#bysilver

' we have already been acquainted, dean. ' the gentle kiss against knuckles still lingers there, hand still in dean's ; warm and playful with alcohol-soft bravery. castiel doesn't pull away, though his hand slowly shifts in his grasp ─ fingers slide up, resting along human's jaw. tips against stubble as he tilts the other's head just slightly, brushing his thumb softly over dean's lower lip. a gentle silencing of mouth. still trying to learn what he's allowed to feel and to initiate.

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.

hehehehe obviously from dean

' because they are not hallucinations. you know this. ' sky-blue eyes track the prophet of the lord before him, narrowed and sharp and analytic. ' this is not something originated from a damaged mind ─ you were chosen, externally, to be god's voice on earth. '

if i have to have another iv put in, i'm gonna go crazy. her lips stretch into a thin line of an empathetic smile. " i know. it looks like you've got tricky veins — that'll make it worse. " she crosses her arms, subtly eyeballs the nurse he's got. she's good. it shouldn't be too torturous. " is there anything i can grab for you? "

amber can hear the indistinct mummer of conversation from down the hall. she knows that as soon as they see her there will be a myriad of welcome backs, we missed you and the like.

finau is the first to spot her with a booming there she is and a grin takes hold. evan greets her with a prolonged hug. bell, ever the professional, gives her a shorter but equally warm hug.

she drops her bag by her desk, removes her jacket, and is about to open the file that waits for her when the sound of chair wheels rolling closer across the floor breaks through the soft murmurs of her colleagues talking.

i thought you were dead or something.

somehow, evan had convinced her to join the team for drinks. she figured nurse the same beer for an hour or so before calling it a night would be the polite way to go about things. somehow, an hour had turned into almost three and the bar slowly became busier and louder as the night wore on. the one beer turned into two and she'd just carried the second round of drinks back to the table with the help of evan when mark leaned in so she could hear him over the noise. (and, most likely, so she could be the only one to hear him.)

you know they're just jealous because you're so pretty.

brows knit, and the look she slants his way tells him she thinks he's talking out of his ass.

"you really are so full of it." just another version of the you can't fake what we have bull he'd fed her couple weeks ago. a shake of her head is given, brown eyes flicker past evan's right shoulder to the two twenty-somethings at the bar who've kept whispering to each other and smiling every time mark looked their way.

she should have known that the other would have seen right through her act, much like other hunters have been able to, trickling in one cases that she has taken now and then, who then would laugh in her face and tell her to "sit this one out, sweetheart." her jaw works defiantly as she clenches her teeth together, hands splayed out by her sides as she leans the heel of her palms against the edge of the bar counter, which separates both of them at this moment. june has been able to slip under the radar of law by slipping in through the back door of kitchens from murky brick alleyways, claiming to be a new hire with an apron 'pon her waist and usually no one pushes further when they see her beaming, welcoming smile and confidence that radiates off of her.