Well hello there. If you're here I guess that means you're reading my writing so thanks in advance XD but the hiatus is really getting to me right now and I needed to write some domestic destiel fluff so enjoy my lovelies :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Supernatural and all related characters and plots belong to Eric Kripke and CW. I make no money from this fanfiction, basically, Kripke, if you recognize it, it's not mine.
Dean blinked his eyes open groggily at 4:17 am. He rubbed his eyes briefly and rolled over, expecting to find a certain blue-eyed, messy-haired fallen angel to cuddle with. At first he'd been resistant, but Dean had to admit, once he let Castiel tempt him to the dark side, cuddling was actually rather nice.
Cas, however, was missing from his side of the bed, sheets and blankets tossed this way and that. Dean reached out a hand to feel the bed on the empty side and it was cold, meaning Cas must have been gone for a while.
Dean groaned softly and got out of bed, pulling on a random pair of sweatpants and running a hand through his hair. He made his way out of the room quietly, wondering where in the hell his boyfriend might be at this ungodly hour, when suddenly he heard a small clattering noise coming from the kitchen, like dishes clacking together.
Dean quietly made his way towards the kitchen, and sure enough, Cas was standing by the toaster, shirtless, his back to Dean, making what Dean guessed was cinnamon sugar toast. Ever since Sam had taught him how, it had quickly become one of Castiel's favorite things, right up there with burgers and cuddling.
Dean smiled. "Hey babe," he said softly from the doorway. Cas turned to look over his shoulder at Dean, smiling warmly.
"Hello, Dean," he said, turning back to his little cooking adventure. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Dean smiles again, walking closer to stand behind Cas. "It's okay, you didn't. It just got cold in there," he says quietly, tracing the outlines of the unfurled black wings tattooed on Cas' upper back, the bases set close to the spine and the wings spreading up and over the shoulder blades, the tips barely starting to brush over his shoulders. They've always reminded Dean of the first time he saw his wings, shadowed against the walls that night in the barn. They had been Castiel's idea, the wings. After he fell, when the Winchesters had taken him in to get the anti-posession symbol tattooed on his chest, right where the others had theirs, he had asked to talk to Dean in private for a moment outside the parlor, while Sam went in and booked them a spot. He'd nervously asked Dean what he thought of getting his wings back, the closest way he knew how, and in response Dean had simply kissed him and whispered "Cas, baby, if it'll make things easier for you then I think it's a great idea." And when Cas had been forced to lie there in pain for hours while the needle pierced his skin over and over again, Dean had held his hand and combed his dark, messy hair up off his forehead with his fingers over and over again, more of a soothing repetitive motion than anything else.
He wraps his arms around his angel's waist and sets his chin on Cas' shoulder, watching Cas finish the toast. He's already toasted the bread and buttered it, and now he's mixing the cinnamon and sugar in a small bowl, stirring it with a fork.
After a moment Dean presses a quick kiss to Castiel's temple before settling down in a chair at the kitchen table a few feet away.
As Cas finishes sprinkling the sugar mixture over each piece of toast he hums to himself, Led Zeppelin's Ramble On. Dean smiles, thinking to himself how he and Castiel share most everything these days, from the occasional beer to leather jackets to music taste. Cas finishes his toast, and he walks over to the table and pulls up a chair next to Dean, settling the plate of toast on the table between them, grabbing down two small tumblers from the cabinet where they kept the glasses and pouring them each a little whiskey, giving Dean an inch or so and himself only a few swallows. Cas had grown accustomed to the taste, but he preferred tea or coffee, and he didn't much like the groggy feeling that came with consuming more than just a little of the stuff. The only times he got drunk on purpose were those nights when the brothers would invite Charlie and Garth over for dinner. Dean would make burgers, Sam would make a salad or something, and Cas would serve up an enormous bowl of the raspberries he liked to grow in the small garden in front of the bunker, as well as the pie that he and Dean would always spend most of the day making. Dinner was inevitably followed by beer, poker, loud conversation full of laughter and high spirits, and eventually tequila shots. After Kevin and Sam went to bed, Garth would pass out on the couch and Charlie would settle down in the guest bedroom, and then Dean and Cas would head back to the bedroom they shared, which always resulted in two or three rounds of loud, crazy, experimental drunk sex.
Cas sets the glasses on the table next to the toast, and he settles himself down in the chair next to Dean, pulling a folded blanket off of the couch and wrapping himself in it first.
Dean smiles at his angel. "Are you glad Sam taught you how to make a bitchin' piece of toast?"
Cas smiles at Dean. "Yes, Dean. Though I don't think this toast is exactly "bitching" since warmed bread cannot speak."
Dean laughs. "Shut up and take the compliment, baby."
Cas blushes. "Okay, Dean. If you say so. But toasting bread and then putting butter, cinnamon, and sugar on it isn't exactly difficult. It is rather delicious, though." As if to prove his point he grabs a piece and bites into it, shoving the other towards Dean.
Dean shoves the toast back towards Cas. "I'm not gonna eat your toast. Just cause I woke up in the middle of the night and came to find you doesn't mean you have to share your food with me."
Cas rolls his eyes. "Dean, politely speaking, shut up and eat your goddamn toast."
Dean chuckles at the unexpected dose of blasphemy from his angel. Cas wasn't one for swearing, and he would still glare at Dean now and again when he used "God" or "Jesus" in the bedroom, that is, when he was still coherent enough to actually pay attention to what Dean was saying. Dean was proud of having gotten an f-bomb out of him once. He considered it an acheivement.
He affectionately runs a hand through his boyfriend's hair before, as Cas put it, shutting up and eating the toast. When they're both finished, Cas sweeps the crumbs off of the table and back onto the plate before setting it and the empty glasses gingerly in the sink. He starts a pot of coffee since Sam usually wakes up at around 5:30 to go running, and he knows the younger Winchester would appreciate it. He turns back to Dean, spotting a smudge of cinnamon right outside his mouth. He licks his thumb and cleans it off gently, before planting a kiss on Dean's lips.
"Come on Dean," he says quietly. "Let's go back to bed."
"Agreed," mutters Dean, and Cas smiles at that and laces the hunter's fingers with his, leading them back to a soft, and hopefully still warm, bed.
All right guys that's it thanks for reading! Idk I just felt like writing something cute and I really like the whole idea of Cas getting a wing tattoo after the fall. I feel like Dean might have been a little out of character though, so please let me know what you think and maybe if you guys want me to I could continue this into my first multi-chapter fic, idk, you decide. Thanks again for reading!