Alix’s prompt: Dean and Castiel kissing and cuddling
The pale rays of morning sun cascade through the window, golden light falling upon the rumpled sheets, spare pillows and blankets tossed on the ground with clumps of clothing, all deemed useless in the heat of the night before. But now the morn’s star heralds a new day, beams prying at the sleepy eyes of the two still at rest.
Dean refuses to open his eyes, even when the light claws at him to wake up. He doesn’t want it to be morning, to have to get up, to move from this perfect set up. He wants to stay half covered by the sheets, arm securely around the angel leaning on his shoulder, forever intoxicated in sweet, lingering afterglow like a warming malt. He likes it like this, likes it when it’s calm—funny to think man of danger Dean Winchester actually likes the wind-down time he gets so rarely—and right now he just wants to stay in a light veil of slumber, listening to the soft breaths of Castiel as he feigns sleep, clinging to Dean through the night.
He moans a little when he feels Castiel fidget, the angel stirred by the light, likely concurring with the rising sun and thinking it best they prepare for the day. His hand grips Castiel’s hip, weakly trying to keep him anchored down, all while sinking a little deeper into the mattress, like the resolute, stubborn little boy who won’t get up to go to school, favouring the comfort of the bed and the happiness of dreams.
Warm lips soon press to his, a little rough and chapped, but the kiss is still gentle, refreshing, like a foaming ocean wave sliding across the shore. Every muscle in Dean’s body relaxes, features softening, the tender peck coaxing him into opening his eyes. All he sees are wide eyes of pure blue, bright as the skies, deep as the oceans, too brilliant and scintillating to be human. As he stares, he feels the lips against his curve into a smile.
“You’re up,” Castiel purrs, gravelly voice low, a smooth hum tacked on to the end.
“Mmmm,” Dean groans, blinking slowly, eyes still adjusting. The sunlight is one thing but the glow of Castiel’s eyes is something entirely different, the flickers of celestial splendour always making the blue ablaze with something supernatural, something so much more powerful than he is and will ever be. But those are still the same eyes he gazed into last night, the ones that pleaded, the ones that begged, the ones that looked up at him glazed with total submission. And that, that makes a too satisfied smirk spread on Dean’s face.
Castiel reads his face. He might not know the exact workings of the intricate puzzle that is Dean Winchester, but he’s familiar with more than a few pieces and expressions. He leans in and kisses him again, harder this time, full on. Dean can’t portest—like he’d want to—sliding a hand up to weave into Castiel’s hair, dragging him down, trapping him in the kiss. Castiel catches Dean’s bottom lip, tugging it as he manages to pull back after a long, drawn out moment, one that leaves them both quenched for breath.
“Sam’s going to wonder where we are,” Castiel mentions, reminding Dean that just because his brother agreed they could stay at different motels (“If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, I want to be far away from it” he said) didn’t mean they could shirk their responsibilities as hunters.
“Let him wonder,” Dean grumbles, propping himself up to line the angel’s jaw with kisses. He gets away with it for a while, Castiel stifling a moan, shoving priorities in front of these new and powerful human instincts.
“We have to,” He says, albeit a tinge breathless. Dean hauls him down, lowering them both back flat on the bed.
“Just five more minutes,” Dean gruffly murmurs into his ear, hand leaving Castiel’s hip, ghosting lower and lower. And when he blows so coolly on the angel’s earlobe, only to then bury his face in his neck, attacking him with starved ceaseless kisses, Castiel can’t find himself refusing.
“Just….” Castiel stifles another little groan, shutting his eyes, “Five more minutes…”