obstinatrix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obstinatrix) wrote2011-07-28 09:53 am
obstinatrix) wrote2011-07-28 09:53 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Get Me Closer To God (Dean/Castiel, NC-17)
Ummmm, I wrote this one while I was writing knotting fic with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mistyzeo, so there are random elements of knotting fanon in it. IDEK.
Title: Get Me Closer To God
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Summary/Prompt: When the animal spirits possessed them, Dean did not expect to mount Cas in the street and get off on everyone else fucking one another around them. Was here.
It's a carnival, but it smells like a goddamn massacre. Sweat and spunk, animalistic, metallic, everywhere. There's part of Dean that wants to clench up at it, galled, but the rest of him's caught up in the frantic rush of the thing, the thunder of Cas's blood beneath his skin. Apparently, animal possession's kind of a half-assed job that leaves your conscious mind mostly functional because there's nothing to replace it -- and sure, on some level, Dean remembers the case, realizes they've gotten swept up in it. His mind's still his own, but his drives -- Jesus.
It's not like he never gave this a thought before, the way it might feel to hitch Cas back against him, hands broad on the spurs of Cas's pelvis. Dean's not blind, and he's not good, either, at separating out his feelings. Cas is someone he, okay, loves, or whatever, and it didn't long for that to run smack into the way Cas's mouth got him hot, stranding him in some hinterland of want. But he never would have done anything, with Cas the way he is, socially awkward virgin of the Lord. Cas is just Cas, and Dean's long stopped seeing him as a possibility.
And then there was this, the feral clench of lust seizing him up, clawing at his insides, and sanity dropped away. One second, he was sparing a glance for a couple of blondes in a doorway, their hands all over each other, and okay, maybe his thoughts were less than pure, but large among them loomed an incredulous in public?
And then he turned, and Cas smiled, and his teeth flashed white and unfamiliar in his face, and shit. Public indecency was no longer a concern.
If he'd had to take a guess, he'd probably have said that Cas would surely be reticent in bed, closed eyes and hesitant fingers, sounds bitten back. But they're not in bed, and it wasn't all Cas that pushed back into Dean's hands when they settled on his waist, but some of it was. Dean knew that, by analogy, Cas's mind was still functional, and Jesus, Cas wanted this. The pupils of his eyes had bled out dark into the blue till only a thin ring of reassurance remained. Dean barely had to push and Cas went, offered himself up.
A few fumbles of cloth later and they're here, Cas with his palms flat against the door of the public library, right under the sign that gives the opening hours. It isn't like they stopped here on purpose, but when once Cas got his hand around the nape of Dean's neck, his mouth on Dean's, it was no longer an option to move very far, and this was the closest doorway with nobody in it. Not that it's private -- there's a guy down there in the grass, hips working into some girl he's got hitched up against the bicycle racks -- but Cas didn't seem to care about that when he shucked his pants, turned to face the wall, and Dean can't pretend that he gives a shit, either. His cock's leaking copious and urgent in his pants, and the only logical option is to get them the fuck off. He's been accused of being lizard-brained before, but Jesus. This shit makes him look like a perfect gentleman in everyday life.
"Dean," Cas is saying, knees splaying wantonly wider, "Dean, come on." There's a bruise at his nape where Dean's teeth sank in, mostly of their own accord, and a dark place where the blood rose to the surface in the shape of his mouth. Dean wants to say wait, but the sight of that bruise is doing things to him, gut-deep, twisted things, and he's unzipping himself already, fingers skirting Cas's cleft, pushing inside.
"Yeah," he's saying, "yeah." It's his own voice, but somehow he doesn't remember telling it to work, even though -- Jesus -- it's saying pretty much exactly what his body is thinking. Maybe that's it, what this spell does, ties your output directly to your bodily urges, do not pass brain, do not collect $200. Dean certainly doesn't remember telling his cock to nudge up in there already, smearing its slick across the pucker of Cas's asshole, but, apparently, his cock has finally developed a full mind of its own. Looking around this town, it seems to be a pretty common problem.
He ought to pull back. Hell, he ought to fucking stop this shit right now, but if he can't stop (and he can't) then he should be working Cas open on his fingers, getting him ready. But Cas is breathing shallowly, shoulders tight with want, and the backward shove of his hips swallows the tip of Dean immediately, like Cas's body is working on some new and alien lines. Cas is a man, at least physically; shouldn't fucking give like that, but then he shoves back again, muscle splaying open around Dean's dick, swallowing him two inches deep in one thrust, and holy shit.
"Cas," Dean spits, both hands going instinctively to Cas's backside, spreading him open so he can see it happening. Talk about a fucking miracle. Cas is stretched pink around him, tight virgin clench of him just giving and giving, and Dean can't help the stutter of his hips, shoving further in. "Cas!"
Cas reaches back without warning, grips his thigh. Pulls, and then that's it, he's buried balls-deep and the friction isn't unbearable, the clutch of it tight, but not painful. He can smell Cas everywhere, the raw scent of his dick, the heat pouring off him, and it's like he's gotten wet for Dean like a, Jesus, like a fucking girl, except without any need for foreplay. It's like he wants to rut with Dean in broad daylight like they're animals, and Dean'd be ashamed of the sound he makes as he sinks, if he could feel any shame at all.
Cas, beneath him, is quite clearly past that. Cas, angel of the motherfucking Lord, speared open on Dean's cock, and God, he's fucking working it, hauling Dean into him with one tight fist on his thigh, encouraging with his hips in this needy, wanton grind. The guy by the bicycles is looking over, now, watching Dean take him, and God, it only sets Dean's spine alive with pride, makes him curl his fingers around Cas's hips again and fuck.
Dean's fucked his way across the country, but it's never been like this, this base, uninhibited want pounding through him with his pulse, the smell of it hot and dirty, rising up as they move. Cas is wordless when Dean really starts to move, hips pistoning in and out in long, powerful strokes, but he's keening, fingers scrabbling helplessly at brick when he's sure he can release Dean and still expect to get fucked. And it is, it is fucking, the two of them mating like this, a frantic mount and rut, Cas's hips canted upward like he wants something, wants Dean to fill him up. There's no expectation of stamina, everything a race to the finish, but God, Cas wants it, is leaking all over Dean's fingers when he flattens a hand on his abdomen to pull him in tighter. His muscles clench and shift on Dean's cock in ways they shouldn't, like they're coaxing his orgasm out of him, and Dean can't resist. The faster he fucks, the harder he drives into Cas, the more it feels like his mind's slipping away below the heat of it till there's nothing left but sex, raw and feral and amazing.
"Shit," he manages, "Cas, feel so good, fucking take it." He leans in, draping himself over the curve of Cas's back, and the bruise at the nape of his neck draws Dean's mouth irresistibly. He licks at it, soothing the hurt with the rough flat of his tongue, and then he's teething at it again, worrying at the bone as he sucks it darker, leaving his mark. Under him, Cas's movements have gone loose, almost manic as they break their rhythm, and Dean's almost there, swelling inside him. Dean's gonna breed him, and that bastard by the bicycles is gonna see him do it, and nobody's going to dare to touch Cas after this. Not with Dean's mark on him, Dean's come inside him, Dean's seed fucked so deep into his body he'll never get rid of it.
"Fuck," Dean breathes, tearing his mouth away, and then Cas is seizing, moaning low and raw, the sound of it gravelled like it's rasping the surface off his throat as it emerges. Dean would put a hand over it, clamp it inside, but God, he wants to hear the way Cas sounds when Dean makes him come. He pounds into him hard, again, and Cas clenches around him as he bucks forward, spurts all over Dean's hand.
"Jesus," Dean groans, "so fucking -- Cas --" and he's coming, fucking himself through it, half-lifting Cas back onto his cock at the end of every stroke. It's intense, gut-deep, goes on longer than usual, and by the time Dean's stilled, they're both of them panting, Cas with his cheek plastered to the wall as if for support.
"God," Dean murmurs, dark and slow. "Cas..."
He pulls out slowly, staggers back, and a rush of his come follows, leaking white down the insides of Cas's thighs. Cas is rather more unsteady when he straightens, too, turning to look at Dean.
His eyes are blue again, Dean thinks vaguely. His eyes are blue again, like the heat's been fucked out of them, leaving Cas wide-eyed and breathless and...
Oh.
His mouth is pink and raw where he's been teething at it, biting down hard as Dean fucked him. His hair is mussed from Dean's fingers, soft, and Dean still wants him. The fire is gone, the animal instinct stealing his breath, but Dean still wants him, and Cas doesn't look...horrified. Which.
Dean swallows, holds out a hand tentatively. "Um. So, I guess all they want is for everyone to fuck so they can feel it or something, huh?"
He hasn't the faintest idea what the fuck he should say. There was nothing in Dad's diary about these sorts of situations.
Cas only shakes his head, taking a shaky step forward as he hauls his pants back up. "That seems reasonable," he says. For a second, the two of them just look at each other, embarrassment rising between them like a glass wall.
"Fuck it," Dean spits after a second, and hauls Cas in, fingers flat against the mark on Cas's neck where Dean claimed him, made him his. "I've had enough of awkward for today, okay?" And he presses his mouth to Cas's, soft and sure.
After a second's hesitation, Cas gives, lips parting, and Dean's fairly hopeful that it means he's had enough of awkward, too.
mistyzeo, so there are random elements of knotting fanon in it. IDEK. Title: Get Me Closer To God
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Summary/Prompt: When the animal spirits possessed them, Dean did not expect to mount Cas in the street and get off on everyone else fucking one another around them. Was here.
It's a carnival, but it smells like a goddamn massacre. Sweat and spunk, animalistic, metallic, everywhere. There's part of Dean that wants to clench up at it, galled, but the rest of him's caught up in the frantic rush of the thing, the thunder of Cas's blood beneath his skin. Apparently, animal possession's kind of a half-assed job that leaves your conscious mind mostly functional because there's nothing to replace it -- and sure, on some level, Dean remembers the case, realizes they've gotten swept up in it. His mind's still his own, but his drives -- Jesus.
It's not like he never gave this a thought before, the way it might feel to hitch Cas back against him, hands broad on the spurs of Cas's pelvis. Dean's not blind, and he's not good, either, at separating out his feelings. Cas is someone he, okay, loves, or whatever, and it didn't long for that to run smack into the way Cas's mouth got him hot, stranding him in some hinterland of want. But he never would have done anything, with Cas the way he is, socially awkward virgin of the Lord. Cas is just Cas, and Dean's long stopped seeing him as a possibility.
And then there was this, the feral clench of lust seizing him up, clawing at his insides, and sanity dropped away. One second, he was sparing a glance for a couple of blondes in a doorway, their hands all over each other, and okay, maybe his thoughts were less than pure, but large among them loomed an incredulous in public?
And then he turned, and Cas smiled, and his teeth flashed white and unfamiliar in his face, and shit. Public indecency was no longer a concern.
If he'd had to take a guess, he'd probably have said that Cas would surely be reticent in bed, closed eyes and hesitant fingers, sounds bitten back. But they're not in bed, and it wasn't all Cas that pushed back into Dean's hands when they settled on his waist, but some of it was. Dean knew that, by analogy, Cas's mind was still functional, and Jesus, Cas wanted this. The pupils of his eyes had bled out dark into the blue till only a thin ring of reassurance remained. Dean barely had to push and Cas went, offered himself up.
A few fumbles of cloth later and they're here, Cas with his palms flat against the door of the public library, right under the sign that gives the opening hours. It isn't like they stopped here on purpose, but when once Cas got his hand around the nape of Dean's neck, his mouth on Dean's, it was no longer an option to move very far, and this was the closest doorway with nobody in it. Not that it's private -- there's a guy down there in the grass, hips working into some girl he's got hitched up against the bicycle racks -- but Cas didn't seem to care about that when he shucked his pants, turned to face the wall, and Dean can't pretend that he gives a shit, either. His cock's leaking copious and urgent in his pants, and the only logical option is to get them the fuck off. He's been accused of being lizard-brained before, but Jesus. This shit makes him look like a perfect gentleman in everyday life.
"Dean," Cas is saying, knees splaying wantonly wider, "Dean, come on." There's a bruise at his nape where Dean's teeth sank in, mostly of their own accord, and a dark place where the blood rose to the surface in the shape of his mouth. Dean wants to say wait, but the sight of that bruise is doing things to him, gut-deep, twisted things, and he's unzipping himself already, fingers skirting Cas's cleft, pushing inside.
"Yeah," he's saying, "yeah." It's his own voice, but somehow he doesn't remember telling it to work, even though -- Jesus -- it's saying pretty much exactly what his body is thinking. Maybe that's it, what this spell does, ties your output directly to your bodily urges, do not pass brain, do not collect $200. Dean certainly doesn't remember telling his cock to nudge up in there already, smearing its slick across the pucker of Cas's asshole, but, apparently, his cock has finally developed a full mind of its own. Looking around this town, it seems to be a pretty common problem.
He ought to pull back. Hell, he ought to fucking stop this shit right now, but if he can't stop (and he can't) then he should be working Cas open on his fingers, getting him ready. But Cas is breathing shallowly, shoulders tight with want, and the backward shove of his hips swallows the tip of Dean immediately, like Cas's body is working on some new and alien lines. Cas is a man, at least physically; shouldn't fucking give like that, but then he shoves back again, muscle splaying open around Dean's dick, swallowing him two inches deep in one thrust, and holy shit.
"Cas," Dean spits, both hands going instinctively to Cas's backside, spreading him open so he can see it happening. Talk about a fucking miracle. Cas is stretched pink around him, tight virgin clench of him just giving and giving, and Dean can't help the stutter of his hips, shoving further in. "Cas!"
Cas reaches back without warning, grips his thigh. Pulls, and then that's it, he's buried balls-deep and the friction isn't unbearable, the clutch of it tight, but not painful. He can smell Cas everywhere, the raw scent of his dick, the heat pouring off him, and it's like he's gotten wet for Dean like a, Jesus, like a fucking girl, except without any need for foreplay. It's like he wants to rut with Dean in broad daylight like they're animals, and Dean'd be ashamed of the sound he makes as he sinks, if he could feel any shame at all.
Cas, beneath him, is quite clearly past that. Cas, angel of the motherfucking Lord, speared open on Dean's cock, and God, he's fucking working it, hauling Dean into him with one tight fist on his thigh, encouraging with his hips in this needy, wanton grind. The guy by the bicycles is looking over, now, watching Dean take him, and God, it only sets Dean's spine alive with pride, makes him curl his fingers around Cas's hips again and fuck.
Dean's fucked his way across the country, but it's never been like this, this base, uninhibited want pounding through him with his pulse, the smell of it hot and dirty, rising up as they move. Cas is wordless when Dean really starts to move, hips pistoning in and out in long, powerful strokes, but he's keening, fingers scrabbling helplessly at brick when he's sure he can release Dean and still expect to get fucked. And it is, it is fucking, the two of them mating like this, a frantic mount and rut, Cas's hips canted upward like he wants something, wants Dean to fill him up. There's no expectation of stamina, everything a race to the finish, but God, Cas wants it, is leaking all over Dean's fingers when he flattens a hand on his abdomen to pull him in tighter. His muscles clench and shift on Dean's cock in ways they shouldn't, like they're coaxing his orgasm out of him, and Dean can't resist. The faster he fucks, the harder he drives into Cas, the more it feels like his mind's slipping away below the heat of it till there's nothing left but sex, raw and feral and amazing.
"Shit," he manages, "Cas, feel so good, fucking take it." He leans in, draping himself over the curve of Cas's back, and the bruise at the nape of his neck draws Dean's mouth irresistibly. He licks at it, soothing the hurt with the rough flat of his tongue, and then he's teething at it again, worrying at the bone as he sucks it darker, leaving his mark. Under him, Cas's movements have gone loose, almost manic as they break their rhythm, and Dean's almost there, swelling inside him. Dean's gonna breed him, and that bastard by the bicycles is gonna see him do it, and nobody's going to dare to touch Cas after this. Not with Dean's mark on him, Dean's come inside him, Dean's seed fucked so deep into his body he'll never get rid of it.
"Fuck," Dean breathes, tearing his mouth away, and then Cas is seizing, moaning low and raw, the sound of it gravelled like it's rasping the surface off his throat as it emerges. Dean would put a hand over it, clamp it inside, but God, he wants to hear the way Cas sounds when Dean makes him come. He pounds into him hard, again, and Cas clenches around him as he bucks forward, spurts all over Dean's hand.
"Jesus," Dean groans, "so fucking -- Cas --" and he's coming, fucking himself through it, half-lifting Cas back onto his cock at the end of every stroke. It's intense, gut-deep, goes on longer than usual, and by the time Dean's stilled, they're both of them panting, Cas with his cheek plastered to the wall as if for support.
"God," Dean murmurs, dark and slow. "Cas..."
He pulls out slowly, staggers back, and a rush of his come follows, leaking white down the insides of Cas's thighs. Cas is rather more unsteady when he straightens, too, turning to look at Dean.
His eyes are blue again, Dean thinks vaguely. His eyes are blue again, like the heat's been fucked out of them, leaving Cas wide-eyed and breathless and...
Oh.
His mouth is pink and raw where he's been teething at it, biting down hard as Dean fucked him. His hair is mussed from Dean's fingers, soft, and Dean still wants him. The fire is gone, the animal instinct stealing his breath, but Dean still wants him, and Cas doesn't look...horrified. Which.
Dean swallows, holds out a hand tentatively. "Um. So, I guess all they want is for everyone to fuck so they can feel it or something, huh?"
He hasn't the faintest idea what the fuck he should say. There was nothing in Dad's diary about these sorts of situations.
Cas only shakes his head, taking a shaky step forward as he hauls his pants back up. "That seems reasonable," he says. For a second, the two of them just look at each other, embarrassment rising between them like a glass wall.
"Fuck it," Dean spits after a second, and hauls Cas in, fingers flat against the mark on Cas's neck where Dean claimed him, made him his. "I've had enough of awkward for today, okay?" And he presses his mouth to Cas's, soft and sure.
After a second's hesitation, Cas gives, lips parting, and Dean's fairly hopeful that it means he's had enough of awkward, too.
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