watch the fires rise, burn through my skin [open]

[thedevilwhorose]

Who: Lucifer et al
When: December
Where: Thorne, Horizon, island later in the month prob
What: Catch-All
Warnings: Violence



When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you
With the hounds of hell comin' after you
I've got blood
I've got blood on my name ♫
[Will match style.]

Comments

[righteously]

( This is not the answer he wanted to hear. Why did he come to the Font of Truth looking for comforting lies, this was a mistake, oh no. )

Back into a human? Back- don't say back. Don't say back, why are you saying back?

( NOT HELPING NOT REASSURING VERY SCRAMBLE )

No. Listen- this is not- this isn't happening. This is not happening. It's, like, a fluke, or something. It's like- like when people get metal cavity fillings and then they start picking up on AM talk radio.

[unwings]

[ denial is not just a river in egypt but hell if dean cares, and cas does his best to swallow back on a sigh. it's understandably alarming, but avoiding the reality helps no one. ]

I'm saying we should be prepared for the possibility.

[ the wings, the light, angel radio - two is a coincidence (an extremely pointed coincidence), three is a pattern. ]

There's no man-made celestial enamel replacement that transmits angelic telepathy. [ it is all wavelengths, but mankind hadn't cracked the key to picking up on those frequencies in millenia. on earth, at least, but maybe this world's different. his head shifts at a suspicious angle. ] Did you recently visit a dentist here?

[righteously]

( He snorts immediately; )

Hell no. I don't get cavities. I barely visit dentists back home, you think I'm gonna sit down in some medieval root canal chair here? Screw that.

( Unfortunately, only after he's said it does he realize it completely eliminates his fillings-to-angel-radio analogy, and he visibly deflates, carding a hand unhappily through his hair.

Now that he's calming down, now that the anger is fading, reality and rationality are settling in. At last, he releases an appropriately morose groan. )

God... damn it. This is...

( Big. Terrible. Not what he wanted. Exactly what he was worried about when he had a conversation with Geralt about how human is is or isn't anymore.

After a long, contemplative silence, he flicks his eyes up to Cas again, to somberly study his expression. )

You know how in- bad movies or shows or whatever, there's this part where the chick and the dude are lying in bed and she goes, "would you still love me if I was a worm?" ( Which is a very, very stupid way of preempting what he wants to ask, but-- ) ... If I do go full angel, you're not gonna, you know... bail, right?

[unwings]

[ cas wonders briefly at how self-loathing dean might think he is, asking if being an angel is a sin past what he can love, but the conversation departed from rational once "if I was a worm" was introduced. he can't recall a single movie in which a woman asked her partner if they'd still love her as a worm, but cas tries not to question dean when he's grasping for round-about ways to voice something sincerely troubling him.

it touches him in a funny, warm way - that unique Dean way he can't help but smile with. his hand seeks out dean's, curling their fingers together as he holds in a fond chuckle that never makes it past his lips. ]

Dean. I would love you just the same as an angel, or as a worm. Or as a rock, or a fish, or a dilapidated field overrun by an invasive species of weed.

[ there a few things less lovable than the reckless introduction of incompatible flora into a vulnerable ecosystem. but if that hostile flora were dean, he'd overlook the ecological chaos. maybe something he does a little too often with chaos and dean, at least according to some angels, but for all the guilt he'd carried, choosing dean over the world has never been featured. ]

I'd prefer you be in whatever state you feel most comfortable and secure. If that's human, or human plus wings, or human plus wings plus a direct line to the most obnoxious of my brethren — it makes no difference to me.

[righteously]

( Dean is, in many respects, a slightly contradictory guy. He both craves this reassurance, this intimacy, this support — and dreads it, because he has absolutely no idea how to react. It's almost instinct to try and reject or refute it, either because he doesn't believe he deserves it or because it's outside his emotional comfort zone of repressive, standoffish, overly-masculine displays.

Their fingers curl together. His own twitch, an aborted maneuver either to pull away or to tighten further or both, cancelling out into some weird, passive middle ground.

They've been doing this for how long now? And he's still learning how to navigate this. Learning how to accept it.

Love is just such a big, heavy word.

Fortunately (and a great example of one of the many reasons Castiel is kind of perfect for him), Cas almost immediately tanks the whole thing by talking about invasive species of weed, wiping that uncertainty away and leaving only absurd bemusement in its place. Dean goes from looking like a kicked dog to looking at Castiel like the amusing but baffling alien he absolutely is. )

Okay, that's... weirdly specific, but also reassuring, I think? So... thanks.

( And, after another moment of hesitation, he clears the space between them to press his lips to the soft scruff of Castiel's cheek.

...Because okay, invasive weed aside, he did still have Feelings about that and they're still kind of kicking around in there behind his ribs. )

[unwings]

You’re welcome.

[ bold faced, unmasked sincerity is sometimes a too bright floodlight on their relationship. While it certainly has its welcome places between them, there’s an expiration period to it just as well. Perhaps it’s Castiel’s nature to add it something too oddly specific, or perhaps it’s just accustomed to putting a bump in the road of too vulnerable, too honest interaction with such a new and rare arena like love.

Cas leans in against Dean’s lips, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. The Feelings resonate with him, even if the dialogue doesn’t match, but words have so rarely been their most authentic means of communicating. The affection speaks tenfold and Cas basks in it, a pleased hum buzzing in his chest and shifting his fingers to scoot up under the sleeves of his jacket, tracing distracted paths along veins and arteries. Satisfying the ever-present urge to touch and draw him in closer. He nudges his nose against dean’s cheek, rests their foreheads together, and whispers in a low, private murmur. ]

Besides, worms provide better nutrient availability, drainage and soil structure stability. [ exactly the kind of thing one longs for a lover to whisper sensually into their ear. ] They’re essential to a healthy ecosystem.

[ he dips forward, drops a kiss against Dean’s jaw, and settles into Dean’s personal space. Pulling back, cas boops their noses together and poses a vital philosophical quandary. ]

Do you imagine worms have the level of self-awareness necessary for consenting to angelic possession?

[ naturally, if Dean is a worm, cas will just have to live a worm life with him. Dean’s opened pandora’s wormbox, now he lives with the consequences. ]

[righteously]

( Never has a man been more conflicted than Dean Winchester is right now — enjoying the gentle touches, the low rasp of Castiel's voice in his ear. The soft intimacy of a nose on his cheek, and then —

worms provide soil structure stability.

He deadass chose this angel. He made this choice. This weird little dude is a dude Dean knowingly chose. This is happening.

His hands settle somewhere at Castiel's hips, gently tugging him in closer against where Dean is sprawled at a comfortable lean. )

Cas.

( He starts, his voice equally low and sultry, a murmur into the angel's five o'clock shadow. )

If you don't stop talking about worms right now, I'm gonna throw you directly into the sun. You're giving me a weird Pavlovian association, and I have enough psychological crap going on. I don't need to add worm boners to the list.

cw: gettin a lil spicy

[unwings]

[ Cas allows the gentle pull deeper into dean's orbit, lingering in the building energy between them. He eases into it like a cat finding the perfect sun spot to bask in. Anchoring a braced hand against the couch back inches above Dean's head, Cas sweeps under the small of Dean's back, ruffing up his shirt, and leisurely tugs Dean further into a lazy slouch against him.

with a hinted smirk, cas raises higher, a thigh sneaking behind the bend of dean's knee as he leans into him. his lips trail lower along the path of dean's neck, brushing over warm skin and pausing to leave a brief kiss. ]

What might be a more appealing Pavlovian trigger?

[ he's not saying the idea of a button that immediately results in a physiological pulse of arousal shot through Dean, from his brain straight through every extremity, would be a sweetly powerful tool. but he's also not not saying that.

to walk into a room and drop maybe an unsuspecting touch, a word, a sound, and have his pupils dilate, his voice dropped into this low, rough rumble that drags goosebumps along his skin. Cas drops another kiss against the inner edge of his collar bone, exposed at the edge of his shirt. ]

Hypothetically. If one were interested in the ability to grant you spontaneous boners.