He never gets tired of looking at Castiel’s room. There’s no furniture apart from a futon-like bed, and the walls are covered with dozens, maybe even hundreds, of drawings, paintings, and other bits and pieces of Castiel’s work. It’s a mess, but Castiel seems happy and at least he keeps it mostly confined to the one room (the art supplies themselves are another matter, but Dean’s given up on putting paintbrushes and canvasses in a pile hoping that Castiel will put them away).
“Alright,” Castiel says, stepping over a pile of oily, paint-covered rags to reach his easel, “You know what to do.” He gestures with a paintbrush to a small stool in the middle of the room. Dean goes and stands on the stool, pulling at the hem of the dress to make sure it doesn’t accidentally reveal anything, and Castiel goes to work.
There’s a chandelier hanging from the ceiling just above the stool, and Dean feels warm under its harsh light. The way Castiel is looking at him makes him feel even warmer. Dean sometimes wonders if his roommate ever blinks when he’s working; if Castiel does, Dean never catches it. Instead he stares at Dean intensely, examining him as though looking through whatever ridiculous clothes he’s put Dean in, rather than at the fabric itself. Dean shifts under Castiel’s watch, and Castiel tells him to stop fidgeting. Dean ignores him and rolls his eyes.
“Dean, stop moving,” Castiel says again. He considers for a moment, and then says “Put a foot on the floor.”
“What? No,” Dean says, considering the length of the dress.
“I’ll make it worth your time,” Castiel says crossly. He disappears into the kitchen and returns with a beer, which he hands to Dean.
“This is my beer anyway,” Dean says. Castiel ignores him and returns to his work. Dean drinks the beer, trying to stay as still as he can otherwise (leaving both feet firmly on the stool).
After what seems like years, but is probably somewhere around two hours, Castiel steps away from his easel and looks at it, then back at Dean, then to the easel again. “That’s enough for today,” he says finally, “You can get down.” Dean steps down from the stool and heads for the door, but Castiel stops him, blocking the door and putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder to hold him in place.
“What, Cas?” Dean asks, “I gotta get out of this fucking thing.” He gestures down at himself. Castiel mutters something in response, but Dean doesn’t have time to process what it is because suddenly Castiel is kissing him, lips pressing insistently against Dean’s as he slides one hand up Dean’s bare thigh, fingertips edging underneath the hem of the dress. Dean’s too surprised to do anything but kiss him back, parting his lips and letting Castiel slip his tongue between them.
Castiel pushes his hand upward, hitching up the fabric of the dress so it rests at Dean’s stomach, then tugs at Dean’s hips to pull their bodies flush together, Dean’s bare groin against Castiel’s pants. Dean can’t help the moan he lets out as he feels his hardening cock against Castiel’s, even through the thin fabric of his sweats, and he takes it as permission to finally stroke over the well-defined hipbones he had always noticed.
Castiel takes a step forward and Dean a step back, moving them farther back into Castiel’s room. Dean almost trips over a stray can of paint, but they make their way to the bed and Castiel pushes Dean down on it. He grinds down against Dean and Dean spreads his legs and moans, pressing his hips up to meet Castiel’s. He reaches to push Castiel’s pants down his legs, tugging them off and tossing them to the side, and when Castiel thrust down again, they both groan at the feeling of skin on skin.
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Re: Supernatural: Dean/Castiel; AU, attention, crossdressing (NC-17)
Date: 2011-01-14 11:54 am (UTC)“Alright,” Castiel says, stepping over a pile of oily, paint-covered rags to reach his easel, “You know what to do.” He gestures with a paintbrush to a small stool in the middle of the room. Dean goes and stands on the stool, pulling at the hem of the dress to make sure it doesn’t accidentally reveal anything, and Castiel goes to work.
There’s a chandelier hanging from the ceiling just above the stool, and Dean feels warm under its harsh light. The way Castiel is looking at him makes him feel even warmer. Dean sometimes wonders if his roommate ever blinks when he’s working; if Castiel does, Dean never catches it. Instead he stares at Dean intensely, examining him as though looking through whatever ridiculous clothes he’s put Dean in, rather than at the fabric itself. Dean shifts under Castiel’s watch, and Castiel tells him to stop fidgeting. Dean ignores him and rolls his eyes.
“Dean, stop moving,” Castiel says again. He considers for a moment, and then says “Put a foot on the floor.”
“What? No,” Dean says, considering the length of the dress.
“I’ll make it worth your time,” Castiel says crossly. He disappears into the kitchen and returns with a beer, which he hands to Dean.
“This is my beer anyway,” Dean says. Castiel ignores him and returns to his work. Dean drinks the beer, trying to stay as still as he can otherwise (leaving both feet firmly on the stool).
After what seems like years, but is probably somewhere around two hours, Castiel steps away from his easel and looks at it, then back at Dean, then to the easel again. “That’s enough for today,” he says finally, “You can get down.” Dean steps down from the stool and heads for the door, but Castiel stops him, blocking the door and putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder to hold him in place.
“What, Cas?” Dean asks, “I gotta get out of this fucking thing.” He gestures down at himself. Castiel mutters something in response, but Dean doesn’t have time to process what it is because suddenly Castiel is kissing him, lips pressing insistently against Dean’s as he slides one hand up Dean’s bare thigh, fingertips edging underneath the hem of the dress. Dean’s too surprised to do anything but kiss him back, parting his lips and letting Castiel slip his tongue between them.
Castiel pushes his hand upward, hitching up the fabric of the dress so it rests at Dean’s stomach, then tugs at Dean’s hips to pull their bodies flush together, Dean’s bare groin against Castiel’s pants. Dean can’t help the moan he lets out as he feels his hardening cock against Castiel’s, even through the thin fabric of his sweats, and he takes it as permission to finally stroke over the well-defined hipbones he had always noticed.
Castiel takes a step forward and Dean a step back, moving them farther back into Castiel’s room. Dean almost trips over a stray can of paint, but they make their way to the bed and Castiel pushes Dean down on it. He grinds down against Dean and Dean spreads his legs and moans, pressing his hips up to meet Castiel’s. He reaches to push Castiel’s pants down his legs, tugging them off and tossing them to the side, and when Castiel thrust down again, they both groan at the feeling of skin on skin.