Fog is dancing on the mirror’s surface by the time Dean ends it. Every embrace of fingertips, every sweep of the hunter’s tongue – it had been dragged out, exacerbated, moves chosen specifically to leave an impression. The hunter is sure, as he pulls himself up off his elbows to look into the angel’s face, that the imprint left on Castiel today will never fade.
“Dean.” Soft lips, though chapped, are on the hunter’s jaw, and the swell of pride Dean feels bubbling in his chest can hardly be contained. A grunt passes through his teeth, followed by a laugh, that famous half-smirk playing about his lips as if this were some ordinary occurrence But it isn’t. This is Cas, his Cas - an angel of the lord - panting beneath him and kissing Dean’s jaw as if his scarred, sweat-streaked skin is worth more than heaven. “Thank you,” Cas murmurs, tone so light the words barely reach Dean’s ears – but he hears them, grabbing for the angel’s hands after rolling onto his side.
“You’re home now, Cas.” Dean huffs, waiting for the man to process just why the hunter had only said this once the angel was securely in his arms. “And you’re safe.” There’s a bit of silence after that, and it lasts only but a moment as Castiel’s eyes glaze over with emotion brimming just beneath the surface.
“I understand,” the angel breathes, squeezing Dean’s fingertips with gentle reassurance. “And I will stay.”
“These are much more comfortable than I expected. Thank you for purchasing these for me, Dean.”
Dean looked up from his laptop to see Cas standing there in a faded green t-shirt and a pair of jeans - a pair of jeans almost TOO snug on his wiry frame. Cas did a strange little wiggle then looked up at Dean and made a little flourish with his hands, eyebrows raised as if seeking approval. Dean was reminded of Cas in the hotel room when he cleaned up after Purgatory. Dean quickly aborted that line of thought.
He cleared his throat. “Uh yeah Cas, no problem. Now that you’re gonna be around I figured you should ditch the dorky angel duds and put on proper hunter gear.”
“These denim trousers seem a little form-fitting, though. Will they be flexible enough to allow me sufficient range of movement?”
Without waiting for an answer, Cas started performing a couple of deep lunges, a small frown of concentration on his face.
Dean looked over at Sam, who appeared to be fighting a losing battle against a big grin. He looked back just in time to get an eyeful of Cas’ rear end as the man bent over and did a couple toe touches.
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair, conscious of Sam’s strangled laughter from across the room.
“Yes, these will do nicely,” Cas said approvingly, still bent over touching his toes.
“Guh,” Dean managed.
“I hope I can protect the one thing I can’t live without, that’s you.”
Misha Collins on Destiel, NJCon 2013 (x)
“… my brother.”
I’ve got a shower fic in the making, but if you guys have any prompts for a Dean/Cas drabble, you’d be doing me a major solid. What better way to celebrate the end of the school year by spending my night writing, right? (◕‿◕✿)
I love writing for friends so if you guys have anything you’d like me to write tonight, any headcanons, any situations, any AU, whatever, please pass it by me, kay?
“We are survivors of each other. We have been a shark to one another, but also a life boat. That counts for something.”
- Cat’s Eye, Margaret Atwood
dean fucking cas on that luminous map-table in the men of letters bunker (◡‿◡✿)
cas pointing out the maps inaccuracies as dean lays panting and spent on top of him (⊙‿⊙✿)