@bysilver: [ edge ] sender brings receiver right to the brink, over and over, refusing to let them finish BUT castiel edging dean bye
this whole situation seems ironic. the hunt had gone sideways, of course it had. they'd had to take shelter somewhere. from the storm. from that thing still out there ─ and this time, it just so happened to be within the walls of a forsaken, bygone church. forgotten. old. its doors crooked on their hinges, letting the night bleed in ; dull moonlight seeping through cracked stained glass, spilling across the floor and the pews in fractured hues that surely didn't belong in a place like this, anymore.
adrenaline still vibrating harsh beneath skin. adrenaline that had nowhere to go once they were safe. adrenaline that had turned into desperate touches. into hands clutching, heedless mouths finding, breath shared and then stolen without any thought. it was inevitable.
it had led them here, to castiel, now stripped of his coat and blazer, white shirt clinging damply to his back and sleeves rolled to his elbows. that familiar blue tie loose around the collar. it had led to dean, body bent forward and braced at the altar at the far end of the structure, watched by the cracked cross looming above him, tilted and knowing. the angel stands behind him, mouth warm and grounding where it presses to the nape of his neck, hand wrapped around the length of exposed, swollen flesh, the other secured at the shoulder ; touching him like he was the thing at the altar to worship.
it was unholy, a house of god filled with slick, quiet sounds. castiel's hand moves slowly at first, then faster, working up the pace and finding that rhythm he knows dean responds to. the one that makes his breath catch and his body betray him. he can feel the faint tremble beneath him. legs unsteady. head bowed. and he senses everything ; the tension and the heat building from within man's form, that same form pressing back without thinking. building and building until he notices the way his body tightens, until rapture is about to reach its climax ─ but that's where castiel stills, merely for a second, before he releases him from his palm. hand falling away and hovering instead, letting him breathe. allowing him to recollect himself.
' . . . dean, ' he murmurs, lips brushing the damp skin of his neck. ' hold on for me. ' hand slides upward, finding its way in beneath hunter's shirt, fingers grazing over goose-bumped skin. and he waits. feeling the frantic pulse beneath fingertips before he finds him again. it's slow, though adrenaline still roaring ; restless and electric as longing palm moves. the angel can't help the shiver that runs down his vessel's spine at the sounds coaxed out of him. the sounds dean made for him. ' you are beautiful. ' he speaks, softly, it was wonderful and filthy all at once.
when dean is close again, devastatingly so, castiel can feel it. and he lets go from him just when the coiling tension threatens to break. leaving him untouched and leaking. leaving him wanting.
' don't come yet. ' it's not an order. it's an appeal. ' you're doing so well for me. ' he notices the tremor. carefully, the celestial guides him down ; hand sliding along dean's arm, steadying him as he lowers them both to the floor. helping him sit. knees coming up, falling apart. back pressing against angel's chest, against the white fabric of his shirt. wrinkled and ruined. for a moment, they stay just like that. unbearably close. castiel wants to touch, but he doesn't. not yet. lifts his hand up instead ─ brining it beneath dean's chin. holding it there. waiting. voice quiet when he speaks, ' spit. '