Suptober Day 7: Young at Heart
Day after but hey, what can I say? :D
Warning! Mature Content Ahead.
Dean collapsed on top of Castiel, breathing hard, sweat dripping off of him, so tapped out he could hardly move.
Dazed and in awe of the loving feeling permeating him, Cas wrapped himself around Dean in every way he could, holding on to him like... well, like there had never existed and never would exist a soul he loved more thoroughly and wholly. Dean took in a sudden, sharp breath and made a noise that sounded distinctly painful. His hand, hanging off the seat's edge, lifelessly limp, came back from the dead, taking hold of the muscle on the inside of his leg.
"Dean...? What's wrong?"
His breathing now pained, quick, and shallow, Dean, unable to help laughing, responded, "My penis thinks I'm twenty-five again. The rest of me thinks I'm an idiot." One bitch of a charley horse was trying to take over his leg. Cas couldn't help chuckling along with him. Castiel reached a hand down to work a little angelic magic on the cramping muscle.
Dean pushed it away, pinning it down on Baby's back seat. "Forget it, Cas. You couldn't heal the cuts and bruises you showed up with. No way am I letting you spend your energy on a few tweaking muscles."
"What can I do—?"
Dean smiled. Persistent son of a bitch. "Holy water in the trunk. Grab it. All of it." Without another word, Cas began picking up pieces of clothing, looking for his boxers. The fact that they were dark didn't help with locating them in the slightest. Dean dug into the pile of clothing under their heads for his jacket, then the keys in the pocket.
Keys in hand and barefoot, Cas exited the car door and made his way, limping quickly, over the irregular gravel to the trunk. Ignoring the cold air and the way rivulets of fluid running down his skin everywhere made it feel that much chillier, Cas rifled through the trunk's contents and quickly found a couple flasks of water and a small hand-held jug besides that.
He returned to the Impala's warm, humid interior, closing the door behind him after brushing a few stuck pebbles off the soles of his feet. Tossing one of the flasks onto the upholstered shelf behind the seats, Cas unscrewed the cap on the other, handing it to Dean. Draining a whole flask was barely enough to wet Dean's throat and take the edge off the gravel in his voice. Cas swallowed a mouthful from the jug himself, intent on leaving the contents of the flasks for Dean.
Having left himself uncovered, a beckoning wave of Dean's hand invited Cas back into bed. Dean cleared his throat, his voice returning to normal after a few words. "Whether it's a good idea or not, please take those off," he asked, referring to Cas' underwear. He wanted nothing between them. Seconds later, with a quiet laugh and nothin' on but an amused smirk, Castiel crawled back onto the seat, fitting himself in front of Dean. Contact with Dean's cramping leg made the man wince, and Cas reached down for the leg again. Dean seized his hand without saying anything.
"I don't want this to be unpleasant for you."
Oddly, it was a nod and a smile that prefaced Dean's reply. His breathing was deep and controlled, belying that he was putting his considerable focus and force of will to the task of releasing the taut muscles. "I'll recover the good ol' fashioned way.” He paused, considering how to explain himself. “You know how something salty and sweet tastes better than something that's one or the other?" Dean asked as he visibly relaxed, having managed to extricate himself from the worst of the spasm.
"Yes." Nodding, Cas made the last adjustments to his body that brought them as close together as he could manage.
"Same deal," Dean replied, pulling Cas' coat and his jacket over them, glad to be keeping the heat in again.
"It tastes as good as it does because of the contrast. Not despite it."
"Bingo." Smiling and laughing, Dean relaxed and let the second flask fall to the floor, empty. He'd managed to stave off the cramp entirely and loosen his leg up again.
A momentary frown showed on Cas' face. "I understand." Slapping someone you love—inflicting pain—during sex made considerably more sense now. Dean wrapped an arm over his chest. Castiel interwove his fingers between Dean's, his thumb unconsciously taking to stroking along bone and tendon. They lay together in silence, letting each other know they were there with them in whatever minuscule way they felt the urge to. A brush of the nose to the back of the neck. The movement of fingers over the skin leaving a tingling sensation wherever they went. Rubbing the top of a foot behind the other's calf, toes curled up. Butterfly kisses to whatever skin was handy.
Soon, Dean couldn't fight back the drowsing taking him over anymore. "I'd stay awake with you, Cas, but I'm fading fast."
"And I want to be able to sleep with you, but..." Castiel sighed and smiled contently, laying his head to rest with Dean's. "I can't." Dean had gone limp and let go of consciousness before the angel finished what he was saying.
