tumbataure | 171st page

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mossy forest

171st page

After the hole is sealed and Ninurta's done away with, your entire party is bippity bopped to the other side of the forest. If there were stragglers that got separated, you're all in one place again. If you lost gear, weapons, phones, whatever, it's back on your person, functional again. If you lost any organs you're on your own though. No but basically you've been bewitched to safety out of the forest and the evil noises have stopped, you're homefree, homies. There's a crow perched on a rundown fence post along the road watching you with beady little eyes before it takes off back into the forest.

The map takes you to a rundown little bed and breakfast not but a fifteen minute walk out that looks like it was abandoned a while ago. No foul play, just closed for business, the economy is rough when you're located next to a haunted forest. Feel free to avail yourself of its beds, there's no room service but least you don't have to pay.

[Mission: get your bearings, make sure all your shits there, do a headcount, follow the road. call dibs on a room. rest up]

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[ shudders under the hand on his neck, down the length of his spine to his hips. they stutter, then fall back into the rhythm dean's directing. fitting his hands between their hips is out of the question because the current pace would be interrupted. he drapes both arms around dean's neck instead, elbows hooked over his shoulders and uses the leverage to keep dean within reach of his mouth at all times. ]

[ driving his knees and the soles of his boots into the mattress helps with the leverage, too, the grinding just shy of painful with how much pressure and friction they're generating. ]

[and denim is not kind. he has to move a hand to his chest to slow it down after a time before he grinds himself raw, tilting his face down to disengage mouths and mumbling a wait, wait to work his hand between them and shimmying the waist of cas' pants down on his hips. his palm slides a trail down from his navel, pausing for a beat to look up at him again before edging his fingers under the waistband of his shorts to draw him out with like all the care he'd handle a fuckin antique rifle, circling a callused thumb over sticky mess and sliding down]

[ ducks into the collar of dean's shirt, breath labored and uneven. the jackhammering pulse he'd encountered earlier is nothing in comparison to this. he mouths along the skin he can reach, nosing into the shirt for more, just to distract himself enough to keep it together (instead of crying out so loudly he breaks every window in the joint). his bared hips are still rocking, now in time with dean's hand. ]

[ uncrosses his wrists from where they'd been hanging at dean's shoulderblades and drags the hand back, fingernails dragging over the exposed skin of his throat, down his shirtfront, and into the open fly of his jeans to reciprocate. ]

[drops down to press his open mouth against his shoulder at first touch, hips bucking against his hand and fingers fumbling their grip in his hair until he evens out enough to hook his chin at his shoulder. pulling his lip between his teeth to cull the ragged breaths and the string of cas cas cas, he shifts closer, bumping against cas' fingers and prying him away to take them both of them in hand and slide together, grip twisting a painful knot in his hair as he stutters a low broken groan]

[ there's no denying that he tried to imagine, to fantasize what it would be like. in the fantasy scenarios, he'd tended to be very directive with dean, but reality is playing out much differently. he feels like warm clay, pliant and unable to hold his shape, just formed however dean's hands decide. the hand in his hair makes him throw back his head, mouth open but soundless. the hand squeezing and pulling makes his hips roll, then piston by alternates. he recrosses his arms behind dean's head and locks them there, one hand gripping an elbow, just to ensure he doesn't collapse. ]

[if he were at a point where he could string an idea together that was more than a gestural abstraction painting of obscenities, blasphemies and cas' name he might find it funny that he's about to get off just by grinding against cas like he's in gradeschool again, but here he is. his hand flutters restlessly from his twining grip at his hair down his back and over shoulders to dig into his shirt at his lower back, pulling fabric tight as he tilts his face against his bared throat to muffle the stream of aforementioned in between kisses licks and bites. noisy enough for the both of them at least, he only goes quiet when he relents to the cresting buildup and grits out an exhausted rattle of a groan through clenched teeth, slick hand still working cas]

[ the sense of imminent collapse as more accurate than he realized; the combination of wet tongue and wet fingers is enough to take him apart, turn him from moldable clay to a puddle of silt. he adds to the babbling, a brief loop of demand for dean to close his eyes, and now and damn and close them. when he comes he seizes, the muscles of his back tightening before rolling in a way that must look unnatural for a human vessel. but he can't help the way he's churning inside of this body, feeling the sensations it delivers to him and reacting to those sensations with his own form. it's a trade off, in terms of self-control, because he manages to shut his mouth and keep it shut until he stops trembling and the possibility of danger's passed. ]

[he does without question in the same way he'd duck if sam told him to, moving his hand to grab at his shoulder as he buries his face against his collar and squeezes his eyes closed until cas relaxes enough for him to brave a look up, and then down, and then breathe out a shaky sigh]

You okay?

[when he catches his breath.]

[ sighs against the top of dean's head and nods. he's putting most of his weight on dean without realizing it, but his legs are about as useful as a halo on a horse at the moment. ]

M-m okay. I'm. I'm very okay, Dean.

[ clears his throat with a soft cough and makes an attempt to move, unlatching his arms first. ]

You. Okay?

[just watches him with raised eyebrows of not sureness before dissolving into a kind of smile]

I'm not not okay.

[stretches his legs out where they'd been dug heels first into the sheets and wraps arms over his shoulders to roll them over onto the bed. he waits a beat before swiping a thumb over his cheekbone affectionately and detangling to yank his jeans back up his hips and do them back up]

[ dean's being so proactive and it feels like all cas can manage is not to let his jellified limbs smack him in any delicate areas. he closes his eyes, lets the colors swim behind his eyelids for just a moment longer. then he follows suit in reaching down to right his clothing, lying with his weight on one shoulder as he lifts his hips to tug up his pants. there's kind of a mess to contend with, damp on his abdomen and his shirt. but with the lack of a bath in the room, or time to do any laundering, he opts for the ~~lazy~~mojo approach to cleaning himself up.

then it strikes him that dean's hand probably isn't much better off, so he reaches for it, only remembering once his fingers have touched forearm that he might need to ask first. boundaries. ]

I can, if you'd like--

[holds a hand out as he looks down at himself before shrugging]

Nah. If you're gonna enjoy the finer human pleasures in life this is how that usually goes.

[leans over to wipe at it with the edge of the blanket thats touching the floor like he really doesn't give a shit though come on]

[rolls back over onto his stomach when he's through and pushes cas' arm out of the way to lean in and plant lazy i just got off and i dont care about looking like a clingy girlfriend kisses over his collarbone]

[ makes a surprised little noise, halfway between and croak and a yelp, because for all of his new experiences since they came to this weird little wayward world, he's still not accustomed to unabashed physical affection.

it's something he feels like he could get used to, though. get used to it real fast. ]

I see. You're saying it's the universe's way of maintaining balance-- [ inhales sharply when dean's mouth gets close to the juncture of throat and shoulder, rolling to his back to expose more. ] For every orgasm, a mild annoyance.

Take the good with the bad?

[otherwise known as the guide to dealing with dean. pulls at the strings on his shirt near the top, sliding a hand under the fabric and over his shoulder as he mouths his way up his throat]

[ makes a noise of assent in his throat, not even going so far as to form it into words. he's being hit by good feedback from his vessel, seeming to come from everywhere; even his toes feel like they're relaxed and comfortable. this level of endorphin rush is clearly dangerous, all of the phenylethylamine addictive and highly abusable. but who gives a crap. ]

I'll try to remember not to complain, if the good is going to be this good.

[ pushes his head back into the pillow, both hands lifting so slow it's like they're weighted, finally settling on dean's back, over his infraspinatus. his fingers dig in a little, not enough pressure to hurt but enough to be felt deep in the muscles. ]

[little quiet laugh as he draws his knee up over to rest between cas', tangling limbs like the slowest moving koala cling]

You kiddin? We haven't even made it to third base.

[continues making his way up under his chin and over his jaw, rolling his shoulders under his hands as he snakes a palm between them to slide under his shirt and over his stomach. laziest gropey hands touching all the things]

[ tandem gropey hands. just dragging them along dean's back, one hand bumping along the valley of his spine, the other squeezing the thick musculature of the latissimus dorsi, the external oblique, touch too firm to be ticklish. ]

[ clenches his own abdomen under the sneakyhandsing, though, his breath going a bit shallow after it just seemed to normalize. ]

Apparently, I'm easy.

[ darts upward to take a kiss from dean's mouth when it's finally within range. ]

[leans into it with a noisy inhale through his nose, hand stilling on his stomach just under his ribcage. he shifts his elbow underneath himself to support his weight, mattress creaking quiet as he pulls back to look down at him]

Not knockin easy.

[really though. haven't they both had a rough enough time of it. easy is fine. easy is great. in any incarnation of the word.]

[ easy is not not okay? ]

[ watching the train of thought on its track through dean's mind, since it's all broadcast in his expression. ]

And what about forward?

[ not that he hasn't been, more and more. really, cas feels a bit like kicking himself for not just spitting it out years ago. maybe even as far back as that night back in maine, if instead of saying, "i'll just sit here quietly" he'd gone for "please remove your clothing now." but he's also certain that it's taken everything to get them here. ]

[ as a demonstration, as if one was needed, the hand that had been massaging dean's side drops to his navel, starts popping open the buttons of his shirt from the bottom up. ]

[shifts his weight back on his elbow more to glance down with a lick of his lip and a noise that gets stuck in his throat, hip pressing against cas' side in a way that should. more than answer his question.]

Nothin bad to say about that either.

[after injecting gay dean screws for 10-12 hours.

his hand at his ribs changes course to take its talents to south beach and he looks back up to him with arched eyebrows in question, like he can go. can you go. because he can go.]

[ what is vast celestial power and divine grace good for if not reduced refractory periods. most definitely can go, and answers his eyebrows with a squint, mock-offended that he's even asking. ]

[ pushes his hips upward, making good on his promise of forwardness, then picks up the pace on the unbuttoning, glad for the dexterity of his vessel's long fingers that makes it simple to do even one-handed. his other hand starts rucking the shirt up his back, then heads for the tensed arm that's holding his weight up. ]

[yeah dean's not so much with the divine porno blessings so he's still working up to it, but you know. getting there.

he doesn't waste any time yanking and tugging cas' belt and pants back open, making time one-handed. his back bows at the touch, leans down against him and catches his mouth in a more impatient kiss than their heretofore exploratory fare. he doesn't go for the shorts right away though, smoothing a palm down the front of his pants to rub at him through them]

[ impatient, but also knows dean's not a miracleworker. plus, the hand is distracting. coupled with the aggressive kissing, it's plenty to keep him busy until all cylinders are firing again, and he's gotten the shirt unbuttoned and shucked down dean's shoulders in the meantime.
it's stuck on his arms, but cas has unimpeded access to everything from neck to navel. he starts low, ring and middlefinger dragging through the twist of hair at dean's waistband and up the rounded planes of his ribs. he has a moment of recalling one of his earliest memories of dean, a diner and a demon and "i'd like to think it's because--" ]

[ finds one of his nipples with a thumb and rolls it sharply. ]

[he leans into every touch like a needy cat, hiking a knee up under himself to transfer his weight so that he can shrug out of the shirt. he pauses with it at his arm to twist his fingers against the bedspread and bites out an oh jesus before going back in for another rough kiss, pushing fingers past the open closure to wrap around him]

[ overlooking the blasphemous exclamations is easier than he'd thought it would be. the abundance of "oh god" in the pornography he's watched was cringeworthy, but something about dean's blaspheming is almost pleasant, like it only connects them that much more. and it isn't as though cas hasn't outright cursed God his own fair share. but he feels a streak of wickedness emerging, and this is the perfect excuse. ]

[ the gun-hardened palm wrapped around him distracts him, making him pant and huff into dean's mouth. he can go, sure, but he's also still over sensitized. catching dean's red lip between his teeth, he grabs the wrist where it's disappearing into his pants and pulls it free, then grabs for the arm still tangled in the shirt. it's no struggle to sit up with both his hands engaged, so he pushes forward, not letting go of dean's mouth, and uses the shirt to wrap loose around both captured wrists. as far as bonds go, it wouldn't hold a lamb, but it serves his need just fine, keeping dean's dangerous hands tucked behind his back when cas rolls them. ]

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