( dean has never been much of a user of words like perfect. they're too specific, when everything in his vocabulary tends to err on the side of vague, just to be able to cover his own ass when it all comes down to it – but this night, with this nerd and watching the stars streak across the sky like he's never seen anything else like it, such a wholly new experience that he hadn't known what to make of it even before he'd decided that he needed to cross that invisible line between them and take from his mouth what he hasn't thought about wanting ever since the guy showed up in the garage –
this has been pretty damned perfect. the night, castiel, the beers shared and the moments stolen beneath the stars, kisses that have only grown deeper and more desperate the longer he lets them stretch themselves out, and now that they're here, in the safety of their shared room, taking up space on the bed that is more than enough for just the two of them, clothes wrinkled and half-removed and hair a mess, it's something beautiful that he doesn't want to fuck up, doesn't want to risk inevitably working in the direction of something that doesn't need to go quite that far just yet, and of course it takes everything in him to put on the brakes, to pull back just enough to let the severity of castiel's expression sink into him.
he's gorgeous, like this. like – he really, really doesn't think he's ever seen something so breath-taking, so ready and willing to give himself over to anything dean might think to ask from him. with his wet lips, his pupils blown wide and searching from the lust pooling in the pit of his stomach, the pink of his cheeks from the flush that seeps down either side of his neck and dusts his shoulders with heat, it might as well be an image that belongs in a goddamned art gallery for how taken he is by it, and … and –
fuck, he just had to go and open his mouth. didn't he. he just has to have a conscience right this very fucking minute –
dean breathes out a low note, something that he hopes is in some way placating as he leans down to brush another soft kiss against parted lips, something of an apology that he hopes makes itself clear even as he's pulling back again, groaning low and almost miserable in the back of his throat as he reaches to sweep a hand back through his hair. )
I just. ( god, he's never done this before. how do you even – ) It's not – it's not you. You're fucking perfect. Perfect. And I want you. ( does he. does he. and it's that thought alone that is enough to have him halting, giving the sort of pause that ends in thoughts that he should have had before he let things get this far, and even though he's trying to do the right thing here, to be respectful and a goddamned gentleman, he can't help but to think that he's about to make a horrible mistake and this will never be offered to him ever again. )
I like you. A lot. And I don't … ( he is literally about two seconds away from raking his hands down his face in frustration. exasperation. because how does one say this without the other party thinking that they're full of absolute bullshit. ) I don't wanna mess it up. Does that make sense?
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Date: 8 Apr 2016 00:52 (UTC)this has been pretty damned perfect. the night, castiel, the beers shared and the moments stolen beneath the stars, kisses that have only grown deeper and more desperate the longer he lets them stretch themselves out, and now that they're here, in the safety of their shared room, taking up space on the bed that is more than enough for just the two of them, clothes wrinkled and half-removed and hair a mess, it's something beautiful that he doesn't want to fuck up, doesn't want to risk inevitably working in the direction of something that doesn't need to go quite that far just yet, and of course it takes everything in him to put on the brakes, to pull back just enough to let the severity of castiel's expression sink into him.
he's gorgeous, like this. like – he really, really doesn't think he's ever seen something so breath-taking, so ready and willing to give himself over to anything dean might think to ask from him. with his wet lips, his pupils blown wide and searching from the lust pooling in the pit of his stomach, the pink of his cheeks from the flush that seeps down either side of his neck and dusts his shoulders with heat, it might as well be an image that belongs in a goddamned art gallery for how taken he is by it, and … and –
fuck, he just had to go and open his mouth. didn't he. he just has to have a conscience right this very fucking minute –
dean breathes out a low note, something that he hopes is in some way placating as he leans down to brush another soft kiss against parted lips, something of an apology that he hopes makes itself clear even as he's pulling back again, groaning low and almost miserable in the back of his throat as he reaches to sweep a hand back through his hair. )
I just. ( god, he's never done this before. how do you even – ) It's not – it's not you. You're fucking perfect. Perfect. And I want you. ( does he. does he. and it's that thought alone that is enough to have him halting, giving the sort of pause that ends in thoughts that he should have had before he let things get this far, and even though he's trying to do the right thing here, to be respectful and a goddamned gentleman, he can't help but to think that he's about to make a horrible mistake and this will never be offered to him ever again. )
I like you. A lot. And I don't … ( he is literally about two seconds away from raking his hands down his face in frustration. exasperation. because how does one say this without the other party thinking that they're full of absolute bullshit. ) I don't wanna mess it up. Does that make sense?
( he really, really hopes it does. )