Title: On Lovers' Lips

Author: TheMetaphorNextDoor (formerly isasminion)

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 750

Warnings: None

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters.

Summary: Kissing, Castiel feels, is the most intimate activity he has ever engaged in.

Author Notes: Because we all need fluff. And we all need kisses. Especially Destiel ones. Hopefully a good antidote to my previous fic, which depressed the hell out of me, even though I'm the one who wrote it.

Every time they kiss it feels like the first time, all over again. The shock still makes Castiel's knees weak, it never fails to surprise him – as if he hasn't discovered and indulged the sensation a hundred times before.

Dean's broad hands either side of Castiel's head have him frozen in place unlike any creature less powerful has, or ever will.

The thumbs pressing and stroking through the fine hair on his temples send shudders through him and the firm press of fingertips into his scalp trap him more effectively than any binding spell in existence.

And that's before their lips even meet.

The tiny click of their lips parting after the first brief touch is the loudest sound he's ever heard. Still too dry until licked quickly before diving in for more, saliva soon making the noises slick and wet.

Dean's tongue is warm and moist. Strong against his own as it licks and massages its way to places Castiel had been unaware existed until now. The roof of his mouth tingles as it's traced carefully, and a moan finds its way to the surface, rumbling between them. It startles him even though he knows it came from his own throat. It seems drawn from deep within his chest, like once it was born there was no way to stop it reaching up and finding its voice.

Their faces are so close, so close. Dean's nose is pressed into his cheek, a strong chin grazes his own and his head swims. Castiel doesn't know where to focus. The fingertips digging into his head growing more desperate each passing second, the hint of teeth barely contained behind those soft lips, or the touch of Dean's thigh as they move closer?

His body is dancing with sensation, his spine arches of it's own accord. Who would have thought a kiss could feel so complete, that just two lips could touch him everywhere at once.

When Castiel closes his eyes, he closes all of them. He's never been so blind. And he's never minded so little.

He is nothing but skin on skin, tacky lips that moisten more with each slide, and hot, sleek tongue. He becomes the soft, breathy sounds and the tiny echoes Dean sends back. The hot breaths puffing against his cheek are a mantra he can't help but follow and join. Proof of a life he restored so long ago, now inhaling and exhaling it's excitement along his own borrowed skin.

And his skin may be borrowed, but in this moment it is his completely, there is no remove. No doubt he is fully here, and he forgets the meaning of the word vessel. But then, his mind has all but forgotten that words exist in the first place.

Kissing, Castiel feels, is the most intimate activity he has ever engaged in.

Of course, soon enough, he knows more intimate acts, Dean guiding him, soothing his nerves. Whispering enticements he doesn't need around shivers he shouldn't feel.

But it doesn't change his mind – even sex can't compare to the joining of mouths, the battle of tongues. Something he'd never admit aloud, lest Dean never take him seriously again.

It does come close, though. When his body slides against Dean's with sweat and semen, rolling and heaving as they fuse together intricately. It's a dance that is as beautiful as it is vulgar, as physical as it is intellectual - the dichotomy is overwhelming. And perfect.

They both seek that bliss that seems so elusive until it's suddenly there, consuming his entire world for a moment that never lasts long enough. They chase it together, as close as two bodies can be without sinking into each other's skin.

It's just an act, though. A means to an end. Albeit an important one. But without the gentle kisses as Dean breaches him the discomfort is barely worth it. Without their tongues meeting, however ungracefully, at the point of climax, it's merely a sensation.

It's the kissing that makes it more. Makes it real. It transforms sex from a mere task, to a true coupling. A sentiment his partner would no doubt echo were he not seemingly allergic to such declarations.

In any case, were Dean not to require air, sleep or sustenance, Castiel imagined he could lose himself in his mouth forever. And if his Grace were reliant upon the intimacy and sheer bliss he found there, Castiel would surely exist as long as he had lips and tongue to partake.