"I adore you," Castiel whispers, his hot breath fanning against Dean's neck, smelling distinctly of alcohol.
Dean feels a tremble run through his body.
"Y-you're drunk, man," Dean counters, but he himself hears that his voice is a bit shaky, brought out of balance by the warm, strong body pressing up against him.
"Yes," Castiel agrees easily, "but I adore you nonetheless." He nuzzles his nose behind Dean's ear and presses a tiny kiss to the sensitive skin there.
Dean whimpers, feeling his stomach tighten and warmth rising up inside him. "Uh, Cas, I-" he tries to move away, his face burning, but Cas grasps his shoulder, stilling him with the simple touch alone, and kisses a tender line up his neck.
"You are so beautiful, Dean. Your soul, your body, all of you is radiant."
"Cas-"
"In all of my existence, I have never looked upon anything that could have compared to your beauty." Cas' hand settles low and hot on the small of Dean's back, grounding and promising and titillating. "I need to worship you properly, bring proof to the depth of my adoration for you, thoroughly praise the pureness of your heart."
"Cas," Dean pleads, and he feels his eyes sting with tears. Because it's too much and he knows that Cas couldn't possibly be genuine, that he's only saying all that shit because he is drunk, making Dean hope for something he will never get and something he will never hear sober.
"Dean," Cas responds, his lips working warmly and wetly against the skin of Dean's neck, "I want to make love to you, Dean. Please, let me-"
"You don't," Dean breathes out, hating the pathetic little shudder in his voice. "You don't mean that. You only say that shit 'cause you're drunk and horny and you're not used to that yet, so-"
"No," Cas cuts in, and the resolutness of his voice instantly shuts Dean up. Cas lets his kisses wander to Dean's cheekbones, where his lips are soon replaced by his thumb, angling his face so that Cas can catch his gaze earnestly.
And surprisingly enough, despite the haze of alcohol, there is determination and lucidity in his blue eyes.
"Dean," Cas says, so low that it could only be heard by Dean, only by someone as close as he is. "I mean every word of what I say."
Dean shyly averts his gaze, blinks somewhere between Cas' jaw and his throat. But Cas gently tilts his chin up, smiles softly at him when he makes eye contact again.
"I want to make love to you, Dean," Cas rumbles, and his smile blossoms into something else, as if relieved by the truth of it and by that he is finally able to speak it. "I have wanted to for a long time. You are the most precious being of my whole existence, you are so beautiful-" Dean clenches his eyes shut, because for Cas, former Angel of the damn Lord, to call him, Dean Winchester, fuck-up extraordinaire, the most precious being of his whole existence is nothing short of blasphemy, it's dragging his own Father's name through the mud. But Cas doesn't continue speaking for as long as Dean has his eyes shut, and his silence and his gently circling thumb wordlessly coax Dean to open them again. When Dean finally dares to, he is rewarded with the sight of pleased eye crinkles. " i promise you that you are deserving of any worship I am still capable of, and anything beyond that."
Dean swallows hard, wishing the boiling heat inside him would stop, but with every second in which Cas' hands and gaze are still on him, it only seems to grow. It's terrible, and the most terrible thing of it all is that Cas does indeed seem earnest, true in what he says. As if he means it, that he is not just drunk and horny, but that he does think that Dean could be more than an easy, convenient fuck for him. Because there is nothing but adoration in his gaze, and hope, and it makes Dean crumble, makes him sigh deeply and wanting and just as hopeful.
Dean is weak, because he, too, has wanted this for a long time.
"If you," Dean begins hesitantingly, and Cas stares at him unerringly, and the familiarity of it is comforting, "if you still feel that way in the morning, you can try again. Tell me all that shit sober and- and touch me," he swallows again, cheeks flaming, "and maybe something might come out of it."
And just as Cas has used it before, radiant is now the word that comes to Dean's mind; because the huge, gummy grin spreading all over Cas' face, making his eyes shine, his crinkles grow deeper and mess up his nose, his whole features relax and only tighten in happiness, is like staring into the sun, celestial in the truest sense of the word.
"I will," Cas promises in a hushed and reverent tone, looking at Dean in wonder and endless gratitude, leaning forward to press one more kiss to his forehead. "In the morning, I will thoroughly show you my adoration and everything you are deserving of."
And Dean, torn between a hotness very low in his stomach and calling Cas out on the sappiness of his words, simply smiles and enjoys the tender kiss, one of the few first of hopefully many to come. "Counting on it."
