Dean's absence does feel much like a limb lost, it's a life's purpose ripped from his hands, the core fueling a gradually budding soul and emotion within him, Cas still isn't certainly it's something he can cultivate on his own. For eons, he was a blank space, a soldier alone, until Dean entered his life, and he began to feel. There's no untangling the two events in his mind, or his heart.
The despair of it is fed into the dance, a serious and severe tone taken in the sharp steps and snapped turns. Trauma from the pit exists within him, even if buried, even if desensitized, but if there's anything Castiel's skilled in, it's drowning those pieces under a guise of stoicism - harsh currents running through low, dark depths beneath still water. "There were several different visions - some saw the same, some saw something different. For me, it was a snow-covered mountain, and three monolithic, god-like hands that constantly turned it and created snow storms, making it impossible to descend from the peak."
As requested, Cas pauses in a solid, firm stance, brows furrowed but quick to do as he's asked. He leans forward, as Obi-wan's leg curls around his thigh, their hips slot close together, locking in place and balancing the jedi on his frame as the man elegantly twists around him, like a dancer on a pole. Castiel's hand at his back holds him tight, through the drag of Obi-wan's pelvis flush to his, and that sensation of nerves coming alive like a string of lights running under his skin, along his limbs, shocks through him again. Body feeling too warm under his clothes, Cas gets lost watching the arch of Obi-wan's neck, head in a pleasant, spinning fog, and he nearly misses the cue to pull him back up - only nearly.
The over-correction to pull his partner back to his feet has them dragged abruptly into one another's chest, legs still partly tangle, hips still sliding flush, and Cas forgets the mechanics of breathing while looking down into Obi-wan's eyes. It's a light, dizzy, euphoric sensation, to have his body so excitedly humming against this man's, and the culmination of rolling waves emotion that built, crashed together, and gently fell through the dance now a tide that drowns out proper thought in his head.
"My reputation wasn't a concern," Cas clears his throat after a second too long, and steps back slightly, almost apologetically, as the song winds down around them. "But you've certainly allowed me some new, um, experiences. Thank you."
Dancing, learning it's more than coordinated patterns of movement, but a confluence of an emotional journey tied into the physiological response of the body, like conductor and instruments of a symphony. In the three months he spent as a human back home, it was all about the daily toil, the average obstacles and anxieties, how the people live. Not how they thrive, how they celebrate, how they create intricate rituals to connect minds and souls beyond the limits of their skin and share some unseen wavelength. It's left him much to ruminate over. Plus, an awkward need cool off, maybe lose a couple buttons on this stifling shirt, and probably not put that coat back on for a while.
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The despair of it is fed into the dance, a serious and severe tone taken in the sharp steps and snapped turns. Trauma from the pit exists within him, even if buried, even if desensitized, but if there's anything Castiel's skilled in, it's drowning those pieces under a guise of stoicism - harsh currents running through low, dark depths beneath still water. "There were several different visions - some saw the same, some saw something different. For me, it was a snow-covered mountain, and three monolithic, god-like hands that constantly turned it and created snow storms, making it impossible to descend from the peak."
As requested, Cas pauses in a solid, firm stance, brows furrowed but quick to do as he's asked. He leans forward, as Obi-wan's leg curls around his thigh, their hips slot close together, locking in place and balancing the jedi on his frame as the man elegantly twists around him, like a dancer on a pole. Castiel's hand at his back holds him tight, through the drag of Obi-wan's pelvis flush to his, and that sensation of nerves coming alive like a string of lights running under his skin, along his limbs, shocks through him again. Body feeling too warm under his clothes, Cas gets lost watching the arch of Obi-wan's neck, head in a pleasant, spinning fog, and he nearly misses the cue to pull him back up - only nearly.
The over-correction to pull his partner back to his feet has them dragged abruptly into one another's chest, legs still partly tangle, hips still sliding flush, and Cas forgets the mechanics of breathing while looking down into Obi-wan's eyes. It's a light, dizzy, euphoric sensation, to have his body so excitedly humming against this man's, and the culmination of rolling waves emotion that built, crashed together, and gently fell through the dance now a tide that drowns out proper thought in his head.
"My reputation wasn't a concern," Cas clears his throat after a second too long, and steps back slightly, almost apologetically, as the song winds down around them. "But you've certainly allowed me some new, um, experiences. Thank you."
Dancing, learning it's more than coordinated patterns of movement, but a confluence of an emotional journey tied into the physiological response of the body, like conductor and instruments of a symphony. In the three months he spent as a human back home, it was all about the daily toil, the average obstacles and anxieties, how the people live. Not how they thrive, how they celebrate, how they create intricate rituals to connect minds and souls beyond the limits of their skin and share some unseen wavelength. It's left him much to ruminate over. Plus, an awkward need cool off, maybe lose a couple buttons on this stifling shirt, and probably not put that coat back on for a while.