ah, hell.
such eloquence for someone so intelligent, indeed, and it makes him huff out a small laugh as he pulls back just enough to focus on the confusion in blue eyes. he tries to think of when he'd first noticed how deep a blue they are, deep enough that the cliched phrase you could lose yourself in them is more true than he would care to admit, though he wouldn't ever think to say something like that aloud. ( because those sorts of things just don't cross his mind, he doesn't think like that, because it's something more along the lines of what his brother would come up with.
the sap.
dean rumbles a noncommittal response along the edge of castiel's jaw, tracing over the scratch of stubble with plush, kiss-swollen lips, a murmur over warm skin. he might not necessarily be his type when it comes down to it, but there's always been something about him, something that consistently draws him in and leaves him in awe, for reasons he can't even begin to touch on because he has no idea where they've even taken root.
he doesn't have to be his type. there's already been some intrinsic attraction set in place, something that dean can't even think of ignoring, and being this close, just short of pressing him into the grass with nothing but the weight of his body above him, there's no denying that he's drawn to him. inexplicably. )
no subject
he's never had a penchant for over-thinking things, for letting his thoughts get ahead of him and wait for the rest of his everything to catch up, and now is no exception. except … for maybe the fact that he's already found himself so caught up in the taste of castiel's mouth against his own that there's barely a coherent thought left in his head at all, the difference made between pushing forward and hanging back, taking everything for what it's worth or a slow crawl to an even slower build. and if the tug in the very middle of his chest that comes from the brush of thumbs over his cheekbones is any indication, there's something in him that wants to do right by this.
which means.
he can't let himself get away with anything he would normally pull.
which means –
ah, hell.
such eloquence for someone so intelligent, indeed, and it makes him huff out a small laugh as he pulls back just enough to focus on the confusion in blue eyes. he tries to think of when he'd first noticed how deep a blue they are, deep enough that the cliched phrase you could lose yourself in them is more true than he would care to admit, though he wouldn't ever think to say something like that aloud. ( because those sorts of things just don't cross his mind, he doesn't think like that, because it's something more along the lines of what his brother would come up with.
the sap.
dean rumbles a noncommittal response along the edge of castiel's jaw, tracing over the scratch of stubble with plush, kiss-swollen lips, a murmur over warm skin. he might not necessarily be his type when it comes down to it, but there's always been something about him, something that consistently draws him in and leaves him in awe, for reasons he can't even begin to touch on because he has no idea where they've even taken root.
he doesn't have to be his type. there's already been some intrinsic attraction set in place, something that dean can't even think of ignoring, and being this close, just short of pressing him into the grass with nothing but the weight of his body above him, there's no denying that he's drawn to him. inexplicably. )
What do you think I mean?