[ There's a huff of something that could be considered laughter, looking up at him when he's pushed down and taking those few seconds to cup the side of his face. His fingers trace the line of his jaw, up to the edge of his ear, and Castiel palms his cheek almost gently, eyes sliding to meet Dean's without hesitation. ]

They are always good thoughts, Dean. [ Most of the time. ] I think-- I have put you together, but never once have I ever wondered what it would be like to watch you fall apart.

[ He keeps his voice steady and low, spreading his legs to make room for Dean between them and arching up against him for contact. It's the intimacy he likes, addicted to it now that he knows this is fine, this is more than okay, and the memory of those hands tracing over bare skin have him wanting more. So much more. Castiel licks at his lip and stretches to kiss the corner of Dean's mouth, bite at it and kiss him deep. The slide of tongue, the heat of him so prominent and there —

A hand pushes into Dean's hair, and he rolls his hips up. ]

I want you.

[ Just in case he's not getting it. Just in case all those words aren't getting the job done. He'd always found it an odd habit to pick up, seducing with more syllables than necessary, but the more direct approach hadn't nearly been as promising as the other. Dean's different, is the arguing thought. He isn't any of the women in the camp, the faceless others he's had and sent on their way. He needs that confirmation in as short a form as possible, and he hooks his foot at the bend in Dean's knee, trying to drag himself closer as he kisses it into his skin. Want, want, want.

His other hand wanders, blocking out anything else save for Dean and this room and the bed they're spread out on. ]