A/N: so this is my first story ever! It was for a prompt on LJ. Its a little short but I really liked how it turned out. R&R please.
Castiel kneels on the floor between Deans legs. His delicate pale cheek pressed lovingly against the hunters innner thigh. The denim covering his leg is rough and scratchy against the day old stubble growing on his jaw. he doesnt pay attention to the uncomfortable feelings of stiffness creeping through his legs up into his spine.
He relaxes and lets his eye lids drift close as Deans large callused hand gently caresses his unruley black locks. Ever sense he fell from grace this is the closest he has felt to being whole again. That horrible knot in his stomach and the empty feeling in his chest eases when he is this close to his hunter.
He has long lost feeling in his toes and knees, but can't find it in himself to move or readjust his position. In fact he quite likes sitting like this on the floor. It reminds him of when he first began to fall, when he was lost and didn't know who to follow. He would go to the old churches in Europe. the ones hardley anyone frequented anymore. He would kneel and ask for guidance from a father who had long ago left them.
Now he kneels and closes his eye, not to pray for guidance. No, he no longer needs it. He knows that sitting on the floor of a dirty motel in a little town resting in the presesne of his hunter is the place he needes to be. The place he was always ment to be.
Even when he had his grace he never felt this happy, this whole. The perfect.
He would kill a thousand of his brothers if it meant he could forever feel this way. If he could just stay with Dean, his charge, his hunter, his lover.