Naive
Night comes quickly, but the mens' little safe haven is dimly lit by the flashing whites and greys of the television. The screen, however, is only a temporary distraction from one another, and the explorations they find, marked on each other's lips. When they aren't intertwined, they are talking and reminiscing on the funny moments that bounce around their heads, connected only by their connection. The ease of their words is astounding since the immaturity of their actions is so apparent. After the spontaneous perfection of their initial romp, every new touch seems bumbling and over thought—the only salvation being that they both know how awkward it feels and can laugh about it until their sides hurt.
"I feel I need to take a shower." Cas says after he finishes his final slice of pizza—a last minute decision on his part, not having the energy to cook anything but wanting something more substantial than cherry pie.
"Sure thing, I'll grab you a towel." Dean says before pulling himself up from his chair. He rubs his rounded belly in soft circles as he makes his way towards his room.
Cas watches over his shoulder as Dean disappears down the hall; the same hall that only yesterday, was the cause of so much frustration and anguish. Now, a happy man fills the space. One who is seemingly content without a drink and without the warmth of a woman beside him. The muscles in Cas's cheeks hurt as his grin returns for the countless time in the past few hours. Dean soon returns to view, towel in hand.
"Here you go. The hot water knob is touchy so adjust everything before you get in." Dean warns.
Cas nods, taking the towel, starting his way past Dean and down the hall towards his bedroom. But before Cas can leave Dean's reach, a warm, quick kiss lands on his cheek. Cas turns into the feeling, setting his eyes on the sculpted man next to him. Dean reaches down, intertwining his fingers with Castiel's, his gaze, watching them clasp together. Cas leans forward and touches his forehead to Dean's, and for a moment, they rest there—drenched in the closeness of one another.
With a gentle pull, Cas separates himself causing a little pouty, huff to escape Dean's lips. Cas walks down the hall and into Dean's room. He shuts the door behind him, looking about the space before sending a fleeting glance to Dean's bed- wondering just how it will feel to sleep next to someone. Just how good it will be to actually sleep! He contemplates the various ways he could position himself: he could wrap his arms around Dean's waist, and nuzzle the soft, fuzzy hair on the back of his neck. Or he could face the other way, hoping Dean would cloak his heavy arms around him, in an attempt to keep Cas from ever leaving. He wonders if Dean would feel aroused by such an arrangement because the thought alone is making Cas grow and ache a little—still slightly built up from his earlier tryst.
He concedes that, however they sleep, it will probably be better than any scenario he could invent. The proceedings of the afternoon are proof of that. Although, there is always the possibility that Dean won't want to share a bed. The thought makes him a little queasy. He hopes, that how Dean has been acting for the last few hours is enough proof that he was to explore this just as much as Castiel does. He shuffles into the bathroom, turning on the fan and twisting the finicky knobs of the shower. After a few moments of trial and error, Cas disrobes and slides his body beneath the heavy streams shooting from the wall. The warmth feels incredible. He could nearly fall to the floor and sleep right here. Each second beneath the steamy water eases one ache after another. Cas collects the bar of soap, lathering it between his hands before replacing it and scrubbing his face—noticing for the first time all day, how sore his bruised jaw is. His marathons of kissing and biting made even the slightest brush against the bone, burn.
The feeling shoots unease deep into his gut. It has been less than a week since Dean gave him this bruise. It has been less than a week since Dean was on the brink of self-destruction. It feels like a lifetime ago now, but so little space is really between this Dean and the Dean who was ready to drink himself into oblivion. Cas is merely the start of a scab that needs to cover a hundred mile long wound. This slice of perfection won't last forever and he cannot pretend that it will just because of some selfish need. He wants something like this to actually be permanent in the future—but it will take work. Cas isn't naive, he knows that Dean feels safe here, in this moment, but he will have to go outside again, eventually. What then? What will become of this?
He finishes washing himself, concern causing new aches to replace the ones beaten away by the water. He twists the knobs back, shuttering as a rush of cold air swoops in to attack his dripping skin. Cas opens the shower door and grasps for the towel that Dean provided, hoping the stop the onslaught of chills before they reach his ears. He dries himself thoroughly enough and steps out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist, tucking the loose corner beneath the taught portion that grips to his hips. He digs through Dean's drawers, hoping the man is enough of a planner to have a new toothbrush stowed away somewhere. He eventually finds one tucked deep in the far back of the bottom cabinet.
Castiel emerges from the steamy room, clean and refreshed, but still weighed down by his mid-shower realization. He can't help but wonder when this will end; when this will all come to a screeching halt. Will it be when he leaves to finally return to work? Will Dean be tired of him and kick him out by sunrise? What if Sam stops by? Sam! Oh, what on earth will Sam think of all this? That is, if Dean ever tells him- that seems unlikely. Cas hates secrets and he has no idea what he would do if Dean asked him to keep their time together, quiet. The thoughts all collide together in his head, one tumbling over the other, cracking like glass in his mind.
The riot consumes him, keeping him from noticing Dean, sitting on the side of the bed—watching as Castiel's half naked body, quivers in deep thought.