. @Ginnna - When Castiel awakens, there's a moment where his face registers confusion. Is he human or angel? On earth or in heaven? It's a moment Dean treasures, because that simple confusion on Castiel's face is something that never lasts. Castiel always knows more than Dean. He can see more, has experienced more, but for one moment they're equals in their confusion, in how lost they are in life. So Dean holds on to it.

Today when Castiel wakes up his gaze falls first on Dean's eyes, then on Dean's mouth, and he smiles thinly. "Dean," he says, as though surprised to see him there. Surprised and relieved and glad. Dean's still not sure how he manages to evoke those emotions, but he's not about to break the spell by asking why.

"Good morning," he says, dusting a dry kiss over Castiel's mouth. "You want me to make some coffee? Full continental breakfast?"

Castiel is fond of Dean's breakfasts, but today he cinches his arms around Dean and pulls him back down. "No. Stay."

"Dude, I'd come right back --"

"Stay." Castiel kisses him then, insistently, and Dean chuckles and takes the hint. He settles back down into bed, winds his arms around Castiel's waist, and presses his head into the pillow next to him.

Side by side like this, they can swap lazy kisses, have a conversation that consists mostly of "Mm"s of various intonations, and in general feed off each other's warmth. It's hypnotic and pleasant, but not enough to send Dean back to sleep, especially not with the press of Castiel's body against his and the increasing heat in his own gut. On the contrary, somewhere along the line the kisses become longer, more heated, and Castiel's fingers begin to skim along the contours of Dean's face. Dean is the first to groan.

He presses Castiel into the bed, slides one leg between the two squirming beneath him, and kisses him hungrily, hands finding secure handholds at Castiel's hips and his thighs. The blankets are keeping out the bright sun, but they're oppressively hot, and Dean's stripping off his shirt from sheer necessity. He doesn't realize until he sees Castiel wriggling out of his pajama pants that they are generating most of the heat themselves. Not that he's very surprised.

Hasty licks and heavy hands and he's thrusting into the crevice between Castiel's thighs, already sweaty and slick from where Dean's leg has been rubbing and heating it. Beneath him, his hand joins Castiel's own and together they moan beneath the blankets, the sounds they make echoing in each other's ears, and work their way to a peak that when it arrives turns everything white and wet and wonderful. Dean gasps for air, throwing off the blankets, as his climax subsides, and he arches up into the morning air. Beneath him, Castiel's eyes watch reverently.

"Now I wouldn't mind some breakfast," he murmurs as Dean collapses down over him.

"Too bad. Now I'm too tired to move."

Castiel gives him a halfhearted shove and just smiles, pulling Dean's head in to cradle in the crook of his shoulder. They stay in bed a while longer yet.

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