[ the bathrobe, the shampoo-caked hair, doesn't that just add to the gravitas? castiel, of all people, is no stranger to being a little ridiculous. anyway, he's enjoying these particular details for reasons he really ought not to be, even more so when dean reels him in. angels aren't given to being tactile creatures, but castiel has been on earth for long enough to learn his longing. to feel it in the physicality of it, the tug on his gut like an embedded fishhook, the lacuna of his chest shocking in its emptiness. all the things he wants and can't have, wrapped up in a threadbare bathrobe.
so he expects and yet doesn't. it's happened already, once, under different circumstances. he wonders if dean is also surprised when, instead of remaining unmoved, like a carved wooden figurine, castiel returns the embrace. at first with hesitation, and then with the same furiosity. he digs his fingers into the terrycloth and, for a moment, doesn't let go.
it just goes on to make what dean says even funnier. it shouldn't. he feels terrible about all the things he knows he'll go on to do— things that dean seemingly has yet to experience. even if the closest he's ever gotten to trying to "deep-six" him was the awful stint with the purgatory souls.
if only he could do it all again, and do it right. ]
... Is that wrestling terminology?
[ it's mumbled, in a low rumble, with some amount of confusion into dean's ear. he likes the not-unfamiliar scent of hotel shampoo, and doesn't particularly want to pull away, but he supposes he'll have to. ]
no subject
so he expects and yet doesn't. it's happened already, once, under different circumstances. he wonders if dean is also surprised when, instead of remaining unmoved, like a carved wooden figurine, castiel returns the embrace. at first with hesitation, and then with the same furiosity. he digs his fingers into the terrycloth and, for a moment, doesn't let go.
it just goes on to make what dean says even funnier. it shouldn't. he feels terrible about all the things he knows he'll go on to do— things that dean seemingly has yet to experience. even if the closest he's ever gotten to trying to "deep-six" him was the awful stint with the purgatory souls.
if only he could do it all again, and do it right. ]
... Is that wrestling terminology?
[ it's mumbled, in a low rumble, with some amount of confusion into dean's ear. he likes the not-unfamiliar scent of hotel shampoo, and doesn't particularly want to pull away, but he supposes he'll have to. ]