Work Text
Dean pauses in the middle of a paragraph, staring at the page without reading. He lets the book fall close over his thumb, resting it on his blanket-covered lap. Turning to his left, he clears his throat to draw Cass’s attention towards him. Cass doesn’t answer, mouth moving along with the words on the page. When he finishes, he grabs for the bookmark he’s left on his nightstand since they started sharing a space. It’s a small, plastic thing Dean picked up for him awhile back. Sam and him were passing through a town that hosted a Bible Fair the weekend they arrived. The little angel, playing a golden harp, attracted Dean immediately. He immediately purchased it, stuffing it into his pocket so Sam wouldn’t see. When he showed it to Cass, Dean wished he bought tens of thousands of more – if only to have his angel smile like that every day. Luckily he hadn’t needed a bookmark to do that, especially recently. Cass places his book beside him, giving Dean his attention. “What is it, Dean?” Dean draws out his time. He plays with his book, flipping it open and shut before closing it for good with a dog-eared page. Then he presses his lips into a thin line, thinking over what he wants to say. Finally, Dean takes off his reading glasses and kneads at his right eye before speaking. “Is this… okay?” Cass skews his head to the right, frowning. “What do you mean?” “I mean… this,” Dean waves his hand around flippantly, glasses clinking around. “Us. Do you think we – uh… we fell into this too fast?” “I don’t think so,” Cas says, “Do you?” “Well…” Dean sighs, laying his glasses over top of his book, both in the open vee his bowlegs make when he sits up in bed. “It just feels too good, y’know? Like… we spend ten years kinda dancing around each other and then one day we’re… not?” It was a strange day. Dean shuffled into the Bunker late at night, Sam ahead of him already searching his tablet for a new case. He tried to get Dean to stay and help with research, but he grunted out his plans for sleep. On his way to his room, he passed Cass standing outside Jack’s door. The kid locked himself away in his room after Michael’s defeat, unwilling to let anyone in. It wasn’t any different for the days he stepped out. As their eyes met, Dean let his body take control. He shifted his duffel into his other hand and reached out to Cass’s coat, tugging him away. Cass followed, the beige material their only tether to each other. When they reached Dean’s room, Cass closed his door while he undressed. There wasn’t any build-up. Dean, too tired to attempt foreplay, helped Cass get comfortable in his room. It wasn’t sexy how he untied Cass’s tie, unbuttoned his shirt and pants, and even stripped his socks off. They climbed into their respective sides, Cass wrapping his arms around Dean’s body, face pressed to back. Their first kiss was four hours later, when Sam pounded Dean awake with news of a potential hunt. Dean shuffled around the room, only replacing the clothes in his duffle that had gone too long without being washed. Cass lied in their bed, watching him. Dean kissed him goodbye, his mouth probably still tasting like the stale fast food he and Sam scarfed down in the rush back. Since then, Dean and Cass have been more open in their affections. Like the first night was all they needed, allowing for years of pent-up desires and needs to seek fulfillment. Cascading over them in a waterfall, filling him with warmth he never knew the name of until then. After that moment, Dean couldn’t believe how long he survived without it. “It’s not a bad thing,” Dean assures Cas, “I’m… I’m not used to it, s’all. Having good things.” His voice goes quiet, barely whispering above the quiet. “It’s almost too good and I… I’m just wondering when it’s all gonna get taken away. The rugs been pretty damn cozy, Cass; it’d be awful to have it pulled out from under us now.” There are fingers on his face, Cass’s, and they nudge him away from his book and glasses and towards his eyes. It was one of the first things he told Cass, when they started pushing past friendship. “I like your eyes,” Dean said over coffee, “They remind me of lakes and… happier times. I always feel better after looking into them.” He sees in the depths of his angel’s eyes love and comfort, and accepts it. His nerves easily settle. “Dean,” Cass purrs, “You’re allowed to have good things.” He flushes, biting his lip. “When you say it like that, Cass, I almost believe it.” “Then I’ll keep saying it,” Cass tells him, leaning forward to brush his lips up against his cheek. “I’ll always remind you,” he continues, placing another barely-there kiss to Dean’s other cheek. “Because you and I… there’s nothing more right in the world.” A ghost of Cass’s lips haunts the corner of his lips, Dean chasing them as they pull away. “And from our experience that only makes this more worth fighting for.” Dean nods, mind too frayed to even speak. “It doesn’t matter how fast things seem to be going,” Cas says, breath dancing along the puckered flesh of Dean’s lips. “All we’re doing is making up for lost time. Making the most of what we have, for as long as we get to have it.” Dean smiles. His voice is strained from the thick emotion smothering his vocal chords. “You really want to spend the rest of our time like this? Being all domestic?” Cass raises a brow at that, the action like lighting down Dean’s spine. “Domesticity isn’t an ugly word.” “Maybe so… but it’s one I haven’t the first clue about.” “Neither do I, but we’ll figure it out… together.” Dean presses his lips to Cass’s, hands sliding up to grip his hair. He breaks for air, panting across his angel’s cheek. “I… I’d really like that.” “Good.” Cass kisses him one last time before taking his book and glasses away. “Now sleep, you need your rest.” Rolling his eyes, Dean chooses not to say another word. He doesn’t have to. Wrapped in each other’s arms under the cover of darkness, he can’t find anything else that would make it more of what the scene already is. Perfect.