Love Me Tender

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: K+

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Word count: 429

Summary: [Based on a Tumblr prompt] Dean tells Castiel how he feels without using his voice. Dean/Castiel ONESHOT.

AN: Seriously, I can't listen to Love Me Tender without blubbering and descending into fluff (*single tear* Twist and Shout). And Holy Chuck, this got fluffy. This borders on cheesy. I hope you like it anyway.

DISCLAIMER. I do not own Supernatural.

Inspired by this prompt: "Imagine person A lightly tracing "I love you" over and over again on person B's skin, assuming that person B is asleep. When person A is lying on their back, getting ready to sleep, person B moves closer and wraps their arms around person A, whispering softly, "I love you too." Bonus if that's the first time person A has ever declared their love for person B."

Castiel always hogs the duvet. That's the thing that bugs Dean about sharing his bed with the angel, if he has to complain about anything. Cas takes up at least seventy five percent of the duvet, wrapping it around himself like a burrito, and the guy doesn't even sleep. He says it's because he's trying to recreate Jimmy's memories of what sleeping feels like, but that's a load of crap and Dean knows it, and if Jimmy could talk from wherever he is inside his body then he'd say the exact same thing; they all know that Cas just takes the majority of the duvet because he knows that if the night is cold and the wind is rattling around whatever sleazy motel room they've stopped in and Dean finds himself limited to only thirty percent of the blankets, he has to resort to cuddling as close to the angel as he can and burrowing his face into the crook of his neck in order to remain warm.

It's exceptionally cold tonight, so cold in fact that Dean's almost certain that the next Ice Age has started. Sam's already asleep in the other bed, snoring lightly from the other side of the room. He's only here because all the other motel rooms were taken and has therefore made Dean solemnly - albeit rather reluctantly - promise that there will be no - and he means no - sex committed tonight, much to the older Winchester's disappointment. Combined with the noise of his brother and the sound of the raindrop shattering against the window, Dean's still awake, chest pressed against Cas' back, his arm looped over him like he's a human sized teddy bear. He's doing his impression of sleeping, his eyes closed, breathing regular, his seventy five percent of the duvet bundled under his arm with his hands resting atop the blankets. Dean begins to brush absentminded shapes across Cas' palm, the angel letting out a contended sigh, as the patterns evolve into letters, and the letters evolve into words, the things Dean can't make himself say during the waking hours.

I

L

O

V

E

Y

O

U

He laces their fingers together once he's finished tracing out his message; a few seconds later, Cas shifts in his arms, rolling over so that he's curled up against Dean's chest.

"I love you too," he mumbles, quiet enough to not wake Sam, but loud enough for Dean to hear.

"I know, Cas," the elder Winchester murmurs in reply, burying his nose in the dark mop of hair. "I know."