[FIC] And on the Seventh Day (R) for Bauble
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: And On The Seventh Day
Recipient: bauble
Author: sparseparsley
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluff, tiny bit of porn
Spoilers: None
Summary: The best thing about camping is that there's nothing to do.
Author notes: Thanks for requesting something happy, Bauble, this was fun! Oh, and yes, Cas' pants do exist and they are hideous. Thanks to zoemathemata for beta reading and ego boosting.
----
The bobber twitches in the water, pushing out little ripples that grow as they move away in slow waves.
“This is nice.”
That's one of bonuses of being alone in the middle of nowhere. No one's around to catch you talking to yourself. Well, Cas is around but he isn't up yet, the lazy bastard.
Dean is sitting in a lawn chair at the end of a wooden dock, coat snug around him and hands wrapped in fingerless gloves. The breeze coming off the lake is chilly this early in the morning but you gotta get up early if you want to impress the fish. He bounces the fishing rod, watching more ripples break the lines of dawn-orange clouds reflected in the water.
He leans over to grab a tall mug sitting by his heel, holding it in one hand for a minute to let the warmth of the coffee seep through to his fingers. It smells just like camp coffee should, cheap and powerful, and he has to strain it through his teeth to avoid swallowing the grounds that snuck in. It's perfect. The heat flows down slow when he swallows, thawing him from the inside out. Perfect.
He closes his eyes (just for a second, really) until the calm is suddenly broken by tiny, electronic trumpets.
“Son of a bitch!” The coffee would be all over him now if it wasn't stored sippy-cup style in a travel mug. He's been here too long if a phone can scare the shit out of him.
Everything sort of fumbles around while he tries to decide which two are most important between the three things he has to hold. The phone and the coffee win out, leaving the fishing rod to sit on the dock, held under a firm boot heel.
He flips the phone open. “Hey Sammy!”
“Hey, how'd you know it was me?”
“I gave you your own ringtone. What's up?”
“Breakfast. Waffle bar. Do I want to ask what ring I get?”
Oh God, Dean could really go for a waffle bar right now. Maybe he'll make pancakes later. “I tried 'Barbie Girl' but my ears exploded, so now you're the Imperial March. It speaks to both your dork and dark sides.”
“You should try not being a dick some time. It'd be hard, I know, but I believe in you.”
Dean laughs and slouches down into the lawn chair. It creaks ominously. “So how's your geek meet?” Or whatever it was. Something-Con. You'd think Sam would have had enough of those things after the convention dedicated to them, but apparently it's less creepy from the fan side.
This whole situation had been Sam's idea; save the world, take a vacation. That's his brother, always with the good plans. It was Sam's idea to split up, too. He said he just wasn't interested in camping, but Dean knows better. He thinks Dean needs this with Cas, time and space to learn each other outside of the threat of total destruction. And time to get over the 'loud, semi-public sex every God damn day' phase of their relationship, too, as he called it. Ha, 'phase'.
“It's... good. I mean, weird, and kinda smelly, but fun. You might even have enjoyed yourself. They have a bunch of movie trailer premieres and some Q and A things with TV show actors. I got a little Iron Man mask and a bottle opener shaped like a bat-a-rang.”
“Dibs on the bottle opener. Chuck drivin' you nuts yet?”
Now that part had been Dean's idea. Sam shouldn't do his geek Mecca thing alone and Chuck is the nerdiest guy they know, so it totally made sense that they should go together. Sam's endless dirty looks had just been a bonus.
“Actually, no. He's pretty funny when he's sober and not panicking, and he knows about all the stuff I've missed in the past five years. Plus he can get us into places with his official writer credentials.”
Huh, Sam doesn't even sound like he's exaggerating for the sake of his dignity. He's actually having fun. Cool.
“What, you get to skip ahead in the bathroom lines? Fancy. You wonder twins better not have fucked up my car yet.” Talk about a painful compromise. Dean understands that the Impala isn't ideal for a camping trip, but that doesn't mean he enjoyed leaving her behind. The clunky old truck and camper combo he had borrowed from Bobby just doesn't have the same style. Or any style.
“Not yet, but we still have time. I'm thinking a mustard stain on the passenger seat.”
“I'm thinking broken fingers.” Dean takes a sip of his coffee, sighing a steamy breath into the air. It's nice to talk to Sam like this, without using words like 'end' and 'blame' and 'bloody'.
Sam laughs. “Uh huh. How's Cas doing?”
“Good.” He twists back to glance at the camper. It's dark and motionless. “Sleeping.”
“What a surprise. How's he doing, though?”
Sam's been keeping a close eye on Cas ever since the day the world didn't end. Not that Dean hasn't, but Sam's really started to hover over the guy. Dean's assuming that it's some sort of guilt thing that they're going to have to talk about eventually. Woo-hoo.
Nothing to be guilty over though, not really. Cas made his own choice. Dean is still a little amazed when he thinks back on it.
It couldn't have been more than a few hours after that last, bloody battle when the angels came for Cas. They were all bruised and dirty, huddled up in the ruins of a school (a fucking school, Lucifer was such a bastard). Hunters, allies, prophets, friends, even a helpful demon or two, though they cleared out before the wing-ruffle warning of angel teleportation had even registered in the humans' ears.
Then the angels were there, bright and clean and proud. And Dean had barely been able to swallow through the sudden fear in his throat. This was it; either Cas goes home and Dean lives with some kind of Cas shaped hole inside him for the rest of his life, or he stays and Dean lives with the knowledge that Cas gave up paradise for him. Dean had squared his shoulders and turned toward his angel, knowing what he had to do no matter how hard Cas fought it.
But Cas didn't fight. Hell, Cas didn't even stand up. He just looked up from the wounded man cradled in his lap, a teacher, and smiled at his brothers. Smiled and said “I'm staying,” like it wasn't even a decision, like it was just a fact, a thing that was. The sky is blue, the rain is wet.
The angels left between one heart beat and the next and Cas... stayed. Dean was right there beside him when Cas took that first true breath, choppy and shuddering and human. He'll carry the memory of that sound to the day he dies.
Oh, right, Sam asked him something.
“He's alright. It's... I mean, I think the shock's worn off and he's having a few weird moments with the whole 'human' thing, but... it's good. He likes roasting marshmallows.”
Sam huffs another quiet laugh on the other end of the phone. “Oh yeah? That's... you know, Dean. I never said it but... I'm happy for you. You and Cas, I mean. It's-”
“Good.” Dean cuts him off, shifting the mug around uncomfortably. “Yeah. Uh, thanks. Hey, I should go. Gotta wake his ass up.”
He can almost hear Sam rolling his eyes. “Uh huh. I'll talk to you later. Probably tonight some time.”
“Sounds good.” Dean stuffs the phone back in his pocket after Sam hangs up and picks up his fishing rod, reeling in the empty line. He leaves everything on the dock, it's not like anyone's around to steal it, and heads back to the camper.
It's fairly dark inside. The windows are covered with heavy curtains and the trees help to filter the light as well. He can still see the blanket covered lump on the bed, though, rising and falling with deep, even breaths. The sink tap is loud when he turns it on, splashes echoing against cheap metal as he washes his hands. The lump shifts and mutters unhappily.
It was a surprise, Dean will admit, to learn that Cas was in no way a morning person. Dean had been sure he was going to be one of those people who get up with the sun just to listen to the birds sing. But no, Cas usually sleeps as late as he can and had actually growled at Sam when he tried to make them get up for a sunrise two weeks ago. The vacation plan had come together not long after that.
When his hands are mostly dry, Dean peels everything off except for his shorts and socks. Not exactly sexy, but then neither is frostbite of the toes. The Cas-lump has gone back to sleep, light snoring barely audible under the covers, so Dean slips in behind him slowly. He keeps the thick quilts as tight as he can while he moves, so no drafts can sneak in and ruin the glorious warmth inside. It's hot and dark and it smells like Cas under here, better than coffee in every way.
It's cruel, but he can't stifle the urge to wrap his arms around the man curled away from him, laying both palms wide against the slight curve of Cas' belly.
Cas lurches awake with a less than manly squeak. “Nng! Wha- Dean! You're hands are freezing!” He wriggles away from the offending body parts but only succeeds in pressing himself fully against Dean's chest. He squeaks again, and Dean chuckles into the heated flesh between his shoulder blades. “All of you is freezing, let go!”
“Take it like a man, you wuss. We'll both be warm again in a few minutes.” He hauls Cas closer, fitting their bodies together like... oh fine, like spoons.
“I was warm, thank you.” Cas cups Dean's hand between his and, pulling it up, blows a puff of hot air over it.
Dean stifles a groan. God that feels nice. “You're just lucky I kept my socks on. You should be up, anyway. Daylight's wastin'.”
Cas twists in his arms, turning to face him, and their legs tangle together as they press close. Cas sleeps naked (another surprise) and Dean can feel the press of his cock, half-hard between them. Dean's getting there himself.
With his arms wrapped around Dean's waist, Cas lays a light, suckling kiss on his chin. “It seems like a senseless waste to leave just as you're warming up.”
Dean tilts his head down, frowning in disapproval. “Cas! Are you trying to seduce me so you can stay in bed?”
Sleepy eyed innocence looks back at him. “Yes?”
Dean breaks into a sharp grin and flips them around so Cas is flat against the thin mattress. “I can respect that.” He presses his mouth to Cas' with an exploring kiss, pulling back quickly in puzzlement. “You taste minty.”
“I brushed my teeth after you got up earlier. You're quite predictable.” Cas smiles up at him, smug as he runs his hands down Dean's sides to slip his fingers under the band of Dean's shorts.
Yeah, alright. So he's been coming back to bed most mornings. It's Cas' fault, turtling up all warm and inviting in here. “Gotta say it tastes better than morning breath.” He sets his elbows on the mattress by Cas' head, lifting some of his weight off. The angle presses their hips together nicely. “So what do you predict next?”
Cas' legs shift wider as his hands dip low inside Dean's underwear, firmly palming his ass. “Next, you'll take the rest of your clothing off and we'll have sex. Hopefully by stroking against each other until we come.”
“You like that, huh?” Dean's way ahead of him, flexing his hips down against Cas', pushing them both into the bed.
“I do. It's a position that doesn't need much preparation. And I get to watch you.” His nails dig into the curve of Dean's ass, the blunt sting making him hiss in pleasure.
Dean leans to the side, needing one hand free to push away his shorts and kick them off towards the end of the bed. His socks go the same way, probably never to be seen again.
Cas, quick learner that he is, already has the little bottle of lube they use. That had been an early lesson, and then another early lesson when Dean had to explain that while 'lube makes everything better' is correct, it's not really a phrase Cas should be using outside of the bedroom or possibly the garage. Talk about one awkward family breakfast.
Cas' hand slides between them, spreading slickness before he presses the hard lines of their cocks together. Dean groans at the touch, already moving with a slow rhythm. It gets better as Cas lifts one knee up and hooks a leg over Dean's thigh, using the leverage to grind up against him.
There is no sudden, desperate lust here; just a slow and steady climb to the end. It's all movement and heat, heavy breathing mixing with the rustle of the quilt around them. Dean is the first to come, panting with his forehead pressed against Cas' temple, repeating his name in nearly soundless gasps. It's never 'Castiel' now, always 'Cas'. Castiel was an angel of the Lord. Cas is a man. Cas is Dean's. When Cas' hips start arching against him, hard and urgent, Dean kisses him through his orgasm and swallows each whining moan.
After, they lie together under the quilts, sticky but satisfied. The light seeping in around the curtain is morning-bright. The sun must be at the right angle the penetrate the trees now, and Dean shifts closer to Cas to escape one particularly intense ray. It follows him, though, cutting through his squinted eyes. “Ahg, alright, time to actually get up now.” He slaps Cas lightly on the hip and crawls out of bed.
Cas hangs an arm over his eyes, blocking out the light.
“C'mon, Sunshine.” He leans over and plucks Cas' arm away before pressing a firm, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. “You know I'm not above throwing a bag of ice in here with you. We gotta change the sheets now any way.”
Cas opens one eye, licking away the taste of the kiss. “Coffee?”
“I'll make some more.” He lays Cas' arm down across his face again before tossing his clothes on and heading outside.
The sun doesn't seem as bright out here as it did inside, maybe because of all the space it has to fill. Dean stretches, arms over his head, and sets a fresh pot of coffee to percolate on the stove. It's a shiny new propane deal, dual burners, bought specifically for this trip. Sam and him really should have bought one years ago. They could've made room in the Impala's trunk... somehow.
A loose board tries to trip him as he makes his way back down to the dock. He thinks about fixing it, just like he's thought about fixing it every morning since they got here, and settles back into his lawn chair. Eventually, and with much muttering and clanking, Cas joins him. Dean catches flashes of tan and green beside him and sighs.
“We could buy you a robe, y'know. You don't have to wear that everywhere. And we could buy you some new pajama pants while we're at it.”
“I like this coat.” Cas regards himself with some confusion, holding a steaming cup of coffee away from his body as he opens the familiar trench coat and eyes the less familiar pants. The long, fuzzy, green pants. With white polka-dots. Big ones. “And you like these pants.”
Dean snorts. “I like taking them off you, sure. Setting them on fire them would be almost as much fun, though. And salting them.”
Cas takes a drink of his coffee and winces at the burn. “My pants are not possessed, Dean”
“No, they're just hideous.” With a careful swing, Dean casts his fishing line over the water. The distant plunk of the lure echoes back to them. Dean looks up to find Cas' eyes on him, warm and inscrutable. “What?”
Cas shakes his head and looks out over the lake with a quiet smile. “You look happy.”
It's a simple sentiment, but you learn to value that kind of thing after an Apocalypse or two.
“Yeah, well.” Dean shifts a foot, lining the edge of his boot up to one of Cas' weird old-man slippers. “This is nice”
“It is” Cas slurps at his coffee, stopping to pick the grounds from his lips and flick them away with a grumble.
Dean smiles as the ripples from his cast finally reach the dock. The water is smooth and calm in their wake.
Title: And On The Seventh Day
Recipient: bauble
Author: sparseparsley
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluff, tiny bit of porn
Spoilers: None
Summary: The best thing about camping is that there's nothing to do.
Author notes: Thanks for requesting something happy, Bauble, this was fun! Oh, and yes, Cas' pants do exist and they are hideous. Thanks to zoemathemata for beta reading and ego boosting.
----
The bobber twitches in the water, pushing out little ripples that grow as they move away in slow waves.
“This is nice.”
That's one of bonuses of being alone in the middle of nowhere. No one's around to catch you talking to yourself. Well, Cas is around but he isn't up yet, the lazy bastard.
Dean is sitting in a lawn chair at the end of a wooden dock, coat snug around him and hands wrapped in fingerless gloves. The breeze coming off the lake is chilly this early in the morning but you gotta get up early if you want to impress the fish. He bounces the fishing rod, watching more ripples break the lines of dawn-orange clouds reflected in the water.
He leans over to grab a tall mug sitting by his heel, holding it in one hand for a minute to let the warmth of the coffee seep through to his fingers. It smells just like camp coffee should, cheap and powerful, and he has to strain it through his teeth to avoid swallowing the grounds that snuck in. It's perfect. The heat flows down slow when he swallows, thawing him from the inside out. Perfect.
He closes his eyes (just for a second, really) until the calm is suddenly broken by tiny, electronic trumpets.
“Son of a bitch!” The coffee would be all over him now if it wasn't stored sippy-cup style in a travel mug. He's been here too long if a phone can scare the shit out of him.
Everything sort of fumbles around while he tries to decide which two are most important between the three things he has to hold. The phone and the coffee win out, leaving the fishing rod to sit on the dock, held under a firm boot heel.
He flips the phone open. “Hey Sammy!”
“Hey, how'd you know it was me?”
“I gave you your own ringtone. What's up?”
“Breakfast. Waffle bar. Do I want to ask what ring I get?”
Oh God, Dean could really go for a waffle bar right now. Maybe he'll make pancakes later. “I tried 'Barbie Girl' but my ears exploded, so now you're the Imperial March. It speaks to both your dork and dark sides.”
“You should try not being a dick some time. It'd be hard, I know, but I believe in you.”
Dean laughs and slouches down into the lawn chair. It creaks ominously. “So how's your geek meet?” Or whatever it was. Something-Con. You'd think Sam would have had enough of those things after the convention dedicated to them, but apparently it's less creepy from the fan side.
This whole situation had been Sam's idea; save the world, take a vacation. That's his brother, always with the good plans. It was Sam's idea to split up, too. He said he just wasn't interested in camping, but Dean knows better. He thinks Dean needs this with Cas, time and space to learn each other outside of the threat of total destruction. And time to get over the 'loud, semi-public sex every God damn day' phase of their relationship, too, as he called it. Ha, 'phase'.
“It's... good. I mean, weird, and kinda smelly, but fun. You might even have enjoyed yourself. They have a bunch of movie trailer premieres and some Q and A things with TV show actors. I got a little Iron Man mask and a bottle opener shaped like a bat-a-rang.”
“Dibs on the bottle opener. Chuck drivin' you nuts yet?”
Now that part had been Dean's idea. Sam shouldn't do his geek Mecca thing alone and Chuck is the nerdiest guy they know, so it totally made sense that they should go together. Sam's endless dirty looks had just been a bonus.
“Actually, no. He's pretty funny when he's sober and not panicking, and he knows about all the stuff I've missed in the past five years. Plus he can get us into places with his official writer credentials.”
Huh, Sam doesn't even sound like he's exaggerating for the sake of his dignity. He's actually having fun. Cool.
“What, you get to skip ahead in the bathroom lines? Fancy. You wonder twins better not have fucked up my car yet.” Talk about a painful compromise. Dean understands that the Impala isn't ideal for a camping trip, but that doesn't mean he enjoyed leaving her behind. The clunky old truck and camper combo he had borrowed from Bobby just doesn't have the same style. Or any style.
“Not yet, but we still have time. I'm thinking a mustard stain on the passenger seat.”
“I'm thinking broken fingers.” Dean takes a sip of his coffee, sighing a steamy breath into the air. It's nice to talk to Sam like this, without using words like 'end' and 'blame' and 'bloody'.
Sam laughs. “Uh huh. How's Cas doing?”
“Good.” He twists back to glance at the camper. It's dark and motionless. “Sleeping.”
“What a surprise. How's he doing, though?”
Sam's been keeping a close eye on Cas ever since the day the world didn't end. Not that Dean hasn't, but Sam's really started to hover over the guy. Dean's assuming that it's some sort of guilt thing that they're going to have to talk about eventually. Woo-hoo.
Nothing to be guilty over though, not really. Cas made his own choice. Dean is still a little amazed when he thinks back on it.
It couldn't have been more than a few hours after that last, bloody battle when the angels came for Cas. They were all bruised and dirty, huddled up in the ruins of a school (a fucking school, Lucifer was such a bastard). Hunters, allies, prophets, friends, even a helpful demon or two, though they cleared out before the wing-ruffle warning of angel teleportation had even registered in the humans' ears.
Then the angels were there, bright and clean and proud. And Dean had barely been able to swallow through the sudden fear in his throat. This was it; either Cas goes home and Dean lives with some kind of Cas shaped hole inside him for the rest of his life, or he stays and Dean lives with the knowledge that Cas gave up paradise for him. Dean had squared his shoulders and turned toward his angel, knowing what he had to do no matter how hard Cas fought it.
But Cas didn't fight. Hell, Cas didn't even stand up. He just looked up from the wounded man cradled in his lap, a teacher, and smiled at his brothers. Smiled and said “I'm staying,” like it wasn't even a decision, like it was just a fact, a thing that was. The sky is blue, the rain is wet.
The angels left between one heart beat and the next and Cas... stayed. Dean was right there beside him when Cas took that first true breath, choppy and shuddering and human. He'll carry the memory of that sound to the day he dies.
Oh, right, Sam asked him something.
“He's alright. It's... I mean, I think the shock's worn off and he's having a few weird moments with the whole 'human' thing, but... it's good. He likes roasting marshmallows.”
Sam huffs another quiet laugh on the other end of the phone. “Oh yeah? That's... you know, Dean. I never said it but... I'm happy for you. You and Cas, I mean. It's-”
“Good.” Dean cuts him off, shifting the mug around uncomfortably. “Yeah. Uh, thanks. Hey, I should go. Gotta wake his ass up.”
He can almost hear Sam rolling his eyes. “Uh huh. I'll talk to you later. Probably tonight some time.”
“Sounds good.” Dean stuffs the phone back in his pocket after Sam hangs up and picks up his fishing rod, reeling in the empty line. He leaves everything on the dock, it's not like anyone's around to steal it, and heads back to the camper.
It's fairly dark inside. The windows are covered with heavy curtains and the trees help to filter the light as well. He can still see the blanket covered lump on the bed, though, rising and falling with deep, even breaths. The sink tap is loud when he turns it on, splashes echoing against cheap metal as he washes his hands. The lump shifts and mutters unhappily.
It was a surprise, Dean will admit, to learn that Cas was in no way a morning person. Dean had been sure he was going to be one of those people who get up with the sun just to listen to the birds sing. But no, Cas usually sleeps as late as he can and had actually growled at Sam when he tried to make them get up for a sunrise two weeks ago. The vacation plan had come together not long after that.
When his hands are mostly dry, Dean peels everything off except for his shorts and socks. Not exactly sexy, but then neither is frostbite of the toes. The Cas-lump has gone back to sleep, light snoring barely audible under the covers, so Dean slips in behind him slowly. He keeps the thick quilts as tight as he can while he moves, so no drafts can sneak in and ruin the glorious warmth inside. It's hot and dark and it smells like Cas under here, better than coffee in every way.
It's cruel, but he can't stifle the urge to wrap his arms around the man curled away from him, laying both palms wide against the slight curve of Cas' belly.
Cas lurches awake with a less than manly squeak. “Nng! Wha- Dean! You're hands are freezing!” He wriggles away from the offending body parts but only succeeds in pressing himself fully against Dean's chest. He squeaks again, and Dean chuckles into the heated flesh between his shoulder blades. “All of you is freezing, let go!”
“Take it like a man, you wuss. We'll both be warm again in a few minutes.” He hauls Cas closer, fitting their bodies together like... oh fine, like spoons.
“I was warm, thank you.” Cas cups Dean's hand between his and, pulling it up, blows a puff of hot air over it.
Dean stifles a groan. God that feels nice. “You're just lucky I kept my socks on. You should be up, anyway. Daylight's wastin'.”
Cas twists in his arms, turning to face him, and their legs tangle together as they press close. Cas sleeps naked (another surprise) and Dean can feel the press of his cock, half-hard between them. Dean's getting there himself.
With his arms wrapped around Dean's waist, Cas lays a light, suckling kiss on his chin. “It seems like a senseless waste to leave just as you're warming up.”
Dean tilts his head down, frowning in disapproval. “Cas! Are you trying to seduce me so you can stay in bed?”
Sleepy eyed innocence looks back at him. “Yes?”
Dean breaks into a sharp grin and flips them around so Cas is flat against the thin mattress. “I can respect that.” He presses his mouth to Cas' with an exploring kiss, pulling back quickly in puzzlement. “You taste minty.”
“I brushed my teeth after you got up earlier. You're quite predictable.” Cas smiles up at him, smug as he runs his hands down Dean's sides to slip his fingers under the band of Dean's shorts.
Yeah, alright. So he's been coming back to bed most mornings. It's Cas' fault, turtling up all warm and inviting in here. “Gotta say it tastes better than morning breath.” He sets his elbows on the mattress by Cas' head, lifting some of his weight off. The angle presses their hips together nicely. “So what do you predict next?”
Cas' legs shift wider as his hands dip low inside Dean's underwear, firmly palming his ass. “Next, you'll take the rest of your clothing off and we'll have sex. Hopefully by stroking against each other until we come.”
“You like that, huh?” Dean's way ahead of him, flexing his hips down against Cas', pushing them both into the bed.
“I do. It's a position that doesn't need much preparation. And I get to watch you.” His nails dig into the curve of Dean's ass, the blunt sting making him hiss in pleasure.
Dean leans to the side, needing one hand free to push away his shorts and kick them off towards the end of the bed. His socks go the same way, probably never to be seen again.
Cas, quick learner that he is, already has the little bottle of lube they use. That had been an early lesson, and then another early lesson when Dean had to explain that while 'lube makes everything better' is correct, it's not really a phrase Cas should be using outside of the bedroom or possibly the garage. Talk about one awkward family breakfast.
Cas' hand slides between them, spreading slickness before he presses the hard lines of their cocks together. Dean groans at the touch, already moving with a slow rhythm. It gets better as Cas lifts one knee up and hooks a leg over Dean's thigh, using the leverage to grind up against him.
There is no sudden, desperate lust here; just a slow and steady climb to the end. It's all movement and heat, heavy breathing mixing with the rustle of the quilt around them. Dean is the first to come, panting with his forehead pressed against Cas' temple, repeating his name in nearly soundless gasps. It's never 'Castiel' now, always 'Cas'. Castiel was an angel of the Lord. Cas is a man. Cas is Dean's. When Cas' hips start arching against him, hard and urgent, Dean kisses him through his orgasm and swallows each whining moan.
After, they lie together under the quilts, sticky but satisfied. The light seeping in around the curtain is morning-bright. The sun must be at the right angle the penetrate the trees now, and Dean shifts closer to Cas to escape one particularly intense ray. It follows him, though, cutting through his squinted eyes. “Ahg, alright, time to actually get up now.” He slaps Cas lightly on the hip and crawls out of bed.
Cas hangs an arm over his eyes, blocking out the light.
“C'mon, Sunshine.” He leans over and plucks Cas' arm away before pressing a firm, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. “You know I'm not above throwing a bag of ice in here with you. We gotta change the sheets now any way.”
Cas opens one eye, licking away the taste of the kiss. “Coffee?”
“I'll make some more.” He lays Cas' arm down across his face again before tossing his clothes on and heading outside.
The sun doesn't seem as bright out here as it did inside, maybe because of all the space it has to fill. Dean stretches, arms over his head, and sets a fresh pot of coffee to percolate on the stove. It's a shiny new propane deal, dual burners, bought specifically for this trip. Sam and him really should have bought one years ago. They could've made room in the Impala's trunk... somehow.
A loose board tries to trip him as he makes his way back down to the dock. He thinks about fixing it, just like he's thought about fixing it every morning since they got here, and settles back into his lawn chair. Eventually, and with much muttering and clanking, Cas joins him. Dean catches flashes of tan and green beside him and sighs.
“We could buy you a robe, y'know. You don't have to wear that everywhere. And we could buy you some new pajama pants while we're at it.”
“I like this coat.” Cas regards himself with some confusion, holding a steaming cup of coffee away from his body as he opens the familiar trench coat and eyes the less familiar pants. The long, fuzzy, green pants. With white polka-dots. Big ones. “And you like these pants.”
Dean snorts. “I like taking them off you, sure. Setting them on fire them would be almost as much fun, though. And salting them.”
Cas takes a drink of his coffee and winces at the burn. “My pants are not possessed, Dean”
“No, they're just hideous.” With a careful swing, Dean casts his fishing line over the water. The distant plunk of the lure echoes back to them. Dean looks up to find Cas' eyes on him, warm and inscrutable. “What?”
Cas shakes his head and looks out over the lake with a quiet smile. “You look happy.”
It's a simple sentiment, but you learn to value that kind of thing after an Apocalypse or two.
“Yeah, well.” Dean shifts a foot, lining the edge of his boot up to one of Cas' weird old-man slippers. “This is nice”
“It is” Cas slurps at his coffee, stopping to pick the grounds from his lips and flick them away with a grumble.
Dean smiles as the ripples from his cast finally reach the dock. The water is smooth and calm in their wake.