"The way you look in the mornings belongs to me," he pants, letting himself be moved as Dean sees fit, his grip faltering at the scrape of Dean's teeth. "So I like it best."

He concentrates for a moment, lube appearing next to Dean's hand. "I wish you could still mark me," he says, something he thinks often but rarely alludes to. It does neither of them any good to dwell on the things Castiel misses about this humanity. "But I like the way it feels, regardless."