For a celestial being who has existed for billions of years—
who has seen galaxies take shape from swirling gaseous clouds,
who has watched the evolution of humankind from the first fish to walk upon land,
who has observed countless empires rise and fall,
who doesn’t sleep and spends his nights quietly waiting for Dean and Sam to awaken,
Castiel doesn’t have much patience when it comes to sex.
“Dude,” Dean gasps, as he finds himself naked in a moment’s thought, Cas pressing him against the wall. “We can take our time, y’know. Undressing each other can be as fun as the rest of it.”
“This way is more efficient,” Cas insists, and Dean whimpers as Cas licks at his neck, rough stubble scratching delicate skin, bodies hard and crushed together.
Cas is equally impatient with preparation. Not that he skips it, but he eschews fingers and lube for the ease of grace, what feels like innumerable tendrils of it caressing Dean, opening him up, relaxing him.
Dean doesn’t mind that part much at all.
Where Cas finally takes his time is in what follows next—and oh, does he take his time. Agonizingly so. He’ll bring Dean to and over the edge, again and again, his whispers and promises low and sweet until even the sound of his deep voice sets off another wave of ecstasy through Dean’s exhausted body. Angelic stamina is both a blessing and a curse at this point, and when Cas, too, eventually comes it’s with an urgent warning to shield his eyes and the noise of every light fixture in a hundred foot radius exploding.
Cas cleans that—and them—up with efficiency soon thereafter.
Still, Sam has ordered them to stop having sex in the bunker. His nerves can’t take it any longer.