Dean was stretched out against the headboard in a pair of worn gray pajama pants, bare skin warm beneath the dim yellow light of his bedside lamp. Castiel was curled against him in nothing but dark boxers, one leg tangled lazily with Dean’s while the laptop balanced dangerously near Dean’s knee played an old movie neither of them had been paying attention to for at least twenty minutes.
Dean carded his fingers absentmindedly through Castiel’s hair.
“You know,” he murmured, “normal couples probably don’t spend date night researching fake FBI badges and eating cold takeout.”
Castiel hummed against his chest. “That is because normal couples are cowards.”
Dean barked out a laugh, the sound vibrating under Castiel’s cheek. “Wow. Okay. Hostile.”
“I’m merely observant.”
“Sure you are.”
The movie exploded into a loud car chase scene. Dean reached over to lower the volume before settling back again, his arm immediately returning around Castiel’s shoulders like it belonged there.
Which it did.
Cas traced lazy shapes over Dean’s stomach with two fingers. “Sam bought oat milk again.”
Dean groaned dramatically. “Don’t remind me. Man looked me dead in the eyes this morning and said it was ‘creamier.’”
“You were offended for several hours.”
“I’m still offended.”
Castiel tilted his head just enough to look up at him. “You are very sensitive.”
Dean narrowed his eyes fondly. “You say that while cuddling me like a teddy bear.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Cas.”
“I am simply existing near you.”
Dean snorted and squeezed his hip. “Uh huh.”
Castiel let his head settle back onto Dean’s chest, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath his ear while Dean’s fingers continued combing slowly through his hair. The room felt warm. Safe. Dean smelled like soap and sleep and the lingering traces of coffee.
The realization crept over him quietly.
He had become accustomed to this.
Not simply sharing space with Dean, not the occasional touches or kisses stolen in motel kitchens or against the Impala after hunts. This. The softness of it. The ease.
The domesticity.
Dean adjusting the blanket over both of them without even looking away from the movie.
Dean rubbing slow circles into his back because he knew Castiel liked it.
Dean letting him steal all the warmth without complaint.
Castiel frowned faintly.
Dean noticed immediately, because of course he did. “What’s going on in that giant angel brain?”
Castiel was quiet for a moment.
Then, softly, “I think I’ve become very comfortable with you.”
Dean’s expression melted into something unbearably tender.
“Well,” he said lightly, “yeah, sweetheart. That’s usually what happens when you’ve been dating somebody for years.”
Castiel ignored the teasing. “No, I mean…” He glanced down at where his hand rested over Dean’s heart. “This feels natural to me now. I did not expect that.”
Dean’s face softened further somehow.
“C’mere,” he murmured.
Castiel was already as close as physically possible, but Dean still tugged him higher against his chest until Cas was half sprawled over him. Dean pressed a kiss into his hairline.
“You know what’s natural to me now?” Dean said quietly.
“What?”
“You being here.”
Castiel looked up at him.
Dean smiled, sleepy and crooked and entirely fond. “Also you stealing all the blankets. Which is impressive considering you literally run colder than humanly possible.”
“I cannot regulate my temperature properly in this vessel.”
“Yeah, yeah. Excuses.”
Castiel leaned up just enough to kiss him, slow and familiar.
Dean kissed him back with a soft hum, one hand sliding up along his spine.
When they pulled apart, Dean rested his forehead against his for a second before mumbling, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I was under the impression you found me devastatingly handsome.”
Dean grinned. “See? Comfortable. Couple years ago you would’ve stared at me like a confused tax accountant if I flirted with you.”
“That still occurs occasionally.”
“Yeah, but now you flirt back, so.” Dean kissed the corner of his mouth. “Character development.”
