Nothing Short Of Supernatural

Promises

Slipping out the back door, a serene night greets us, its stillness a sharp contrast to the revelry behind. Hand in hand, we make our way across the moonlit grounds, the gravel crunching under our feet as we head towards our private sanctum for the night-a secluded cottage adorned with just enough charm to make it special.

"Almost there, Dean. Are you prepared to begin the rest of our lives? Because I have quite the celebration in mind."

His voice is a mix of tenderness and mischief, the anticipation almost tangible in the cool night air.

Arriving at the door, he turns to me, his eyes alight with desire and love-a look that says we've only just scratched the surface of what this night has in store for us.

I press him against the door, our bodies flush as I kiss him deeply. My hands work behind him to unlock the door.

"I'm ready for anything as long as it's with you, angel." I whisper seductively.

"Then let's not wait any longer, Dean."

There's an urgency to his response as we break the kiss, his fingers clutching at my suit. As the door swings open, we stumble into the dimly lit interior, our lips craving more of each other, unburdened by the presence of the world outside. It's just Castiel and me now, and the night pulses with the promise of euphoria.

With the decisive click of the door latch, the outside world vanishes, and the air within our sanctuary charges with our collective want. Castiel's grip is insistent, possessive-drawing me in by the lapels as the pull against my tie sends a sharp, sweet thrill straight through me, causing a moan escaping my lips.

"Dean, your sounds... they're what I desire."

His words are murmured against my lips, each syllable a caress, a note in our symphony of sighs and moans. I can feel the heat of his body, the power restrained beneath the layers of our wedding finery.

"And tonight, I will hear every last one..."

Castiel's words dance against my mouth; they're warm and rich with the promise of a night that is ours to mold, ours to devour.

"Now, show me what these 'plans' of yours are." I pant against his lips.

"Impatient as ever, Dean Winchester. But your wish is my command."

His fingers work with nimble reverence as he begins to disentangle my tie-it's a slow reveal, a peeling back of the day to reveal the night.

"But first, we shall take our time... after all, we have forever to explore."

The room is quiet except for the sound of fabric rustling and the occasional soft click of a button as it's freed. There's an unwavering patience within me, fueled by the tantalizing slowness with which Castiel undresses me. Every brush of his fingers against my skin carries with it the electricity of anticipation. The dim light casts shadows across his focused expression, a painter unveiling his masterpiece stroke by stroke.

Finally, with my outer layers discarded, Castiel steps back slightly, his gaze tracing over me with a hunger that promises this night will meld seamlessly into eternity.

I smile, watching him examine me. "Like what you see?" I tease.

"Very much so. You are... remarkable, Dean. In every conceivable way."

His words are laden with the depth of his appreciation, heavy with the weight of love we share. Castiel steps closer again, the heat of his gaze akin to a touch as he continues his unhurried exploration of my exposed flesh.

"Now it's your turn." With a sly upturn of his lips, Castiel playfully indicates that he too is ready to bare himself to me, to peel back the layers both literal and metaphorical.

Undoing the buttons I slide off Castiel's vest from his shoulders, the way it joins mine on the floor, echoes the shedding of the outside world. My fingers deliberately adjust the tie, pulling it taut. His sharp intake of breath-the soft sound of surrender-intoxicates me more than any alcohol could.

"Dean, that sensation... exaggerated by your touch, it's extraordinary."

Carefully, I loosen the tie, letting it slip away as my hands move with tender precision to each button on his shirt, drawing out the moments of revelation, each fraction of skin unveiled a triumph, a sacrament.

"It seems I was wrong. Your patience... it's both exquisite and maddening."

With a hum of agreement, I lean in, lips barely brushing the skin I've just bared, affirming that my reverence is as boundless as the soul before me. Castiel's response-a shiver, a deepening of his breath-is all the acknowledgment I need that this slow worship is shared, desired.

"Every inch of you deserves to be worshiped, Cas. And I intend to pray at every altar." I whisper against his skin.

"Then let us not delay such devotion. I find myself anticipating each 'prayer' you plan to offer."

As his shirt falls away to join the growing collection of garments on the floor, his bare chest comes into view, each breath he takes amplifying the desire between us. I take my time, tracing the contours of his muscles with both my lips and fingers, mapping out the terrain of his body that I've come to know so well, yet can never get enough of.

"Oh, I plan to be quite... thorough with my worship, angel. You won't be left wanting."

"Your thoroughness is... one of the many things I adore about you." He says breathlessly.

We're caught in a flirtatious dance of words and touches, the sacred mingling with the profane in a way that feels utterly right. As I undo his belt and snap the button on his trousers, I tease him with a lingering touch or a playful nip, pronouncing my worship in every sensation.

Castiel's eyes gleam with a mix of love and lascivious intent as the last of our barriers fall away. The soft illumination of the cottage is our gentle sun, casting a warm glow on Castiel's bare form as he stands before me, a vision of the divine wrapped in a lover's vulnerability.

He moves towards me, a predatorial grace in his approach, his hands tracing up my chest with a touch that promises both reverence and ravishment.

"With every beat of my grace-fueled heart, I will show you pleasures of both the celestial and the carnal realms."

A shiver of anticipation runs through me as Castiel's fingers dance across my skin, a prelude to the symphony of sensation we're about to orchestrate.