fic, SPN: to be with you (Dean/Castiel, Sam), PG
Title: to be with you
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Word count: ∼ 3800
Rating: PG
Spoilers: uuhm. Future!fic. Sorta takes S6 into account.
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: nothing changed since last time - they're still not mine.
Summary: wherein Dean and Castiel spend a day not moving from their couch.
A/N: written for dotfic 's prompt at spn_rambleon : future!fic. For whatever reason, they spend a day lazing around on the couch, watching TV, and eating pizza, and wind up falling asleep curled up together. (Bonus if Sam catches them spooning and teases them mercilessly). From the description, you should already guess that this is unrepentant schmoop. Let's just all pretend that they can all still be happy, shall we. Title stolen from the cheesiest song in Paul Gilbert's discography.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Cas moves a bit, not exactly struggling against Dean’s hold on his arm.
“I was going to clean the storage room, it’s -”
“Cas. You aren’t going to clean any room. Today you’re staying right here,” Dean declares, bringing Cas down on the couch again. There’s some crappy mid-morning show on the television, and to be honest Dean doesn’t care for that much (there had been a Columbo re-run before - figures that Cas would go and watch that every single damned time he can. Then again, Dean doesn’t look at gift horses in the mouth, not now). He just decided that since it’s Saturday, there’s nowhere they need to be and nowhere they need to go because they both work jobs that go from Monday to Friday, he intends on spending it on the couch. And he intends on having Cas spending it there with him, too.
“You do realize that spending an entire day here is insane,” Cas answers, but he doesn’t stand up. Rather, he moves into Dean’s side, slow, nice, until their shoulders are pressed against each other.
“I can give you bathroom breaks. And choose-the-movie breaks. Or choose-the-book breaks. Anything else is out of question,” Dean says, his lips near Cas’s earlobe, and feels him shivering a bit as he leans back into Dean some more.
“No one would call it productive,” Cas answers, his voice barely audible.
“Who ever said that this was supposed to be productive?”
“Well then, I guess this is an offer I can’t refuse.” Cas’s lips curl slightly upward and Dean is tempted to kiss the smug look out of his face.
“I see that you are learning something. By the way, we’ve never seen part two.”
--
Two hours later Michael Corleone is about to kill Fredo and it’s already midday. They ended up in what would be a pretty compromising position in different circumstances - Dean is still sitting more or less upright, Cas has his head on Dean’s shoulder, his arm around his waist and he’s lying on his side on the couch. Dean wonders why the hell Sam hasn’t shown up teasing them both yet, but he isn’t going to complain about that just now. It’s nice, so very nice, with Cas’s soft hair against his cheek, Cas’s body leaning completely against his - this until he hears a deep rumble coming from someone who isn’t him.
Cas looks sort of embarrassed at that.
It’s kind of really endearing.
“Did you even have breakfast?” Dean asks, and Cas actually thinks about it, which usually means another answer.
“… I forgot,” Cas answers, his voice blank - he’s been human almost a year and he still forgets to eat regularly if he isn’t the one fixing lunch or dinner in the first place.
Dean doesn’t push it - heck, it’s nothing in the great scheme of things.
“That’s okay - I’m getting you something. Go ahead, I saw this ten times anyway.” He moves away from the sofa, suddenly missing Cas’s weight against his side, and then runs to the kitchen. There’s a note on the fridge - it wasn’t there this morning. He takes it off and reads it.
I was feeling the vibes from upstairs and my teeth were starting to rot - I’ll just have a very long walk. Possibly until this evening. Don’t say I never did anything for you.
Dean smirks, figuring that he does owe Sam one - then he throws the note in the trash and starts finding food. He needs something quick - it’s ridiculous, but he needs to keep his eyes (and possibly hands) on Cas; he has never managed to shake away the feeling that the second Dean turns his back, Cas is going to disappear.
He decides that he’s not even pretending to eat anything with a nutritional value. He opens the freezer, takes out the ice cream he bought when he went to get groceries yesterday and looks at the choices. There’s a ridiculous blend of lemon and strawberry which Cas likes best, and his favorite blend - coffee and dark chocolate. The boxes are still sealed - why not? Dean opens them, grabs two spoons, sticks them into the ice cream and hurries back to the living room. Where Cas is still on the couch, still watching Michael angsting over killing Fredo, and it occurs to Dean that maybe movies where people kill their brothers aren’t that great of an idea. But then Cas just smiles at him and moves to make space for Dean to sit; Dean does and hands him the box.
“That’s lunch?” Cas asks, staring at the spoon sticking out from the ice cream box.
“Lunch, breakfast and afternoon snack. So? Eat it,” Dean comments, taking his own spoon and starting to dig into his own box. “Also we should probably put on something funnier when this is over. You can’t eat strawberry ice cream while watching this kind of movie.”
“Why not?” Cas replies as he takes a spoonful of mixed lemon and strawberry. He looks sincerely baffled. Dean lets it go.
“Whatever,” he mutters as he swallows his own spoonful, and when Cas’s head meets his shoulder again he doesn’t do anything to change the situation.
--
He has to blame himself for not wanting to stand up and pick a dvd - he ends up stuck with the afternoon re-run of Columbo on another channel. This while his box is half gone and Cas’s is three quarters gone.
“I don’t get how you can actually like that,” he says, eyeing the rest of the lemon-strawberry mix.
“What’s wrong with it?” Castiel asks, obviously more interested in whatever Peter Falk is doing.
“It’s strawberry and lemon. It’s lame.”
“No, it’s good,” Cas replies, his tone one hundred percent serious, before turning a bit on himself and sticking his spoon inside Dean’s mouth without giving him the chance to back off.
Dean at that point has to eat it, his tongue swirling under the spoon, which isn’t cold anymore by now, and - damn. He hasn’t had fruit-flavored ice cream in ages, and he never had strawberry because it just is the girlish flavor Sam wouldn’t hesitate to order, but now that he has to… well.
It isn’t exactly that bad, and he can see that Cas guessed exactly what Dean’s thinking, considering how smug he’s looking right now.
“So?” he asks, faking innocence, as he puts the spoon against his lips again, licking it.
“Acceptable,” Dean admits between his teeth, trying not to just jump on Cas and ravage him here and now. Though if he keeps on licking on that spoon like that, Dean will be justified.
“But we’re not even,” Dean adds, and before Cas can reply he feeds him a spoonful of coffee and dark chocolate, and Dean likes that it’s not melted yet. Cas deliberately makes a show of eating the damned thing, but he does eat it. And then he licks his lips. Twice.
“It’s good,” Cas says, “but then again I never said it wasn’t. I’m just saying that this other one is my favorite. There’s a difference.”
“Your funeral,” Dean replies before setting back against the couch.
Then again, the girly thing actually tasted nice, he thinks as he tries to understand what’s going on with Columbo right now.
And Dean the day they managed to bring Cas back the way he was supposed to be, Dean had swore to himself that he was done with a lot of things.
One of which is thinking that his stupid remarks can’t hurt anyone because Cas knows him better.
He eyes the now almost empty box and when Cas is distracted, he reaches out and steals an extra spoonful. It’s almost all strawberry.
He’s trying to make a statement here, okay?
Cas slowly turns his head towards him and Dean eats the damn ice cream, slow as well, making sure that it shows that he’s enjoying it.
“I might have lied,” he says then. “It’s good. Not my favorite, but still good.”
Cas’s eyes widen, just slightly but enough for Dean to understand that he didn’t botch this one.
“Then you wouldn’t mind if we switched. I suddenly feel like chocolate,” Cas says, and Dean is almost tempted to ask him if he’s bluffing, but if he isn’t -
Well, the girly thing doesn’t taste bad, as stated.
“Hand it over,” he says putting his own box on Cas’s legs.
Cas does, slow, like he actually doesn’t believe that Dean has really said yes. But then Dean digs into the pink and white soft cream and figures there are worse things he could endure.
Cas’s smile as he eats Dean’s ice cream with Dean’s spoon (because they didn’t switch) is totally worth it.
--
True to his word, Dean lets Cas get off the couch for bathroom related needs, but as soon as Cas is out of the door he’s quick to move to the dvd shelf and picks one at random from the western section (well, Cas is a neat freak and organizes them alphabetically and by genre - Dean won’t be the one to complain since it does work). Then he decides that they’ll need to eat something for dinner, so while Cas is still not in the room he picks up the phone and orders pizza to be delivered a couple hours from now.
When Cas flops gracefully next to him on the couch, Dean starts the movie.
“For a Few Dollars More? Again?” Cas asks when he realizes what is it.
“You made me watch four Columbo episodes just this afternoon,” Dean replies. “Also, you can never see this too many times.”
Cas has to concede that Dean is right on that point, but he doesn’t make any effort to pay attention. Fifteen minutes after it starts, his eyes are closed and his head is pillowed on Dean’s thigh. Dean should feel hurt on behalf of Clint Eastwood, but then again he’s half-sure that he might have put it on at least six times since they moved in here. And well, he thinks he gets why Cas used to creep on him while he slept; the way Cas is lying boneless against him, breathing evenly, is threatening to make Dean’s stomach fill with fluttering butterflies. He runs a hand through Cas’s hair, feeling Cas hum in satisfaction as he presses closer, and Dean figures it’s not too bad if they stay like this for a bit.
A bit becomes the entire movie, and Cas wakes up just when someone rings at the door.
“What -”
“Dinner,” Dean answers as the ending titles roll on the tv. “I’m going to get it.”
Cas mutters something that might be assent as Dean stands up. He pays for the pizza, goes to the kitchen to grab a couple forks and knives, and then comes back into the living room. Cas isn’t even trying to sit upright, but he’s leaving Dean enough space to sit comfortably.
“You can’t eat while horizontal.”
“I like being horizontal.”
“Hey, I even got your favorite, I don’t want you to choke on it.”
Cas suddenly straightens up - it’s no mystery that Dean considers his favorite the most disgusting kind of pizza that can ever be conceived, but he had relented when realizing that there was no way Cas would get that you just don’t put pineapples and bananas over pizza. Dean figures Cas would fit like a glove in Hawaii - it still doesn’t change that pizza and any kind of fruit is a heresy. Then again it’s not like he has to eat it.
“The power of pineapples,” Dean mutters as he hands Cas his box. He opens his own - it’s blissfully fruit-less, with just cheese and sausages. Then again, he justifies spending eight bucks on the stupid pineapple-and-bananas pizza just to see Cas’s face when he’s eating it, since he always looks like he’s this close to dying and going to Heaven (an ideal Heaven, not the real one which isn’t home for him anymore). Actually he has to limit himself to glances or he’d just forget about eating and slam Cas into the couch, and then Sam would bitch at them for all the dry cleaning it needs. So he takes care of eating his own while looking at his left once in a while, at the way Cas’s eyes close whenever he eats a new slice, at the way his lips slightly curl up as he chews. Dean is also envious of Cas managing not to get pineapple juice everywhere - how can you not get yourself a bit dirty while eating that kind of pizza is a mystery, as far as Dean is concerned. But then Cas turns his back at him and sits down with his legs slightly bent and his back against Dean’s arm, pressing back against him, and Dean figures that he can forget about using his left hand.
“You really can’t stay vertical while sitting here?” Dean asks, not hiding his amusement.
“No,” Cas replies straight, not adding anything else.
“Fine. Be as horizontal as you want,” Dean mutters as he brings another slice of pizza to his mouth and turning the tv off. It’s all reality crap anyway and they’ve watched more than enough for the time being. When he’s done he puts the box at the bottom of the couch - he’ll clean up later. Cas does the same maybe a minute after and then his head falls back against Dean’s shoulder.
“Got it, I’ll be horizontal with you,” Dean says as he moves so that his back is against the side of the sofa. Cas moves so that Dean can lie down properly and stretch his legs along the couch, and then he sits in between them, his back against Dean’s frame and his head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder.
“This is much more preferable,” Cas whispers against Dean’s neck, sounding half smug and half perfectly content, and that’s good. Dean can’t have enough of hearing that tone.
“Good to know that I make a good cushion,” Dean jokes, his fingers tangling through Cas’s hair again before starting to stroke it slowly, “I could make a career out of it.”
“Don’t even think about that,” Cas mutters, not sounding half as threatening as he probably hoped.
“What, you want the exclusive?”
“Is there anything I have to do to make sure that I have it?”
Dean’s arm tightens around Cas’s waist, and not slightly. “Just don’t ever change, will you?”
“I can work with that,” Cas answers before moving up a bit, then closer. Dean meets him halfway and they kiss; it’s slow, possibly not very refined. Cas tastes of grease and pineapples, Dean of grease and sausages, and it shouldn’t feel as nice as it does but there’s no other way Dean can put it. Cas’s lips are soft and pliant, his body is warm and leaning into Dean’s like there’s no other place Cas wants to be, and the small moan Cas lets out when Dean’s tongue licks over his bottom lip before biting it just slightly makes Dean shiver. He doesn’t feel like doing something more than making out though - it’s so nice and warm and comfortable, he doesn’t need to move things forward. Cas seems to think the same; his hands go to Dean’s cheeks as they kiss, and when they have to break up for air he dives in again, his lips on the corner of Dean’s mouth before moving to his cheek, but he doesn’t try to touch anywhere else either. And it’s good like this - it’s not all about sex anyway. It never was.
“I don’t think that I want to move,” Cas says when his head is in the crook of Dean’s shoulder again, his fingers still brushing Dean’s cheek.
“Y’know what, I think I don’t want either. What about just staying here? I can be your cushion.”
Cas mutter something that sounds like agreement against Dean’s neck before closing his eyes. His weight is almost all on Dean’s body, but it’s not crushing him or anything. And he’s warm against Dean’s side, but not enough to make Dean want to move an inch. He leans back a bit, keeping one hand around Cas’s waist and the other up against Cas’s head. He can taste still taste pineapple on his tongue but he doesn’t particularly mind. He likes things exactly as they are. He moves a bit forward, kissing Cas’s temple, briefly, and closes his eyes. One year ago he wouldn’t have been able to let it go this easily, but now he knows that Cas will be there when he wakes up.
--
When Sam gets back home and looks into the living room he has to bite his tongue not to laugh out loud. Dean can says he hates chick flicks as much as he likes, but right now no one would believe him. Not when he’s freaking spooning Castiel, anyway; they’re on the couch, Castiel’s back against Dean’s frame, one of Dean’s legs is over Castiel’s and his arms are both around the former angel’s waist. There are also two empty pizza boxes and two empty ice cream ones on the ground - clearly no one cleaned that up. Sam sighs and gets inside the room, trying to be as quiet as he can, then grabs the pizza boxes and piles the ice cream ones on top. When he’s done throwing them away and putting the dirty cutlery in the dishwasher he gets back to the living room. They have barely moved; at one point Castiel seems to stir and twitch, but Dean’s arm unconsciously tightens his hold and Castiel’s face relaxes completely again.
Sam can’t help thinking that they’re adorable (though he won’t ever say that in front of Dean, hell no); especially when Cas is wearing some of Dean’s old clothes, which are still slightly large on him. Sam figures that it’s been enough time and that he’s allowed some harmless teasing. He takes his phone out of his pocket and takes some pictures. When he’s satisfied, he closes the door as soon as he’s out of the room.
--
“You know,” Sam says next morning, while Dean walks into the kitchen heading straight to the coffeemaker, “you two are so adorable, I'm suspecting that aliens kidnapped you and left doubles in your place.”
“What?” Dean asks, clearly not in the loop yet.
“Did you think that all the crap you left on the living room floor disappeared on its own?”
“Oh, was it gone - wait, you actually -”
Sam smirks as he turns his phone towards Dean. “You really are adorable.”
Dean huffs and shakes his head as he looks at the coffeemaker like he’ll explode it with his mind if coffee isn’t ready soon. “Sam, can it.”
“Hey, I’m allowed to a bit of healthy teasing! Also I just hope you both stopped there. Or you’re bringing the covers to clean.”
Dean turns red as he scowls at him. “We didn’t. And will you stop reminding me of that one time it happened? It was Cas bringing the covers to the dry cleaner anyway, not you.”
“Aw, how protective,” Sam replies.
Dean shakes his head as if he knows that it’s a lost battle and he grabs a mug and a small cup from the drawers. He fills the small cup and drinks it as it is, black and burning hot; then he puts the rest of the coffee into the mug, finds some cream and milk and cocoa powder.
“… that’s so sweet my teeth could rot,” Sam says as soon as he realizes what Dean is doing. Which is, fixing Castiel coffee. Except that Castiel doesn’t apparently like it without milk, cream, two spoonfuls of sugar and chocolate all over the top. Considering that Dean has spent years teasing Sam for ordering mocaccinos at Starbucks, that’s a proof of undying love.
“If you mean that what’s inside this mug could make anyone’s teeth rot, then I’ll agree with you,” Dean mutters, obviously trying to regain a bit of manliness.
The whole act goes out of the window a minute later; Dean has just finished fixing Castiel’s hideously sweet breakfast when they hear rustling coming from the living room. And then Sam hears Cas calling out for Dean, sounding slightly upset, and Dean doesn’t rush to the living room just because he’d probably spill the coffee otherwise.
“You could have slept one minute more, I was going to treat you to breakfast in bed,” Dean says as he sits on the sofa, one hand on Castiel’s shoulder and the other still holding the mug. He tries to sound like it’s no big deal, but when Castiel’s eyes widen in relief, it’s clear that it is a big deal. “Now you only get half,” Dean keeps on before handing the mug over, with more care than he’d probably like to show.
Castiel looks from Dean to the mug, and then his shoulders lose tension completely as he takes it.
“So I’m not getting the other half?” he asks then, so matter of fact that Sam can’t help snorting.
“Yeah, well, if you’re that set on it I‘ll try to be quick,” Dean replies, and Castiel keeps his eyes on him as he gets back to the kitchen.
The other half apparently consists in leftover peach pie. Dean cuts two pieces muttering about impossible former angels.
“You do realize that you’re completely whipped, don’t you?”
Two years ago Dean would have shrugged and answered with something sarcastic, Sam knows that. Dean glances at Castiel, who’s staring at them both as he drinks his coffee, and when he looks at Sam again he’s smiling.
“Yeah, Sammy, I do. Got a problem?”
“Not at all,” Sam manages. When Dean moves back into the living room Castiel is this close to beaming, and Sam figures he’ll leave them some privacy.
He can’t even tease them anymore, but to be entirely honest he thinks it’s a good thing. It took time to get to the point where Dean doesn’t care about appearances anymore, and considering what has happened in between, Sam won’t complain about how ridiculously sweet they can get. They deserve to be happy after all the misery they went through in the last five years - he won’t be the one telling them to stop.
Before deleting the pictures from his phone, he sends them over to Dean’s.
When he realizes, a couple days later, that one of the pictures (which didn’t look that compromising) is on the background of Dean’s cell, Sam doesn’t tease him about it.
End.
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Word count: ∼ 3800
Rating: PG
Spoilers: uuhm. Future!fic. Sorta takes S6 into account.
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: nothing changed since last time - they're still not mine.
Summary: wherein Dean and Castiel spend a day not moving from their couch.
A/N: written for dotfic 's prompt at spn_rambleon : future!fic. For whatever reason, they spend a day lazing around on the couch, watching TV, and eating pizza, and wind up falling asleep curled up together. (Bonus if Sam catches them spooning and teases them mercilessly). From the description, you should already guess that this is unrepentant schmoop. Let's just all pretend that they can all still be happy, shall we. Title stolen from the cheesiest song in Paul Gilbert's discography.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Cas moves a bit, not exactly struggling against Dean’s hold on his arm.
“I was going to clean the storage room, it’s -”
“Cas. You aren’t going to clean any room. Today you’re staying right here,” Dean declares, bringing Cas down on the couch again. There’s some crappy mid-morning show on the television, and to be honest Dean doesn’t care for that much (there had been a Columbo re-run before - figures that Cas would go and watch that every single damned time he can. Then again, Dean doesn’t look at gift horses in the mouth, not now). He just decided that since it’s Saturday, there’s nowhere they need to be and nowhere they need to go because they both work jobs that go from Monday to Friday, he intends on spending it on the couch. And he intends on having Cas spending it there with him, too.
“You do realize that spending an entire day here is insane,” Cas answers, but he doesn’t stand up. Rather, he moves into Dean’s side, slow, nice, until their shoulders are pressed against each other.
“I can give you bathroom breaks. And choose-the-movie breaks. Or choose-the-book breaks. Anything else is out of question,” Dean says, his lips near Cas’s earlobe, and feels him shivering a bit as he leans back into Dean some more.
“No one would call it productive,” Cas answers, his voice barely audible.
“Who ever said that this was supposed to be productive?”
“Well then, I guess this is an offer I can’t refuse.” Cas’s lips curl slightly upward and Dean is tempted to kiss the smug look out of his face.
“I see that you are learning something. By the way, we’ve never seen part two.”
--
Two hours later Michael Corleone is about to kill Fredo and it’s already midday. They ended up in what would be a pretty compromising position in different circumstances - Dean is still sitting more or less upright, Cas has his head on Dean’s shoulder, his arm around his waist and he’s lying on his side on the couch. Dean wonders why the hell Sam hasn’t shown up teasing them both yet, but he isn’t going to complain about that just now. It’s nice, so very nice, with Cas’s soft hair against his cheek, Cas’s body leaning completely against his - this until he hears a deep rumble coming from someone who isn’t him.
Cas looks sort of embarrassed at that.
It’s kind of really endearing.
“Did you even have breakfast?” Dean asks, and Cas actually thinks about it, which usually means another answer.
“… I forgot,” Cas answers, his voice blank - he’s been human almost a year and he still forgets to eat regularly if he isn’t the one fixing lunch or dinner in the first place.
Dean doesn’t push it - heck, it’s nothing in the great scheme of things.
“That’s okay - I’m getting you something. Go ahead, I saw this ten times anyway.” He moves away from the sofa, suddenly missing Cas’s weight against his side, and then runs to the kitchen. There’s a note on the fridge - it wasn’t there this morning. He takes it off and reads it.
I was feeling the vibes from upstairs and my teeth were starting to rot - I’ll just have a very long walk. Possibly until this evening. Don’t say I never did anything for you.
Dean smirks, figuring that he does owe Sam one - then he throws the note in the trash and starts finding food. He needs something quick - it’s ridiculous, but he needs to keep his eyes (and possibly hands) on Cas; he has never managed to shake away the feeling that the second Dean turns his back, Cas is going to disappear.
He decides that he’s not even pretending to eat anything with a nutritional value. He opens the freezer, takes out the ice cream he bought when he went to get groceries yesterday and looks at the choices. There’s a ridiculous blend of lemon and strawberry which Cas likes best, and his favorite blend - coffee and dark chocolate. The boxes are still sealed - why not? Dean opens them, grabs two spoons, sticks them into the ice cream and hurries back to the living room. Where Cas is still on the couch, still watching Michael angsting over killing Fredo, and it occurs to Dean that maybe movies where people kill their brothers aren’t that great of an idea. But then Cas just smiles at him and moves to make space for Dean to sit; Dean does and hands him the box.
“That’s lunch?” Cas asks, staring at the spoon sticking out from the ice cream box.
“Lunch, breakfast and afternoon snack. So? Eat it,” Dean comments, taking his own spoon and starting to dig into his own box. “Also we should probably put on something funnier when this is over. You can’t eat strawberry ice cream while watching this kind of movie.”
“Why not?” Cas replies as he takes a spoonful of mixed lemon and strawberry. He looks sincerely baffled. Dean lets it go.
“Whatever,” he mutters as he swallows his own spoonful, and when Cas’s head meets his shoulder again he doesn’t do anything to change the situation.
--
He has to blame himself for not wanting to stand up and pick a dvd - he ends up stuck with the afternoon re-run of Columbo on another channel. This while his box is half gone and Cas’s is three quarters gone.
“I don’t get how you can actually like that,” he says, eyeing the rest of the lemon-strawberry mix.
“What’s wrong with it?” Castiel asks, obviously more interested in whatever Peter Falk is doing.
“It’s strawberry and lemon. It’s lame.”
“No, it’s good,” Cas replies, his tone one hundred percent serious, before turning a bit on himself and sticking his spoon inside Dean’s mouth without giving him the chance to back off.
Dean at that point has to eat it, his tongue swirling under the spoon, which isn’t cold anymore by now, and - damn. He hasn’t had fruit-flavored ice cream in ages, and he never had strawberry because it just is the girlish flavor Sam wouldn’t hesitate to order, but now that he has to… well.
It isn’t exactly that bad, and he can see that Cas guessed exactly what Dean’s thinking, considering how smug he’s looking right now.
“So?” he asks, faking innocence, as he puts the spoon against his lips again, licking it.
“Acceptable,” Dean admits between his teeth, trying not to just jump on Cas and ravage him here and now. Though if he keeps on licking on that spoon like that, Dean will be justified.
“But we’re not even,” Dean adds, and before Cas can reply he feeds him a spoonful of coffee and dark chocolate, and Dean likes that it’s not melted yet. Cas deliberately makes a show of eating the damned thing, but he does eat it. And then he licks his lips. Twice.
“It’s good,” Cas says, “but then again I never said it wasn’t. I’m just saying that this other one is my favorite. There’s a difference.”
“Your funeral,” Dean replies before setting back against the couch.
Then again, the girly thing actually tasted nice, he thinks as he tries to understand what’s going on with Columbo right now.
And Dean the day they managed to bring Cas back the way he was supposed to be, Dean had swore to himself that he was done with a lot of things.
One of which is thinking that his stupid remarks can’t hurt anyone because Cas knows him better.
He eyes the now almost empty box and when Cas is distracted, he reaches out and steals an extra spoonful. It’s almost all strawberry.
He’s trying to make a statement here, okay?
Cas slowly turns his head towards him and Dean eats the damn ice cream, slow as well, making sure that it shows that he’s enjoying it.
“I might have lied,” he says then. “It’s good. Not my favorite, but still good.”
Cas’s eyes widen, just slightly but enough for Dean to understand that he didn’t botch this one.
“Then you wouldn’t mind if we switched. I suddenly feel like chocolate,” Cas says, and Dean is almost tempted to ask him if he’s bluffing, but if he isn’t -
Well, the girly thing doesn’t taste bad, as stated.
“Hand it over,” he says putting his own box on Cas’s legs.
Cas does, slow, like he actually doesn’t believe that Dean has really said yes. But then Dean digs into the pink and white soft cream and figures there are worse things he could endure.
Cas’s smile as he eats Dean’s ice cream with Dean’s spoon (because they didn’t switch) is totally worth it.
--
True to his word, Dean lets Cas get off the couch for bathroom related needs, but as soon as Cas is out of the door he’s quick to move to the dvd shelf and picks one at random from the western section (well, Cas is a neat freak and organizes them alphabetically and by genre - Dean won’t be the one to complain since it does work). Then he decides that they’ll need to eat something for dinner, so while Cas is still not in the room he picks up the phone and orders pizza to be delivered a couple hours from now.
When Cas flops gracefully next to him on the couch, Dean starts the movie.
“For a Few Dollars More? Again?” Cas asks when he realizes what is it.
“You made me watch four Columbo episodes just this afternoon,” Dean replies. “Also, you can never see this too many times.”
Cas has to concede that Dean is right on that point, but he doesn’t make any effort to pay attention. Fifteen minutes after it starts, his eyes are closed and his head is pillowed on Dean’s thigh. Dean should feel hurt on behalf of Clint Eastwood, but then again he’s half-sure that he might have put it on at least six times since they moved in here. And well, he thinks he gets why Cas used to creep on him while he slept; the way Cas is lying boneless against him, breathing evenly, is threatening to make Dean’s stomach fill with fluttering butterflies. He runs a hand through Cas’s hair, feeling Cas hum in satisfaction as he presses closer, and Dean figures it’s not too bad if they stay like this for a bit.
A bit becomes the entire movie, and Cas wakes up just when someone rings at the door.
“What -”
“Dinner,” Dean answers as the ending titles roll on the tv. “I’m going to get it.”
Cas mutters something that might be assent as Dean stands up. He pays for the pizza, goes to the kitchen to grab a couple forks and knives, and then comes back into the living room. Cas isn’t even trying to sit upright, but he’s leaving Dean enough space to sit comfortably.
“You can’t eat while horizontal.”
“I like being horizontal.”
“Hey, I even got your favorite, I don’t want you to choke on it.”
Cas suddenly straightens up - it’s no mystery that Dean considers his favorite the most disgusting kind of pizza that can ever be conceived, but he had relented when realizing that there was no way Cas would get that you just don’t put pineapples and bananas over pizza. Dean figures Cas would fit like a glove in Hawaii - it still doesn’t change that pizza and any kind of fruit is a heresy. Then again it’s not like he has to eat it.
“The power of pineapples,” Dean mutters as he hands Cas his box. He opens his own - it’s blissfully fruit-less, with just cheese and sausages. Then again, he justifies spending eight bucks on the stupid pineapple-and-bananas pizza just to see Cas’s face when he’s eating it, since he always looks like he’s this close to dying and going to Heaven (an ideal Heaven, not the real one which isn’t home for him anymore). Actually he has to limit himself to glances or he’d just forget about eating and slam Cas into the couch, and then Sam would bitch at them for all the dry cleaning it needs. So he takes care of eating his own while looking at his left once in a while, at the way Cas’s eyes close whenever he eats a new slice, at the way his lips slightly curl up as he chews. Dean is also envious of Cas managing not to get pineapple juice everywhere - how can you not get yourself a bit dirty while eating that kind of pizza is a mystery, as far as Dean is concerned. But then Cas turns his back at him and sits down with his legs slightly bent and his back against Dean’s arm, pressing back against him, and Dean figures that he can forget about using his left hand.
“You really can’t stay vertical while sitting here?” Dean asks, not hiding his amusement.
“No,” Cas replies straight, not adding anything else.
“Fine. Be as horizontal as you want,” Dean mutters as he brings another slice of pizza to his mouth and turning the tv off. It’s all reality crap anyway and they’ve watched more than enough for the time being. When he’s done he puts the box at the bottom of the couch - he’ll clean up later. Cas does the same maybe a minute after and then his head falls back against Dean’s shoulder.
“Got it, I’ll be horizontal with you,” Dean says as he moves so that his back is against the side of the sofa. Cas moves so that Dean can lie down properly and stretch his legs along the couch, and then he sits in between them, his back against Dean’s frame and his head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder.
“This is much more preferable,” Cas whispers against Dean’s neck, sounding half smug and half perfectly content, and that’s good. Dean can’t have enough of hearing that tone.
“Good to know that I make a good cushion,” Dean jokes, his fingers tangling through Cas’s hair again before starting to stroke it slowly, “I could make a career out of it.”
“Don’t even think about that,” Cas mutters, not sounding half as threatening as he probably hoped.
“What, you want the exclusive?”
“Is there anything I have to do to make sure that I have it?”
Dean’s arm tightens around Cas’s waist, and not slightly. “Just don’t ever change, will you?”
“I can work with that,” Cas answers before moving up a bit, then closer. Dean meets him halfway and they kiss; it’s slow, possibly not very refined. Cas tastes of grease and pineapples, Dean of grease and sausages, and it shouldn’t feel as nice as it does but there’s no other way Dean can put it. Cas’s lips are soft and pliant, his body is warm and leaning into Dean’s like there’s no other place Cas wants to be, and the small moan Cas lets out when Dean’s tongue licks over his bottom lip before biting it just slightly makes Dean shiver. He doesn’t feel like doing something more than making out though - it’s so nice and warm and comfortable, he doesn’t need to move things forward. Cas seems to think the same; his hands go to Dean’s cheeks as they kiss, and when they have to break up for air he dives in again, his lips on the corner of Dean’s mouth before moving to his cheek, but he doesn’t try to touch anywhere else either. And it’s good like this - it’s not all about sex anyway. It never was.
“I don’t think that I want to move,” Cas says when his head is in the crook of Dean’s shoulder again, his fingers still brushing Dean’s cheek.
“Y’know what, I think I don’t want either. What about just staying here? I can be your cushion.”
Cas mutter something that sounds like agreement against Dean’s neck before closing his eyes. His weight is almost all on Dean’s body, but it’s not crushing him or anything. And he’s warm against Dean’s side, but not enough to make Dean want to move an inch. He leans back a bit, keeping one hand around Cas’s waist and the other up against Cas’s head. He can taste still taste pineapple on his tongue but he doesn’t particularly mind. He likes things exactly as they are. He moves a bit forward, kissing Cas’s temple, briefly, and closes his eyes. One year ago he wouldn’t have been able to let it go this easily, but now he knows that Cas will be there when he wakes up.
--
When Sam gets back home and looks into the living room he has to bite his tongue not to laugh out loud. Dean can says he hates chick flicks as much as he likes, but right now no one would believe him. Not when he’s freaking spooning Castiel, anyway; they’re on the couch, Castiel’s back against Dean’s frame, one of Dean’s legs is over Castiel’s and his arms are both around the former angel’s waist. There are also two empty pizza boxes and two empty ice cream ones on the ground - clearly no one cleaned that up. Sam sighs and gets inside the room, trying to be as quiet as he can, then grabs the pizza boxes and piles the ice cream ones on top. When he’s done throwing them away and putting the dirty cutlery in the dishwasher he gets back to the living room. They have barely moved; at one point Castiel seems to stir and twitch, but Dean’s arm unconsciously tightens his hold and Castiel’s face relaxes completely again.
Sam can’t help thinking that they’re adorable (though he won’t ever say that in front of Dean, hell no); especially when Cas is wearing some of Dean’s old clothes, which are still slightly large on him. Sam figures that it’s been enough time and that he’s allowed some harmless teasing. He takes his phone out of his pocket and takes some pictures. When he’s satisfied, he closes the door as soon as he’s out of the room.
--
“You know,” Sam says next morning, while Dean walks into the kitchen heading straight to the coffeemaker, “you two are so adorable, I'm suspecting that aliens kidnapped you and left doubles in your place.”
“What?” Dean asks, clearly not in the loop yet.
“Did you think that all the crap you left on the living room floor disappeared on its own?”
“Oh, was it gone - wait, you actually -”
Sam smirks as he turns his phone towards Dean. “You really are adorable.”
Dean huffs and shakes his head as he looks at the coffeemaker like he’ll explode it with his mind if coffee isn’t ready soon. “Sam, can it.”
“Hey, I’m allowed to a bit of healthy teasing! Also I just hope you both stopped there. Or you’re bringing the covers to clean.”
Dean turns red as he scowls at him. “We didn’t. And will you stop reminding me of that one time it happened? It was Cas bringing the covers to the dry cleaner anyway, not you.”
“Aw, how protective,” Sam replies.
Dean shakes his head as if he knows that it’s a lost battle and he grabs a mug and a small cup from the drawers. He fills the small cup and drinks it as it is, black and burning hot; then he puts the rest of the coffee into the mug, finds some cream and milk and cocoa powder.
“… that’s so sweet my teeth could rot,” Sam says as soon as he realizes what Dean is doing. Which is, fixing Castiel coffee. Except that Castiel doesn’t apparently like it without milk, cream, two spoonfuls of sugar and chocolate all over the top. Considering that Dean has spent years teasing Sam for ordering mocaccinos at Starbucks, that’s a proof of undying love.
“If you mean that what’s inside this mug could make anyone’s teeth rot, then I’ll agree with you,” Dean mutters, obviously trying to regain a bit of manliness.
The whole act goes out of the window a minute later; Dean has just finished fixing Castiel’s hideously sweet breakfast when they hear rustling coming from the living room. And then Sam hears Cas calling out for Dean, sounding slightly upset, and Dean doesn’t rush to the living room just because he’d probably spill the coffee otherwise.
“You could have slept one minute more, I was going to treat you to breakfast in bed,” Dean says as he sits on the sofa, one hand on Castiel’s shoulder and the other still holding the mug. He tries to sound like it’s no big deal, but when Castiel’s eyes widen in relief, it’s clear that it is a big deal. “Now you only get half,” Dean keeps on before handing the mug over, with more care than he’d probably like to show.
Castiel looks from Dean to the mug, and then his shoulders lose tension completely as he takes it.
“So I’m not getting the other half?” he asks then, so matter of fact that Sam can’t help snorting.
“Yeah, well, if you’re that set on it I‘ll try to be quick,” Dean replies, and Castiel keeps his eyes on him as he gets back to the kitchen.
The other half apparently consists in leftover peach pie. Dean cuts two pieces muttering about impossible former angels.
“You do realize that you’re completely whipped, don’t you?”
Two years ago Dean would have shrugged and answered with something sarcastic, Sam knows that. Dean glances at Castiel, who’s staring at them both as he drinks his coffee, and when he looks at Sam again he’s smiling.
“Yeah, Sammy, I do. Got a problem?”
“Not at all,” Sam manages. When Dean moves back into the living room Castiel is this close to beaming, and Sam figures he’ll leave them some privacy.
He can’t even tease them anymore, but to be entirely honest he thinks it’s a good thing. It took time to get to the point where Dean doesn’t care about appearances anymore, and considering what has happened in between, Sam won’t complain about how ridiculously sweet they can get. They deserve to be happy after all the misery they went through in the last five years - he won’t be the one telling them to stop.
Before deleting the pictures from his phone, he sends them over to Dean’s.
When he realizes, a couple days later, that one of the pictures (which didn’t look that compromising) is on the background of Dean’s cell, Sam doesn’t tease him about it.
End.