Late, sorry! And I'm afraid I have some bad news: I've gotten super behind with writing this and I won't really have time for it for another week. So I'm taking a week off. Don't expect any updates until a fortnight from now! I'm just busy atm but I am still invested in this fic, I promise. I hope you like this chapter! Much love xxx

"Oh my God. Oh my GOD! Dean!"

My smile grows against Dean's shoulder as he stammers a response, his incoherent fumbling quickly eclipsed by Charlie's shrill voice.

"I FUCKING KNEW IT!"

"Look, Charlie-"

"Don't even try to deny it now, Dean Winchester. You are totally banging the angel. You are such a liar."

"Does she know that I can hear her?" I whisper as I shift to lie on my stomach next to Dean, folding my arms comfortably beneath my head. He rolls to face me, his pained expression lit up dimly by his phone screen.

"Yet again, you are broadcasting every dumbass thing you say directly to Cas himself," he informs Charlie tersely. She swears and I grin, amused.

"Sorry, Castiel. No disrespect meant! I'm just really happy for you both."

I nod calmly as Dean shakes his head, scowling. "Please give Charlie my thanks, Dean."

"Write her a damn letter if you want to thank her so bad," he snaps. I smile at him and he rolls onto his back, expression grumpy and voice sharp. "Well, Charlie, not that I ain't real glad that you're pleased or whatever, but I reckon I'm gonna hang up now."

"Can I be maid of honour?"

Dean ends the call with an aggressive jab of his thumb at the screen, glaring up at the phone where he holds it above his face.

"I was really hoping to put that off for a while longer," he mutters sourly after a pause. I stretch out on my stomach, still smiling. I know Dean well, and he's not really angry or upset. Just threatened and embarrassed, for no good reason.

"It's nice that she cares about you like that," I tell him gently. "She's like a sister to you, isn't she?"

Dean rolls his eyes, turning to face me again and mirroring my position with an arm pillowing his head. "Yeah, and I'm pretty sure little sisters are supposed to be the most annoying assholes on the planet."

"Well, then, Charlie is simply being a good little sister."

Dean pauses, eyeing me with mild irritation. He huffs as he switches his phone off and I hear him putting it on the bedside table and shifting back to face me again. "Stop using logic on me."

I shrug tiredly, eyelids drooping. Dean scoots closer to me, reaching out to rub tentatively at my lower back. I close my eyes and hum with contentment. When he speaks his voice is barely more than a murmur.

"I actually mind a hell of a lot less than I thought."

"Hmm?"

"People being all happy and shit. About us. I thought it'd bother me but what's bothering me is that it doesn't really bother me."

I struggle to follow along with Dean's low voice, my mind a sleepy haze. I crack my eyes back open, peering into the darkness at where I think his face probably is. My voice is a perplexed mumble when I reply. "What?"

Dean sighs as though I'm being exasperating. "Don't worry about it. Go to sleep."

"OK." I shut my eyes again, wriggling a little to get more comfortable. I feel Dean inch closer again, almost touching me although our only point of contact is still his warm hand on my back. With a last surge of effort, I roll towards him, letting his hand slide around my waist to rest on my stomach as my back settles against his chest. He tenses in surprise but I mumble his name happily, my blurry thoughts turning as smug as my smile when he relaxes and exhales against my neck.

I have found the best sleeping spot in the universe.

I awaken once more in the darkness to find that Dean has moved in his sleep and has snaked an arm beneath me to hug my waist from behind, squeezing his arms around my middle, snoring faintly into my shoulder. I try to shift and go back to sleep but it's impossible to get comfortable on my side with the bulk of Dean's arm underneath me, digging into my ribs and forcing my spine to curve oddly no matter how I wriggle. After re-positioning myself half a dozen times, I accept defeat and turn onto my stomach, breaking Dean's hold. He mumbles groggily, one hand fisting in the side of my shirt. I wait but he appears to sink back into sleep quickly and it doesn't take long for me to follow.

When morning comes, I open my eyes to find that I'm on the wrong side of the bed and at first, that's all that my sleepy mind can register. I stretch with a sigh, slowly easing my eyes open, further confused that my light is on. Didn't I switch it off last night? Or did Dean?

At that thought, my eyes open fully and I scramble up onto my elbows, looking around wildly. My dismay at Dean's absence is short-lived, however. The man in question is perched on the edge of the bed with a steaming mug, sipping calmly at it and eyeing me with fond amusement. I blink at him, relief making me smile even as I wonder aloud how long he's been awake.

"About two hours," he replies easily. I groan, dropping my head back down. Dean chuckles. "It's not even nine AM, don't worry. You're not that lazy."

"Hmm," I croak. I stretch again - I really enjoy stretching - and drag myself over to his side of the bed, which is actually my side. Dean nods seriously, although his eyes are twinkling.

"Yeah, I know. Sleeping on the left was weird for me. I won't steal your spot next time."

I don't answer but I nudge him with my hip, feeling lazy and happy, smiling into my folded arms. Dean snorts and waves the mug of coffee slowly near my face, tantalising me with its faint aroma.

"I added sugar."

I twist my head to peer up at him. "But you don't like sugar in your coffee."

He shrugs. "Ain't that bad. You want some?"

I stare at him for a moment before nodding and heaving myself up to sit cross-legged, grimacing at my lopsided and rumpled clothes. I feel too warm, now that I'm awake enough to think about it.

"We shouldn't have slept in our clothes," I huff, tugging my plaid shirt off rather clumsily as my motor skills are still arranging themselves. Dean makes a speculative humming sound in response and I look up as I finally rid myself of the garment, dropping it in a heap beside me and straightening my t shirt.

"What?" I ask as I accept the coffee he's holding out. He grins and glances away.

"Maybe next time there should be less clothes," he agrees. I roll my eyes as I gulp down some coffee. It's sweet, which I like and which I know for a fact Dean doesn't like. He clearly made this coffee for me, which is equally sweet.

"I have no problem with that idea," I assure him. "It's you who wants to... what is the phrase? Take things slow?"

It's Dean's turn to roll his eyes, leaning back on one hand and turning slightly to face me better. "Just trying to be a gentleman, jeez."

I shrug and offer the coffee back to him. He shakes his head and I drink the rest of it in one, tipping my head back and draining the mug. I wipe my hand carelessly across my mouth as I lean back and set the mug down on the bedside table, misjudging the distance and hitting it harder than I meant to. I swear under my breath and Dean snorts.

"You were way less messy as an angel, you know that?"

I pause, thinking about it. He's right. At no point in my angelic existence was I rumpled and uncoordinated from just waking up, and the absence of food or drink meant that I never had to wipe my mouth clean. I shrug again, trying not to feel mournful that I'm lacking grace in more ways than one.

"Being human is not overly dignified," I comment, stretching my arms up above my head. Dean's gaze darts obviously across my body and I suppress a satisfied smile, holding the pose for a moment longer before dropping my hands back to my lap. Dean blinks and glances away again.

"Has Charlie emailed?" I ask him. He shakes his head.

"Well, she hadn't emailed when I checked again ten minutes ago," he amends, looking worried. I reach out and lay a hand on his knee, squeezing slightly.

"I'm sure she'll send it soon. And once she does, we'll have a significant clue as to what Ezekiel is doing."

Dean nods in an automatic sort of way, clearly barely listening to me. I sigh and withdraw my hand but he catches it suddenly, turning properly towards me and drawing one knee up onto the bed. He grins at me, lacing our fingers together.

"Your hair is a disaster, man," he informs me, quite obviously changing the subject from his concern over his brother. I raise my eyebrows at him coolly but bring my free hand up to verify his statement. He's right again; I can feel the wild tufts going in all directions.

"I think that 'disaster' is a strong term, but you may have a point."

"I like it," he admits, eyes fixed on the so-called disaster. I smile and Dean bites his lip slightly as he raises a hand, lightly combing his fingers from my temple back over my ear. I decide quickly that I won't be cutting it shorter any time soon. Dean's hand comes to rest curled around the back of my head and his eyes hold mine, commanding my attention as he tugs slightly and I lean forward. He looks strangely nervous, as though I might reject him or pull away. What a ludicrous notion.

My eyes flutter closed a moment after his and he kisses me slowly, thoroughly. The taste of coffee is sweet on my lips and I can't tell who the flavour is coming from, which I like. Leaning into the contact, I find it all too easy to lose all thought and exist purely in the moment, dissolving into sensation, like falling asleep but infinitely more pleasurable.

It feels like we kiss for a long time and I'm startled when Dean slides his other hand up my thigh. I almost forgot that there was anything else to do, anything else in the world. I jerk back a little and we break apart.

"Sorry," breathes Dean, withdrawing his hands, cheeks flushed and lips a little swollen. I shake my head, feeling relaxed and restless at the same time.

"No, don't be."

He stares at me and I wait, not sure what's going on in his mind. He looks flustered, distracted, excited. He has a familiarly reckless air to him, one I've seen before when he unwisely mocks a powerful creature or charges into a dangerous situation. Dean has never been a patient or cautious man. I tilt my head at him, raising my eyebrows, still breathing a little fast and feeling twitchier the longer he pauses. I can clearly see that he's trying to talk himself out of something and I find myself hoping that he doesn't, because I'm fairly sure that 'something' is kissing me again. The seconds drag on and I wonder whether I should make the decision for him. But I can't, he needs to be in control of this side of our relationship because he's the one who has issues with it. But-

"Fuck it."

The words are muttered so quietly that I almost don't hear them and I barely blink at him before he all but tackles me, tumbling me back onto the bed with a slightly jarring kiss. I make a startled sound, hands coming instinctively up to grip his shoulders and knees falling apart as Dean settles between them. He wastes no time, dropping half his weight onto me and pushing my shirt up to my ribs, fingertips warm and firm against my sides. His mouth is demanding, tongue slipping past my lips without the hesitancy and gentleness that he's shown before. I don't have time to decide whether I like this better because both his hands are on my ribs now and he's pushing my t shirt up to my shoulders, for what purpose I'm not sure but I don't care because the more bare skin he touches, the less coherent thought I'm capable of.

Dean's fingers skate across my chest and I hiss into his mouth as he runs them roughly across my nipples, shocked at the sensation. A few seconds later, his lips leave mine and I don't have time to wonder why because he's promptly dropped them to my sternum, mouthing wetly at the skin there. I hold my breath and my suspicions are delightfully confirmed as he runs his tongue boldly across one nipple, drawing it into his mouth and then biting lightly at it. I whimper, pressing my nails insistently into the back of his head, my other hand straying unconsciously to the other side of my chest. Dean clearly notices because he catches it and pins my wrist to the bed even as he licks and sucks enthusiastically at where I was trying to touch. I'm making sounds I've never heard before, writhing beneath Dean, desperate.

Dean grabs my free arm and catches hold of my wrist, pinning it to match my other one. As he does this he kisses his way up my chest to where my shirt is and the cloth barrier makes him pause. The brief hesitation is enough to spark my impatience; it feels like I'm burning, consumed by a frantic, rising need for more and I can't handle even a moment of less. I wrench my hands free, eyes opening and chest heaving.

I don't even register what I'm doing until I've already flipped Dean onto his back, my own surprise matched in the wide green gaze below me.