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Entry tags:
SPN: With You
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: Dean, Castiel
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Contains: Sap, references to Dean's time in hell
Rating: PG13
Summary: Dean's sort of getting used to this. Sort of.
Notes: Happy fic written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cottoncandy_bingo for the prompt "Kiss (not on lips / face)". I haven't seen anything since season four of SPN, though I'm somewhat aware of what's been going on in later seasons. This fic exists in a happy world that the writers of SPN are unlikely to ever let Dean and Cas live in...
Dean wakes to the soft kisses at the nape of his neck, on the first few knobs of his spine. It's always a shock at first -- two years of domestic bliss (oh god, he said the words domestic bliss, or thought them anyway, and he wasn't joking) can't compete with a lifetime of awkward mornings after. (Or of the years in hell, where waking up from one torture just meant waking into another, but Dean doesn't think about that anymore. Much. Not every day, anyway.)
"Dean," Cas rumbles, rubbing his face against Dean's back, stubble-rough and familiar-comforting. Dean stretches out under him and doesn't think about hell, doesn't think about anything much.
"Mornin', Cas."
Cas makes a little amused noise at Dean's pillow-muffled voice and presses a kiss between his shoulderblades. "It is afternoon," he says, reprovingly, and Dean laughs.
"You've finally got the hang of sleeping in, huh?"
"Not exactly." Castiel keeps following the line of Dean's spine with his soft, dry kisses, barely a press of his lips. His hand rests on the small of Dean's back, just a light pressure that warns him not to try and turn over. Dean's patient with this, patient with the care Cas tries to take of his body -- okay, not quite patient, but he tries to acommodate Castiel's wonder, to give him space for it. Even though he never ever seems to get over it.
"Have you been up already?" Dean asks, frowning. Surely he'd have woken...
"No," Castiel says, and his breath washes over Dean's skin, warm and damp now, nearing the small of his back. "I was watching you."
"One day I'll teach you not to be creepy."
Castiel laughs. Dean's starting to get tense now -- not uncomfortable, just wanting, the tension winding up in a pleasant coil inside him, slow and sweet. Castiel licks there, near the bottom of his spine, and Dean almost holds his breath, wondering what Castiel will do now. It's always hard to tell: Cas has no hangups, no hesitations. He just does whatever he wants and doesn't even understand why Dean is so grateful for the honesty of it. He trembles with tension at the scape of Castiel's teeth, there at the base of his spine, and then shudders out a sigh as he just starts to kiss his way back up, still those same soft dry kisses.
"Want you, Cas," he says, and his -- boyfriend? lover? no words seems right for it: Cas is simply that, his Cas -- his lover smiles against his skin, coming up to drape himself over Dean, the warmth of his body spreading through Dean like the wave of desire that goes with it.
"You've got me," Cas says, against his ear, a warm puff of breath, and Dean shivers.
"Yeah," he says, and because this is about to turn into something sappy, he clears his throat. "Are you gonna let me up?"
"I thought you'd want to stay in bed."
Dean rolls his eyes. "With you on top of me, I can't exactly fuck you through the mattress, Cas."
Lips brush his ear. "That wasn't my plan anyway."
"Cas," he whines -- except it wasn't a whine, because he doesn't do that. But, you know. It's a sort of plaintive noise, he'll admit that.
"You've got me, Dean," Cas says, and it's a promise, and Dean kinda believes it, too.
Main characters: Dean, Castiel
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Contains: Sap, references to Dean's time in hell
Rating: PG13
Summary: Dean's sort of getting used to this. Sort of.
Notes: Happy fic written for
cottoncandy_bingo for the prompt "Kiss (not on lips / face)". I haven't seen anything since season four of SPN, though I'm somewhat aware of what's been going on in later seasons. This fic exists in a happy world that the writers of SPN are unlikely to ever let Dean and Cas live in...Dean wakes to the soft kisses at the nape of his neck, on the first few knobs of his spine. It's always a shock at first -- two years of domestic bliss (oh god, he said the words domestic bliss, or thought them anyway, and he wasn't joking) can't compete with a lifetime of awkward mornings after. (Or of the years in hell, where waking up from one torture just meant waking into another, but Dean doesn't think about that anymore. Much. Not every day, anyway.)
"Dean," Cas rumbles, rubbing his face against Dean's back, stubble-rough and familiar-comforting. Dean stretches out under him and doesn't think about hell, doesn't think about anything much.
"Mornin', Cas."
Cas makes a little amused noise at Dean's pillow-muffled voice and presses a kiss between his shoulderblades. "It is afternoon," he says, reprovingly, and Dean laughs.
"You've finally got the hang of sleeping in, huh?"
"Not exactly." Castiel keeps following the line of Dean's spine with his soft, dry kisses, barely a press of his lips. His hand rests on the small of Dean's back, just a light pressure that warns him not to try and turn over. Dean's patient with this, patient with the care Cas tries to take of his body -- okay, not quite patient, but he tries to acommodate Castiel's wonder, to give him space for it. Even though he never ever seems to get over it.
"Have you been up already?" Dean asks, frowning. Surely he'd have woken...
"No," Castiel says, and his breath washes over Dean's skin, warm and damp now, nearing the small of his back. "I was watching you."
"One day I'll teach you not to be creepy."
Castiel laughs. Dean's starting to get tense now -- not uncomfortable, just wanting, the tension winding up in a pleasant coil inside him, slow and sweet. Castiel licks there, near the bottom of his spine, and Dean almost holds his breath, wondering what Castiel will do now. It's always hard to tell: Cas has no hangups, no hesitations. He just does whatever he wants and doesn't even understand why Dean is so grateful for the honesty of it. He trembles with tension at the scape of Castiel's teeth, there at the base of his spine, and then shudders out a sigh as he just starts to kiss his way back up, still those same soft dry kisses.
"Want you, Cas," he says, and his -- boyfriend? lover? no words seems right for it: Cas is simply that, his Cas -- his lover smiles against his skin, coming up to drape himself over Dean, the warmth of his body spreading through Dean like the wave of desire that goes with it.
"You've got me," Cas says, against his ear, a warm puff of breath, and Dean shivers.
"Yeah," he says, and because this is about to turn into something sappy, he clears his throat. "Are you gonna let me up?"
"I thought you'd want to stay in bed."
Dean rolls his eyes. "With you on top of me, I can't exactly fuck you through the mattress, Cas."
Lips brush his ear. "That wasn't my plan anyway."
"Cas," he whines -- except it wasn't a whine, because he doesn't do that. But, you know. It's a sort of plaintive noise, he'll admit that.
"You've got me, Dean," Cas says, and it's a promise, and Dean kinda believes it, too.