[ it's perfect, it's all perfect, warm movement and deep, good kisses - cas couldn't have asked for a better night if he had planned the entire thing start to finish.
for a guy like him, it's a fantasy, after all. lying under a magnificent starscape, watching the meteors streak the sky while he talked himself breathless about stars and space and all the things he's deeply passionate about - and all the while, laid out next to dean winchester. dean winchester, who looked at him with lowered eyelids and a lazy, easy smile, dean winchester who leaned in so close that castiel could smell the leather of his coat and the spice of his skin, dean winchester kissing his mouth, warm and good and deep.
it was like a dream.
and it's still a dream now, that that moment hadn't ended there on the grass, that they're locked together now, hopelessly entangled, arms and legs all hooked together needy and grasping and groping. castiel is forgetting how to be himself, he is forgetting all of his own awkward clumsiness because he's swept up in dean, because his insecurity is lost in the tide of their fervor and he's at last grasping this thing that he's been aching for for so many long months. dean feels so irresistibly good against him, heavy and real in a way that castiel hasn't known in so long, and every cell in his body is reaching for him, seeking to cling, to sink into him until he can taste and hear and see and smell and feel nothing but dean.
the kiss breaks, and dean's pulling back, looking down at him and castiel is sure that he must be a mess. rumpled shirt open, dark hair hopelessly mussed, face flushed warm and parted lips pink and wet - he watches dean with wide eyes, the black of his wide-blown pupils nearly eclipsing the clear blue, and there's such longing there, in his eyes, in his expression, in the faint crease in his brow. a longing so deep and aching that castiel cannot manage to hide it, it bursts from him freely, resonating in the marrow of his bones.
wait.
the word hits like a bucket of cold water, and this time dean isn't following it up. he's stammering, his words sharp despite the brush of his mouth. ]
What's.. what's wrong?
[ he asks, a tightness in his voice betraying him, giving away the sudden cold pit in his stomach. castiel's hands still, bunching loosely in the fabric of dean's shirt, and he stiffens against the mattress, pulling his head back just enough to look into dean's face, to search his eyes. ]
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for a guy like him, it's a fantasy, after all. lying under a magnificent starscape, watching the meteors streak the sky while he talked himself breathless about stars and space and all the things he's deeply passionate about - and all the while, laid out next to dean winchester. dean winchester, who looked at him with lowered eyelids and a lazy, easy smile, dean winchester who leaned in so close that castiel could smell the leather of his coat and the spice of his skin, dean winchester kissing his mouth, warm and good and deep.
it was like a dream.
and it's still a dream now, that that moment hadn't ended there on the grass, that they're locked together now, hopelessly entangled, arms and legs all hooked together needy and grasping and groping. castiel is forgetting how to be himself, he is forgetting all of his own awkward clumsiness because he's swept up in dean, because his insecurity is lost in the tide of their fervor and he's at last grasping this thing that he's been aching for for so many long months. dean feels so irresistibly good against him, heavy and real in a way that castiel hasn't known in so long, and every cell in his body is reaching for him, seeking to cling, to sink into him until he can taste and hear and see and smell and feel nothing but dean.
the kiss breaks, and dean's pulling back, looking down at him and castiel is sure that he must be a mess. rumpled shirt open, dark hair hopelessly mussed, face flushed warm and parted lips pink and wet - he watches dean with wide eyes, the black of his wide-blown pupils nearly eclipsing the clear blue, and there's such longing there, in his eyes, in his expression, in the faint crease in his brow. a longing so deep and aching that castiel cannot manage to hide it, it bursts from him freely, resonating in the marrow of his bones.
wait.
the word hits like a bucket of cold water, and this time dean isn't following it up. he's stammering, his words sharp despite the brush of his mouth. ]
What's.. what's wrong?
[ he asks, a tightness in his voice betraying him, giving away the sudden cold pit in his stomach. castiel's hands still, bunching loosely in the fabric of dean's shirt, and he stiffens against the mattress, pulling his head back just enough to look into dean's face, to search his eyes. ]