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The first time Dean touches Castiel with intent he knows that he is going back to hell. His mind is adverse to the thought, screaming inside to stop but his traitorous body has other plans. The desire to get as close as he could overwhelming the war between his stubborn brain and the throbbing need inside him.
The kiss is sneaky and desperate, turning what should have been a friendly hug into the seed from which a thousand masturbatory fantasies bloom. Palming Castiel's neck he draws him in and feels the rush of breath leave the angel. He takes advantage of the momentary awe as lips and tongue slide hot and slick. Teeth nipping at the well of Castiel's lower lip just to hear the lightbulb pop in the bedside lamp. It's brief but so fucking good that Dean resigns himself to eternal hellfire because there is no way he isn't doing that again.
Everyone knows Dean is good with his hands, he can field strip a glock in no time flat, he can rebuild a car engine from the ground up, and he can stitch his own bullet wounds at just about any angle given a big enough mirror. What fewer people know is how good he is with his mouth.
Words have never come easy, but he has worshipped at countless altars with lips and tongue and teeth. Offering up half spoken prayers to a God he never believed in until the proof of his goodness came pouring out in shakes and moans and salty, slickness.
The number of people he brings home has dwindled over the years, Sam chalks it up to post-traumatic stress, the after effects of 40 years of torturous pain.
Dean knows better.
All those wild women, bad ass biker babes and good girls with daddy issues who made his dick hard and helped him push away the lonely hours just can't compare with the way Castiel makes him ache.
The simple truth that resists denial is that something inside him is broken. Some dirty, rotten part coils in his belly and grabs for Cas anytime he is near. The deprived, mutilated core of him reaching like a seedling to the sun. The want is excruciating.
His infatuation with proving he is not worthless has enslaved him. The world around him is full of so much destruction, the home to countless lies and sins.
There is only one sacred place to prove his remorse for all his sins, only one altar left worthy of his sacrifice, only one being left to beg for absolution.
He knows Hell is a real place, he's been there. He knows that angels and demons are real, but the full weight of Castiel's adoration is the single most powerful force he has ever encountered. Castiel has witnessed the creation of the universe but all of his attention is currently focused on Dean. When those eyes go wide then dark with that secret look of desire he feels everything inside him turn to molten liquid.
Castiel lets him play supplicant, forgiving him all his faults with the warmth of his mouth. His hitched breaths and low moans break Dean into a million tiny pieces and remake him anew. When his name falls from the petals of those plush lips he feels like the luckiest son of a bitch alive.
He never earned this, but he will spend what is left of his life on his knees to keep it.