( it's definitely one thing they have working in their favor – not that there seems to be anything actively working against it – but he has to admit that it does feel nicer to be inside, out of the chill that had been steadily creeping through him since before they had closed the distance between them. the air had been cool, yes, but there's nothing that drives it back more quickly than the press of two bodies against one another, the building heat that comes from kisses beginning as innocent and evolving into something so much more.
now, he's never put too much thought into actively pursuing the affections of the resident nerd that has taken up space in both his brother's and his life, but now that it's been brought around and he's seen the proverbial light, he … well. there's not much he can say in the way of real regret when it comes to the thought that sam would probably be flipping his shit if he knew what was happening, not when it feels so good to have castiel against him, the taste of him on the back of his tongue like something heady. addictive. the sort of thing that he could find himself getting used to, to wanting and needing more than he has any real right to, and while he might not be quite as overwhelmed by it as the other seems to be, it's still something that he's going to need time to process. for the whole of him to catch up with the actions of his body, the way his hands slide over the curve of his shoulders, up either side of his neck to hold him right where he is, to taste more of him, like he can't quite get enough.
sorry, sam. he'll just … have to make it up to you, sometime. when you actually know what's happening and have stopped hating your brother long enough for him to make it up to you.
he doesn't quite realize when they're moving until he registers the motion itself, the fact that his legs are working under their own power – which may or may not mean that he rest of him is on autopilot, that his brain has entirely shut down in favor of letting instinct take over. castiel is pulling at him, and he can't think to do anything but go along with it, to push in close and closer until the other's knees bump into the edge of the mattress. until he's kneeling and pulling him closer still, and dean doesn't stop himself from following, from all but crawling on top of that lithe body, knees bracketing castiel's thighs on either side with the smallest encouragement to lie back. the slightest, almost-not nudge as he breaks the kiss long enough to bury his face in the side of his neck, long enough to coax a mark to life just beneath the edge of his jaw, a bruise that is just as likely to fade by morning as it is to linger for a bit longer.
full realization comes to him once he's fully seated in castiel's lap, hands braced against the mattress on either side of his head, and it's such a moment that hits him that it has his heart all but bursting out of his chest as he leans back to get a better look at him, cheeks flushed and lips kiss-swollen, wet and parted and practically begging him to come back in for more – and he does, with a soft rumble in the back of his throat that sounds more like a purr than anything else, smooth and pleased and just slightly rough around the edges. )
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now, he's never put too much thought into actively pursuing the affections of the resident nerd that has taken up space in both his brother's and his life, but now that it's been brought around and he's seen the proverbial light, he … well. there's not much he can say in the way of real regret when it comes to the thought that sam would probably be flipping his shit if he knew what was happening, not when it feels so good to have castiel against him, the taste of him on the back of his tongue like something heady. addictive. the sort of thing that he could find himself getting used to, to wanting and needing more than he has any real right to, and while he might not be quite as overwhelmed by it as the other seems to be, it's still something that he's going to need time to process. for the whole of him to catch up with the actions of his body, the way his hands slide over the curve of his shoulders, up either side of his neck to hold him right where he is, to taste more of him, like he can't quite get enough.
sorry, sam. he'll just … have to make it up to you, sometime. when you actually know what's happening and have stopped hating your brother long enough for him to make it up to you.
he doesn't quite realize when they're moving until he registers the motion itself, the fact that his legs are working under their own power – which may or may not mean that he rest of him is on autopilot, that his brain has entirely shut down in favor of letting instinct take over. castiel is pulling at him, and he can't think to do anything but go along with it, to push in close and closer until the other's knees bump into the edge of the mattress. until he's kneeling and pulling him closer still, and dean doesn't stop himself from following, from all but crawling on top of that lithe body, knees bracketing castiel's thighs on either side with the smallest encouragement to lie back. the slightest, almost-not nudge as he breaks the kiss long enough to bury his face in the side of his neck, long enough to coax a mark to life just beneath the edge of his jaw, a bruise that is just as likely to fade by morning as it is to linger for a bit longer.
full realization comes to him once he's fully seated in castiel's lap, hands braced against the mattress on either side of his head, and it's such a moment that hits him that it has his heart all but bursting out of his chest as he leans back to get a better look at him, cheeks flushed and lips kiss-swollen, wet and parted and practically begging him to come back in for more – and he does, with a soft rumble in the back of his throat that sounds more like a purr than anything else, smooth and pleased and just slightly rough around the edges. )