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Dean couldn’t imagine he would ever get tired of this. The rush of skin against skin, the heated glide of warm palms and long fingers gripping his sides and clutching him close.
Dean tipped his head back on a sigh as he felt Cas’ lips, chapped yet somehow still soft, drag along the cord of his neck. They were a mess of soft hums of pleasure and caught breath as they enjoyed a lazy make-out session against the kitchen counter. The welcoming scent of a fresh pot of coffee percolating filled the air, complementing the taste of cinnamon toast that still lingered on Cas’ tongue.
Castiel slipped his hands into Dean’s robe to encircle his waist, tugging him in closer, leaving no space between their still sleep-warm bodies. Dean’s hands found their way into Cas’ messy bed hair, enmeshing the strands, no doubt making it more of a bird's nest than it already was as they continued to kiss, kiss, kiss. It was an indulgence Dean never wanted to give up, and why should he? After everything they had been through together, they were owed lazy mornings and softness.
“Sam is going to yell at us again if we’re late,” Cas mumbled against Dean’s lips, chuckling.
“Probably,” Dean admitted, staring into fathomless blue and feeling so overwhelmingly grateful. “Hey, you remember when we first met?”
Castiel arched a brow. “When you stabbed me?” he asked dryly, and Dean laughed softly.
“After that,” Dean said. “I was mouthing off about why an angel would rescue me from hell, and you said”—Dean pitched his voice purposefully lower—”Good things do happen, Dean.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thanks for being my good thing,” Dean finished gruffly, allowing himself to be pulled forward and tucking his face into the crook of Cas’ neck. Sometimes Dean felt like he could climb inside Cas, and it wouldn’t be close enough. Now that he was allowed to do this, hold and be held, Dean couldn’t comprehend how he’d gone so long without doing so. The dam was broken, and Castiel saved him from drowning. They clung to each other like the touch-starved beings they were, always wanting more.
“Is it really of import that we do a supply run this morning?” Castiel rumbled into his ear, and Dean grunted, making no move to detach himself from his lover. “Because,” the angel continued, “I wouldn’t mind if we just stayed in and made love all day. My yearning for closeness is at a fever pitch today.”
The blunt words made Dean blush, but he didn’t bother telling Cas that he couldn’t just say things like that. He knew the angel would, anyway. Cas had no shame or filter, which was often hilarious and sometimes embarrassing for Dean, who was unused to being someone’s sole focus. Flowery phrases that would sound corny from anyone else stripped Dean bare because Castiel wasn’t trying to be romantic. He was just being honest.
And it wasn’t like Dean didn’t feel the same way. He was just better at showing it with actions rather than saying it with words.
Dean observed Cas looking at him coyly. It was an innocent smile that Dean now knew Cas used to his advantage. The guileless quirk of wide, pink lips had gotten the kitchen of their new home painted a sunny yellow, two hives in the backyard, and a butterfly garden. It had also awarded Cas the sight of Dean on his knees in a pair of white lace panties because the angel was ‘curious’ about the appeal. The truth was, Cas had Dean wrapped around his elegant fingers, and the winged love of his life knew it, too. Dean would wear Castiel’s come like lipgloss if he asked him to.
“Weren’t you just the one who was saying Sam would be pissed if we were late?” Cas’ expression went from sweet to sour, like a child being told no more snacks until dinner, and Dean found himself laughing. Since Dean and Castiel had moved out of the bunker and into the small cottage-style home they’d built, the couple had made it a habit to make a day of it once a month. They would breakfast with Sam and Eileen at Lebanon’s best (and only) diner, then head out to Lola to the Walmart Supercenter and the farmer’s market that Sam was so fond of. Dean didn’t usually mind, though, because it shared the same lot with the flea market and he had enjoyed introducing Cas to vinyl at the record booth.
“Besides, hot as your thick thighs are in my jeans, we both need some more clothes.”
Work around their new house had caused many holes in the knees and new rips in Dean’s old band tees and Henleys. Sometimes watching Cas walk around in Dean’s worn-out AC/DC shirt and Levi’s turned Dean into a horny teenager, and it hadn’t taken long for him to realize that Cas was not only aware of the fact, he reveled in it, and the power it gave him.
“I have heard that online shopping is a thing,” Castiel countered, head tilted, his inquisitive bird look put to use expertly, and Dean laughed again, dropping his head to knock against Cas’ shoulder before looking at him again. This time a playful smile lit his face, and Dean didn’t realize he could fall any deeper in love, but there he was.
“Fine. You call Sam, then,” Dean challenged with a smirk, eyes widening when Cas strode over to the kitchen table and picked up his phone from where it was lying with Dean’s on the table.
Castiel punched in the phone number, eyes on Dean the whole time, brow arched as if daring him to stop him.
“Hello, Sam? I was just calling to let you know that you and Eileen should go on without us.“ Castiel paused, obviously listening to what Sam had to say on the other end of the phone.
“No, everything is fine, I assure you,” Castiel stared Dean down as he spoke, clearly not backing away from the little game of chicken they had going on.
Dean waved his hand in a go on , gesture, and he really shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the feral smile creeping across Cas’ face. “We’ve just decided that we’d rather stay in bed and have copious amounts of sex, and shopping would really cut into that endeavor.”
Dean let out a sort of wheezing sound, and Castiel looked at him in concern and hung up the phone without saying goodbye.
“Too honest?” Castiel asked innocently.
“You’re a menace,” Dean said, pointing a finger at the feathered love of his life. The angel only had the audacity to peer back at him, well, angelically.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Castiel said, eyes darting away then looking back, and Dean had to give it to him; Cas’ voice held just the right amount of disbelief.
“That sweet, naive look won’t won’t save you forever, sunshine,” Dean warned teasingly, reaching out his hand to tangle with Castiel’s.
Cas’ face broke out in a smile that put the sunbeams to shame, and Dean felt his heart trip and stumble before continuing its steady beat.
“Then we should go back to bed while it does,” Castiel advised, voice like sandpaper, sex, and love all rolled into one. Leaving the coffee and phones behind, Dean let himself be led back to their bedroom.
They’d do a supply run tomorrow.