i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
- Charles Bukowski
Dean Winchester has never lived a life where tightening his belt and doing a little creative accounting to get by for a couple weeks wouldn't be required if even a hundred bucks went missing. Cas moving in with him helped offset it a bit in the past few months once he got a job again, but even now they're working to pay off a house and fix it up a bit. They're not broke, but they're by no means flush with cash.
Money's something you have to keep an eye on, to make sure you'll have it when you need it.
So it's safe to say that not even the fancy-ass mansion Cas's family has, or their flashy foreign cars, baffles Dean quite as much as the idea of Gabriel handing his brother a debit card wrapped in a napkin written with a pin number and a warning that they'll only have a few days before Michael notices the missing funds and cuts it off. He just hands them unlimited short-term frivolous cash because it's 'easier' than trying to figure out what to buy them as a gift.
It's a smack in the face reminder of what kind of life Cas's family lives. Gabriel's money makes money. It sits around in banks and stocks and accounts and just… multiplies. He never did anything to earn it, but like Lucifer and Michael before him and Raphael after him, it's been sitting around collecting interest and gathering his substantial share of the family fortune since the day he was born.
Even Balthazar's offered couple of nights at a resort on the Vegas strip on their way home was over the top, and somehow still less personal than all of the lower-ticket item practical or thoughtful gifts from Dean's own family, or the thoughtful and sentimental stack of books from Emmanuel to replace Castiel's own destroyed collection, which went far in helping Dean warm up to Cas's twin a little more.
Now Dean's on his third night of the slow road trip of his honeymoon, standing in a prepaid Vegas hotel suite that makes him nervous to move his elbows in fear of knocking over some of the expensive-ass bric-a-brac or breaking one of the wall-length ridiculous mirrors, over a casino that makes a guy who likes the odds of a dive-bar pool hustle cringe, worried about whether someone's going to steal the cookbooks and bedding and small appliances crammed into the back seat and trunk of his car, and trying to figure out how to close the curtains because there are too many people in Las Vegas considering the country's in a population crunch and they're way too damn high up and he didn't need a room with goddamn floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping the corner of the suite to remind him of his various paranoias and phobias, thanks.
Toothbrush tucked into the corner of his mouth, Castiel blinks at Dean through the open bathroom door, ducks around the corner and grabs a remote from beside the bed, and pushes a button that makes the curtains begin a slow crawl around the room closing them off. Because being able to just pull the damn curtains closed is apparently too much inconvenience when you could make a remote control for that instead. Dean lets go of the stiff fabric as it begins to move and jabs a warning finger in Cas's direction. "Not a word."
Cas rolls his eyes, steps back into the bathroom, and resumes brushing his teeth in front of the sink. Slinking into the room, though, Dean can see in the mirror the way Cas's eyes have crinkled in amusement at Dean's expense and his lips have tugged up at the corners around his toothbrush.
"Jackass." Dean grumbles, but his heart's not in it. Cas isn't always the most expressive guy in the world, and in half a year together Dean's learned to translate a language of head tilts and lifted eyebrows, the reason for a creased brow or intent of a stare. The last few days have been like a whole different set of rules and Cas is just unapologetically happy. It looks good on him, as good as the ring on his finger, or the faint red lines that score their way across his hips, disappearing beneath the low rise of his boxers where Dean's pretty sure Cas should have fingerprints pressed into the swell of his ass from Dean digging his fingers into the muscle and pulling him in.
Dean tucks himself up behind Cas, fitting his fingers into the sharp spur of Cas's hips to drag him back against his chest, reveling in the soft hiss of breath it wins from Cas to remind him of those marks. Yeah, Dean knows he likes that—the fun of being Cas's first and only is that he's learning Cas's kinks as Cas discovers them. Even if Cas would flush scarlet if someone mentioned the marks they leave on each other's skin aloud, Cas likes it when their bodies are a painted canvas of mutual possessiveness and need, the sting of it a reminder that stays even once their clothes are on. "There's some sort of magic show shit going on downstairs, and I think if we pay as much as a month's groceries we can get a buffet and a show… Maybe we can get them to drag you on stage so you can pretend to be a duck under hypnosis or whatever."
Dean's teasing him, and Cas knows it because it wouldn't take Dean pressed up against him for him to feel Dean's arousal. It's reflectively speeding up Cas's heartbeat, warming his skin, flooding his senses—Dean's not in heat, but he's horny and Cas is hardwired to be receptive to that. The novelty of married sex should have worn off already, given they pretty much were already married and cohabitating, but they're living the honeymoon cliché and Dean doesn't even regret it. No one but them will ever hear details about their sex lives unless Deandecides to mention it, and he doubts being fucked across the southwestern states in hotel rooms of varying quality and in the backseat of his own car is ever going to come up in casual conversation. Well… not in detail, at least: Dean's not above teasing Cas.
Ducking to rinse his mouth out, Cas meets Dean's eyes in the mirror as he rises again and Dean can feel himself grow wetter and hotter at the picture the Alpha cuts with moisture clinging to his lips, the defined muscles of his chest and narrow tuck of his waist, blue eyes sharp and clear. "We can try going on a date tomorrow night. Right now, I am going to take a shower. Then we are going to bed and we're not leaving it until tomorrow afternoon."
Cas hasn't quite picked up dirty talk from Dean yet, but there's something about the slow, intense, and completely serious way he promises Dean marathon sex that hits all his buttons just right. Especially because Dean knows it's not just an empty promise. Or maybe it's because this place has glass walls around the shower, making Cas stripping down and climbing into the cross spray of the shower a damn fine show especially with the clear evidence that Dean's not the only one turned on right now. Cas's hand gives his cock one slow, lazy stroke just to emphasize the point, knowing Dean's watching.
"Hands off the merchandise, Cas. That's mine, I'm holding you to that promise."
Cas laughs again, closes his eyes, and tips his head back into the spray, fingers burying in his hair instead and that's almost as sensual. Two can play at that game, though. Dean knows he's attractive the way he knows he's Omega—it just is, and it's not always a good thing. But he also knows by now that Cas finds him distractingly attractive, and he can work with that as he follows his own nighttime routine. Dean strips down slowly, aware of Cas's eyes on him through the steam, both of them doing little to disguise that they're perving. So he keeps his eyes fixed on Cas in the mirror he bends at the waste to dig in the leather toiletries bag they share, and he's watching the water sluice down Cas's back, over that goddamn glorious ass, when his hand hits the foil circle of his birth control pills and he freezes.
Today's is still in the blister pack, forgotten.
He never forgets the pill. Since they got together, Dean popping a birth control pill first thing has been a constant, a fastidious habit that is never neglected. Given their day frequently begins with him caught on Cas's knot, fucked full and sated, it's easy to remember afterwards. Today, they had a lazy morning where he had every chance, he just didn't.
He knows it's no big deal. He could pop it out now, take it, then resume the routine like normal tomorrow morning … but he hesitates.
Sometimes life offers you big choices in the smallest ways. A phone number left behind on a breakfast table, a four character text message, a pen and legal document, a tiny break in routine. For being such a small thing this seems to carry a hell of a lot of weight on it, something that could shape their future.
They've talked about it. Well, as much as they've talked about anything, which is pretty much not at all. They have a tendency to reveal their thoughts mid-argument and then they're just… known. They don't need to belabor it. He doesn't have to hear Cas say 'I love you' every ten seconds to know it's true, though the first time he heard it Cas was growling it at him angrily. He doesn't need Cas to remind him that he wants kids, either, though that came out in an argument too.
Cas wants a family, a real one with kids growing up around two parents that love them, instead of the clinical farce of childhood he was given. Dean's learned himself well enough to figure out that he's not quite as terrified of that as he once was, and he's made room for it in his life. It's getting harder to deny that when everyone in his life now knows he's Omega so there's nothing to hide, and when there's a room in their house that's suspiciously empty of boxes or furniture, not even the vague attempt Cas has made to convince himself the other empty bedroom is a home office neither will ever use. It's a nursery, whether either of them will say it or not. That's another of those things they don't really speak about.
Conversely, there's an entire world outside of the two of them that thinks Dean even owning these pills is a sin, a waste of his only value to society. Just to get these pills without Dean wading through some sort of picket line at a clinic, Cas had to have a coworker at the clinic write the prescription and he picked them up himself. Castiel has never once said a word against Dean managing his own birth control. Nevertheless, they've spent the last couple of weeks regularly stealing time with Dean's newborn nephew from Sam and Jess, trying not to admit that they're getting practice in.
Cas loves kids, and he's already an amazing uncle, though he'd deny it himself. He's got each memento sent to him through Claire's childhood tucked carefully away even after every time he's packed up and moved. He made time to dance with his niece at their wedding and laughed as she talked to him in a voice too low for others to hear over the music, naturally shy around others but animated and safe with him. He sang to Sam's son, mangled all the words to Dean's favorite songs and was so careful with him—Dean should have known he would be, given how caring Cas is even around patients.
Cas is going to be an awesome dad someday. It's Dean who's afraid.
This little foil packet is the decision on if Dean's ready to risk that he might screw it all up. If Dean's ready or not for that in his life. He's suddenly really fucking nervous about a tiny pill he takes every single goddamn day, and what does that say about Dean, really? He's sick of constantly questioning himself, sick of being afraid of being happy.
So, with the bullheaded determination he takes into every aspect of his life, Dean tugs the round of pills out of the bag, takes a deep breath, and then deliberately chucks it towards the trash. It's a little impulsive… but hell, no more so than how they got married.
Even over the shower, Dean hears Cas's sudden intake of breath.
When the glass door between them pops open, Cas's eyes on his in the mirror carefully guarded to hide the hope Dean knows is there, Dean meets his gaze challengingly, like he's not the one that put the brakes on this. "You in?"
(He really needs to work on how he pitches major life events, but it works for them so he probably won't. Anyone who has an issue with how they communicate can fuck off and stay out of his marriage.)
It turns out the water pressure is really as great as Cas was making it seem, though Dean wasn't expecting to be pulled into the shower, feet slipping on the marble tile until he's braced against Cas, his face cradled tenderly between Cas's hands, a counterpoint to the urgency of hauling him in beside him. Cas searches his face and the disbelieving air of it bothers Dean, jabs at his contrary nature enough that it cements the plan entirely.
"Are you sure?"
Cas might as well have dared him. Tangling his hand into the wet hair at the crown of Cas's head, suds sliding between his fingers, Dean backs up to put himself out of the cross-spray with the cold stone at his back and hauls Cas in for a kiss. Cas kisses like a porn star, for all he was half a priest when Dean met him, and it's instinctive for Cas to press him into the tile, all water-slicked skin and hard planes of him. Hard other things, too.
"Please tell me you're sure, Dean."
It's a plea, given against Dean's lips, Cas tugging far enough away from the kiss that Dean's grip on his hair has to be pulling, shampoo-slicked strands eventually too slippery to keep ahold of. Cas won't move past this, yet: he told Dean upfront that he likes clear permission and an understanding of what's being asked and allowed. Ironically, that conversation ended up in a shower, too. And the thing is, Dean knows Cas isn't begging Dean to let him knock him up … he's afraid of screwing this up, of misreading him, or of Dean changing his mind and bolting or shutting down. Cas knows how much Dean's feared this—if he's pregnant, even people who don't know them or haven't seen them in court will know Dean's an Omega (bitch, breeder, knot slut). They're tearing down an entire industry built around passing people like Dean around for everyone to impregnate, and that is not a thought either of them wants to take into the bedroom with them.
Basically, Cas worries too much.
"Get back here." Cas's ass really was made to grab like this, pulling him forward until they're flush, Dean slotting them together just for the sensation of grinding against Cas's soaped up skin. The words are half teasing, but the sentiment is there; Dean has never been as comfortable as Cas being wholly honest without couching it in innuendo or a joke first. "I want you to bend me over, fuck me full, and knot me till it takes. Is that clear enough?"
When Dean can crack through Cas's controlled veneer just right, there's an Alpha there who fucks a lot like he fights—despite the pleated slacks and backwards ties, Dean's gotten the chance to see the aggressiveness Castiel keeps a tight grip on. Dean finds himself twisted by an arm around him, off-balancing him for the second it takes for Cas to plant himself on the bench seat, and haul Dean into his lap.
Dean could put a stop to this, refuse to be manhandled, but it's a surge of satisfaction to shattering Cas's control this way, a feeling of power. Cas can be the most giving lover ever, dropping to his knees to swallow Dean down, fingers playing him like an instrument as he does, without ever asking anything in return. Nights like that, it doesn't even matter to Cas if he gets off, because he just enjoys it, hungry for every sound Dean makes, eager to slide into bed behind him after and hold him until he falls asleep. Dean's heats, too, are about Dean: what Dean needs, when Dean needs it, until Dean's sated and Cas is exhausted.
And then there are the rare times when Cas is a toppy Alpha bastard, demanding and taking away Dean's control, and Dean secretly frikkin' loves it.
"You gonna breed me, Cas?" It's a redundant question, goading, teasing, and it cuts off with a gasp when Cas takes him by the back of the neck and pushes him down, folding Dean at the waist and sliding into him without preamble, the stretch and slide of it goddamn perfect because Dean's embarrassingly wet at this point, and fuck yes right fucking there. Cas hoists his bowed legs until they're spread obscenely wide over Cas's thighs, leaving him bounced on Cas's lap by every rock of his hips, gravity dragging him back down and splitting him open around Cas's cock with the smack of wet skin on skin.
"Oh, fuck." Dean can't help it, can't quite bite back the embarrassing sound of want that Cas drags out of him as he pistons up into him, single-minded now in his need.
Yeah, he knew about this kink even if Cas doesn't recognize it in himself yet. Cas started palming Dean's stomach after sex unconsciously the day he gave Dean his virginity, and falls asleep that way almost every night. Cas watches Dean around children with heavy lidded eyes, like he's picturing it's their own family. He's been imagining Dean pregnant, instinctively chasing that through every heat, and that ingrained aspect of Cas used to scare the hell out of Dean because he never used to be able to untangle that Alpha quality from the complete disregard for the Omegas that usually goes with it. Cas gets off on the idea of knocking Dean up, but it's about Dean to him not some driving imperative pushing him towards anything wet to fuck, and Dean can't help but admit now that the urgency of that's turning him on too.
Despite how incredibly on-board with this plan his body is, despite the bravado of bringing Cas into this with him, Dean's thinking too much too and there's a sense that he's forgetting something, quicksilver thoughts that slip away when he tries to grasp them, driven out of his head by Castiel's breath skating across his skin, by the spread of Cas's hands over his hips. It takes a minute for Dean to remember an old edict, one he's managed to keep this long despite Cas's enthusiasm for the sexual aspect of their relationship. His hands squeak on the glass wall, drawing through the steam and condensation until he finds the safety bar, grabbing hold and using it as leverage, riding back against Cas through a few hard thrusts, reveling in the slick-hot slide of Cas's hands on his skin, the raw, broken half of a prayer it punches out of Cas when he becomes a more active participant. Then Dean stills, locking his thighs around Cas's and refusing to be moved, trying to collect his thoughts enough to object.
"I'm not … gonna be knotted for an hour with water hitting me from all sides and in my eyes, Cas."
Cas rests his forehead against Dean's back, fingers clutching his hips, each panting breath gusting across Dean's neck, lips trailing over the water streaming down his skin. Dean feels the sandpaper shift of stubble when Cas begins nuzzling his blunt chin into his shoulder like he's considering this thought.
"Get on the bed."
Dean's released so suddenly, Cas lifting then pushing him away to unseat him from his perch, that he almost stumbles, using the handrail to keep himself steady. He aches, wet, hard, empty, a jolt of arousal running through him at the bite of command in Cas's tone.
Cas ducks under the spray just long enough to get the soap and shampoo off of him and to recollect himself, but he doesn't give Dean time to position how he thinks Cas wants. He expects Cas to manhandle him onto his knees, press him face-first and hips high on the mattress, full presentation for the Omega now that they've decided to go through with this. Some damaged part of Dean expects just to be used and bred now that Cas has permission, and he can't deny he's gotten off hard in that position, too so he doesn't mind, not exactly. Instead before he can get his bearings he's tipped over onto his back, Cas dropping into the cradle of Dean's long legs and shoving up with his palms, folding Dean's knees effortlessly towards his chest as Cas shoulders in and captures his lips.
He should feel overexposed this way—Dean's practically got his legs wound around Cas's neck as gets his hands on Dean's waist and tugs him down on the bed, pressing in slowly to feel the wet clench of Dean opening around him again. Cas tugs the pillow out from underneath Dean's head, dropping it beside them. Taking Dean's wrists in one hand, he presses them to the bed above his head, the hand on Dean's hip bracing him as he slides out in increments, driving back in with a move that punches the breath out of both of them, breaking the kiss as Dean arcs beneath him.
Cas releases his hold on Dean's wrists almost immediately, leaving Dean restrained by nothing but his own stubbornness and Castiel's weight pinning him to the bed, not even a verbal command this time to blame for the decision not to flip them or move his hands away from where they grip together as if bound. Almost as soon as Dean surrenders into that willingly, Castiel's kiss softens, his movement slowing, assured of Dean's cooperation.
Dean's feeling too much to think about shame. Cas would probably say something insightful about how his brain's interpreting signals, or wax poetical about the soul and how Dean's a miracle, but he's a bit busy at the moment. Dean's legs and body fold beneath him until every move is a test of how limber Dean is, how long he can last this way as Cas uses the angle to drive deeper into him, until Dean's stretched and so full. "Fuck yeah, like that." Dean slurs before biting his own lip, heels catching Cas across the shoulders as he tightens his legs around his mate despite the twinge in his thighs, the bite of discomfort somehow heightening the rest of the pleasure, and Cas lets his hand sweep down farther, fingers plucking at a nipple, teasing it to a peak, the slow roll of his body teasing Dean's erection between them leaving a slicked trail along skin that was shower-fresh and clean before he dove back into bed with Dean: now he's marked with Omega slick and scent and precum and the wet flick of Dean's tongue across his lower lip as they kiss again. Sex is messy and urgent, and mated sex is a tangled up mess of pheromones and signals and pleasure on top of that.
"I want to hear you, Dean." Cas's voice sounds wrecked and hoarse, because he's trying desperately to restrain himself. Cas is the loud one of them, the one who could bring the roof down with how unabashedly vocal he is about sex, but he's tamping that down so he doesn't miss a gasp from Dean. This is more than just sex for Cas, who is unquestionably the romantic of the two of them. For him this is something remarkable, a miracle, and he presses opened mouth kisses to Dean's jaw and down the line of his neck. "And I want…"
Dean's hand clamps down harder on his opposite wrist to keep himself from reflexively grabbing for his mate as Cas pushes himself up on the bed, dropping Dean's legs down to hooked over his elbows instead, and it's easier on his knees but goddamnit Cas is too far now, and still too gentle. Dean loses the friction on his dick that he really, really was liking, but he also loses the lips grazing his skin and that's not going to cut it.
He's annoyed just because his Alpha stopped kissing him. Cas really has done a number on his likes in the bedroom. "You want to hear me? Fine. Hear me telling you to get your ass back down here, Castiel, you promised …"
"Look, Dean." Even midway through chewing him out, Dean is still pliant enough to let Cas take hold of his chin and turn his head towards the mirror, and this time it's Dean who trails off. Only Balthazar would choose a hotel with mirrors in every room, and as tacky as Dean thought it was when they walked in, he can't look away now. It's the first real look Dean's had of Castiel since he got out of the shower and pounced him. Hair tousled impossibly by a rough toweling, the wet sheen of his skin, lips pink and soft from kissing, the flush of heat and sex and the shower … Castiel is all hard lines and smooth planes, eyes dark and possessive as they in drink Dean in turn, watching the flex of muscles as Dean rides into a slow thrust, shoulders bracing against the bed, the way the movement seems to ripple through him.
It's when he meets his own eyes that Dean freezes.
Alastair once took a camera into the warehouse, made a huge show out of Dean's degradation, his drugged and heat-addled desperation. He got in close, grabbed Dean's chin, and forced him to look at the camera. Forced Dean to see himself as the animal that Alastair considered him to be. Even now that he knows Alastair is dead and that his father burned the place down, being forced to look at himself, to confront actually wanting something this badly, it's right on the edge of his comfort zone. A reminder of part of the endless source of nightmares Dean has about that place, his disgust at having to see what he became.
He doesn't want to see himself actually enjoy being used by some Alpha.
In reflection, Castiel shushes him quietly, laying himself back along Dean, picking up on some cue that Dean can't help, some momentary signal flare of distress, and he can see Cas's fingers skim back up his sides, soothing as his lips find Dean's ear, and he sees Cas in profile, forehead dropped against Dean's hair. "Stay with me, Dean. Please."
Perceptive bastard. Once Dean would have resented Cas for figuring him out so well, for instinctively getting him. Cas may not know all the nightmares in his head but he knows they exist, he's seen the panic attacks and insecurities, and now he knows to wait them out, not to patronize Dean or retreat as he used to. Dean takes a breath, and he watches in the mirror as his fingers flex against the sheets, watches himself draw in a breath that swells his chest with air and raises Castiel above him, and he watches himself nod as he lets it out slowly, forcing himself to stay in the present. "Yeah. I'm okay."
"No, you're amazing." Cas doesn't let him blow off the compliment, but he accepts the heel in his back as a spur to start moving again. Cas punctuates each rocking thrust with praise murmured into Dean's skin, hands and words worshipful, and he doesn't force Dean to watch or to hear, but as long as Cas doesn't look away Dean can't, any more than he can shake the absolute sincerity of Cas's adoration. An elbow braced into the bed, Cas drags a palm down the bend of Dean's arm, the touch just firm enough not to tickle the skin—solid, grounding, and Dean needs that lack of hesitation, that proof that while he may be screwed up he's not broken, and that Cas knows it. When that hand traverses the vulnerable column of his neck, he doesn't flinch back, still baring his neck to Castiel without hesitation or even conscious thought, when he used to be terrified of just being beneath him.
Cas isn't chasing his climax anymore, he's teasing Dean into his own with gentle touches and soft words, and by the time they're knotted Dean is already spent and blissed out, mind pleasantly fuzzy, his earlier anxiety a distant thing that has no place with them, Cas's knot milking all the pleasure out of him it can get.
It strikes Dean, finally, months later than it probably should have, that Castiel has never gotten off on power or control. He's never once taken control from Dean, not really, though Dean's convinced himself that he did before. It's about Dean choosing to give up his control, and that's… hell, that's a whole different world, one Dean has no experience with. Cas doesn't get off on power or on pain—it's faith he craves. In reflection Dean's barely recognizable, loose-limbed, lips parted in pleasure, brow unknitted—trusting.
This is the problem with not ever talking about anything: Dean only figures out what they've actually been saying later on. Realizations click, and dammit apparently the way to get Dean to do chick flick moments is to fuck his brains out, and he's no longer responsible for the crap that comes out of his mouth. He can't be called on the breathless note of wonder at something they both already knew as fact, something he admitted and embraced enough to stake his future on it and to marry Cas, but he's never had to see this way. "Shit. I'm in love with you."
Castiel smiles, eyes crinkling, and looks away from Dean's reflection to take in the man himself, pressing a kiss to his temple as he links his fingers through Dean's. It's permission to move, and Dean needs to—hands tangled with Cas's, he locks his knees around Cas and flips them on the mattress, pausing a moment to revel in the breathless groan the change in position wrings out of Cas, how Dean holds all the power now that they're knotted, and the heat and pressure and wet of Cas coming again.
Dean could be getting knocked up right this minute, and from the way Cas's hands come up to frame his waist, thumbs dragging over the soft skin of his stomach, Dean's not the only one thinking that. Maybe it'll happen right away. Maybe it'll take a little while. By his next heat, though, Dean's pretty sure the drugs will be out of his system and nature will take over.
"You're gonna be creepy about this, aren't you?" Dean leans back, reclining against Cas's bent knees, peering down at his husband as Cas tries for innocent. "Oh, don't give me that virtuous crap. You're bad enough with me around other Alphas now, and the second you know I'm knocked up I'm gonna need a crowbar to get you off of me to go to work."
Castiel pulls a face, melting back into the bed beneath Dean, eyes shuttering closed, content and happy with that edge of smugness he's picked up after good sex. "I'm not creepy. …Why are we talking?"
"Oh, you mean because of…" Dean rolls his hips, dragging a guttural moan out of Cas and driving his teeth into his lower lip to silence himself, picking back up again casually as he can afterwards, trying in vain to prove he's not as effected. "… Nah, I'm good. So let's talk."
Castiel opens his eyes just to roll them fondly, dragging Dean back down to kiss. So maybe that is another way to avoid talking about what they're doing, but it's good too. They'll have time later to figure out how many kids they want (ideally, three—Cas doesn't want anyone ignored or overlooked by too many and Dean doesn't want any of their kids left with the role of looking over the other—Dean knows where the compromise will lead them), names for them (Jimmy if they have a boy, Mary if they have a girl… not that Dean's apparently already got names picked out and knows Cas will let him win), career plans (getting Cas back into a hospital, and Dean working the desk at Bobby's until he can get back under a car again, because he's sure as hell not becoming some Omega housewife just because they're having kids), and everything else they'll have to muddle through.
Though maybe they've already got it a lot more figured out than they realize.