SPN - survival in THE wild by *woodooferret
“Giroffme.” Dean thrashed his shoulders as hard as he could, but the angel wouldn’t budge. “Dude, ser—“
“Quiet,” whispered Cas, his breath light and warm against Dean’s neck. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. “We’re being watched.”
Dean clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on his gun and tried not to think about how poorly the two of them fit together, all angles and bones and Jimmy’s middle-aged belly, pushing softly against the curve of Dean’s back. Somewhere back there were wings; Dean could hear them rustling, the sound much harder to concentrate on than the few stray feathers,which slid across Dean’s boot like a caress.
“If you wanted to cuddle,” Dean hissed, “you just needed to ask.”
Fabric bunching. Hard knees. One arm pinned tight against Dean’s ribs, where an angelic signature still scrolled across his bones like a dedication. It was all too much for one man to bear, thought Dean, even one as practiced in self-denial as he, and gently, inconspicuously, he pressed his chin back against the arm slung around him.
Then another hand fell on his shoulder, gripping him tight, raising something from perdition and Dean began to squirm again.
“Okay, enough,” he said. “Let ‘em kill me.”
Cas released him roughly, chill Purgatory air flooding into the space between their bodies, and Dean scrambled to his feet.
“The danger has passed,” said Cas, cold eyes glinting, his hair wild. “You are safe.”
“But my sense of personal space is lost forever,” replied Dean.
Cas stepped backward, almost automatically, and frowned irritably at Dean.
“Uriel was right,” he snapped, “about the mouth on you.”
Dean’s lip curled.
“Put it to the test, sweetheart,” he said, shrugging off the lingering warmth in his shoulders as he walked away.