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annundrielBreak of Day
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
1064
No spoilers.
Cas doesn't understand that just because it's morning, it doesn't mean you have to get up. Dean educates him.
I blame John Donne and his poem of the same name. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mclachlan, olivelavonne, and ginnith for the various ways they lend a girl a hand.
Dean wakes up with the sun on his face and his dick, half-hard, sandwiched between his body and the bed. Hooking his toes over the end of the mattress, he stretches, rocking his hips against the sheets. He hums, arms under his pillow, and turns away from the window to find Cas sitting at the edge of the bed. Following the naked line of Cas’ back up to his shoulder, Dean finds Cas’ eyes on him, watching.
“Hey,” Dean says. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Rising.” When Dean just stares at him, Cas blinks and sighs, sounding more and more human. “It’s morning, Dean.”
Dean turns toward him, propping himself up on one elbow, and shrugs. “So? Did we go to bed because it was night?”
Cas opens his mouth, probably to say yes and be difficult.
Dean continues before Cas can say anything, though. “No, Cas,” he says. “It just happened to be dark when we crawled between the sheets.” He reaches out, runs a hand down Cas’ spine, following smooth skin all the way down to the shadowed crack. “For reasons other than sleep.”
Looking away, Cas arches into the touch. “That…is true.”
Dean pulls away and pushes himself up. Cupping Cas’ shoulder with his hand, Dean scoots over until he’s right behind Cas, plastered against his back, dick awake and interested against Cas’ ass. Hand sliding down Cas’ arm, Dean reaches around to find Cas already responding to him, flesh hot and growing in his palm, so easy.
“So you see,” Dean says, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the line of Cas’ neck, nipping where the muscles and tendons slope into his shoulder. “Morning doesn’t mean we have to get up. Even if we’ve”—he hooks his chin over Cas’ shoulder to watch Cas’ cock fill in his hand—“already got it up.”
Cas leans into him as Dean swipes his thumb over the head of Cas’ cock, fingers wrapped gently around the shaft. He makes a low noise deep in the back of his throat as Dean sucks at the pulse he can see pounding away under Cas’ skin.
Dean can feel the sound in his bones.
He licks the mark he’s left on Cas’ skin, tastes sweat and Cas, and jacks Cas slowly.
“Dean,” Cas groans, voice dipping down to a newer level of rough between them. His hand joins Dean’s at his cock, fitting over it but not stopping him. “Here,” Cas says, fingers pushing their way between his, moving and shaping Dean’s until he’s got them where he wants them. “Like this.”
“Yeah?” Dean smothers a grin against Cas’ shoulder, bites at the curve. “That how you like it?”
Their hands move together, forward and back; not a perfect glide, but perfect enough.
Cas answers, “Yes,” and the sound slips out across the room, long and slow.
Dean watches Cas’ cheeks flush, tightens and loosens his grip under Cas’ hand, and feels Cas shudders against him, breath coming more quickly. He looks down in time to see Cas’ other hand join theirs, dropping lower to his balls, hips shifting and thighs sliding open.
Groaning, Dean presses his cock harder against the curve of Cas’ ass.
Cas turns toward him without a word, lips parted and eyelids drooping. Dean dives in, their tongues sliding slick and messy, the angle awkward, and kisses him. He can’t not. There are some things Dean may refuse to do, but this with Cas will never be one of them.
Dean feels the moment Cas starts to tense against him, muscles pulling tight before that final release, Cas’ hand urging Dean faster, tighter.
“Cas,” Dean breathes between kisses. “Cas, come on.”
Cas comes like that, slipping over the edge, mouth to mouth and hand to hand, panting against him.
Drawing him backwards, Dean pushes Cas into the pillows and sheets with sticky fingers and desperate hands. Cas goes easily, willingly, pulling Dean along with him until Dean’s above him, cock slotting into the sweaty groove where Cas’ thigh meets his hip.
Dean moves against him, a steady rocking of his hips as he finds Cas’ mouth with his own, returning like he belongs there. Cas’ hands are everywhere—good morning to me—sliding across his back, fitting over the handprint on his arm, slipping down to his ass. Grounding himself in Dean.
It’s a thought that feels too big, a feeling that means too much, rushing up to meet him out of a haze of want and need and now. Before Dean knows it, he’s coming, too, Cas’ name lost in Cas’ mouth.
They keep kissing through the aftershocks, until the sweat starts to cool on their skin, Dean feeling light and happy. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world with Cas in his bed, smiling and mussed, sporting the world’s best head of sex hair.
Cas looks up at him from the rumpled pillows, eyes very blue in the light coming through the curtains. “This is your plan for the morning?”
Dean shrugs, and brings one of his hands to his lips, licks a finger and tastes Cas there. Cas’ eyes follow the entire thing just like Dean knew they would. “Well, yeah,” Dean says. “A bed in a room to ourselves? I’m not gonna waste it.”
He gets no warning before Cas rolls them, his weight effectively pinning Dean to the bed. “This is one of your better plans, Dean.”
Dean grins and wraps a leg around Cas’, stretching under him so they rub in all the right places. He feels lazy and indulgent. “You know,” he says, “one of these days you’re going to realize that all of my plans are good.”
Cas’ eyes go dark, full of promise. “I doubt it, but you have time to prove me wrong.”
Dean’s heart stutters in his chest, right up against his ribs, because yes, this is only the beginning. Instead of giving into any chick flick moments where they talk about feelings and meanings and what china pattern they should sink money into, Dean smirks up at him and shimmies his hips, feels Cas already growing hard against him. “Is that a challenge?”
Cas licks his lips and presses back. “Perhaps.”
Laughing, Dean takes Cas’ mouth with his own and rolls them over, feels Cas’ chest hitch against his and the ensuing chuckle brush across his face. “Oh,” Dean says, “It is on.”
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
1064
No spoilers.
Cas doesn't understand that just because it's morning, it doesn't mean you have to get up. Dean educates him.
I blame John Donne and his poem of the same name. Thanks to
mclachlan, olivelavonne, and ginnith for the various ways they lend a girl a hand.Dean wakes up with the sun on his face and his dick, half-hard, sandwiched between his body and the bed. Hooking his toes over the end of the mattress, he stretches, rocking his hips against the sheets. He hums, arms under his pillow, and turns away from the window to find Cas sitting at the edge of the bed. Following the naked line of Cas’ back up to his shoulder, Dean finds Cas’ eyes on him, watching.
“Hey,” Dean says. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Rising.” When Dean just stares at him, Cas blinks and sighs, sounding more and more human. “It’s morning, Dean.”
Dean turns toward him, propping himself up on one elbow, and shrugs. “So? Did we go to bed because it was night?”
Cas opens his mouth, probably to say yes and be difficult.
Dean continues before Cas can say anything, though. “No, Cas,” he says. “It just happened to be dark when we crawled between the sheets.” He reaches out, runs a hand down Cas’ spine, following smooth skin all the way down to the shadowed crack. “For reasons other than sleep.”
Looking away, Cas arches into the touch. “That…is true.”
Dean pulls away and pushes himself up. Cupping Cas’ shoulder with his hand, Dean scoots over until he’s right behind Cas, plastered against his back, dick awake and interested against Cas’ ass. Hand sliding down Cas’ arm, Dean reaches around to find Cas already responding to him, flesh hot and growing in his palm, so easy.
“So you see,” Dean says, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the line of Cas’ neck, nipping where the muscles and tendons slope into his shoulder. “Morning doesn’t mean we have to get up. Even if we’ve”—he hooks his chin over Cas’ shoulder to watch Cas’ cock fill in his hand—“already got it up.”
Cas leans into him as Dean swipes his thumb over the head of Cas’ cock, fingers wrapped gently around the shaft. He makes a low noise deep in the back of his throat as Dean sucks at the pulse he can see pounding away under Cas’ skin.
Dean can feel the sound in his bones.
He licks the mark he’s left on Cas’ skin, tastes sweat and Cas, and jacks Cas slowly.
“Dean,” Cas groans, voice dipping down to a newer level of rough between them. His hand joins Dean’s at his cock, fitting over it but not stopping him. “Here,” Cas says, fingers pushing their way between his, moving and shaping Dean’s until he’s got them where he wants them. “Like this.”
“Yeah?” Dean smothers a grin against Cas’ shoulder, bites at the curve. “That how you like it?”
Their hands move together, forward and back; not a perfect glide, but perfect enough.
Cas answers, “Yes,” and the sound slips out across the room, long and slow.
Dean watches Cas’ cheeks flush, tightens and loosens his grip under Cas’ hand, and feels Cas shudders against him, breath coming more quickly. He looks down in time to see Cas’ other hand join theirs, dropping lower to his balls, hips shifting and thighs sliding open.
Groaning, Dean presses his cock harder against the curve of Cas’ ass.
Cas turns toward him without a word, lips parted and eyelids drooping. Dean dives in, their tongues sliding slick and messy, the angle awkward, and kisses him. He can’t not. There are some things Dean may refuse to do, but this with Cas will never be one of them.
Dean feels the moment Cas starts to tense against him, muscles pulling tight before that final release, Cas’ hand urging Dean faster, tighter.
“Cas,” Dean breathes between kisses. “Cas, come on.”
Cas comes like that, slipping over the edge, mouth to mouth and hand to hand, panting against him.
Drawing him backwards, Dean pushes Cas into the pillows and sheets with sticky fingers and desperate hands. Cas goes easily, willingly, pulling Dean along with him until Dean’s above him, cock slotting into the sweaty groove where Cas’ thigh meets his hip.
Dean moves against him, a steady rocking of his hips as he finds Cas’ mouth with his own, returning like he belongs there. Cas’ hands are everywhere—good morning to me—sliding across his back, fitting over the handprint on his arm, slipping down to his ass. Grounding himself in Dean.
It’s a thought that feels too big, a feeling that means too much, rushing up to meet him out of a haze of want and need and now. Before Dean knows it, he’s coming, too, Cas’ name lost in Cas’ mouth.
They keep kissing through the aftershocks, until the sweat starts to cool on their skin, Dean feeling light and happy. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world with Cas in his bed, smiling and mussed, sporting the world’s best head of sex hair.
Cas looks up at him from the rumpled pillows, eyes very blue in the light coming through the curtains. “This is your plan for the morning?”
Dean shrugs, and brings one of his hands to his lips, licks a finger and tastes Cas there. Cas’ eyes follow the entire thing just like Dean knew they would. “Well, yeah,” Dean says. “A bed in a room to ourselves? I’m not gonna waste it.”
He gets no warning before Cas rolls them, his weight effectively pinning Dean to the bed. “This is one of your better plans, Dean.”
Dean grins and wraps a leg around Cas’, stretching under him so they rub in all the right places. He feels lazy and indulgent. “You know,” he says, “one of these days you’re going to realize that all of my plans are good.”
Cas’ eyes go dark, full of promise. “I doubt it, but you have time to prove me wrong.”
Dean’s heart stutters in his chest, right up against his ribs, because yes, this is only the beginning. Instead of giving into any chick flick moments where they talk about feelings and meanings and what china pattern they should sink money into, Dean smirks up at him and shimmies his hips, feels Cas already growing hard against him. “Is that a challenge?”
Cas licks his lips and presses back. “Perhaps.”
Laughing, Dean takes Cas’ mouth with his own and rolls them over, feels Cas’ chest hitch against his and the ensuing chuckle brush across his face. “Oh,” Dean says, “It is on.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-04-25 12:37 am (UTC)Also, hot sex is hot.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-04-25 11:04 pm (UTC)