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Of course Dean’s day would end in a cramped motel room with a surly (more so than usual) Castiel at his side and only one bed for the two of them to crash in.
“I thought you said a double,” Dean grumbles, tossing his duffle onto the bed and digging through its contents for something not covered in monster guts.
“I did,” Castiel confirms. There’s been a permanent frown etched into the contours of his face ever since they ganked their most recent nasty, and the expression has started to grate on Dean’s nerves. He needs the solstice of a shower like yesterday.
Dean shakes his head. “Yeah well they gave us a freaking double alright,” he mutters under his breath, “a double bed.”
As he pulls a fresh pair of sweatpants from his bag Castiel slides behind him - his front pressing briefly against Dean’s back, sending Dean’s brain into a fuzz - and into the bathroom.
“Hey, Cas!” Dean shouts in protest a beat later. The effort is futile - the fallen angel has already pulled the door shut behind him and started the shower - but it’s not in Dean’s nature to go down without a fight. “You better save me some hot water, asshole!” he shouts at the door for good measure.
When there’s no response, Dean falls into the nearest chair with a weary sigh and scrubs a hand over his face. It’s going to be a long night.
Cas steps out of the bathroom some time later, a threadbare motel towel slung precariously low on his hips and fat droplets of water clinging to his collarbone. He rubs a hand towel over his hair leaving it ruffled beyond repair, and Dean barely keeps himself from crossing the room and tugging on the damp strands just to see how they feel sliding through his fingers.
“The water pressure is mediocre at best,” Castiel grates. Dean watches minutely as the guy rolls his shoulders before bending over his bag in search of something to wear. Quite frankly Dean hopes he doesn’t find anything, but then that’s a thought straight in from left field so Dean shakes his head, dislodging it from his brain and banishing it forever. What the ever loving fuck.
“Awesome,” Dean manages, hastily averting his eyes from the curve of Castiel’s scantily clad rear end. He hefts himself out of the chair and crosses the room to the bathroom just as Cas drops his towel to the ground.
Dean closes the door soundly behind him, cutting himself off before he does something outrageously stupid like try and sneak a peek at what lies below Cas’ finely cut hip bones…
When Dean pads out of the bathroom - already dressed in his pajamas like a decent human being, thank you very much - Castiel is sprawled out on the bed. He dressed in a thin white tee and boxers while Dean was in the shower, and his eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling in a long, steady pace.
Dean takes a moment to study the other man’s face; the perfectly angled slope of his nose, the dark lashes fanning out over the topmost part of his cheekbones, and the two-day old stubble blanketing his jaw that Dean absently considers reaching out and brushing his fingers along.
If he remembers right, Castiel’s scruff is pretty damn soft.
Cas looks so human, lying there, and yet there’s still something so otherworldly about him, something just out of Dean’s reach. It’s unnerving to think he many never understand this great and terrible creature that gripped him tight and changed his life forever.
“For someone who insists it’s ‘creepy’ to watch one as they sleep you certainly have been staring for a long time.” Cas’ voice - deep, rumbly - jars Dean from his thoughts, and his only saving grace is that Castiel’s eyes remain closed, keeping him from seeing the deep blush coloring Dean’s cheeks.
Dean shakes his head and moves towards the light switch. “Shut up,” he grouses. In the darkness of the room Dean wanders back to the bed, stands over it, and surveys what little space there is left.
“You’re not expecting me to sleep on the floor, right?” He asks, because the thought of sharing a bed with Cas has all sorts of weird things going on in his stomach, but it sounds a hell of a lot better than subjecting his back to the stiff motel floor.
“Of course not,” Castiel responds, his voice muffled by the pillow his face is now buried in. “I left you plenty of room.”
“According to who?” Technically there’s enough space for Dean to squeeze into place next to Castiel, but things are already weird without a former angel of the Lord spooning Dean from behind, which Dean would never allow. (Seriously, he wouldn’t.)
Castiel sighs, deep and longsuffering. “Dean,” he rumbles. “Come to bed.” And he says it like the two of them in a bed together is the most normal idea in the world, like it shouldn’t send Dean’s head spinning into territories completely foreign to him.
The strange part of it all is Dean doesn’t protest like he means to. Instead he says, “Yeah, okay,” and climbs onto the bed next to Castiel and lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his body held ramrod straight.
Sharing a bed with Sammy was never this difficult, why is it any different with Cas?
It’s just Cas, he tells himself as he listens to the other man’s breathing, wholly unable to control his own, it’s just Cas. The mantra doesn’t help or explain the jitters in his belly, but whatever, it was worth a shot.
A beat passes - all of it Dean spends feeling guilty for having checked out Cas’ ass earlier, especially now that he’s laying in dangerously close proximity to the guy - and then Cas huffs, pretty damn dramatically, and props himself up on his elbow. “Dean.” He says.
Dean chances a glance at the other man and, despite the darkness, feels the weight of endless blue eyes land on his face.
Goosebumps rise on Dean’s skin.
“If we’re to sleep you can’t lie that way.”
“Lie what way?” Dean snaps defensively.
“Like a corpse gone rigor mortise.”
Dean turns his gaze back to the ceiling and admits with some reluctance, “I can’t relax.”
For a moment Castiel remains still and quiet, studying Dean’s face some more no doubt, and then Dean catches movement out of the corner of his eye, Castiel shifting to his back and throwing out an arm, beckoning Dean to move closer. Dean wants to ask just what the hell Cas thinks he’s doing, but he doesn’t have to - knows already - and his body goes willingly, moving in the sheets until his front is pressed up against Cas’ side.
The fallen angel guides Dean’s head to settle on his chest where Dean sucks in a deep breath, taking in the warm, clean scent of Cas; rosemary and thyme and rain, and his mind reels. Cas’ chest is firm, strong, and the feel of it beneath Dean’s cheek - the feel of Cas so close andthere - does things to Dean, unimaginable, terrifying things.
Well, he thinks, we aren’t spooning…
Castiel’s fingers find their way to the base of Dean’s neck where they press gently, kneading out the stiffness that still lingers from their hunt and scratching lightly along his scalp. Without much thought Dean melts against the other man, throwing an arm over Cas’ middle and sighing against his own damn will.
He feels comfortable, content, like he’s been waiting for this for years but has never been able to have it until now. And isn’t that just fan-freaking-tastic.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean mutters, eyes already at half mast and body heavy with impending sleep.
“Hmmmm.”
“Are things gonna be weird in the morning?”
“Why would they be weird?”
Dean sniffs, buries his face in the crook of Cas’ neck where his skin is warm and soft. Goddamnit there’s no coming back from this, Dean just knows it.
“I dunno,” he murmurs, “'cause we’re, y'know, buddies or whatever.”
For a moment Castiel’s fingers still at the small of Dean’s back, his nails pressing against the flimsy cotton of Dean’s t-shirt. “Go to sleep, Dean,” he finally says and while that’s not even close to an answer, Dean closes his eyes and sleeps.
If there’s one thing to be said about Castiel in the mornings it’s that he bears striking resemblance to a fluffy-haired, over-heated octopus.
Sometime during the night the two of them shifted, Cas ending up on his side with his face pressing into Dean’s chest, and his arms and legs thrown over Dean like his only mission in life is to protect Dean as he sleeps. Some things, it appears, never change.
For a moment Dean’s left alone to marvel in the feel of another person’s body wrapped around his own - and not just any person, but Cas - and then Castiel is stirring, his head drifting away from Dean’s chest, and his eyes blinking open in a way that’s so reminiscent of one of those ridiculously adorable kitten videos Cas is so obsessed with that it brings a smile to Dean’s lips.
And yeah, maybe he’s a little bit gone on the guy. But only a little.
“Hey, babe.” Dean says, the words flow past his lips like water in a stream, and just like that, things are weird. But instead of balking, like Dean expects him to, Castiel reaches out a hand, cups Dean’s face with it, so gentle, and rubs his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone.
“Dean,” Castiel says, his face gravely serious.
“Yeah, Cas.”
Castiel leans in, his mouth a whisper away from Dean’s, the soft puff of his breath ghosting out over Dean’s lips. Dean wants so badly to close the gap between them, feel Castiel’s mouth moving against his own. But he’s stuck, trapped in the line of Cas’ gaze, teetering on the precipice of Something and Nothing and not knowing which way he’s going to fall.
Castiel’s eyes flick to Dean’s lips. He moves in even closer, and Dean can’t breathe. “I don’t want to be your buddy,” Castiel says quietly, and then he leans in and brushes his lips against Dean’s. It’s quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it press of lips, but it leaves Dean dizzy and staring at Cas like he just handed Dean the world.
When Castiel pulls away, the guy is full on smiling - his hair a mess and his eyes still laden with sleep - and dammit Dean’s smiling too because whatever the hell is happening is all sorts of awesome, and confusing, but mostly just awesome.
Castiel kisses him again, longer this time, and Dean feels like he’s careening towards something so huge, so far beyond his level of expertise he doesn’t know how to even being to deal with it, and for a moment he’s afraid. But then Cas is there, with lips tugged upwards and touch so prominent that it just can’t be ignored and somehow Dean knows he’s going to be okay.
“Yeah,” he says around a grin, “I don’t want you to be my buddy either.”