The pace Castiel leans into is brutal, relentless to the point of punishing, and Dean couldn't be more grateful, letting go like Castiel has demanded with a sigh and a stuttering breath, oxygen drawn into his lungs in fits and starts that aren't nearly enough to sustain him when he finally begins to come, black spots flecking his vision as pleasure erupts down every nerve.

"Cas," Dean groans, desperate, even as he knows the Castiel won't let him fall, giving himself over to the hands bearing him up. He paints his own chest and stomach, body seizing around Castiel like a fist in invitation to follow. "Cas."