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emerald_embersTitle: Possession
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Castiel/Uriel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 484
Summary: Uriel knows wearing a vessel can be intoxicating.
He has yet to master the use of washing machines or tumbledriers, but Castiel knows enough from observation to maintain his vessel. There are still barbers, still purveyors of oils and powders. The necessities and luxuries change little, save to become more affordable.
The night is cool and quiet, and the motel room's sink and complementary flannel are perfectly acceptable stand-ins for a bucket of water and a rag. Washing remains a simple, perfunctory business, but the unusual relationship between humans and water makes more sense as he feels it trickle down his arms and legs. It is a small, strange pleasure, and he does not mind being watched.
Uriel's smile is cold. "Why not take a shower? Or better yet, a bath? Such a gluttonous, marvellous waste of resources. You should be proud of them."
"I need only the basics," Castiel replies, calm, careful not to give Uriel's questions the answers desired. "Enough to keep the vessel in good condition."
"This is only flesh," Uriel states before taking the washcloth from Castiel's outstretched hand and rubbing it over what currently acts as Castiel's back.
"I prefer a little consistency. Discorporation is unpleasant." Castiel frowns and wonders for a moment if he has worn this human a little too long because while Uriel rinses off the full skin of his back efficiently, certain spots on either side of his spine crave extra touch. He's watched Dean fidget, itch and scratch; now that he's focused on his own skin, he sympathises.
"Nonetheless. Don't forget who you are," Uriel orders, laying his hand to rest at Castiel's side. It feels... possessive. But Castiel knows better. "You are not this vessel. When we leave for our plane it will rot and wither. Dean will not see this." He leans in close, breath cool over the damp at the nape of Castiel's neck. "This flesh will rend asunder and he will think it yours."
"Sins of the flesh," Castiel murmured in thought, looking down at his host's hands, the slightly concave stomach. He owed it food, more than he had thought to take so far; easy to forget how taxing his form was to maintain within the confines of skin and bone.
Uriel slides a smooth, warm hand across Castiel's belly and lets the fingers splay and grip, just slightly. "Flesh corrupts. Do not forget this, because Dean will."
The hand and his comrade go as swiftly as they came, and Castiel lets out a breath he had not noticed holding. The urge to touch his fingers to the skin Uriel had laid claim to is near overwhelming. So basic, but so unnecessary.
He thinks he can grasp now why God had to walk the Earth, once, in human form. There were many points to be observed from afar; many to be observed up close; but none so potent as those discovered by being one.
The End
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Castiel/Uriel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 484
Summary: Uriel knows wearing a vessel can be intoxicating.
He has yet to master the use of washing machines or tumbledriers, but Castiel knows enough from observation to maintain his vessel. There are still barbers, still purveyors of oils and powders. The necessities and luxuries change little, save to become more affordable.
The night is cool and quiet, and the motel room's sink and complementary flannel are perfectly acceptable stand-ins for a bucket of water and a rag. Washing remains a simple, perfunctory business, but the unusual relationship between humans and water makes more sense as he feels it trickle down his arms and legs. It is a small, strange pleasure, and he does not mind being watched.
Uriel's smile is cold. "Why not take a shower? Or better yet, a bath? Such a gluttonous, marvellous waste of resources. You should be proud of them."
"I need only the basics," Castiel replies, calm, careful not to give Uriel's questions the answers desired. "Enough to keep the vessel in good condition."
"This is only flesh," Uriel states before taking the washcloth from Castiel's outstretched hand and rubbing it over what currently acts as Castiel's back.
"I prefer a little consistency. Discorporation is unpleasant." Castiel frowns and wonders for a moment if he has worn this human a little too long because while Uriel rinses off the full skin of his back efficiently, certain spots on either side of his spine crave extra touch. He's watched Dean fidget, itch and scratch; now that he's focused on his own skin, he sympathises.
"Nonetheless. Don't forget who you are," Uriel orders, laying his hand to rest at Castiel's side. It feels... possessive. But Castiel knows better. "You are not this vessel. When we leave for our plane it will rot and wither. Dean will not see this." He leans in close, breath cool over the damp at the nape of Castiel's neck. "This flesh will rend asunder and he will think it yours."
"Sins of the flesh," Castiel murmured in thought, looking down at his host's hands, the slightly concave stomach. He owed it food, more than he had thought to take so far; easy to forget how taxing his form was to maintain within the confines of skin and bone.
Uriel slides a smooth, warm hand across Castiel's belly and lets the fingers splay and grip, just slightly. "Flesh corrupts. Do not forget this, because Dean will."
The hand and his comrade go as swiftly as they came, and Castiel lets out a breath he had not noticed holding. The urge to touch his fingers to the skin Uriel had laid claim to is near overwhelming. So basic, but so unnecessary.
He thinks he can grasp now why God had to walk the Earth, once, in human form. There were many points to be observed from afar; many to be observed up close; but none so potent as those discovered by being one.
The End
