Title: Ruin in High Definition
Summary: Dean thinks what he wants from Castiel is innocent enough - but is it?
Note: written for comment_fic.
He knows it's wrong. He knows he's playing with fire, but how can he resist when already the flames inside him burn so brightly? He tries to fight it, tries to seek revelation and busy himself with heaven and hell, but it only works for so long. Whenever he has a quiet moment he remembers Dean's question. After struggling with his conscience for a timeless instant he decides to stop avoiding the problem and confront it head on.
He comes to Dean at night, when Dean is sitting awake, still afraid to sleep because hell isn't all that far away, really.
Flutter of wings and Dean looks up, jerks in surprise, but then something warm settles in his eyes. He glances over at Sam, sleeping on his side, his head pillowed on one muscular arm.
"Cas," he murmurs in greeting. Then whispers, "Come on." He shrugs on his jacket and pads out the door.
Castiel follows. This motel is different from the others - it consists of small cabins tucked back from the highway among the pines of Northern California. The tail end of November is already here and it's cold and crisp outside on the wood ridged porch; the moon has a silver ring around it. Dean leans against a post, hands jammed in his pockets, shirt falling from his straight shoulders in perfect seamless lines.
"Have you thought about it?" he asks softly, his voice melting around the edges of Castiel's perception, warm and leaden with meaning.
Castiel swallows. "I have. It has been difficult to think of anything else."
It was truly shameful to think on such carnal, material, base desires when communing with the heavenly host; denigrating to soar amidst the heavens when his body yearns to be grounded to this thick, intricate denseness that is earth.
Dean is silent for a long moment. They look at one another, and though Castiel can usually read his charge's mind, he finds that he cannot do so tonight. All he can feel from Dean is warm amusement, and steady gentleness, a strength of purpose that he has only sensed when Dean is truly content, driving his car or wielding weapons against evil or sacrificing himself for his family, things that he has been born to do.
"Well?" Dean asks. "Are you going to keep denying yourself?"
"It's not that simple," Castiel argues, sighing. "How can you understand? You are a creature of Adam. I am not."
Dean's footsteps make the floorboards creak. The sound carries into the stillness of the night. "You want this, too. I know you do. Man up and admit it."
"I am curious, perhaps. I have been curious before without breaking the laws of heaven. It will pass."
Dean's eyes are deep, his features a juxtaposition of dark and light. Castiel has inhabited Jimmy Novak's body for Dean's sake, but he has never felt the physicality of the form as keenly as he does right now. He feels sweat moistening his palms, blood singing through his veins, his heart hammering down the doors of his chest.
"You know, this is pretty weird for me, too," Dean says. "You're a guy, for Christ's sake. I've never ... Well, let's just say this is a first for me, too."
Dean comes closer, and Castiel freezes, physically unable to move away even though his better judgment is screaming at him that this is wrong, wrong, wrong. Then Dean leans forward and suddenly lips touch his, surprisingly soft and warm. Dean's arms come around him and he understands suddenly, he gets the intoxicating allure of touch and desire and want.
He feels himself relax and open up into the kiss and it gets even better. Dean makes a small noise of pleasure that sends a thrill of pure electricity through Castiel's host body, seems to jolt even through his true form, and he makes an answering sound of need and pleasure. Then he's pulling back a little ways, he and Dean panting in one another's mouths, and Castiel touches Dean's face and lips in wonder and amazement.
Dean smiles at the reverence in Castiel's fingers, brings his own hands up to clutch at Castiel's, warm and perfect. He leans in again, his lips pressing again and again to Castiel's as though tasting something irresistibly delicious.
Castiel is moved nearly beyond the power to speak, and it must show on his face, because Dean says, "Breathe, Cas. It's just a kiss."
Castiel shivers. "No," he says. Castiel knows that it is so much more for him. It is revelation and apotheosis. It is the breaking of the commandment against idolatry. And God save him, but he can't find it in himself to regret it.