[ficlet; supernatural] simple (clean cut/white washed)
Title: Simple (clean cut/white washed)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, fluff
Summary: Dean takes some time to appreciate being appreciated.
Warnings: None? I don't think so. Nakedness, I guess.
Word Count: 398
Notes: Just writing 'cause I can. Done at Write or Die.
A contemplative look settles over Castiel's face. It's a common look for him. Curious. It's filled with the kind of wonder that Dean gets when he sits in the park watching parents turn pride filled eyes on a group of kids playing tag. Dean feels a little weird having it directed at him, though. He doesn't have anything to offer, not that kind of life. He's a train wreck and they are old, worn out dolls in a glass case: well loved and protected. He wonders what Cas thinks about with that kind of reverence in his eyes.
Cas shows him, though, seconds after he became curious. He leans over the blankets and sheets, sweat-slick bodies sliding against one another as he brings their faces together and lays feather-light kisses on Dean's cheeks.
Dean casts questioning eyes toward Cas.
"Freckles," Cas says simply, the smile adorning his face one that is reserved for Dean alone. The most human expression Dean has ever seen on the angel, the touch of sheer joy in it lighting his eyes, making them shine in the dark of the motel room, picking up shimmering strands of light from the street, the alarm clock, the moon. Various sources that can only be found in a city, or Dean thinks, these lights that play just that way on the pale skin and dark hair, that can just be found in this city, in this motel.
Dean has seen the many different lightings, the subtle differences in the flecks of Cas' eyes as the motel around them changes but they stay the same. Together. Wrapped in each other and cocooned in the kind of warmth they get from the bodies pressed against one another, the kind of warmth that gets rid of the chill from the apocalypse or Heaven's wrath or everyday evils.
He thinks again how glad he is to have this. It's not something many people get, and that doesn't have anything to do with the uniqueness of the angel in his arms, although that adds an entirely different level to their relationship and Dean will be damned (again) if he ever starts to think of that as anything but a good thing. No. This is about their situation. The connection. The willingness to give themselves in a way they had never been able to before.
Dean knows just how loved he is, for the first time in his life.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, fluff
Summary: Dean takes some time to appreciate being appreciated.
Warnings: None? I don't think so. Nakedness, I guess.
Word Count: 398
Notes: Just writing 'cause I can. Done at Write or Die.
A contemplative look settles over Castiel's face. It's a common look for him. Curious. It's filled with the kind of wonder that Dean gets when he sits in the park watching parents turn pride filled eyes on a group of kids playing tag. Dean feels a little weird having it directed at him, though. He doesn't have anything to offer, not that kind of life. He's a train wreck and they are old, worn out dolls in a glass case: well loved and protected. He wonders what Cas thinks about with that kind of reverence in his eyes.
Cas shows him, though, seconds after he became curious. He leans over the blankets and sheets, sweat-slick bodies sliding against one another as he brings their faces together and lays feather-light kisses on Dean's cheeks.
Dean casts questioning eyes toward Cas.
"Freckles," Cas says simply, the smile adorning his face one that is reserved for Dean alone. The most human expression Dean has ever seen on the angel, the touch of sheer joy in it lighting his eyes, making them shine in the dark of the motel room, picking up shimmering strands of light from the street, the alarm clock, the moon. Various sources that can only be found in a city, or Dean thinks, these lights that play just that way on the pale skin and dark hair, that can just be found in this city, in this motel.
Dean has seen the many different lightings, the subtle differences in the flecks of Cas' eyes as the motel around them changes but they stay the same. Together. Wrapped in each other and cocooned in the kind of warmth they get from the bodies pressed against one another, the kind of warmth that gets rid of the chill from the apocalypse or Heaven's wrath or everyday evils.
He thinks again how glad he is to have this. It's not something many people get, and that doesn't have anything to do with the uniqueness of the angel in his arms, although that adds an entirely different level to their relationship and Dean will be damned (again) if he ever starts to think of that as anything but a good thing. No. This is about their situation. The connection. The willingness to give themselves in a way they had never been able to before.
Dean knows just how loved he is, for the first time in his life.