#neither is this stupid memory foam mattress that cooks me

[rottenwolf]

Everyone Else: "Oh July, how nice!"

Me, living in Satan's armpit while also having an insanely high body temperature: *turning fan up higher and higher* If it can't slice my finger off, it's not high enough

[quillquiver]

another chapter of this deancas wedding/honeymoon!fic. thank you @we-all-deserve-to-be-saved for the prompt! 

Castiel is not a morning person.

He likes lying in bed until he’s sore with it, stretching out on the memory foam like a king languishing among his pillows. He likes rolling over onto on a cool patch of sheet, and cuddling into the covers, and hooking his toes over the end of the mattress. Castiel likes holding Dean. Being held by him; tucked up against his chest or with a palm half-sunk into his boxer-briefs. Pressing kisses to neck and shoulders and the line of his hair.

Castiel likes the liminal space he occupies in the moments between sleep and wakefulness, where everything glows. It’s warm and wonderful and he draws it out for as long as possible, the minutes dragging along by way of tender touches. It reminds him of the peaceful parts of angelhood.

So, Castiel is not a morning person.

…But he can become one, for Dean.

Dean likes romantic gestures; not all of them—he isn’t the type of man who likes receiving flowers or chocolates or candlelit dinners. But picking up his favourite beer when Cas notices they’re running low, or staying up late to watch a movie despite being exhausted—kissing him, washing his hair, holding his hand, sitting with him while he works on the Impala… wearing women’s lingerie: these are all things Dean appreciates. Small things. Quiet things.

Cas knows that this is a gamble.

The alarm on his phone barely has the opportunity to buzz before he’s turning it off, carefully sliding out from between the covers. It’s dim, and Cas allows himself a moment to run his hand through the mess of his hair and dig his toes into the soft carpet. A breeze is coming off the water.

God, he hates early mornings.

“Where you goin’?”

Dean’s voice is slurred and muffled. He blindly reaches out and Cas meets him halfway, tempted into cuddling for just a moment longer. “Go back to sleep, Dean,” he murmurs, gently brushing over the pillow lines on his cheek.

“Mmm, w’sss hap’nin?”

“Bathroom,” Cas supplies, depositing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dean’s reciprocation lags with exhaustion.

Dean frowns. Struggles to open his eyes. “Y’okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cas says. “Go back to sleep.”

“’Kay,” Dean mumbles. “C’m back.”

Cas melts like fallen ice cream on hot concrete.

He carefully extracts himself from their bed, padding into the other room and closing the bedroom door. The sun is beginning to paint the first impressions of light on the horizon; the water is calm—it’s going to be a beautiful day.

Castiel calls for room service.

He orders pancakes and waffles and eggs and sausages, lox bagels, a bowl of fresh fruit, mimosas. An espresso and a latte because Dean would never ask for it himself. “And would you mind putting a rush on this?” he murmurs into the receiver. “I know it’s early, but we’re newlyweds and I’m trying to surprise my husband.”

Cas has learned that the newlywed excuse goes a long way anywhere, but works especially well when paying outrageous amounts of money in a fancy hotel. He expects they’ll also leave the champagne bottle.

Despite the fact that Cas is pretty sure it’s considered impolite to do so, he moves the small table and chairs from the balcony and makes a nest on the marble floor out of spare blankets and colourful pillows from the couch. He tries to mitigate the potential mess by laying down some of their many extra towels. Room service knocks, Cas pulls on a robe, and then the smell of coffee and food starts rousing Dean from bed. Cas pushes the food cart—complete with opened champagne bottle—to the door of the balcony before entering the bedroom.

Dean has kicked off all the covers and is sleeping on his stomach.

There is no moment of thinking about what he wants to do—what he’s allowed; Cas moves without conscious thought, peppering kisses from Dean’s ass all the way to the nape of his neck and then lavishing his attention on his particularly freckled shoulders. “Mmm… smells good.”

“Breakfast,” Cas says.

“S’early.”

“I want to take you on a date.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open. “Now?” he asks, caught between sleep and incredulity.

Cas leans over and presses a kiss to his mouth. “Mm.”

“Sweetheart…” He whines. Cas feels himself start to smile. Dean doesn’t use pet names often, and more recently he’s taken to doing so while complaining; as if the verbal confirmation of his affection will bend Cas to his will. It was laughable until it became endearing—because Cas is sweet on him, and there is no one else Dean feels comfortable whining to.

“Your life is one hardship after another,” he agrees solemnly. Cas slides back down Dean’s body and nips his left asscheck. “Come on. Up.”

“What, we’re not even gonna—”

“After breakfast, Dean. Just come. Please.”

Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about a different kind of coming. “Man, s’not even light out yet.” As Cas moves to get Dean his robe, he’s caught around the waist and pulled between bowed legs. “C’mon,” Dean needles, nuzzling at him until the robe parts. “A little nookie, a couple more hours of sleep… we can go on a date later.”

“Or we can go on a date now.”

Dean pulls away and looks up at Cas, narrowing his eyes. Cas smiles down at him beatifically, running a hand through his hair and tracing the shell of his in the way he knows turns him to putty.

“…You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yes.”

Dean continues to grumble to himself as he slides out of bed and towards his duffle, frowning when Cas catches his hand. “No need to get dressed.”

“But you said—”

Cas holds out his robe. “Follow me.”

Dean slips the thing on as they pad into the main room, his eyes immediately drawn to the food and coffee. He gives a low whistle. “Damn, Cas. We expecting company?”

And suddenly, the entire thing seems incredibly stupid. Cas dragged them both from the warmth and comfort of their marriage bed on their honeymoon to look at the sun rising, a thing that happens and has happened every single day since the Earth started turning. He did this knowing that neither of them get to sleep like this, or be alone like this, or touch like this—this much and this openly. He doesn’t even know if Dean likes sunrises; if this is one of those things that’s romantic in the wrong way.

“I know you like breakfast,” he says, instead of dragging Dean back to bed.

Dean eyes the set-up outside, turn around and… blushes. Is blushing, down his chest and all the way to the tips of his ears. “So this is, uh—you got up and did all this?”

Cas feels colour rise to his own cheeks. “I didn’t cook,” he says. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dean echoes. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “So, uh, take me on a date, stud.” He looks nervous, Cas thinks, which is ridiculous and relatable all at once. Outside, the rising sun paints swathes of pink and orange across the horizon.

“…Right,” Cas says. “Yes. I will… do that.” He gestures to the balcony. “Please sit.”

They get settled with coffee, for the first time maintaining a respectful distance between them. It’s oddly hurtful, and the longer they remain apart the more awkward Cas feels. He’s practically shaking out of his own skin when he suggests they go back inside. “You’re tired,” he says. “We should just go back to sleep.”

“Wait, why?” Dean frowns. He has foam on his upper lip. Cas wants to kiss it away.

“You’re not having fun,” he continues. “And this was silly, anyway. We should just—”

“Who says I’m not having fun?”

“Dean—”

“C’mon, man, you gotta—” Dean cuts himself off. Shakes his head. “I’m not cut out for this stuff: dates, romance… you gotta know that by now. And I haven’t been with anyone long enough to, y’know, even get to the part where we’re mushy and shit. But… it’s not because I don’t want to. I mean, flowers and chocolate? Not my thing, but you know me, Cas. A-And we’re in love, right?”

Cas swallows thickly. He nods. “I’m in love with you.”

Dean’s huff of laughter is steeped in nerves. “Well, good,” he says. “’Cause I’m kinda crazy about you, too. So—so, why shouldn’t we have a sunrise picnic on the balcony at the fuckin’ Ritz?”

“We should, if you’re enjoying myself.”

“Hell yeah, I’m enjoying myself. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Drink your damn coffee.”

Cas stares at him for a moment before scooting closer. He wraps an arm around Dean and tugs, relaxing when over six feet of freckled hunter is suddenly plastered to his side. “Okay,” Cas breathes. “Good. This is good. I love you.”

“I love you, too, you loser.”

They come together more softly than usual, tentative in a way they haven’t been in a long time as they kiss. Eventually, Dean gets pulled onto Cas’s lap and shrugs out of the top of half of his robe. “Gonna need to work up an appetite to finish all that food,” he murmurs. He ducks down to suck and bite at the spot on Cas’s neck that makes him weak in the knees.

Cas snorts. “Very subtle.”

“So, uh…” Dean bounces his eyebrows like a lecherous old man.

Cas’s stomach growls. “Can we postpone the exhibitionism until after we eat?”

“There’s no one around!”

He’s smiley when Cas kisses him.

“What would you like for breakfast?” Dean opens his mouth and Cas rolls his eyes. “Besides me.”

“That’s mighty presumptuous of you, Castiel.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “I know you.”

“Yeah.”

It comes out much breathier than probably intended, and Cas can’t be expected not to kiss him. When they drift apart and Dean says, “Little bit of everything?” Cas gets up to make him a plate.

“Man,” Dean sighs, stretching out on the pillows. “This honeymoon thing is awesome.”

Cas hands him a plate piled high with bacon and eggs and pancakes and grins.

It really, truly is.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

If you’re still doing the writing prompt thing I have this Destiel headcanon that Dean figured out he could lift up Castiel and he does it all of the time just to annoy him.

Here you go! It’s kinda long, and more fluffy than it was supposed to be Idk but I hope it’s up to your liking, fren!

***

The first time he does it, he has a very valid reason to. Cas has a broken femur, and a cast, to show for it. Thankfully, it isn’t a femural shaft fracture, and doesn’t require surgery. He’d broken his leg in the minor accident he’d had with a car - he was the pedestrian - and Dean had made sure to yell at the twenty three years old driver until the kid swore to never overlook a traffic light again. Anyways, they’d taken Cas to the hospital, and after a small procedure and a couple hours in the hospital - they’d let him take his boyfriend home.

Of course, at that moment, neither Dean nor Cas had remembered that they live in a first-floor apartment, and due to the stellar landlord-tenant relationships, the elevator was often down.

“The doctor told you to,” Dean snapped, when he saw Cas trying to put weight on his injured leg. “Not do that very thing, Cas!”

“Well,” Cas defended. “I’ve gotta, Dean! Because I can’t exactly teleport to our bedroom, so -”

“- shuddup.” Dean finds himself marching up to Cas, far too up in his personal space to not be about to do what he’d been debating with himself about doing. “You’re not a wriggler, are you?”

“Is that a sex term?” Cas threw back, smirking.

Dean ignored that - still sorta pissed off at Cas for coming in front of a slightly-speeding car just because he thought everyone on a city road was as law-abiding and respectful of zebra crossings like he was. Cas should’ve known better than to do something like that - what if, in his stupidity, he’d broke something more than a leg!? The thought pained him, and made him even more mad at Cas.

“I’m gonna pick you up and take you to our house.” Dean declared, equally for his benefit as for Cas’s. Cas blinked at him like he’d gone paranoid, and Dean swallowed, to absorb even more of the determination he knew he should feel.

Half-limp, and unable to move back, Cas shook his head firmly. “You’re not doing that, Dean.”

“Are you planning to set up camp in the lobby?” Dean bristled. “Because I’m not into the idea of going to a motel or back to the hospital!”

Cas was silent.

His eyes were a show of vulnerability, suddenly shining with the realization of being a liability. That very moment, it struck Dean, and it was like a kick to his stomach. He was hurt, and Dean was being an asshole to him.

“Cas, babe,” He put his hand on the shorter man’s spine, comfortingly. “You worried I’d drop you..?”

Cas looked at him hesitantly. “I know you wouldn’t..but what if we both fall and fracture our hips or something?”

Dean scoffed, dismissing the thought. “Will you just lemme do this, Cas?”

Cas pursed his lips, and there was indecision on his face - which was better than the definite refusal before and the cue for Dean. He knew his boyfriend well enough to know that Cas wouldn’t ever say a ‘yes’ outright to an idea like this, but him considering it meant - in Cas-tongue - that Dean was allowed to do this.

He grinned at Cas, readied himself, and keeping his eyes trained on Cas the whole time, picked him up bridal-style, with a hand under his neck and the other under his thighs.

Cas gasped, as Dean lifted him up, automatically clinging to Dean in a hurry that Dean found more endearing that he’d ever tell Cas.

“Ready?” Dean teased, before beginning to climb the stairs.

Cas almost screwed his eyes shut, until when he didn’t, and kept staring at Dean’s face as he carried him up. “We’re actually doing this.” He muttered, looking down at the stairs for the first time - careful not to move any more than he had to to inconvenience Dean.

Of course it wasn’t easy. Cas was six feet of running muscles (and concentrated snark, but Dean was hoping that was weightless or something). Dean may be taller, but even he knew that Cas looked bigger than him because of how he was built. But Dean was determined. They didn’t even really quiver.

Dean, aware of his own strength, put him down on the first landing, for a few moments. Cas still leaned on him, but Dean was very much okay with that, in spite of the fact that he was panting.

“You’re strong,” Cas informed Dean, coyly, when Dean picked him up again - with way more expertise than before, instantly adjusting his hands in the space behind Cas’s knees (careful to avoid the plaster) and the other holding up his upper body.

“Damn straight.” Dean replied smugly, resisting the urge to blush, and directing all of his attention to getting Cas to their doorstep first. “Get down, Cas, you’re home.” He let him on his feet, still half-steady, and began to unlock the door to their apartment with his keys.

Cas was grinning wide, at him, when he straightened and the door swung open.

“What?”

“I’m regretting the cast on my leg right now, because otherwise, I’d ask you to carry me to the bedroom.” Cas raised his eyebrows, giving him that look which made him weak in the knees -

Which was not the way to go right now, with one of them unable to walk right now.

Dammit, Cas.

“You enjoyed it, huh?” Dean prompted instead, not picking him up, but tucking Cas’s arm around him and supporting him as they walked into their living room. They both landed almost at the same time on the familiar couch they’d chosen together, at the time of moving in, almost two months back.

“I wish I could show you how fun it was,” Cas replied, without a speck of suggestion in it. “I could lift you too, you know.”

“You know I’m taller than you, right?” Dean couldn’t help the note of pride.

“You can lift me up two flights of stairs, and you think I can’t -” Cas narrowed his eyes at him, but there was a smile on his lips. “You clearly haven’t realized all the benefits of dating another man, Dean.”

Dean smirked. “Don’t promise me stuff you can’t deliver, Cas. At least not rightaway.” Cas frowned. “Well, I suppose I’m also supposed to get food and everything now that you’ve rendered yourself unpotable,” He smiled fondly at Cas, who huffed in annoyance. “So, my cooking or takeout, babe?”

*

The memorable next time, they’re in the middle of an argument. It’s a goddamn funny argument too, because Cas is hell-bent on not sleeping yet, and Dean will not let that go.

“Fucking 48 hours, Cas!” Dean yelled, “I’m not here for a weekend, and you don’t even go to bed!”

“I told you that I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Cas bristled, looking away from Dean. He looked like he wanted to use the ’but I dozed off on my desk enough times’ line again, but Dean was glaring at him too hard. “And if you’d stop freaking out about my sleep schedule for a moment, I’ve gotta finish this paper!”

“When’s the last date?” Dean clenched his fists, and hissed through his teeth.

“Thursday.”

“Today’s a Monday, you complete -” Dean lost it, and began to march towards his annoying boyfriend, who obstinately took a step back. He stood in front of Cas, inches away from his beautiful goddamn face, adorning an annoying frown.

“Are you planning to kiss me to sleep?” Cas rolled his eyes. “Because I’d like to see you try.”

“Nope.” Dean shot back, hella serious. “But I will carry you to bed.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, like that didn’t make sense - unless something must’ve clicked in his head, and he raised his eyebrows. He stole a glance at his computer, the word document of his paper for college open. He turned back to Dean, swallowing. “What?”

“You know what.” Dean’s voice was more level, but he was still exasperated with Cas. “I can do it, and I will, Cas.”

“Fine.” Cas bit his lip. “Carry me.”

Dean was slightly taken aback at the change of heart, but he also knew that he’d not seen Cas since friday and wanted to be close to him - would’ve made it much easier if he’d slept human hours, but still.

Without a word, Dean bent and picked Cas up with a flourish. It was still hard to do it, but at least he knew all the correct ways to make it more comfortable for them both.

Cas, this time, wrapped his hands around Dean’s neck, beaming. “Hello, Dean.”

“Come on, you sleep-deprived idiot.” Dean muttered, deliberately bouncing on his heels before walking towards his bedroom.

“This is unbelievably hot.” Cas told Dean, burying his face in Dean’s neck, and making Dean swear under his breath because goddammit.

“I know, right?” He joked, instead of making a lewd comment like he really wanted to - because believe it or not, Dean had that level of self control when it came to his boyfriend’s health. They reached the bed in no time, and Dean practically let go of Cas once he reached the memory-foam mattress - one of the loves of his life.

Cas, making a content little sound in his throat, began to make himself comfortable - for all his bite against this, literally five minutes back.

Sometimes, especially as a twenty four year old in college, you just need your bed to remind you how much you actually want to sleep.

Cas was already in just a ratty tee and pyjamas, so Dean stripped down to his boxers and joined Cas on the bed, who, for all his stillness and adorable sighs, was still awake.

“What else d'you need to sleep?” Dean teased.

“I was just thinking,” Cas returned, turning around to face Dean who was lying on his back, and wrapping an arm around his middle.

“About how awesomely strong I am, for being able to carry my big, grumpy boyfriend around?” Dean suggested.

“I’m not big.” Cas muttered, drowsily.

“You are, in all the ways that matter.” Dean chuckled at his own joke, because Cas was too asleep to react to it anymore. Fucking finally.

Dean carded his hands through the sleeping man’s hair, comfortable in everyway ever, and began to drift off to sleep himself, even feeling a little proud of himself.

*

Of course, those were the good two times. Followed by a number of bad times too. Once Dean realized that he could carry Cas around, he began to do it more freely.

There was a certain thrill in picking Cas up when they kissed, and an equal thrill in seeing the annoyed frown on his face on the Sunday mornings when Dean picked him up and landed him on the kitchen chair so that he had company while he cooked breakfast.

He carried him to bed when he fell asleep on the sofa, and Cas would regularly wake up bitching that there was a reason he napped on sofas, so that he could wake up due to the factor uncomfortability, and resume his work - and that by carrying him to bed like this, Dean was disrupting his work schedule too.

The number of 'pick you up’ puns were endless, once Dean discovered the joys of that. Cas must also enjoy it too, because he didn’t exactly laugh at all of Dean Winchester’s lame jokes, but he practically fell over laughing when Dean uses an old and tried one.

But he also knows that it annoys Cas most of the time now, but that’s part of the charm, really.

Cas swears that he’s gonna put on weight so that Dean can’t carry him around, randomly. Dean does him one better and says that he’ll restart going to the gym to sustain his newfound ability, and eat in just as much increased quantity as Cas says he will for the purpose.

One evening, when Cas remembers that he’d once told Dean he could pick him up too, he acts on it. Its almost easier for him, which is annoying for Dean - but Cas was right. In his previous 22 years of being in the closet, he’d clearly missed out on the opportunity of this. None of the chicks he went out with could’ve pick him up like this, or even been into the weird idea.

Then there’s the time that Dean wins an argument at Wal-Mart, when he threatens to pick Cas up - which is one of the weirdest things that he’s ever done, but Cas is laughing just as hard as he was taken aback - and that settled the debate on frozen meat.

So yeah. There’s a lot of times Dean does it, purely to annoy Cas. And it works like magic and that’s amazing.

But then there’s the really awesome times too, where Dean gets to actually fucking dramatize the line, 'carry you over the threshold of the altar of our marriage’ or something before Cas swears at him to shut up and start kissing him already, and he was getting impatient to be dehymenated as a wedded man or some shit Dean doesn’t remember because then they started making out.

Their honeymoon, close to Dean’s 27th birthday, is the only time Dean’s actually close to dropping Cas - but Cas has only himself to blame because he began to kiss Dean while in the middle of the act - and forgive him for not being completely stable on his feet whilst necking your husband.

And then there’s all of the times when they’ve put their daughter to bed, and Dean has insisted on carrying Cas to bed after a few moments too - a ridiculous gesture but greeted with annoyed grins and half-meaningful rolled-eyes.

So, there. Dean Winchester could pick Castiel up, and he does it often. Castiel can pick him up too, but he knows Dean loves it so he lets him do it. And most of the reason Dean does it, is because Cas either melts in his hands and goes all fluffy and clingy - or he snarks at him mid-air and yells for Dean to get over this phase, or argues that he’s a grown man who doesn’t want to be carried around like a fucking baby.

Dean has a good argument to that, especially when Cas looks at him with that crease in his forehead and hint of a scowl, even while he’s hiding a smile. “No offense, Cas, but without your degrees and computers, you’re kinda like a baby in a trench coat.”

*

I actually liked this one! Thanks for the prompt very much, dear anon!! Tagging @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @all-or-nothing-baby @styggtroll @notyoursweetbaboo @moderatelypanickedbisexual@telefunkies @adventurous-blob @crack–attack Thanks for reading!! Edit: If you feel like it, please leave a comment. Kinda need it somedays. Have an awesome day!

[inevitablethief]

Cas was gone again.  Dean tried not to take it personally; the guy had important things to do after all.  Still, it was hard knowing that Cas wanted to be anywhere but at the bunker with Dean.  

When Cas was around, Dean had someone cool to hang with.  He could show Cas all the movies that Cas needed to watch, but Sam had already seen 100 times.  Instead, Dean spent his lonely downtime making the bunker a better place to live: cooking good meals—complete with rabbit food for the little bro—and carving out a place for himself and the people he…uh…cares most about.

Maybe Cas would stick around if he had someplace just for him to come back to, somewhere for his Netflix, his Enochian books that neither Sam nor Dean can read, and the little things he’d collected over the years like a spare trenchcoat or whatever.  

It wasn’t like he needed a bed, ‘cause the guy didn’t sleep, but taking it out would throw out Dean’s back.  Plus, beds were comfy for watching TV, and, uh, other things that Dean definitely wasn’t thinking about when he dragged another memory foam mattress down the bunker stairs.  He piled a ton of pillows on top, and as many blankets as he could find at the closest Walmart; he even found a grumpy cat plushie in a Hot Topic when they were passing through Wichita.  There was a shelf for his books and knick knacks, and, of course, a big screen TV Dean picked up second hand.  He hooked up one of those boxes that would give Cas all the streaming services anybody could need and entered Sam’s passwords.  

He’d been working all day, and he was pretty exhausted.  That bed looked awfully inviting, and Dean was sore.  He’d just be testing the mattress, making sure everything was good enough for Cas.  Nothing weird about that.  He sank down into the bed; it was like lying on a cloud.  Heh, he’d have to ask Cas about that once he had a chance to try out his new digs.  He was so comfortable, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and soon he’d drifted off.

Dean didn’t know how long he’d slept for, but when he woke, he could tell he wasn’t alone.  He peered out of a half-closed eye and caught sight of a trenchcoated arm and shoulder.  His heart started racing.  “Are you watching me sleep?” he asked, wiping crusties from his eyes.  Annoyance had always proven a good cover for other feelings.

“Sam told me you were in here,” Cas said, the barest hint of a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.  “This isn’t your room.”

“No, uh,” Dean hesitated, sitting up.  “This is for you.  Your own little corner of the bunker.”

“It’s very cozy.”

“Damn right it is!” Dean grinned.

Cas leaned back into the pile of pillows on his side of the bed.  Dean shook that thought out of his head as quickly as it came; it was Cas’s bed, which meant both sides of the bed were his.

“This is very comfortable,” he sighed.

“You haven’t seen the best part, yet.”  Dean grabbed the remotes from the nightstand and flipped on the TV set.  It flickered to life and Dean selected the Netflix menu.  “All your favorite shows, right here where you can...”

He wanted to finish with stay, but the word—and all the feelings that came with it—wouldn’t come out.

“I appreciate it,” Cas said, his smile widening till it was something anyone would recognize as a smile.  It was a rare occurrence, and it made Dean’s heart sing.  He tried to ignore it, but it just felt like too much work when he was surrounded by cozy comfort.  “I haven’t watched the new season of Jessica Jones.  Do you…?

“Yeah,” Dean breathed.  He let Cas take control of the remote, so he could select the first episode, and settled back into the pillows.  Cas sat up to wriggle out of his trench coat, letting it fall behind him before he picked it up and draped it onto one of the chairs, a comfy one Dean imagined Cas reading in.  He draped one of the blankets around his shoulders instead and started the episode.  

“Thank you,” Cas said.  His hand drifted into the space between them, his fingers brushing against Dean’s.  Dean pulled his hand away in surprise.  Cas acted like nothing had happened, but his hand stayed between them, taunting Dean—tempting him.

Halfway through the episode, Dean finally got up the courage—or the stupidity—to drop his hand back between them.  Again, Cas brushed their fingers together.  Dean didn’t pull his hand away but covered Cas’s hand with his own, entwining their fingers.

Cas didn’t say a word, his eyes still on the TV, but when Dean glanced over at him, he was smiling. 

Read this and my other candle scent ficlets on AO3.