Dean shivers for the contact, Castiel sliding hot where he's suddenly aching for him, and Dean opens his eyes, the back of the house filling up his vision. For a moment, the sight is almost painful, and Dean wants to look away, but Castiel's body holds him where he is, so Dean looks. Faded paint, old wood, nails that need pounding back into place - it's the furthest thing from a palace a man could ask for, but Dean yearns for it nearly as much as for the man behind him.

"Cas," he says, unable to summon anything else, body hitching back against him.