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annundrielOffering
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
875
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blindfold_spn fill originally posted here for the prompt: Dean bends Castiel over the altar in a church and fucks him slowly..
Contains rimming in a church.
“Dean,” Castiel gasps, voice bouncing off the walls, echoing across the church's empty pews, multi-colored in the light pouring through the stained glass windows. His fingers scrabble at the white cloth draped over the altar, wrinkling it in their search for something to grip, to grasp, to hang on to. “Dean.”
Castiel knows Dean doesn’t really believe in the power of prayer, in getting down on his knees and asking God for help, for guidance, praising His glory. Dean’s on his knees now, though; it’s definitely not to pray.
Bent over the altar, coat and jacket gone, shirt pushed up and pants pulled down, Castiel groans and pushes back against Dean’s tongue as Dean kneels behind him, spreading him open with his hands, licking him open with his tongue. Castiel’s blood boils and his heart pounds, sweat collecting at his temples, running down his spine to pool at the small of his back in the face of pleasure he never knew existed, not in Heaven, not on Earth. He never knew such pleasure could be had, certainly not in a place built to honor his Father.
Dean’s fingers push inside him, taking the place of his tongue, and Castiel shudders at the change, the feel of Dean reaching inside him, searching for something, twisting his wrist until he touches Castiel just there and Castiel feels himself light up in ways entirely unrelated to his grace.
“Yeah,” Dean says, voice coming out rough, unused. “I thought you’d like that.”
Castiel has nothing to say to that, can’t say anything at all. Can only breathe, let his body try to catch up with each new sensation, and wait as Dean’s fingers disappear, as Dean rises to his knees. After a moment, Castiel hears Dean unbuckle his belt, undo the button on his jeans, the zipper. And then Dean’s hand is on his back, wide and soothing and hot as he guides himself between Castiel’s cheeks, erection pushing against Castiel, slipping inside him with a groan as he angles their hips.
This is…This is even different than before. Castiel can feel Dean inside of him, touching places he’s never been touched, not in this vessel, not in any form. This is new and shocking and Castiel sees now why some of his fellows fell so easily to humanity, because this, this…
He has no words for this, this act so perfect and profane. He should stop Dean, should have stopped him when Dean found him and made it clear that this was going to happen, that every look and touch, every promised, unspoken more was going to come to fruition. There are places for this.
But Dean is Dean, stubborn and hard to refuse, and Castiel’s already falling.
Dean’s hands bracket Castiel’s hips, his fingers pressing along the jut of bone. He leans over Castiel, hot all along his back, shifting the way they fit together. Lips brushing Castiel’s ear, breath brushing the hair at his temple, Dean says, “You might want to find something to hang on to,” before pulling back, the only points of contact Dean’s hands and Dean’s thighs, Dean’s booted feet between Castiel’s, Dean’s cock in his ass.
He may never have done this before, may never have expected it to be like this, but Castiel knows the words for what they’re doing. Knows them intimately now.
Finding the edge of the altar—finally—Castiel wraps his fingers around it and hangs on, Dean pulling out and thrusting in, shaking Castiel down to his very core.
Castiel tries to spread his legs, tries to get Dean deeper, as deep as can be, but he can’t, not like this, not with his pants around his legs, shackling him. He groans, half in pleasure, half in frustration, and hears Dean chuckle breathlessly behind him. “Don’t worry,” Dean says, “we’ll do this again.”
Turning his head, Castiel finds Dean’s eyes dark and wide and watching him, watching him like he’s as amazed as Castiel feels. As though this is as much of a revelation to him as it is to Castiel.
“Dean,” Castiel gasps, fingers releasing the altars’ edge to reach for him.
Dean lets go of one hip to twine his fingers in Castiel’s, to hold their hands there together against the ruined altar, eyes locked and hips working as they tumble toward something Castiel doesn’t yet have the tools, the knowledge to define.
He will after this, though; Dean will teach him.
Dean groans, fingers tightening, leaving bruises that will not last on Castiel’s hip, three fingertips making their claim. “Cas,” Dean pants. “Fuck.”
There’s a moment, a second, where Castiel feels like his heart will explode, like his chest is too full, like everything is too much and not enough. Like the human body cannot contain him and all of this feeling all at once. The light turns golden, turns dark, sparks before his eyes, and suddenly there it is, the edge of everything he’s feeling upon him, crashing over him, and he’s shouting Dean’s name, the only word left to him.
Dean’s hips snap and his breath comes fast and Dean follows him over, follows him under, the two of them lost, adrift on rumpled, stained cloth at the front of the church.
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
875
blindfold_spn fill originally posted here for the prompt: Dean bends Castiel over the altar in a church and fucks him slowly..Contains rimming in a church.
“Dean,” Castiel gasps, voice bouncing off the walls, echoing across the church's empty pews, multi-colored in the light pouring through the stained glass windows. His fingers scrabble at the white cloth draped over the altar, wrinkling it in their search for something to grip, to grasp, to hang on to. “Dean.”
Castiel knows Dean doesn’t really believe in the power of prayer, in getting down on his knees and asking God for help, for guidance, praising His glory. Dean’s on his knees now, though; it’s definitely not to pray.
Bent over the altar, coat and jacket gone, shirt pushed up and pants pulled down, Castiel groans and pushes back against Dean’s tongue as Dean kneels behind him, spreading him open with his hands, licking him open with his tongue. Castiel’s blood boils and his heart pounds, sweat collecting at his temples, running down his spine to pool at the small of his back in the face of pleasure he never knew existed, not in Heaven, not on Earth. He never knew such pleasure could be had, certainly not in a place built to honor his Father.
Dean’s fingers push inside him, taking the place of his tongue, and Castiel shudders at the change, the feel of Dean reaching inside him, searching for something, twisting his wrist until he touches Castiel just there and Castiel feels himself light up in ways entirely unrelated to his grace.
“Yeah,” Dean says, voice coming out rough, unused. “I thought you’d like that.”
Castiel has nothing to say to that, can’t say anything at all. Can only breathe, let his body try to catch up with each new sensation, and wait as Dean’s fingers disappear, as Dean rises to his knees. After a moment, Castiel hears Dean unbuckle his belt, undo the button on his jeans, the zipper. And then Dean’s hand is on his back, wide and soothing and hot as he guides himself between Castiel’s cheeks, erection pushing against Castiel, slipping inside him with a groan as he angles their hips.
This is…This is even different than before. Castiel can feel Dean inside of him, touching places he’s never been touched, not in this vessel, not in any form. This is new and shocking and Castiel sees now why some of his fellows fell so easily to humanity, because this, this…
He has no words for this, this act so perfect and profane. He should stop Dean, should have stopped him when Dean found him and made it clear that this was going to happen, that every look and touch, every promised, unspoken more was going to come to fruition. There are places for this.
But Dean is Dean, stubborn and hard to refuse, and Castiel’s already falling.
Dean’s hands bracket Castiel’s hips, his fingers pressing along the jut of bone. He leans over Castiel, hot all along his back, shifting the way they fit together. Lips brushing Castiel’s ear, breath brushing the hair at his temple, Dean says, “You might want to find something to hang on to,” before pulling back, the only points of contact Dean’s hands and Dean’s thighs, Dean’s booted feet between Castiel’s, Dean’s cock in his ass.
He may never have done this before, may never have expected it to be like this, but Castiel knows the words for what they’re doing. Knows them intimately now.
Finding the edge of the altar—finally—Castiel wraps his fingers around it and hangs on, Dean pulling out and thrusting in, shaking Castiel down to his very core.
Castiel tries to spread his legs, tries to get Dean deeper, as deep as can be, but he can’t, not like this, not with his pants around his legs, shackling him. He groans, half in pleasure, half in frustration, and hears Dean chuckle breathlessly behind him. “Don’t worry,” Dean says, “we’ll do this again.”
Turning his head, Castiel finds Dean’s eyes dark and wide and watching him, watching him like he’s as amazed as Castiel feels. As though this is as much of a revelation to him as it is to Castiel.
“Dean,” Castiel gasps, fingers releasing the altars’ edge to reach for him.
Dean lets go of one hip to twine his fingers in Castiel’s, to hold their hands there together against the ruined altar, eyes locked and hips working as they tumble toward something Castiel doesn’t yet have the tools, the knowledge to define.
He will after this, though; Dean will teach him.
Dean groans, fingers tightening, leaving bruises that will not last on Castiel’s hip, three fingertips making their claim. “Cas,” Dean pants. “Fuck.”
There’s a moment, a second, where Castiel feels like his heart will explode, like his chest is too full, like everything is too much and not enough. Like the human body cannot contain him and all of this feeling all at once. The light turns golden, turns dark, sparks before his eyes, and suddenly there it is, the edge of everything he’s feeling upon him, crashing over him, and he’s shouting Dean’s name, the only word left to him.
Dean’s hips snap and his breath comes fast and Dean follows him over, follows him under, the two of them lost, adrift on rumpled, stained cloth at the front of the church.
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(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 07:47 pm (UTC)