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spn ficlet: sundays
sundays
Castiel/Dean | gen | ~500 words
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deanhugchester, who asked me about Dean and Cas' favorite thing to do on lazy Sunday afternoons.
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I think they have a lot of favorites -- Dean likes to sleep late, and watch football, and catch up on the tv shows he misses when he's on the road. He also likes to cook; having a kitchen has made him appreciate food that doesn't leave puddles of grease on the plate. He still tends toward trucker fare -- burgers, meatloaf, steak and potatoes, chicken-fried steak -- but it tastes better off his own stove, especially when he first gets home from a hunt.
Cas likes to read. He starts out with the lore books in the bunker; it's an incredibly inclusive library, and he doesn't see the point in fiction when he already knows the endings. But Sam badgers him into reading the Harry Potter books, and he finds the story much more vivid and engaging than the meager summary Metatron dumped in his head. He ends up falling in love with fantasy, amazed at the breadth of human imagination. He also finds a hidden room on the top floor of the bunker, almost like a conservatory; it has large windows and a skylight and he promptly starts filling it with plants.
Most of the time, they do these things together. Cas reads while Dean watches the Chief's lose, curling up on the couch barefoot so he has an excuse to nudge his cold toes underneath Dean's thigh, and Dean takes Sam's laptop up to the conservatory so he can watch The Walking Dead while Cas talks to his potted ficus. Their absolute favorite favorite thing to do on lazy, no-hunt Sundays is stay in bed; they've gotten so bad about it Sam stops being surprised when they don't show their faces until dinnertime.
It doesn't matter how they start out; they almost always end up with Dean as the little spoon. Which he still pretends to find embarrassing -- he's the taller one! An entire inch taller! -- but Cas just hums into his hair and kisses the back of his neck, soft and wet and slow. If Dean is still wearing a shirt, Cas slides his hand underneath it, flattens his palm over Dean's heartbeat, and eventually Dean shifts around until he can turn his head and bite at Cas' jaw, and sometimes one of them sleeps, and sometimes they both sleep, and sometimes neither of them sleep, because they're too busy kissing and kissing and kissing. Those Sundays they stay in bed well after dinnertime, and Sam finally gives in and knocks on the door, because Dean promised to cook dinner, and if that's not going to happen Sam is going to get take-out from that Mexican place in Smith City, and he's not bringing back any for them.
Castiel/Dean | gen | ~500 words
For
--
I think they have a lot of favorites -- Dean likes to sleep late, and watch football, and catch up on the tv shows he misses when he's on the road. He also likes to cook; having a kitchen has made him appreciate food that doesn't leave puddles of grease on the plate. He still tends toward trucker fare -- burgers, meatloaf, steak and potatoes, chicken-fried steak -- but it tastes better off his own stove, especially when he first gets home from a hunt.
Cas likes to read. He starts out with the lore books in the bunker; it's an incredibly inclusive library, and he doesn't see the point in fiction when he already knows the endings. But Sam badgers him into reading the Harry Potter books, and he finds the story much more vivid and engaging than the meager summary Metatron dumped in his head. He ends up falling in love with fantasy, amazed at the breadth of human imagination. He also finds a hidden room on the top floor of the bunker, almost like a conservatory; it has large windows and a skylight and he promptly starts filling it with plants.
Most of the time, they do these things together. Cas reads while Dean watches the Chief's lose, curling up on the couch barefoot so he has an excuse to nudge his cold toes underneath Dean's thigh, and Dean takes Sam's laptop up to the conservatory so he can watch The Walking Dead while Cas talks to his potted ficus. Their absolute favorite favorite thing to do on lazy, no-hunt Sundays is stay in bed; they've gotten so bad about it Sam stops being surprised when they don't show their faces until dinnertime.
It doesn't matter how they start out; they almost always end up with Dean as the little spoon. Which he still pretends to find embarrassing -- he's the taller one! An entire inch taller! -- but Cas just hums into his hair and kisses the back of his neck, soft and wet and slow. If Dean is still wearing a shirt, Cas slides his hand underneath it, flattens his palm over Dean's heartbeat, and eventually Dean shifts around until he can turn his head and bite at Cas' jaw, and sometimes one of them sleeps, and sometimes they both sleep, and sometimes neither of them sleep, because they're too busy kissing and kissing and kissing. Those Sundays they stay in bed well after dinnertime, and Sam finally gives in and knocks on the door, because Dean promised to cook dinner, and if that's not going to happen Sam is going to get take-out from that Mexican place in Smith City, and he's not bringing back any for them.