ugh. fluff monster again.
yeah, this is going to be a trend. absolutely.
hit me with your prompts. I wanna use them for more fluffy stories with Dean/Cas
Sam/Gabriel, too. if you'd like

The thing that is the most exhausting about being a hunter isn't the fighting, or the endless uncertainty, or the four hours of sleep every other day, no; it's the motel beds. They're never quite clean, rarely comfortable, and sometimes not long enough because they weren't built for someone over six feet tall.

So it causes aches that follow for days, irritable sleep when it's gotten, and cold nights.

So when Dean finally acknowledged that he wasn't going to make it to the bunker that night, he spent a solid minute trying to decide if it was worth it to spend the money and get something that he could at least stretch out on, or if he should pull over and sleep in the car.

Then Sam started whining and made the choice for him.

"Dude, come on," he was saying, "there's a motel right there, and I'm sure it's going to be better in a room with heating than in the car where it's only gonna get colder. It's the middle of fucking November and this isn't Arizona."

"Oh, fine, bitch," Dean said, pulling off the exit. Someone honked at him when he cut them off but he and Sam were accustomed to this and just ignored it.

"Thank you," Sam said, exasperated, which Dean thought was pretty unfair since he'd forgotten the pie again earlier today. Dean was of the opinion that the little shit was lucky he didn't kick him to the curb.

But then he thought of Sam's bitchy boyfriend and figured he could hang the kid's boxers from the ceiling with a knife while he was in the shower and leave it at that.

Because god knew the last thing Dean needed was Gabriel the fuckhead on his ass. If Gabriel was nothing else, he was vindictive when he wanted to be.

The motel was fifty bucks per room, so Dean passed over a hundred and had to wait for the man to check it under the light. He was given two keycards after a minute. Dean tossed one to Sam and walked off.

They were down the hall from one another, so they called goodnight and stepped into their respective rooms. Cas was waiting for him when Dean closed the door, and he almost fainted with relief.

He'd known Cas was fine, of course, but he'd been gone all day and Dean always slept better with him around.

"Hello, Dean," he said, and Dean smiled, tossing his bag to the floor somewhere and walking into Cas' embrace.

Cas was warm, and real, and he actually treated him like he mattered. It was a glorious thing, really.

He pulled back after a second to strip to his boxers, then stared at Cas. It took the angel a second, but he got the hint and started shedding clothes.

They fell onto the bed, and by this point Dean was seeing stars. The lack of sleep was tugging at his brain, making him slower. Cas managed to maneuver him so he was under the blankets somehow, and once that was done, Dean rolled over and pressed his face to the angel's collarbone.

Cas kissed his head, humming a little, and tugged him closer.

"Thank you," Dean murmured, lifting his head to get a proper kiss.

It was leisurely, unhurried. They were intimately familiar with one another by this point, so there wasn't any reason to rush. No reason to let it go far. Cas cradled the back of his head, blunt nails scraping Dean's hairline. Dean kept his hands to Cas' hips, digging his fingers in just slightly, but not seeking to move the boxers. He tilted his head a little more, getting closer with the new angel. Their lips parted and Dean leaned back, unsurprised when Cas followed, hovering over him. They never broke apart.

When they did, it was with a sigh, Dean's eyes opening slightly when Cas leaned his head on his shoulder.

He closed them again.

Sleep came easily with Cas tracing mindless patterns onto his sternum, his breath soft on Dean's neck.