Temptation [SPN]
Mar. 20th, 2009 02:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iliaTitle/Prompt: Temptation
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 330~
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sacred_20. I'm still surprised and this is still unbetaed.
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Dean’s hands were itchy, his fingers twitched. He clenched his hands into fists and stuffed them in his jacket.
Sam was giving him sidelong looks with his pissy face, clearly asking what the hell his problem was and why the hell was he acting like a total spaz in front of the angel?
Dean had the urge to stick his tongue out and say that Castiel was his angel and he could damn well ignore him if he wanted to.
“Do you understand?”
“Yeah, Cas. Got it. Going. Bye,” Dean waved quickly, wanted Castiel gone before he did something stupid like give into his fucking crazy urges. And usually having Sam there would be enough, but this time it wasn’t
“You have not been listening,” Castiel said, his words heavy with frustration--much worse than accusation.
Dean’s eyes had been awesome and well-behaved before this, completely focused elsewhere, anywhere besides Castiel’s extreme blue eyes, but now Dean couldn’t not meet them, it was like they were freaking magnetized or something.
The problem was that it didn’t help. At all. It made things worse. Dean always did and said stupid shit because of what he felt under that gaze.
He gave up. It was futile. “Fuck it,” Dean muttered as he ate up the meager distance between them.
His hands came up to Castiel's throat. Ignoring the heat emanating from the angel, his electric stare, Dean undid the messy, twisted tie. His hand around a vulnerable neck, brushing against a sensitive nape, the silken feel of hair, crossing and looping--ignoring the muscles so close to his touch, the sensation of eyes on his face, on his lips--tightening cheap material into a knot and smoothing it down once, twice, before realizing what he was doing--groping--and stepping away quickly.
“It was bugging me.” He shrugged and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Seal in Cleveland, got it,” he said as he moved away towards the Impala.
He ignored the itch of someone staring too intently. He was good at that, at least.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 330~
Notes: For
sacred_20. I'm still surprised and this is still unbetaed.--------
Dean’s hands were itchy, his fingers twitched. He clenched his hands into fists and stuffed them in his jacket.
Sam was giving him sidelong looks with his pissy face, clearly asking what the hell his problem was and why the hell was he acting like a total spaz in front of the angel?
Dean had the urge to stick his tongue out and say that Castiel was his angel and he could damn well ignore him if he wanted to.
“Do you understand?”
“Yeah, Cas. Got it. Going. Bye,” Dean waved quickly, wanted Castiel gone before he did something stupid like give into his fucking crazy urges. And usually having Sam there would be enough, but this time it wasn’t
“You have not been listening,” Castiel said, his words heavy with frustration--much worse than accusation.
Dean’s eyes had been awesome and well-behaved before this, completely focused elsewhere, anywhere besides Castiel’s extreme blue eyes, but now Dean couldn’t not meet them, it was like they were freaking magnetized or something.
The problem was that it didn’t help. At all. It made things worse. Dean always did and said stupid shit because of what he felt under that gaze.
He gave up. It was futile. “Fuck it,” Dean muttered as he ate up the meager distance between them.
His hands came up to Castiel's throat. Ignoring the heat emanating from the angel, his electric stare, Dean undid the messy, twisted tie. His hand around a vulnerable neck, brushing against a sensitive nape, the silken feel of hair, crossing and looping--ignoring the muscles so close to his touch, the sensation of eyes on his face, on his lips--tightening cheap material into a knot and smoothing it down once, twice, before realizing what he was doing--groping--and stepping away quickly.
“It was bugging me.” He shrugged and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Seal in Cleveland, got it,” he said as he moved away towards the Impala.
He ignored the itch of someone staring too intently. He was good at that, at least.
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-20 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-21 10:55 pm (UTC)