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spn ficlet: closer
closer
Castiel/Dean | gen | ~500 words
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sweatersammys, who was feeling down.
--
Cas has graveyard dirt on his hands and a long smear of blood on his face, and Dean crowds him back against the car, running his fingers over the scratch on his temple and the reddish bruise at the corner of his jaw.
"Are you all right?" It's a stupid question, pointless, Cas can heal himself with half a thought, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier when Cas gets hurt. Earlier, the ghost they were hunting had tossed Cas into a headstone with a sound like bones snapping, and Dean had watched him slump over with a knot in his throat and a sick lurch in his gut, his hands shaking as he'd fumbled with the matches and salt.
"I am fine," Cas says quietly, but he smiles as Dean presses closer, tilting his head as Dean palms the side of his neck, as Dean rubs his thumb at the corner of his jaw, and when Dean kisses him he makes a soft noise into Dean's mouth and fists his dirty hands in the front of Dean's shirt.
The cemetery is quiet, except for the cicadas buzzing in the hedge beside the car; Dean can hear Sam shoveling dirt into the grave they opened, humming something low and tuneless under his breath. Dean wraps his arms around Cas, pulling him into a tight hug, one hand curling into the hair at the back of Cas' head. Cas lets his teeth catch the well of Dean's lower lip, then drags his mouth down the line of Dean's jaw, all stubble and heat, and he slides his hand over Dean's ribs, where Dean is stiff and sore from being thrown into a tree. The pain ebbs away with a burst of grace, chilly and bright, like ice water splashing against his side, just sudden enough to make Dean shiver and gasp against Cas' cheek.
"You didn't have to do that," Dean says. It hadn't been much of an injury, just bruised skin and angry muscles, nothing a hot shower and a couple of aspirin wouldn't have fixed.
Cas just huffs, biting a slow, wet kiss into the skin below Dean's ear. His hands and face and coat are clean now, but his shirt is missing a button at the collar, yawning open around the sweaty hollow of his throat, and his hair is a wreck, sticking up in several directions at once. Dean leans in closer, pinning Cas back against the car with his hands at Cas' hips. He noses at Cas' jaw until he finds Cas' mouth, kissing him until he hears Sam's boots crunching against the gravel and the tired creak of the Impala's trunk.
"You guys about ready?" Sam asks.
They should go; it's going to rain soon, and the ghost had screamed bloody murder as she burned out, and they still have to drive back to the motel, fifty miles away and two towns over.
"In a minute, yeah," Dean says, and kisses Cas again.
Castiel/Dean | gen | ~500 words
For
--
Cas has graveyard dirt on his hands and a long smear of blood on his face, and Dean crowds him back against the car, running his fingers over the scratch on his temple and the reddish bruise at the corner of his jaw.
"Are you all right?" It's a stupid question, pointless, Cas can heal himself with half a thought, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier when Cas gets hurt. Earlier, the ghost they were hunting had tossed Cas into a headstone with a sound like bones snapping, and Dean had watched him slump over with a knot in his throat and a sick lurch in his gut, his hands shaking as he'd fumbled with the matches and salt.
"I am fine," Cas says quietly, but he smiles as Dean presses closer, tilting his head as Dean palms the side of his neck, as Dean rubs his thumb at the corner of his jaw, and when Dean kisses him he makes a soft noise into Dean's mouth and fists his dirty hands in the front of Dean's shirt.
The cemetery is quiet, except for the cicadas buzzing in the hedge beside the car; Dean can hear Sam shoveling dirt into the grave they opened, humming something low and tuneless under his breath. Dean wraps his arms around Cas, pulling him into a tight hug, one hand curling into the hair at the back of Cas' head. Cas lets his teeth catch the well of Dean's lower lip, then drags his mouth down the line of Dean's jaw, all stubble and heat, and he slides his hand over Dean's ribs, where Dean is stiff and sore from being thrown into a tree. The pain ebbs away with a burst of grace, chilly and bright, like ice water splashing against his side, just sudden enough to make Dean shiver and gasp against Cas' cheek.
"You didn't have to do that," Dean says. It hadn't been much of an injury, just bruised skin and angry muscles, nothing a hot shower and a couple of aspirin wouldn't have fixed.
Cas just huffs, biting a slow, wet kiss into the skin below Dean's ear. His hands and face and coat are clean now, but his shirt is missing a button at the collar, yawning open around the sweaty hollow of his throat, and his hair is a wreck, sticking up in several directions at once. Dean leans in closer, pinning Cas back against the car with his hands at Cas' hips. He noses at Cas' jaw until he finds Cas' mouth, kissing him until he hears Sam's boots crunching against the gravel and the tired creak of the Impala's trunk.
"You guys about ready?" Sam asks.
They should go; it's going to rain soon, and the ghost had screamed bloody murder as she burned out, and they still have to drive back to the motel, fifty miles away and two towns over.
"In a minute, yeah," Dean says, and kisses Cas again.