annundriel | SPN Fic: I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair, Dean/Castiel (NC-17)

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair
Dean/Castiel
1279
Castiel wants more.

Title from a poem by Pablo Neruda. For

pyrebi who will soon have 69 followers on Twitter, and for

spacefragments who said that deserved porn.

perfumaniac rocks my socks so hard, I have no words. So she gave me some. :p ♥

Dean’s mouth on Castiel’s penis—his cock he can still hear Dean say—is hot and wet and more perfect than anything Castiel imagined he could feel in this vessel, in this form.

Castiel pants and squirms against the sheets, caught between Dean and the bed, his senses taken over by the things Dean does to him with his hands and mouth. It’s good, it’s wonderful, but Castiel wants…he wants…

He misses Dean’s body over his, Dean’s mouth on his mouth. Dean enjoys this, he knows Dean enjoys this, but he wants to give Dean pleasure too, wants something more, something…something…

“Dean,” he says, reaching for Dean, fingers slipping in his hair. When it comes out more noise than name, Castiel swallows and tries again. “Dean, could you—I want—”

Pushing into his hand, Dean pulls with an obscene sound. “What, Cas?” he asks. His voice is rough and thick; Castiel shudders. “What do you want?”

“Dean, I—”

“Anything.” He presses his mouth to Castiel’s hip, sucks until blood blooms beneath the surface, leaving a bruise there on the pale skin. “Anything you want.”

Anything you want. It’s easier said than done. Or harder, as the case may be. The problem is that he can’t, he doesn’t know how to. Castiel wants, oh does he want, but further than that, further than Dean…he can’t articulate.

Threading his fingers through Dean’s sweat-damp hair, Castiel meets Dean’s eyes, clear and full, and cannot answer. Here, like this, Castiel’s knowledge is limited.

After a moment, Dean grins, wide and bright, and says, “Don’t worry, I have an idea.”

Luckily, he can rely on Dean.

Moving up Castiel’s body, Dean presses lips and teeth and tongue to Castiel’s skin, marking his progress as he goes. There’s no rhyme or reason that Castiel can discern, no pattern he can decipher, just Dean’s mouth against his skin as Dean slowly makes his way up Castiel’s chest.

“You’ll like this,” Dean says, pressing a quick kiss to Castiel’s mouth. “I promise.”

Before Castiel can respond, before he can blink, Dean’s leaning to the side, pivoting until he’s kneeling beside Castiel instead of straddling him.

“On your side,” he says, tapping Castiel’s hip.

Castiel shifts, moves to roll in the direction of Dean’s tap.

Dean stops him with a hand. “Sorry, I meant towards me.”

Raising an eyebrow, Castiel goes willingly, readily, rolling until he’s facing Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean says, running a hand up Castiel’s side, over his ribs. “Perfect.”

Castiel isn’t expecting what Dean does next, which is not in itself all that unexpected.

Instead of laying with him, face to face and cock to cock, legs interlocking and hands grasping, Dean maneuvers Castiel down the bed, pulling him until there’s room for Dean to lie beside him, feet against the pillows.

“Dean,” Castiel starts, “what are you—”

“Like this,” Dean says, breath blowing across Castiel’s skin. “Like this, Cas. My mouth, your mouth, it’ll be—oh fuck!”

Castiel’s one step ahead of him, sees now the purpose of Dean’s careful positioning, the benefit.

Dean’s cock is hard against Castiel’s tongue, the roof of his mouth, shaft smooth beneath his lips. This is what he was missing before, what he was aching for, the connection that was lacking. He wanted to do more, feel more, and here, now, he can.

One heartbeat, two, and then Dean moves—fingers on Castiel’s thigh—and he’s nuzzling at Castiel’s balls, mouthing at the base of his cock, and oh.

This is…this is…

So many years of existence, of sorrows and losses, joys and victories, and Castiel never knew such pleasure could be had. He watched his brothers and sisters succumb to earthly pleasures, but never suspected the simple sweetness, the complex confluence of two bodies in motion together.

Dean’s mouth when he finally sucks Castiel down is more than Castiel was expecting. Since the first time they met, Dean is more than Castiel was expecting. He took Castiel’s hand, showed him what he was missing. He opened Castiel up with his fingers and lips and tongue, his cock sliding in so perfect, hot and hard and right, stealing Castiel’s breath, his attention away.

It’s all he can do to stay focused now, to appreciate the way Dean’s cock slips past his lips, the way the head feels against his tongue. Dean groans around Castiel’s own cock, the vibrations traveling to the very core of him, making him shudder, moan in response.

Castiel has never felt anything like this before, gifted and giving, a mobius strip of pleasure looping back and around itself, no discernible beginning or end.

Thighs trembling under Castiel’s palms, Dean’s hips twitch.

Dean slips back, tongues at the head of Castiel’s cock, mouths at the shaft.

Castiel can smell Dean, sweat and musk and arousal, can smell himself underneath that, the two of them together. He can taste Dean on his tongue, at the back of his throat, sharp and unforgettable. Can feel and see and hear and all of it—all of it—is Dean.

It is very difficult to pay attention.

Dean swallows around him, fingers hard on Castiel’s hip, slipping around to his...his ass, gripping, holding Castiel still as he sinks farther down, taking more of Castiel in.

“Dean,” Castiel gasps as he pulls off, body trembling, his breath shaky. He wants to push into those hands, that mouth, but does his best to control himself. He doesn’t want to overpower Dean, only wants to share in this moment, to give and receive, make Dean feel all of the things he’s making Castiel feel.

Castiel blinks at Dean’s cock, right there, shining in the dim motel light with precome and Castiel’s saliva, and breathes deep, leans forward, and fits his mouth around it, creating a closed circuit between them again.

He does his best to keep up with Dean, to give even as he takes, to take as he gives. He wants Dean to know, wants Dean to feel.

Wants Dean.

Thrusting and sucking, licking and kissing, tasting and reveling, Castiel holds Dean as Dean holds him, careful and desperate and longing for this, always this, until Dean’s coming, bursting across his tongue.

Fingers pressed against Dean’s skin, Castiel groans and holds on, does his best to swallow around him.

Suddenly, Castiel feels Dean’s hand leave his hip and then he’s groping near Castiel’s face, fingers sliding against his arm until they’re at Castiel’s fingers, until they’re slipping between them, tangling with them.

Dean tugs at his hand, squeezes his fingers, and hums around Castiel’s cock and that’s it, that’s all Castiel can take. Dean’s cock slips from his mouth and he comes with a shout, Dean’s name muffled against damp skin.

They lay in a muddle of limbs as they catch their breath. As good as it is, however, Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face, wishes Dean were just a little bit closer. He’d move, but his arms and legs feel too heavy to do anything.

This is what sloth feels like.

It is only one of the sins Castiel has committed; he feels no remorse.

He plans to do it again.

Dean shifts, moving away, and Castiel grumbles, can’t help it. “Hey,” Dean says, once he’s hovering over Castiel on hands and knees. His face is happy and flushed, and his hair sticks up in spikes and clumps. He leans closer, mouth to Castiel’s mouth, and kisses him.

It never fails to surprise Castiel how erotic he finds the taste of himself on Dean’s tongue, the two of them mingling there in the soft heat their mouths.

Yes, Castiel thinks, he definitely plans to do it again.

Current Mood: productive

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