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Dean's going to Hell. Again. He's going to be cast into the Pit to make nice with a bunch of demons because he's pretty sure that molesting an angel of the Lord is somewhere up there with murder, betrayal and taking pie off babies.

And it wasn't as if it was his fault, wasn't as if it was a conscious decision to reach out and pull Cas closer. Wasn't as if Dean woke up this morning and thought that today was the day he was finally gonna plant one on Cas. It just sort of happened.

One second they're in the motel room, Uriel frowning and Cas talking and him and Sam listening. (Well, Sam listening and him trying to imagine what sort of noises Cas would make if Dean had him naked and on his back.) And the next? Somehow it went from blahblahblah, good work with the seal in Cleveland, blahblahblah, more work to be done, blahblahblah, I want to suck your cock, Dean (okay, maybe not so much the last one, except in Dean's head) to Dean reaching out, to wrapping his fingers around that god-awful tie Cas is wearing and pulling.

Cas's lips are soft under his, pliant in a way Dean never thought they'd be. He's kissing Cas for all he's worth, because if he's going to be sent down for this, then fuck it, he's going to have something to remember. And Dean's so intent on memorising every inch of Cas's mouth, every taste on his lips, that it takes him a minute to realise that he's not being dragged into the Pit, kicking and screaming; takes him a minute to realise that Cas's hands are gripping his arms and that Cas is kissing him back.

They're alone in the room when Dean pulls back (breathing may not be an issue for Cas, but Dean's still human). Sam gone and Uriel gone and silence except for the breath coming from both of them. And Cas is looking at him, looking into him, one hand over the brand on Dean's shoulder and tie still bunched tightly in Dean's fist.

"Cas, I-- Please--" Words somewhere between a plea and a prayer, cut off by Cas, his mouth back on Dean's, still soft and still pliant as his tongue flicks along Dean's lower lip, demanding entry. And Dean gives it, permission asked and given, as they stumble over to the bed, pulling at clothes as they go.

And the noises Cas does make when Dean has him naked and on his back are nothing like Dean thought they'd be. Dean's name, quiet and reverential, falling from Cas's lips as he moves into Dean's touch, instead of fucks and gods and yeses being screamed out. Cas's voice, soft and slurred and wrecked as Dean pushes into him, pleading to Heaven for Dean to just move. And he does. He cleaves into Cas, into want and need and there. And Cas takes it, meets Dean thrust for thrust, eyes wide and skin slick as he takes everything Dean gives.

So, yeah, the noises are nothing like Dean imagined. They're better. And Dean's going to make sure he hears them again and again and again.