Depleted Grace has meant many changes for Castiel, dragging him along a sliding scale from angel towards human. He sleeps now, he eats, he bathes. He feels much more vibrantly, psychosomatically, emotion finding places within his body to tense or ease. His vessel makes decisions and reactions outside his control for the first time in a while, since he’d been completely human.
When Obi-wan pulls him in close, chest brushing, and the gentle, warm breeze on his laughter tickles at Castiel’s neck, the shell of his ear. his body shoots an involuntary tingle along his skin, goosebumps sneaking along his shoulders and back. Cas isn’t often this close to others, not for extended periods of time, and this sensation is rare - but one he recognizes. The last time, it’d been with April, but that’s clearly not what’s happening here, despite some couples on the dancefloor eager to press closer together than seems necessary.
“I’m less concerned about how we look than I am crushing your toes underfoot.”
The angel clears his throat, back straightened to proper posture. He finds the dip between muscle on Obi-wan’s shoulder to rest his hand, and takes to the task like a mission. Too proud to shy from a challenge, and too annoyed to find himself bad at things, he's committed to success. Head at a curious, analyzing tilt, Cas glances away to the surrounding dancers to observe the steps (and to diffuse a measure of the unasked for biological reaction creeping up on him). The tap at his hand, scant inches between them, and shifting muscle at Obi-wan's shoulder and torso are enough to inform him how and when the Jedi's moving. Grace or not, his reactions are quick and he learns fast. Only steps on Obi-wan's feet a couple times, which he mutters sheepish apology for.
Once Cas feels he has the pattern down, he shifts his gaze from observing surroundings to locking with Obi-wan's eyes, holding there for a lengthy quiet that's in no rush to be filled. It's rare Castiel truly feels the awkwardness he seems to project, and the uncomfortably intense, prolonged eye contact is kind of his thing. If it feels like he's examining your soul through your eyes, it's because he is. Obi-wan is a curiosity of a man to him - a product of such a strictly ascetic lifestyle, yet here, tipsy and bouncing around on a dancefloor like giddy youth, pulling the unsuspecting anti-socials into the jovial wave with him. How endearing. Cas wonders, briefly, what he might've been like without the Jedi in his life.
"Was dance included in Jedi instruction, or did you learn elsewhere?"
no subject
When Obi-wan pulls him in close, chest brushing, and the gentle, warm breeze on his laughter tickles at Castiel’s neck, the shell of his ear. his body shoots an involuntary tingle along his skin, goosebumps sneaking along his shoulders and back. Cas isn’t often this close to others, not for extended periods of time, and this sensation is rare - but one he recognizes. The last time, it’d been with April, but that’s clearly not what’s happening here, despite some couples on the dancefloor eager to press closer together than seems necessary.
“I’m less concerned about how we look than I am crushing your toes underfoot.”
The angel clears his throat, back straightened to proper posture. He finds the dip between muscle on Obi-wan’s shoulder to rest his hand, and takes to the task like a mission. Too proud to shy from a challenge, and too annoyed to find himself bad at things, he's committed to success. Head at a curious, analyzing tilt, Cas glances away to the surrounding dancers to observe the steps (and to diffuse a measure of the unasked for biological reaction creeping up on him). The tap at his hand, scant inches between them, and shifting muscle at Obi-wan's shoulder and torso are enough to inform him how and when the Jedi's moving. Grace or not, his reactions are quick and he learns fast. Only steps on Obi-wan's feet a couple times, which he mutters sheepish apology for.
Once Cas feels he has the pattern down, he shifts his gaze from observing surroundings to locking with Obi-wan's eyes, holding there for a lengthy quiet that's in no rush to be filled. It's rare Castiel truly feels the awkwardness he seems to project, and the uncomfortably intense, prolonged eye contact is kind of his thing. If it feels like he's examining your soul through your eyes, it's because he is. Obi-wan is a curiosity of a man to him - a product of such a strictly ascetic lifestyle, yet here, tipsy and bouncing around on a dancefloor like giddy youth, pulling the unsuspecting anti-socials into the jovial wave with him. How endearing. Cas wonders, briefly, what he might've been like without the Jedi in his life.
"Was dance included in Jedi instruction, or did you learn elsewhere?"