Thanks to the absolutely wonderful Onja for reading this over and offering invaluable input and also vanquishing my embarrassing typos, and also just making it flow better. ily man.

Also, don't ask me about the title. Just. I don't know, okay. I hate making up titles.

Btw, this is just pure smut. So. Yeah.

Their room's door has barely been shut before Castiel is slamming Dean up against it, lips pressing against his. He pushes his tongue in, curling it around Dean's, and Dean groans softly into his mouth. His hands paw at Dean's beaten leather jacket––he wants it off––and he presses his legs in between Dean's thighs, forcing them apart.

The need for air forces Castiel to break the kiss, so he trails open-mouthed kisses across Dean's jaw before kissing down the side of his neck. Dean tilts his head to the side to allow better access, eyes shut and mouth forming a small 'o,' hands coming up to fist Castiel's hair. Castiel's hands rove over every inch of Dean's chest and torso, skimming over the growing bulge in his pants as Castiel sucks gently on an earlobe, tracing the outline with his tongue.

Dean groans, low and soft, and moves his hips forward, but Castiel stops him with a hand on his hip, holding him in place as the other tugs at Dean's shirt.

"Off," he growls into Dean's ear, forcing himself to move back, watching as Dean hastily pulls the shirt over his head, revealing smooth, tanned skin, every inch as kissable as his lips.

Dean makes a move forward. Castiel stops him yet again with a hand on his chest, and Dean glares at him with lust-blown eyes.

"Dude. What the hell?"

Castiel ignores him, instead stepping closer and running his thumb against Dean's lower lip.

He is gorgeous, with swollen, pink lips and large, green eyes, his tan chest almost glowing in the moonlight that filters in through the window––every bit as desirable as Castiel has dreamed, perhaps even more so. Castiel has to take a moment to remind himself that this is real, that Dean wants him, the odd, socially awkward boy with a strange sense of humor and an affinity to take things too seriously. Not just his body, not just sex, but him, Castiel Novak, the man who is, according to his brother, "broken and useless."

"You are exquisite," he mutters, hand cradling Dean's cheeks, and he can feel the heat underneath his palm, hears Dean's breath hitch. "Beautiful." And Dean is, filled to the brim with almost frightening passion and loyalty, afraid of the world but brazenly stomping over all rules and boundaries, so kind when the world has been anything but to him.

He leans in to press a chaste kiss to his mouth, cradling Dean's neck with a hand and entangling the other in his short blond hair. He nuzzles Dean's neck with his nose, breathing in a scent that is wholly Dean, a whiff of leather and beer and that horrible soap he uses, and it shouldn't be as pleasing as it is, a plethora of things that are so different and yet seem to work together to create something wholly new, pleasing and different, like Dean himself.

"Wanted you for so long," he mutters into Dean's skin.

"Then why don't you fucking get on with it, man?" Dean growls, tugging at Castiel's hair.

Castiel's lips twitch. The impatience is so Dean, he can't help chuckling softly.

"Okay. Laughter ain't exactly the reaction I was goin' for," Dean says, and Castiel can hear the pout in his voice.

"My apologies," Castiel says, brushing his lips briefly against Dean's ear, reveling in the way Dean shivers. He finds Dean's lips and kisses him, hard, flicking his tongue across the seam of Dean's lips, and Dean gives in without hesitancy. Castiel brushes his tongue against Dean's, running it across the roof of his mouth, curling it around Dean's and gently sucking, his hands playing at the waistband of his jeans, teasing his nipples, pressing his thigh against Dean's erection, and he smirks into the kiss as he hears Dean's soft whimper.

"You needed to get naked like yesterday," Dean says in between kisses, hands fumbling with Castiel's shirt buttons, breathing harsh.

"Allow me," he says, batting Dean's hands away and taking a small step back––he doesn't trust himself to resist from touching the siren that is standing in front of him––to unbutton his shirtfront with practiced ease.

"Are you even fucking polite during sex?"

"Only if you want me to be," Castiel answers, flashing Dean a quick smirk and shrugging out of his shirt.

Dean licks his lips. "Huh."

Castiel jerks Dean closer, the sudden movement causing the younger man to stumble, and turns him around before pushing him back toward the closest bed. "I'm guessing you don't want me to be," he says, shoving Dean back onto the bed.

Dean's voice is hoarser than before when he answers, "Not particularly, no."

So Dean enjoys a little manhandling. Castiel catalogs the information. With another smirk, he crawls on top of Dean, mouth traveling up Dean's chest to connect to his lips, hands working on the zipper of his jeans. "That won't be a problem," he whispers against his mouth. He latches onto Dean's jittery pulse point with his mouth and bites gently before laving the spot with his tongue, hands pushing Dean's jeans down.

Dean groans, lifting his hips to help Castiel get the jeans off, and in a practiced move, Castiel slicks his boxer briefs down, too. Dean's erection pops up, swollen and red, and Castiel wraps a hand around it, watching with hooded eyes as Dean squeezes his eyes shut and moans, arching into the touch.

Castiel leans down to place a quick kiss on the head, sneaking in a bit of tongue before traveling down, his breath ghosting over the shaft. He takes his sac into his mouth and rolls it around on with his tongue, eliciting a low moan from Dean. He repeats the action on the other side, and then pulls back, looking up at Dean, his hand around Dean's cock in a slack hold as he hovers right above the head, hot, moist breath whispering over it.

Dean's cock twitches and he growls, scowling, "Dammit, Cas, what're you waitin' for?" But the would-be intimidating effect is ruined, because the growl is more a breathless plea, the scowl more a pout, his cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

Castiel cocks an eyebrow. "You have not quite made it clear what it is you want me to do."

Dean's eyes narrow, and he shifts onto his elbows. "Cas," he warns.

Castiel runs his hands up and down Dean's muscled thighs, fingers dancing across the soft skin in swirls and patterns. "Dean."

Dean bites his lips before saying, "I ain't gonna say it."

Castiel's answering grin can only be described as shark-like. "I was rather hoping you would say that." Before Dean can reply, Castiel surges forward and kisses him once––for good luck, he thinks with a tinge of amusement––and moves down to kiss up Dean's inner thighs, looking up at Dean for a reaction. When all that elicits is a hitch of the breath, Castiel adds a bit of teeth, nibbling gently, a hand going up to ghost down Dean's dick, slowly stroking Dean's scrotum.

Dean parts his lips, panting, hands curling into the sheets. Castiel moves to the other thigh, hand now loosely pumping Dean's cock, not hard enough for any real friction.

"Cas." Knowing Dean, Castiel is sure that it's meant to be an impatient growl, but the shortened version of his name comes out a groan, a plea.

Though Castiel is rather tempted to seal his lips over Dean's leaking cock, to taste Dean on his tongue, to reduce the ever-expressive Dean to nothing but hoarse groans of his name, to a mantra of cascascas Castiel restrains himself. There will be time for that later. Soon. First, he has a goal to accomplish.

He has waited for this for years. Surely, he can be patient for a few more moments?

"All you must do is ask, Dean." He wants Dean and he wants Dean to want him. Not merely lust after him, but to truly and desperately want him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Castiel notes that this speaks rather loudly about his own personality and issues, but Castiel ignores it in favor of scaling his mouth over Dean's nipple––they're rather sensitive, Castiel's noted––and sucking.

"Shit––Cas, you fucking know what I want."

It seems Dean has made up his mind.

Castiel pushes back, eyes trained on Dean, kissing his way down Dean's navel. "Oh," he says, mouth poised right on top of Deans cock, his breath ghosting over it, eyes peering into Dean's. "Do I?"

Dean's dick twitches, small beads of precome beading down the length, and Castiel can smell Dean's arousal, the scent sharp. He licks his lips, forcing himself to wait.

Dean's chest rises and falls rapidly, and his voice is hoarse, wrecked, as he says, "Cas, fuck, please."

Castiel knows how rarely Dean uses the word 'please,' and the fact that he has made Dean say the word––plead, really––sends a trill of desire through him. He decides it's good enough.

Castiel parts his lips and lands a few kittenish, tentative licks on the head before enclosing his mouth over it, working to swallow down Dean's cock.

Then, he gets to work.

Dean gives an uninhibited moan as Castiel starts bobbing his head up and down. Dean tugs his hair again, and Castiel groans around Dean. Steeling himself, he goes down all the way, Dean's length hitting the back of his throat, short, wiry hair tickling his nose as he buries it against Dean's base, eyes trained on Dean's face, and then he swallows, once, twice, thrice. It isn't the most comfortable position, but Castiel knows he can do it.

Castiel has never appreciated a sight more as he watches Dean's eyes fly wide open, a strangled, "Castiel," falling from his lips, hands tugging at Castiel's hair again, hips making an aborted thrust upward.

Castiel splays his hands across Dean's hipbone to stop him from accidentally thrusting upward and swallows again, and again, and again, then starts moving up and down Dean's length once more.

Above him, Dean screws his eyes shut, a litany of, "Cas," and, "God," and, "fuck," tumbling from his lips in varying tenors and tones and whimpers, and they are perhaps the sweetest sounds Castiel has ever heard.

He hums around Dean, and Deans's hands scrabble at his shoulders, tug at his hair, latch onto Castiel's biceps. "Castiel, shit, I'm gonna—," he warns, voice layered with lust and desire and need, and Castiel groans as he realizes he is the one that has driven Dean to this desperation, pulling back a bit he prepares to swallow.

Dean comes in hot spurts, and Castiel swallow the bitter-tasting come down, milking Dean through his orgasm.

Castiel pulls off with an obscene 'pop,' a trickle of seed leaking out the corner of his mouth. Dean watches him as he gathers it on the pad of his finger and brings it to his mouth, sucking it in.

Dean's breath hitches, and Castiel allows himself a smirk. He cocks his head as he asks, "Was that satisfactory?" knowing full well what the answer to the question is.

Dean drops his head back onto the pillow, throwing an arm over his eyes as he rasps out, "Fuck."

Castiel's thinking something along those exact lines as he rakes his eyes over Dean's glistening body, his breath heavy as he takes in the sight of Dean, sated and pliable and sprawled out. His own arousal is heavy and hard, and though he would like nothing more than to fuck Dean through the mattress—Dean would be proud of his choice of words—he knows that is a conversation for another day, when they're not half out of their minds with lust and desire.

As far as he can tell, Dean has never been with another man before, and though he aches to be inside Dean, to have that intimacy, he doesn't know if Dean wants that, and that is what's important.

In fact, Castiel realizes, he knows nothing about what Dean's comfortable or uncomfortable doing, and that's disconcerting. Before engaging in sex, Castiel ensures his partner and him are on the same page.

Dean has always made him act impulsively—has always made him shed his carefully constructed exterior, made him do things he though he'd never do, feel things he thought he'd never feel.

Dean looks at him, head cocked to the side, watching him, and then his eyes widen almost comically. "Wait. You're still..." He makes a vague gesture at Castiel's arousal.

"Yes. I am," Castiel says, and gives a little sigh. His desire is thrumming through his body, and he realizes that if he doesn't do anything soon, he will end up doing something that might jeopardize his relationship with Dean, and that is one thing he cannot have. He leans in for a gentle kiss and makes a move to get up, intent on taking care of his erection.

Dean latches a hand around his wrist, and Castiel stop, tilting his head inquiringly at Dean.

Dean's brows furrow. "Dude, where're you goin'? You've a ragin' hard-on."

Castiel cocks an eyebrow, resisting the urge to pull Dean closer. "I'm going to go take care of my 'raging hard-on.'"

"Yeah, but I'm here. I ain't gettin' up."

Castiel nods slowly. "Yes, I...I know."

"So why are you goin'?"

Something clicks in Castiel's mind. "Ah! You needn't, uh, you don't have to return the favor." He wants Dean to know he doesn't require sex—he doesn't want Dean to do anything he doesn't want.

All his past relationships revolved around sex; Dean is different.

Dean's face falls, and he clears his throat, looking away. "Oh. So you, um, don't...want me."

Castiel stills in place, eyebrows shooting up. What the hell is Dean talking about? How in the world has he gotten that from what Castiel has said? "What?" he asks.

"No, uh, 's okay. I mean, if you don' wanna do anything, y'know, that's your—I don' wanna, like, do something' if you don't wanna."

Castiel eyes Dean, brows furrowed, mouth parting in surprise. "What are you––do you believe I don't want you?"

Dean flushes and looks away. "I, well, yeah. I mean, you gave me a blowjob an' then you kinda just up and go. Not that there's—you don't have to—I mean, that's, um, okay. Y'know."

Castiel shuts his eyes and sighs, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course Dean would take his thoughtfulness the wrong way. How Dean can even think he doesn't want him is beyond Castiel—he's hard, for Heaven's sake; how much more proof does Dean require? However, since Dean's mind is mysterious at best and downright unfathomable at worst, he doesn't even try to puzzle it out.

Dean Winchester, for all his passion and loyalty and courage, is still an oblivious idiot.

"Dean," he says, voice calm. "I have said this before and I have no doubt that I shall say this many times in the future: you're an idiot."

Dean snaps his mouth shut, cutting himself off, and pouts. "Hey, man, no need to call me—."

"Do you truly believe that I do not want you? Let me tell you, Dean," he growls, and leans in closer, "I would like nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress. But right now, I don't know what you want. I don't want you to do anything because you feel the need to reciprocate, I don't want you to think I require sex from you. And right now, you're clearly not going to be able to think clearly, and that sort of discussion is best had when we're both––."

Dean pulls him forward and kisses him, clumsy and messy, and Castiel doesn't even have to think before his mouth is moving against Dean's.

"Shut up," Dean breathes when they part. "God, you're such an idiot, Cas."

Castiel rears back, eyes widening. "I'm the idiot? You're the one doubting my desire while my erection pokes you in the thigh. If anyone is deserving of the label––."

"Shut the fuck up, man, you're ruining the mood," Dean says, but he's grinning.

"No. You're ruining the mood," Castiel returns. "Thinking I don't want you. How in the hell do you even––."

Dean kisses him again. "Dude. Seriously. Shut up. I want you. Like, right now would be really fucking nice."

Castiel draws back to speak––Dean is too distracting––and furrows his eyebrows. "Are…are you sure?"

Dean gives him a look. "No, Castiel," he says sarcastically. "I'm just sayin' that. Of course I'm sure."

"But––."

"Dude. Fuck me. Why're you makin' this so complicated?" Dean says, voice layered with irritation.

Castiel opens and shuts his mouth, cock twitching at Dean's fuck me. "Well, I just––do you even know what that entails? You've never been with a man, correct?"

Dean glares at him. "I know what guy on guy fucking entails, Castiel. Just 'cause I've never, uh, y'know, done it with a dude doesn't mean I don't know."

Castiel looks down at him, lips twitching upward. "Ah. Yes. I forgot. Your knowledge of anal sex is unparalleled. You've read Cut and Run, after all."

Dean looks mortally offended. "Dude. You don't say shit like that when we're about to have sex, okay? Like how did you ever get laid?"

Castiel tilts his head to the side, allowing his lips to form a smirk, and says, "Would you like me to show you?"

Dean blinks up at him, lips parting, eyes wide. "Sure."

Castiel leans down to kiss him, the urge to fuck Dean almost overtaking him once he realizes this is happening, but he forces himself to calm down. He fumbles in his bedside drawer for the lube and condoms he keeps there. The bottle of lube is mostly used, and Dean raises an eyebrow when he sees it.

"Oh, shut up," Castiel grumbles.

"Ain't judgin' you here, man," Dean says, but he's smirking.

Castiel determines that he really has to fix that. Soon. He opens the bottle of lube and drizzles some onto his fingers, eyeing Dean the whole time. Dean swallows, eyes wide as he stares at Castiel's fingers, and it isn't all arousal.

"Dean," Castiel says, leaning closer to place a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips. "We needn't do this."

Dean shakes his head. "No. I wanna do this."

Castiel pulls back and studies Dean, whose jaw is clenched, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes glinting with a dogged determination. Castiel can't help the small laugh that he huffs out as he shakes his head. Dean looks as if he's going to war.

"Hey." He doesn't even have to look to know Dean's pouting. "Dude."

But Castiel can't help but laugh harder. "You––you look––oh, Dean," he chokes out, knowing he should really stop but unable to.

"Wow. Okay." Dean turns his head away. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel takes a deep breath and forces the laughter back, staring at Dean with a fond smile on his face. Dean is still turned away, scowling, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and Castiel grasps his chin with two fingers and turns it toward him. Dean glares up at him.

"You are…so endearing."

Dean's scowl deepens. "I am not."

Castiel leans closer. "You really, really are."

"No, I'm not."

"Dean," Castiel says, lips curling further upward in amusement. "You seem as if you're about to go to war."

Dean flushes a deeper read and squirms, tries to turn his head but can't, because his chin is still in Castiel's grasp. Instead, he looks past Castiel's shoulder. "Yeah. Well. I don't wanna end up doing it wrong," he mumbles.

"I thought I was in charge of the 'doing' part," Castiel says, eyebrow raised, but Dean seems to become even redder, a feat Castiel had not known could be accomplished. "Hey." He kisses Dean gently, pulls back just a bit. "It's just sex, Dean. You don't have to worry about anything." He kisses him again. "Let me take care of you," he mutters against his lips.

Dean hesitates only a second. "Okay," he whispers, staring up at Castiel with wide, trusting eyes. He nods and swallows. "Okay."

Castiel kisses him again, just because, and says, "Thank you." The lube is still in his other hand, and he drizzles on a bit more, warming it a bit between his fingers. He leans down to kiss Dean, licks his way into his mouth while his finger slowly trails down Dean's scrotum, down until he's circling Dean's entrance, rubbing gently. Dean's hips jerk infinitesimally. Castiel leans back only enough to whisper, "Relax, Dean. For me," against Dean's lips before he's kissing him again, his other hand braced against Dean's shoulder.

Dean relaxes, and he pushes his finger in. Dean stiffens, and Castiel licks and nips at his jaw, his neck, moves lightly and slowly, and Dean relaxes, head falling back, mouth parting. When Dean is panting beneath him, Castiel slowly pushes another finger in. Dean tenses, and he repeats what he did before, kissing Dean gently, whispering against his lips. When he is sure Dean is comfortable, he angles for where he thinks Dean's prostate is, and it's only a couple strokes before he hits it.

Dean arches his back, eyes fluttering opening. "Motherfucker!"

"Your prostate," Castiel explains, hiding a smirk as Dean shuts his eyes and moans when Castiel hits it again instead of answering.

"Fuck, never thought––." Dean cuts himself off, panting, licking his lips as he jerks his hips down, onto Castiel's hand.

"And here I thought your knowledge about anal sex was unparalleled?" Castiel teases.

"Fuck––Cas, shut up, seriously, shut––ah!"

"Sorry." Castiel's smirk is no longer hidden. "You were saying something?"

"Fuck," Dean pants, "you." His head falls back again as Castiel slowly pushes in another finger.

"Try again," he says, his own arousal heady and heavy.

"Cas." Dean's voice is hoarse. Castiel realizes he really, really needs to be inside Dean right now.

His mouth is dry as he pulls his fingers out, dick throbbing at Dean's moan of protest, and he fumbles for the condom. Rolling it on, he says in a strained voice, "Dean. I'm going to––."

"Hurry up and fuck me," Dean gasps.

That is all the encouragement Castiel needs. He grips Dean's hips hard enough to bruise––the thought leaves a vicious pleasure to course through him; Dean is his––and stops, catches his breath. Gritting his teeth, Castiel forces himself to be patient. Patience. "Dean. If you lie on your side––."

"Cas, I swear to God––."

"It will not hurt as much––."

"Cas! Shut the fuck up, man," Dean snaps, glowering up at him, and it shouldn't be as irresistible as it is. "Do I fucking look like I fucking care?"

"No, but––."

"Oh, mother—Cas, if you do not fuck me in the next five fucking seconds, I'll flip you over and fuck myself on your cock myself, y'hear me? Get on with it, you fucking––." Deans breath hitches as Castiel pushes in, gently, cutting himself off. "Oh," Dean breathes, eyes widening, breath coming faster.

Castiel bites his lip, hears his heart pounding in his ears. His knuckles are white where he's gripping Dean's hips. He's panting, trying as hard as he can to stop his hips from moving forward into the tightness, the heat, forcing himself to stop to let Dean get used to it. "You all right?" he gets out, voice gruff.

"I––." Dean swallows, sweat matting his hair down to his forehead. "Yeah. Just. Gimme a sec."

Castiel nods. Dean shifts, just a bit, and Castiel can't hold back a low groan. God. He's wanted this for so long. He waits for another couple of seconds, and can't stop himself from asking, "May I––."

"Yeah," Dean interrupts, licking his lips, looking at Castiel. "Go for it."

Castiel pushes in in slow, torturous increments, stalling whenever Dean shows the slightest show of discomfort, until his balls are flush against Dean's ass. He hangs his head, panting, and drops a quick kiss onto Dean's lips, because he's right there. "Ready?"

"Fuck, yeah," Dean breathes.

And then Castiel proceeds to fuck him.

He pulls almost all the way out and snaps his hips back, repeats the motion again and again and again. Dean's head falls back, mouth parting, and Castiel cannot hold back his own moan. The sharp scent of sweat and arousal is in the air, and Castiel knows he won't be able to last for much longer, not today, not this time. He angles his hips in the hopes of finding Dean's prostate. He knows he's hit it when Dean's breath starts coming out in reedy little ah ah ahs, when he curls his hands into the sheets and arches off the bed. Castiel raises the pace, snaps his hips harder, and gives Dean a couple of rough strokes, and then Dean's coming again, a high whine signaling his climax, and Castiel is not far behind, a harsh, loud gasp of "Dean" on his lips.

Before he can fall atop Dean's pliant form, Castiel shifts his weight to the left, bounces onto the bed, slipping out of Dean. Dean's nose twitches, but he doesn't say anything, and they both catch their breath.

It's a few moments later that Dean, staring at the ceiling with hazy eyes, goes, "Fuck."

Castiel huffs out a laugh, stifling a yawn. "I agree."

Dean licks his lips and turns his head toward Castiel, nuzzling into his neck, smiling wide and goofy. "Dude. That was––." He yawns, "––awesome."

Castiel hums in agreement, shifting to take off the condom and tie it up, scrunching his nose as he realizes he has to get up. He makes a move to get up but Dean makes a noise of protest, nuzzles closer, throws an arm across his chest.

"Don' go," he mutters, eyelids drooping.

"Dean, I need to clean us up."

"Fuck it."

"I can't."

Dean opens an eye to glare up at him blearily.

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

Dean huffs and moves away. "Fine."

Castiel gets up, tosses the condom away. He searches for some sort of washcloth, and, when he can't find one, cocks his head toward one of Dean's used shirts and decides Dean wouldn't mind. If he does––well, Castiel now has excellent ways to make it up to him. Ways that are mutually beneficial.

He wipes himself and Dean off and then throws the shirt somewhere over his shoulder before crawling back into the too-tiny bed. As soon as he settles, Dean is all over him like an octopus, legs and arms wrapped around his body. Castiel stiffens, but then relaxes when Dean pokes his nose into Castiel's throat. He tries to configure his limbs properly––he doesn't know where to put them; he's never "cuddled"––and finally gets comfortable. Dean lets out a happy little sigh and snuggles closer.

"You're a cuddler," he says, wry amusement in his voice. Dean Winchester, a cuddler. You learn something new everyday.

"'S not cuddling." He can hear the sulk in Dean's voice, though he is currently speaking to Castiel's neck, his hot breath fanning the skin and giving Castiel the urge to squirm. " 'S more like…like…"

"…Cuddling?" Castiel says.

Dean leans back, glares at him through hazy eyes. " 'S not cuddling. 'S more like…post…post-coital recovery."

Castiel raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. "Of course." He misses Dean's warmth, however––how odd; he misses something so dearly when he has just been introduced––so he decides to drop it.

'Post-coital recovery,' it was.

"Come here," he says, unable to stop the smirk from forming.

Dean narrows his eyes, but right now, the look is more endearing than intimidating. "You're laughing at me."

"No, I find it rather––," cute, he wants to say, but knows the sentiment won't be much appreciated, "––endearing, really."

Dean sticks his nose in the air and shifts away from Castiel. "Yeah, well, what––Shit!"

What Dean had forgotten, however, was how tiny the bed was.

There is pure abject terror on Dean's face as he falls off the side, landing with a small thud and a pitiful groan, and Castiel can't help it––he bursts out laughing.

"Fuck you, Cas," Dean says, and Castiel can hear the pout in his voice.

Castiel leans over to grin at Dean, who's lying flat on his back, glaring up at Castiel. "Funny, I remember you saying those words the other way around."

Dean's glare intensifies, though Castiel can make out a blush on his face. "An' how long have you been waiting to say that?"

Castiel's grin widens. "Very long." Castiel sticks his hand out. "Come on. Get back here."

"I don't think I have the energy to move."

Castiel cocks an eyebrow. "You'd really rather sleep on the floor, where you'll get cold and probably cramp your back up, than with me, under the sheets, where it's nice and warm?"

Dean huffs. After a couple of seconds, he grabs Castiel's hand and gets up, groaning.

Castiel shifts to the side, holding the sheets up, and Dean slips into them, snuggling up close to Castiel's side.

" 'S not cuddling," he sniffs as Castiel gathers him up into his arms.

Castiel hums, eyes drooping as he traces lazy circles onto Dean's hip with his thumb. Dean pokes his leg in between Castiel's, nuzzling closer, their breathing deep and even.

After a few minutes of silence, as Castiel is just about to teeter into unconsciousness, Dean says in a sleepy voice, "Fine. Maybe 's cuddlin'."

Castiel can't help letting out a chuckle, and he drops a quick kiss onto Dean's forehead before shutting his eyes and saying, "Lucky for you, you chose someone who quite enjoys cuddling."

Dean's lips tip up and he lets out a small sigh. "Yeah. Lucky me."

Castiel falls asleep to Dean's soft, deep breaths, a feeling of lightheartedness and joy and contentedness that he has not felt in a long time flickering in his chest. He believes he can get used to this.

In fact, he believes he already has.

Well, there ya have it. That fic I promised about a year late (sorry 'bout that). My first foray into smut. Oh, dear lord. If you've made it all the way down here, man—thank you.

Anyway, that's that. I might write something else in this universe (plot bunnies are always present), but I might not (because guess what I discovered? STAR TREK AND ALSO MCKIRK AND MCCOY/KIRK/SPOCK YES). So, yeah. We'll see?

Anyway, thanks to y'all for bothering to click on this and actually reading it. As this is my first time writing smut, please feel free to leave comments letting me know what worked/what sucked/how I should just never ever bother writing something like this again.