#destielle

When Cas shuffles into the kitchen in his softest pajama pants, one of Dean’s t-shirts, and fuzzy bunny slippers, Dean’s already at the stove. Dean’s in boxers and thick socks, no shirt, flipping pancakes on a skillet.

Cas grumbles a greeting.

When Dean hears it, he flashes a smile over his shoulder. “Morning, sunshine.” He points his spatula toward the coffee pot on the counter. “Coffee’s on.”

Cas grumbles his appreciation and slinks toward the coffee pot.

Dean reaches and grabs him his favorite bee mug from the high cabinet. He places it on the counter for him. Cas takes it and fills it. It warms in his hands.

And sure, maybe his hands are warm,  but what about the rest of him? Not for the first time, Cas regrets not leaving the bedroom wrapped in blankets. He promised Dean he wouldn’t do that again, though, after he nearly fell down the stairs the last time.

Maybe he should have stayed in bed instead.

Cas takes a sip. He hums as the hot coffee slides down his throat.

“Better?” Dean asks, smile too bright for so early. He places a finished pancake on a plate and pours the batter for another one into the skillet.

Frowning, Cas glances from Dean, shirtless, to his coffee mug. Slowly, he realizes his mistake.

Abandoning the coffee on the counter, he steps toward Dean. He presses himself into the space at Dean’s back, wraps his arms around Dean’s middle, and buries his nose in his shoulder.

Dean jumps. “Your arms are cold!”

hope you don’t mind that this lives in the soft summer series that i’ve been writing!! [the that hanna’s talking about is this gifset 🥵]

By 2 PM, Jo is completely tuckered out. The day with her uncles ran from working in the garden, darting from her playhouse to the swing set over and over, a brief pause for lunch, and then a trip to the local pool club. After swimming her heart out, the four-year-old is asleep, wet head curled against Cas’s chest as he balances her on his hip. 

Dean grins as Cas shuffles for the spare room to set Jo down, watching the absolute riot of his hair from behind. He’s been due for a haircut so the tousles are all over, not helped by the chlorine drying in it. Pulling himself away from the sight, Dean moves to the fridge. It’s late enough in the day and it’s summer, so Dean fishes two beers out and flops onto the couch. Colt is there, mostly asleep under the coffee table, but her ears perk up a little at the sight of Dean. He’s leaning over to pet her soft head when Cas pads in. Bent over as he is, Dean has to look up a little to get sight of him and that... is something.

Because Cas is wearing a truly ancient Black Flag tee shirt (long since faded to gray,the screen-printed logo peeling off in chunks, small holes at the hem and near the collar) with the sleeves torn off, and his hair is a mess and there’s a patch of dampness under his neck and across his sides, either from holding a still-wet Jo or just from his own sweat, or the pool water on his body. The tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose are pink from the sun, casting contrast and making his eyes looking even more incredibly blue than usual. Not to mention the fact that he’s still in swim trunks that are...really nice for his thighs and then his bare arms are strong and tan and his hands and --

“Are you all right?” Cas asks, stopping a foot away from Dean to cock his head a little. 

“Fuck,” is all Dean says. He reaches out and gets a handful of the thin tee shirt, tugs Cas into him so that his balance upsets and he topples into Dean’s lap. Reaching up, Dean dug both of his hands deep into Cas’s hair. “I love you in that shirt.”

“The band Black Flag began performing in mid-1970s,” Cas says between biting kisses and, look, it’s not that Dean is turned on by facts about post-hardcore punk bands but it’s also not like he’s not turned on by that. “Which means that it’s possible this shirt is older than you.”

Dean tilts his head to seal his lips solidly against Cas’s neck. He tastes like salt and chlorine and fresh grass. “Really? We should get rid of it then.” In the next second, he has his hands under the shirt in question, whipping it over Cas’s head and onto the floor.

They kiss, then, deep and long and slow and Dean’s breathing is hitching and just as he pulls away for a breath, he hears a plaintive, “Uncle Cas?”

There’s a lot of scrambling, but by the time Jo’s little footsteps make it out to the living room, both of them are sitting properly, fully-clothed, and with pillows in their laps. Dean is flaunting a red flush from his ears, to his nose, to his neck, but he doesn’t think Jo notices that.

“What’s up, little dove?” Cas asks.

Jo fiddles with one wing of her stuffed penguin before darting to them and climbing onto the couch. She tucks herself in between her uncles and pops her first two fingers in her mouth. “Can you put on Brave, please?”

Dean laughs a little, breathless, and resigns himself to the fact that he and Cas will just have to make-out later. As if reading his mind, Cas looks over their niece’s head as the movie’s opening plays. “Later,” he mouths, a look of intent in his eyes. Dean grins and nods and settles in.

Hey! yeah it’s such a shame Tumblr seems to have lost its magic. But I’m back for the time being regardless.

I wish I had blog recommendations but practically all the cool blogs I knew of well are no longer active.