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Entry tags:
ficlet: food for thought (supernatural, dean/castiel, pg-13)
Because I've been thinking about the mechanics of falling, and what it would mean for Dean and Cas.
What Dean isn’t supposed to think about Cas but does anyway (drinking will burn away a lot of restraint if you try hard enough):
# Castiel is his angel. Sent by God (the God, the one Dean had all but given up on) to pull Dean from hell.
# He wonders what Castiel’s mouth would look like curved into a sensuous smile. What it would take to put that smile there.
# Dean likes to think it would be something he says. Or maybe a touch, a fleeting brush of thumb against cheek or the feeling of his breath washing warmly over the nape of Castiel’s neck.
# They’re almost the same height. How easy it would be to lean in and taste that mouth against his own, how good it would feel--
# They’d struggle for control over that first kiss. And any other that would follow. Strength for strength and will for will. Dean rather likes that thought.
# At some point, the subject of falling would come up. Castiel would offer his grace, would give up everything he has and is to be with Dean the way Dean needs him to, in return for--
# Angels don’t love the way humans do. With passion and spit and skin rubbing against sweat-slick skin, pleasure spiraling out of control and breath stuttering in their chests just at the sight of their lover dipping their head to look at the way the end of their tie flaps against the lapel of their coat in a stiff breeze.
# It’s a stupid idea, anyway. If Cas were to do it, that whole falling thing, he’d be gone from Dean’s life for, what, twenty years?
# Twenty years are a long time. Anything could happen. Castiel could spend a whole lifetime away from him.
# Dean thinks he would wait.
# Twenty fucking years. And Cas might not even remember how much he wanted this, once.
# Thing is, Dean thinks he would wait anyway.
What Dean isn’t supposed to think about Cas but does anyway (drinking will burn away a lot of restraint if you try hard enough):
# Castiel is his angel. Sent by God (the God, the one Dean had all but given up on) to pull Dean from hell.
# He wonders what Castiel’s mouth would look like curved into a sensuous smile. What it would take to put that smile there.
# Dean likes to think it would be something he says. Or maybe a touch, a fleeting brush of thumb against cheek or the feeling of his breath washing warmly over the nape of Castiel’s neck.
# They’re almost the same height. How easy it would be to lean in and taste that mouth against his own, how good it would feel--
# They’d struggle for control over that first kiss. And any other that would follow. Strength for strength and will for will. Dean rather likes that thought.
# At some point, the subject of falling would come up. Castiel would offer his grace, would give up everything he has and is to be with Dean the way Dean needs him to, in return for--
# Angels don’t love the way humans do. With passion and spit and skin rubbing against sweat-slick skin, pleasure spiraling out of control and breath stuttering in their chests just at the sight of their lover dipping their head to look at the way the end of their tie flaps against the lapel of their coat in a stiff breeze.
# It’s a stupid idea, anyway. If Cas were to do it, that whole falling thing, he’d be gone from Dean’s life for, what, twenty years?
# Twenty years are a long time. Anything could happen. Castiel could spend a whole lifetime away from him.
# Dean thinks he would wait.
# Twenty fucking years. And Cas might not even remember how much he wanted this, once.
# Thing is, Dean thinks he would wait anyway.