Chapter warning- It's short.
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Stockholm syndrome and fluff
Castiel was a hands on type of god, Dean decided, or at least he was with him. The new god liked to show up at Dean's bedside, more often than not, slipping in beside the hunter whether he was awake or merely faking sleep. Through much trail and error that he somehow survived, Dean found out Castiel responded better to him if Dean touched him out of his own volition.
A happy god was a kind god. Basic thinking, but Dean was tired of complicated things. His entire existence seemed to be a conundrum sequestered within a riddle wrapped in a burrito, so why make things harder? If Dean was honest with himself, like he so rarely was, he could admit that he was tired. Struggle, a lifetime of it, was wearing him down to his foundations. He still had his pride and while Dean would never allow himself to be broken, he could afford to bend.
Which was why Dean's head was currently in Castile's lap with his face pressed up against the god's warmth, divine fingers carding through his short cropped hair. The other stroked his bare flank, playing with the V line of his hips. Dean hardly ever bothered putting on nightwear anymore. In the long run, it just saved time and Castiel always seemed pleased to find Dean already naked for him when he pulled back the sheets.
"What do gods taste like?", Dean asked, wondering if Castiel would bother to answer him. Sometimes they talked during these nocturnal visits, sometimes not one word was passed between them. Some nights, Castiel would simply hold Dean, caging the hunter in his arms and making him sleep there. Other nights, whether he wanted to or not, Dean's body would be explored in a curious manner, Castiel happy to fondle various parts of Dean's body until he was left whimpering and covered in his own sticky body fluids.
"I can not describe it to you in a manner that you would understand.", Apparently god was in a chatty mood tonight.
"I'm not stupid.", Dean grumbled, half in and out of sleep. The fingers running through his hair were soothing despite who was doing it and he was becoming comfortably drowsy. Even as the big 'G', it would seem that Castiel still had a kink for watching him sleep. Dean didn't know whether to feel worried about that or not, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it.
"I never meant to imply that you were. Your sensory perception is limited though. There are simply no words accurate enough to describe the 'taste' of a deity.", Castiel explained softly as he traced the shell of Dean's ear with his forefinger before descended further to the hunter's jaw line. As far as Dean could assess, the light touches weren't meant to be sexual, just exploratory. He knew this because Castiel considered the concept of subtly was for other lesser being. God was pretty forthright with what he wanted and when. No, Dean mused, Castiel just liked to touch him. It was plain and simple as that and at the moment, Dean was loving simple. Simple was safe and good, and didn't involved anyone he loved dying or going bat shit crazy.
"You're god. Give it a shot.", Dean snorted. He had almost fallen back asleep by the time Castiel gave him an answer, soothing into it by lingering strokes over his night chilled flesh .
"Gods taste like old blood spilled carelessly, selfish faith, and the soiled prayers left too long unanswered to fester and rot. They taste petty, cruel, and tired, made so by time and lax devotion. Can you tell me how that would taste to you?", Castiel mused, a slight smile turning up the corners of his lips.
"Probably better with ketchup. Everything is usually better with ketchup. Or ranch. You can even dip a twinkie in ranch and it's awesome.", Dean said, nuzzling Castiel's stomach with his nose, part of him wondering if the clothing Castiel still wore was even real anymore. Castiel smelled real enough, though Dean couldn't place the scent. It was sweet and spicy with lingering tones of salt, earth, and something otherworldly that the hunter had deemed a long time ago simply as angel. Whatever it was, all he knew was it reminded him of some intangible concept that he refused to label or nail down in his mind. If he put a name to it and dare define it, Dean knew that life would try and take it away from him like it did everything else that mattered to him, made him feel this oddly content.
'Pie' was the closest word he ever came to describing it with. It was the same feeling he got when he was eating a perfect piece of Dutch apple pie fresh from the oven but left out to cool just long enough so the filling didn't burn off the roof of his mouth when he bit into it. He knew Sam would have a field day with that kind of explanation if he ever found out.
Dean felt that he could always blame stress for having such weird affectionate thoughts. He felt that life owed him that much. All that he was certain of was that he felt safe and warm for once in his life, and that alone let Dean sleep like the dead.