Author: Keisha9109
Rating: M for swearing and soft smut.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of these characters, just the idea of this story itself.
A/N: Originally written for my wonderful friend Z; I hope he sees this on here someday!
Beep, beep, beep.
Beep, beep, beep.
Beep, beep, be-
A sleepy snarl and a flying fist accompanied each other toward the interrupting alarm clock, followed by a mutter of curses from the ache in said fist from said clock. Served him right though, he knew that the beeping little shit was pretty sturdy, and he always lost in the punching match. Damn Cas and his need to be punctual with the sun rising and that bullshit. Dean brought his now red stained skin up to his mouth, sucking the pressure away on his middle knuckle, doing his best not to groan louder than necessary. As a young boy would lick at his own knee scrapes, the action seemed to soothe the anger out of his hand, enough that his whimpers (fuck you, yeah, so what if he whimpered a little?) could go unheard of; his angel, snoozing beside him, needed his beauty rest.. especially after last night.
Castiel smirked. And it wasn't a regular smirk, nor an annoyed smirk, but an I-was-an-angel-of-the-Lord-but-am-now-human-and-in-love-with-Dean-Winchester one. It generally crossed his features a lot recently, but who could blame him? Becoming a fallen angel, having coitus with a beloved hunter coincidentally following, was a huge occurrence. Snuffling back against his pillow, he continued to let the tiny smile grace his tired face; the string of colorful words and crash of metal hitting plywood greeted him just as it did every morning, for which he was thankful. He knew that Dean despised the ringing contraption, that he indulged in sleeping in whenever the chance arose, but there was something calming about the process. It was "their thing", as Dean enjoyed to proclaim. Castiel didn't know what could or could not be named as such; if "their thing" required Castiel to feel at peace as well as amused though, then this was definitely on the list.
Speaking of something being on that list, the next thing that happened should be on there: Dean snaking his arms around and under his lover, anchoring him against faded t-shirt warmth while his nose drifts into soft bedhead. It was comfort that they both needed, and the tiny gestures were fruitful. Neither man desired more than this at six in the morning; having a cocoon of blankets and love was more than enough. Then again, adding the tent pressed into Castiel's ass and the murmur of pleasure Dean released into his ear could be an illegal act of injustice. It alone had spirals colliding and dancing within Cas' groin, but he was never one to go about anything without being coy.
Turning around to face his tempting lover, Castiel loses the smile, opting for a deadpanned look. It usually provokes annoyance from Dean, so of course, Cas uses it as much as possible. Inside of his head, he congratulates himself that Dean, in fact, looks unhappy that his angel looks discontent with him this morning. While some may think that Cas playing with Dean's mind is manipulative, the ending results are always in their favor; making his hunter glow with anger and lust is what Castiel does best. Once their noses are forced upon each other, a "good morning, Dean" graveled greeting is spoken lowly to a pair of light green eyes.
"G'morning, Cas", a growl returned with a bitter smile. The bitterness is soon, however, kissed away by chapped lips and nasty morning breath, that Dean fails to mention. He usually slips out of bed around this time to brush his teeth, a thing about the angel that touches him in the wrong way all together. He doesn't wanna taste Colgate and mouth wash every mornin', he wants the acid of tomato soup and cheap beer and Cas. So, even if it's a small victory for today, Dean loses the offset smile and melts a bigger one into the kiss. It's chaste but meaningful; a promise of more to come.
With the kiss ending and each man locking eyes to catch some air, Cas dives head first into his thoughts. "Dean, I overhead that you are calling an agency that specializes in women removing their clothing for pay last night. I am baffled as to why you would do such, for your younger brother's day of growth. Do you wonder what Samuel will think about this?" Castiel draws back enough from Dean's warm embrace to eye him skeptically, a hint of jealousy forming under his words. His Dean (yes, HIS Dean) should not need the company of cheaply clad females to entertain himself and his sibling. The odd catch phrase dealing in chopped liver hangs upon Castiel's tongue, something that he has picked up from humans over the years. Blue eyes take in an impressive eye roll, and an impractical toothy grin.
"It's Sammy's birthday Cas, of-fucking-course he'll like the strippers. Tits and pussy hangin' all over 'im, that lucky bastard. He's not gay ya know, ya dipshit". Dean snorts at his statement, thinking back to a time when his little brother thought that girls hid rocks under their shirts. His first kiss near the hood of the Impala, where Dean told Sammy it should be if he wanted a good smooch, ended with his kid brother sporting a black eye afterwards. The little moron asked what's-her-name to skip rocks with him down by a local creek, and then made a grab at her blouse. Dean remembers how upset and broken-hearted he was at only thirteen, and pissed at how his seventeen year old brother had laughed him ass off when he arrived home. How time flies...
Castiel bristles at Dean's (again) colorful vocabulary, thinking that he has offended his hunter by being, as he put it, "gay". He knows that the elder Winchester is neither here nor there on the subject of homosexuality, even though he loves Castiel. And enjoys the occasional copulation with him, as well. In light of it all, the angel ducks his head and attempts to roll away from Dean, seeking "personal space" that humans so desire at "awkward" times. He never understood the term, but now it seems rather essential to untangle himself. But too bad for him, his lover is having none of that.
"Baby, what's wrong?", a whisper of love and concern enters through Cas' ear and leaks into his swollen heart, stopping the movement to get away from Dean. Instead, he uses a dab of his angel strength to lift the one hundred and seventy pound man up and onto his body, their chests and hips now pressed together. In a way, this is a part of his plan to be coy, by trapping Dean's erection between them, an invitation for a dry humping session to begin. There have been numerous times that Castiel has awoken to Dean nearly slicing through the material of his pajama bottoms with friction from his own, thrusting away in his sleep during a wet dream. While the acts alone are odd, Cas has become to think of them as endearing; he hopes that, in Dean's vivid imagination, that he is the star center.
"Nothing is 'wrong', Dean", he even makes the air quotes above his head as he's seen Crowley do too many times, "but if you are having a problem with the homosexual stature, it is best that we do not sleep nor rest beside each other from now on." His very rapid, very human heart feels as if it's crumbling from that declaration, hoping that what Dean said about being "gay" was another one of those things that Castiel fails to understand. He fails miserably at feeling the joviality from jokes and sarcasm, as his friends tend to poke fun at, neverendingly. He lowers his eyes to the stubble from an unshaven chin dejectedly, no longer able to hold a stare from the eyes of his loved one.
Dean's eyebrows knit together in mild confusion, thinking back to when he said anythin' bad about loving cock. Sure, he doesn't like to openly admit to every-fuckin'-body in the Walmart check-out lane that the panties and apple pie flavored lube are for him and not his sister-in-law's birthday present. But hey, a man's gotta lie when a man's gotta lie. And that response always makes the cute little cashiers blush and praise him for being a cool ass brother-in-law, even scores him a few numbers with winky faces on his receipts. Not that he would ever cheat on Cas, but still, he's good at what he does. But, as slow as his shit eatin' brain may be, he realizes what he just said about Sammy and the strippers could cause Cas to feel inadequate or whatever soft asses can feel, so his frown only deepens. He honestly didn't mean to upset the winged beast that is his boyfriend, but ya never can tell what's gonna come outta Dean Winchester's mouth or how it'll make ya feel. He knows that about himself, for a fact.
"Cas, m'sorry.. open mouth, insert foot, haha", Dean chuckles at his own joke, but Castiel still prefers to eye his chin instead of his eyes. It upsets as well as annoys the fuck out of him; he apologizes very little to anyone, and him doing so now should be appreciated. But no, Cas has gotta be a brat about his slip of tongue.. so Dean switches tactics. He lowers his face into the curve of the lower man's neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and sleep and worry, nuzzling at the pressure point. A sweep of tongue or two, and he feels the heart beat beneath him soar to life, an elicit groan reaching out to let him know that Cas isn't ignoring him anymore. Tricky shit, but it works every time. He ruts his hips now into a pelvic bone, another sound of want filling the air above their heads.
For the next few minutes, very little is said or heard, if you don't count the rough growls of "fuck, Cas, fuck" and the desperate calls of "Dean, please". Hips gyrate, legs tangle back together, and mouth seal upon each other. If walls could talk, they'd gossip about teeth gnawing at shoulders, and hands disappearing under t-shirts; whispers would travel around the room, speaking of dirty sex talk and the occasional slap of covered ass violating the quiet. A couple grunts and the soft squelch of goo between skin and clothes later, and they're both sated. Dean collapses upon Cas as clammy forearms press him down, their bodies still rocking in the familiar trance of after glow.
"Dean, does this mean that you are not ashamed of our love and characteristics of the 'gay'", again with the damn air quotes, fucking Crowley, " life style? I would think that the simultaneous eruptions of semen between us is relevant to that." Cas' face is beyond serious, his tone even more-so, and it makes Dean's face light up like a fuckin' Christmas tree. His little angel, always business-like.
"Heh, Cas, you sure have a way with words.. but to answer your shitastic question, yeah, I'm cool with this. Meant nothin' bad by sayin' Sammy ain't gay, just sayin' that's why he won't mind the strippers. Capische?" A thumb finds its way to that stray lock of hair across Castiel's forehead, brushing it back in place with the rest of his strew of bed head.
"Yes, Dean, I 'capische'." Before Cas can even move his arms up and over his head to do the annoying Crowley trait again, Dean swoops in to pepper his face in kisses and his ears in praises. Arms find necks, hands locate hair, and lips are once again met in the middle. And that's where they stay for the remainder of the morning, making out and telling each other that their love can overcome even the stickiest of situations.
FIN.