"Good," Castiel praises, keeping a strong grip on Dean's hips as he moves around him, leaning forward to bite at the swell of his ass. He runs a finger between Dean's cheeks, tongue lapping at the sheen of sweat already gathering at the base of his spine. He had thought this would be difficult, taking like this. He'd thought it would feel exploitative or as if he were trying to wear a skin that did not belong to him. But it is Dean and it is him and nothing between them has ever felt wrong.

"I do not want you to hold back any sounds," he murmurs against Dean's skin. "If it feels good, if it hurts, if it makes you want to shake apart, I want to be able to hear it. Do not choke off the sounds, as if there were anyone but me to hear them. They are mine to hear. They belong to us."