prompted by ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mirawonderfulstar from this list
[thank u for this prompt, I'm gay and I miss them]
Dean woke feeling far more warm, safe, and comfortable than his fallen-asleep left arm and cricked neck gave him a right to be. Cas was squashed into the forward curve of Dean's body, pressed close to fit them both on the couch. David Attenborough was still speaking soothingly from the TV across the room, but quieter than the last time Dean was awake. Cas must have turned it down when he realized Dean was asleep.
For a moment, Dean thought Cas was sleeping too. He could feel Cas's chest expanding with his slow, even breaths, but from his position crammed into the corner of the couch he couldn't see his face. His free arm, the one not currently dead to the world, was slung over Cas's chest, and just as Dean had resigned himself to dying here on this couch to avoid waking him, Cas shifted to pull that arm closer. Dean opened his mouth to say something about getting up, then stopped when he felt lips on the sensitive skin just below his palm. He expected to feel tongue or teeth next, but Cas's lips just stayed there, dry and growing warmer with the contact.
"Cas?" he finally croaked, voice still dry with sleep. Cas started guiltily, caught in the sort of tenderness that a fully conscious Dean would brush off before it could take. "Whatcha doing?"
"I like to feel your pulse," came the eventual, sheepish answer. Dean's first instinct was to say something sarcastic, yeah that's not weird at all, but folded up behind Cas, hidden from searching gazes and soft from the comfort of safety and touch, he just thought of every time he'd worried over Cas's pulse, looked at him still and broken on the ground or vanished from a scorched spot on a prophet's wall.
"Yeah, okay," he said, tucking his nose into the hollow place at the back of Cas's head and closing his eyes again. When he didn't feel Cas's lips return to his wrist, he nudged him with his nose. "No need to stop."
mirawonderfulstar from this list[thank u for this prompt, I'm gay and I miss them]
Dean woke feeling far more warm, safe, and comfortable than his fallen-asleep left arm and cricked neck gave him a right to be. Cas was squashed into the forward curve of Dean's body, pressed close to fit them both on the couch. David Attenborough was still speaking soothingly from the TV across the room, but quieter than the last time Dean was awake. Cas must have turned it down when he realized Dean was asleep.
For a moment, Dean thought Cas was sleeping too. He could feel Cas's chest expanding with his slow, even breaths, but from his position crammed into the corner of the couch he couldn't see his face. His free arm, the one not currently dead to the world, was slung over Cas's chest, and just as Dean had resigned himself to dying here on this couch to avoid waking him, Cas shifted to pull that arm closer. Dean opened his mouth to say something about getting up, then stopped when he felt lips on the sensitive skin just below his palm. He expected to feel tongue or teeth next, but Cas's lips just stayed there, dry and growing warmer with the contact.
"Cas?" he finally croaked, voice still dry with sleep. Cas started guiltily, caught in the sort of tenderness that a fully conscious Dean would brush off before it could take. "Whatcha doing?"
"I like to feel your pulse," came the eventual, sheepish answer. Dean's first instinct was to say something sarcastic, yeah that's not weird at all, but folded up behind Cas, hidden from searching gazes and soft from the comfort of safety and touch, he just thought of every time he'd worried over Cas's pulse, looked at him still and broken on the ground or vanished from a scorched spot on a prophet's wall.
"Yeah, okay," he said, tucking his nose into the hollow place at the back of Cas's head and closing his eyes again. When he didn't feel Cas's lips return to his wrist, he nudged him with his nose. "No need to stop."
