Fic: Ordinary Vanity
Author: Seraphim Grace
Fandom = Supernatural
Pairing = Castiel/Girl!Dean
Rating = G
Notes - Title from Silent Hill 2 score by Akira Yamaoka
unbeated
Soundtrack - Talking heads - Girlfriend is better
"Half angel and half bird. And all a wonder and a wild desire."
Robert Browning- O lyric love
Dean rolls over into the bed and against Castiel, and she might be dreaming, she might not, it doesn't matter, because his legs are twined through hers and his arm if over her waist, his nose buried in her hair.
They could be naked for all Dean cares because they're naked where it counts, his forearm, his chest, their legs, her waist. Everything else is still asleep. The sheet is scratchy clean, starched rigid and the blanket is a heavy sweltering heat over them.
Castiel smells wonderful.
He always smells like he is on the verge of needing a shower, because he took his vessel at the end of the work day, so the smells that linger on him are the vessel's. But he smells warm, faintly musky, lingering fragrance of fabric conditioner and coconut shampoo at the back of his neck and behind his ears.
The vessel's skin is sticky hot with sweat, and Dean wants to curl into him, but if she moves, if she does more than hook her leg over his, he might move, he might pull away. If she raises her head she'll wake him.
And Dean is sweaty sticky too, there are folds in her skin that feel positively tropical, she doesn't want as much as need a shower, and although she brushed her teeth before crashing out she knows perfectly well that those strip beef fajitas will have come back with a vengeance and breath that could wilt plants.
She doesn't want him to wake up when she's hot and sweaty, when she needs to brush her teeth and pee. And Sam's in the other bed snoring like a chainsaw on a rope pull.
To make matters worse the song "ding dong the witch is dead" is running through her head. She's woken up, maybe, in bed with the man-angel-man she loves and she needs to shower and wants to break into a verse of "Ding Dong' the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low. Let them know, The Wicked Witch is dead!"
Above her head Castiel chuckles, trailing his knuckles along her flank and down over the curve of her hip, fingertips idly playing with the elastic of her panties. Of course Castiel is awake, and he doesn't care that she smells, that her breath is actually epic and tilts her head up and softly leans his lips against hers.
She wants to melt into the kiss but between choruses of munchkins singing "As Coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her. And she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead," and she's pretty sure she could run her fingers through the sweat in her armpits, and she can still taste the chili from last night's supper and...
Castiel doesn't care. She knows that, she knows that no matter what she appears she is beautiful to him. She'd like to lie here with him forever, but she really needs to pee.