[ generally speaking, castiel isn't very caught up in appearances - not like humans are, at least. he's grown fond of his own vessel, but he doesn't experience attraction quite in the same way a human being might when looking at a pretty woman or a handsome man.
but dean is beautiful. dean has always been beautiful. on some level castiel must know that that's simply because he loves him, that dean could look like anyone and he would still think he's beautiful, but that's irrelevant. castiel's back hits the bed, and his eyes lift unerringly to dean, shameless in the way he watches him peel his shirt away, blue eyes moving over the bare expanse of his chest and abdomen. it's nothing he hasn't seen before, more times than he can count, and when you've seen a man's soul you've seen all of him - but that won't stop him looking.
or touching, for that matter, because once dean is over him again castiel's hands are lifting, more confident now, sliding up his biceps and over his collar and down the smooth, hard planes of his chest until dean is leaning too close, and he needs to run them 'round to his back instead. ]
Okay. [ he offers, unsteady for the way his breath rushes, distracted by the way dean's mouth is moving over his skin, working his shirt open like he's peeling away the skin of an orange, slow and easy and methodical. and even if he's felt all this before, it still feels new because it's dean, because it's all different, the touch of his lips is like fire, and castiel's skin jumps beneath every pass of his mouth. but he tries to remember what dean is saying. tries to think about what it is that he actually wants. ] Just.. keep touching me, please. Don't stop.
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but dean is beautiful. dean has always been beautiful. on some level castiel must know that that's simply because he loves him, that dean could look like anyone and he would still think he's beautiful, but that's irrelevant. castiel's back hits the bed, and his eyes lift unerringly to dean, shameless in the way he watches him peel his shirt away, blue eyes moving over the bare expanse of his chest and abdomen. it's nothing he hasn't seen before, more times than he can count, and when you've seen a man's soul you've seen all of him - but that won't stop him looking.
or touching, for that matter, because once dean is over him again castiel's hands are lifting, more confident now, sliding up his biceps and over his collar and down the smooth, hard planes of his chest until dean is leaning too close, and he needs to run them 'round to his back instead. ]
Okay. [ he offers, unsteady for the way his breath rushes, distracted by the way dean's mouth is moving over his skin, working his shirt open like he's peeling away the skin of an orange, slow and easy and methodical. and even if he's felt all this before, it still feels new because it's dean, because it's all different, the touch of his lips is like fire, and castiel's skin jumps beneath every pass of his mouth. but he tries to remember what dean is saying. tries to think about what it is that he actually wants. ] Just.. keep touching me, please. Don't stop.