once more sans art

Inspired by this piece:

Castiel gets up early, mostly because sleep for him is a foreign thing to begin with and he only really does it because Dean likes the feeling of falling asleep with him close. But once Dean’s asleep, it’s an exercise in patience for Castiel, and when the sun rises he awakens irrevocably and  completely.

He goes out for a walk, looks at the sunrise and the trees and the birds, or if there are none just analyzes the cracks in the pavement and reads the history of old buildings from laying his hand on their bricks. It’s a quiet and special time for him, and he returns to Dean’s room feeling as though the day has already delivered on its promise of infinite possibilities. Nothing could go wrong now. It’s just a matter of what could go even more right.

And what’s more right is Dean awake, eyes half-lidded, covers thrown off. He looks delicious there, shirt riding up so his stomach is showing, legs bent as he stretches them one by one. “Cas,” he murmurs, and reaches out both his hands.

He’s sleep-warm, wonderful , and his hands on Castiel’s back are small suns radiating heat through bone and muscle. Halfway through the embrace and welcoming kiss, one loses its grip and slides down, limp, to rest on Castiel’s hip. He’s still groggy, and Castiel smiles into the kiss at how half-there, how sleepy and vulnerable he still is. Castiel gets to see him like this. It’s so nice.

And then the alarm clock, undoubtedly “snoozed” since five a.m., starts ringing again, and Dean groans and twitches. Castiel acts fast, lifting one hand to seal it over Dean’s ear. It probably doesn’t mute the sound entirely, but it enables the kiss to go on just a little longer, and from the way Dean tugs on his coat, palm pressing down in a grateful squeeze, Castiel figures he’s done something else right this morning.