Castiel loved spring most of all.
The receding night left traces of water droplets clinging to the grass, gleaming as the sun broke over the horizon. The soft light filtering through the window warranted no rush in the early hours of daybreak. There was an easy peacefulness to spring, the subtle, soft light dipping in and out of broken clouds, the low hum of nature reviving itself, awakening from the cold clutches of winter.
As the sun rose higher in those first few moments of dawn light crept into the room, broken into shards by the shutters and dancing across the sheets in a pattern; and likewise over the skin of the man lying beside him. Castiel's hands were led by the light, skimming across the vast expanse of bare, warm flesh. His fingers lingered sometimes to smooth across freckles, or old scars, and all the while his movement was traced by those vibrant green eyes- eyes which echoed spring in all their warmth, the hope of a brighter day signaled by the thawing of winter.
Castiel loved spring most of all, for these still morning moments of resting warm beneath the sheets, content in watching the light sweep over the man beside him in a languid glide, illuminating the form he had become so familiar with; a form which arched slowly, easily and without care, like lazy spring itself.
Such a contrast, Castiel thought, his eyes flicking over skin that reflected the days basking in sunlight, emitting such a warmth that seeped through his body, right to the bone.
It was an all-encompassing envelope, cradled in a caress and leaving behind evidence of its presence in the form of a curling joy within Castiel's chest. It was the whispered assurance of hope, hot against the shell of Castiel's ear. It was the unwavering trust evident when his eyes met Castiel's own.
It was spring.
And Castiel loved Spring most of all.