A random schmoopy birthday ficlet
So this is for a friend of mine who wanted a very specific ficlet for her birthday. I couldn't deliver the whole thing, but I was able to write up the first part, and here it is. Enjoy, hon!
It's the first time Castiel has woken up and not known where he is. He's done the same to Dean many times, over the years, but having it pulled on him is a new experience, and he blinks in the gentle, curtain filtered sunlight, trying to come to grips with the sensation.
It's just one in a raft of firsts since he gave up his divinity. First cold. First instance of forgetting something simple. First time it hurt to have Dean inside him.
First time his mind inevitably slid toward sex? Not even close. But with Dean next to him, warm, the scent of his skin rising into the air, Castiel can't help himself. Not anymore. And even if he could, he doesn't think he'd want to.
He turns inward, presses his lips lightly to Dean's shoulder. Dean stirs. He's warm with sleep, and so's Castiel, but even so Dean feels like a furnace. Castiel nuzzles him.
"Nn," Dean says, and then pries his lips open. "Morning, Cas."
"Good morning." Castiel layers another few soft kisses along the ridge of Dean's collarbone. "Where are we?"
"In bed," Dean says. His lips are slack, and they struggle to bend around the words. Castiel watches them with amusement.
"I know," he answers, his own lips twitching. "This is not the bed I fell asleep in."
"You're easy to move when you're conked out." Dean nuzzles his chin. Castiel groans low, closes his eyes and lets Dean's lips brush his. First kiss of a new day. It always feels like a promise.
"So where...?" Castiel finds the werewithal, halfway through his sentence, to actually sit up and look around. It's a hotel room, telltale television cabinet and stationery on the desk and simple table and chairs by the window all the same. But it's roomier, airier, and the curtains that are keeping out the full brunt of the sunlight are delicate and pristine. "This is more expensive than our usual."
"Yeah, well--" Dean's fingers find his waist, slip around him and pull him back down. "Wouldn't be very cool to have your birthday celebration in some crap-ass motel."
Castiel gives a soft cry as he's pulled off balance, and heburrows into the warm assault of Dean's arms automatically, reveling and groaning low when Dean's mouth starts to paint a wet trail up his shoulder to his neck. "My what?"
"Your birthday." Dean mouths at his ear. "By the way, happy birthday, Cas."
"I don't--" The irrational fluttering of his heart at the words threatens to white out his confusion, and Castiel fights to keep his mind rational. "I don't have a birthday."
"All the more reason you need one." Castiel has to turn over at this, has to look Dean in the eye, and when he does he's bowled over by the pride and affection shining in Dean's gaze. "Any reason it shouldn't be today?"
Castiel wants to kiss him until he runs out of breath. He does his best to hold back that urge long enough to think. "What day is today?"
Dean frowns. "Tell you the truth? I'm not sure."
"Then how should I know if there's a reason it shouldn't--" Castiel cuts himself off, laughs, a self-deprecating, humble, utterly human laugh he once didn't think himself capable of. "Today is fine."
"Yeah?" Dean grins. And now Castiel has to kiss him, has to wind his arms around Dean's neck and just revel in the togetherness and the warmth of them in bed, the celebration that is this invented moment. That's what humans do, he realized long ago, when he was still looking down on the world instead of living within it. They create moments out of nothing, fabricate a structure for time into which they can weave the thread of their lives and feel like they are significant. A birthday means nothing, but just to have one makes Castiel feel a part of that tapestry. He's more human now than he was a minute ago, just by virtue of that. And in Dean's arms, with the soft press of Dean's lips against his, Castiel always feels significant. He feels loved. He's where he wants to be.
He's rolling back against the pillow, pulling Dean on top of him, when all that warmth eases away. Castiel groans and reaches out, but Dean is deftly negotiating himself away. "Dean," Castiel says, petulant.
"It's your birthday," Dean says with an impish smile. "You think I'm just going to roll around in bed with you all day?"
"Why not?"
Dean laughs. "You big baby. Because I'm going to cook breakfast for you."
It's the first time Castiel has woken up and not known where he is. He's done the same to Dean many times, over the years, but having it pulled on him is a new experience, and he blinks in the gentle, curtain filtered sunlight, trying to come to grips with the sensation.
It's just one in a raft of firsts since he gave up his divinity. First cold. First instance of forgetting something simple. First time it hurt to have Dean inside him.
First time his mind inevitably slid toward sex? Not even close. But with Dean next to him, warm, the scent of his skin rising into the air, Castiel can't help himself. Not anymore. And even if he could, he doesn't think he'd want to.
He turns inward, presses his lips lightly to Dean's shoulder. Dean stirs. He's warm with sleep, and so's Castiel, but even so Dean feels like a furnace. Castiel nuzzles him.
"Nn," Dean says, and then pries his lips open. "Morning, Cas."
"Good morning." Castiel layers another few soft kisses along the ridge of Dean's collarbone. "Where are we?"
"In bed," Dean says. His lips are slack, and they struggle to bend around the words. Castiel watches them with amusement.
"I know," he answers, his own lips twitching. "This is not the bed I fell asleep in."
"You're easy to move when you're conked out." Dean nuzzles his chin. Castiel groans low, closes his eyes and lets Dean's lips brush his. First kiss of a new day. It always feels like a promise.
"So where...?" Castiel finds the werewithal, halfway through his sentence, to actually sit up and look around. It's a hotel room, telltale television cabinet and stationery on the desk and simple table and chairs by the window all the same. But it's roomier, airier, and the curtains that are keeping out the full brunt of the sunlight are delicate and pristine. "This is more expensive than our usual."
"Yeah, well--" Dean's fingers find his waist, slip around him and pull him back down. "Wouldn't be very cool to have your birthday celebration in some crap-ass motel."
Castiel gives a soft cry as he's pulled off balance, and heburrows into the warm assault of Dean's arms automatically, reveling and groaning low when Dean's mouth starts to paint a wet trail up his shoulder to his neck. "My what?"
"Your birthday." Dean mouths at his ear. "By the way, happy birthday, Cas."
"I don't--" The irrational fluttering of his heart at the words threatens to white out his confusion, and Castiel fights to keep his mind rational. "I don't have a birthday."
"All the more reason you need one." Castiel has to turn over at this, has to look Dean in the eye, and when he does he's bowled over by the pride and affection shining in Dean's gaze. "Any reason it shouldn't be today?"
Castiel wants to kiss him until he runs out of breath. He does his best to hold back that urge long enough to think. "What day is today?"
Dean frowns. "Tell you the truth? I'm not sure."
"Then how should I know if there's a reason it shouldn't--" Castiel cuts himself off, laughs, a self-deprecating, humble, utterly human laugh he once didn't think himself capable of. "Today is fine."
"Yeah?" Dean grins. And now Castiel has to kiss him, has to wind his arms around Dean's neck and just revel in the togetherness and the warmth of them in bed, the celebration that is this invented moment. That's what humans do, he realized long ago, when he was still looking down on the world instead of living within it. They create moments out of nothing, fabricate a structure for time into which they can weave the thread of their lives and feel like they are significant. A birthday means nothing, but just to have one makes Castiel feel a part of that tapestry. He's more human now than he was a minute ago, just by virtue of that. And in Dean's arms, with the soft press of Dean's lips against his, Castiel always feels significant. He feels loved. He's where he wants to be.
He's rolling back against the pillow, pulling Dean on top of him, when all that warmth eases away. Castiel groans and reaches out, but Dean is deftly negotiating himself away. "Dean," Castiel says, petulant.
"It's your birthday," Dean says with an impish smile. "You think I'm just going to roll around in bed with you all day?"
"Why not?"
Dean laughs. "You big baby. Because I'm going to cook breakfast for you."