Sharing Is Caring (III)
Pairing: Castiel x Reader
Summary: Navigating a new relationship means learning how to share a bed with Castiel. [3-part series with Sam, Dean, and Castiel.]
Word Count: 1,100 Warnings: 18+ only, smuttish, but mainly fluffy!
Part 3: Castiel
You could tell he was uncomfortable with the idea. You smiled, resting your hands on your waist.
“It’s just a bed, Castiel,” you said. “It’s not gonna bite.”
But I might, you thought in amusement. The angel offered you a wan look; he knew that mischievous smile of yours. His dark blue eyes ran down your scantily clad form.
You had a feeling he’d like the white satin.
The tank top had thin straps while the shorts were, well, short. His gaze lingered on your bare legs, making you blush a bit.
“You know I don’t sleep,” came his uncertain reply. He gestured to your desk chair. “I can just sit over here until you fall asleep.”
“Come on, please? Not all the time we spend in this bed has to be play time,” you said, ending with a teasing lilt of your voice. Castiel actually averted his eyes in embarrassment.
You didn’t know what he was afraid of, really. But you knew Dean had warned him again and again about the sanctity and privacy of people’s bedrooms—especially their beds. Especially yours.
And that was still true.
However, if you and Castiel were going to be together, then some adjustments were going to have to be made.
You climbed across the bed to reach out for his hand. Cas hesitated, but he recognized that your warm smile was an invitation. He took your hand, allowing you to pull him down to sit on the edge of the bed.
He was already divested of his coat, so you worked on his tie and blazer, then his belt and dress shirt. He helped you after a little while, and eventually he was down to his white undershirt and boxers.
You had seen him in far less, but it still amazed you how different he looked without the entire ensemble, quite literally stripped down of his outward trappings.
He was still your angel, cupping the side of your face with a warm hand and tender features. You smiled and leaned into his touch.
Then you encouraged him to get comfortable lying down with you. You knew he wouldn’t sleep, but at least he could be with you for a while until you did.
His movements were slow and deliberate (and still a bit unsure) as he sat up against the pillows, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He settled on uncrossed as you tucked yourself against his side and tangled your legs with his.
His arm came around your waist more naturally, his thumb stroking your arm. It made you smile.
“Did I tell you what Dean did today?” you asked, raising your head up to him. Cas looked down at you in curiosity.
“No, what?”
“By some miracle I found some flour and chocolate chips in the pantry, so I decided to make cookies. I took the tray out, and I guess the smell is like a bat signal for bottomless pits. Because Dean literally came downstairs, with a sandwich in hand, to ask me if I made food,” you recounted with a grin.
Cas’s lips raised in a smile. “That sounds like him.”
You nodded.
“So against my advisement, he picks up a cookie. And of course, it’s like a thousand degrees ‘cause it just came out of the oven. It burns him and falls apart in his hands, all gooey and chocolatey and stuff. He’s like, Oh shit. And it falls on the floor. But what does he do?”
Cas considered it with amusement, the corners of his eyes crinkling knowingly.
“I’m guessing he didn’t clean it up for you.”
You grimaced. “Well, kind of. He picked it up off the floor, and like the massive man-child he is, he said, Five second rule! And he ate it, Cas,” you said.
“He fucking ate it. Gooey, crumble mess off the floor, where we most definitely tracked in ghoul guts last week. I was thoroughly disgusted.”
Castiel inclined his head.
“That is…gross,” the word somewhat foreign on his lips, “but I’ll remind you. You once ate cake off a bar floor while intoxicated.”
You sent him a peeved look. “It was red velvet cake, Cas. And it was my birthday.”
“Still, you could’ve just gotten another slice,” Castiel murmured. You pouted.
“Whatever, I stand by my drunk decisions,” you said, raising a finger. Cas grabbed that hand, making you look up at him. He gave you a rare, soft smile and pressed your hand to his lips.
Your heart fairly melted. Like warm, gooey chocolate.
His gaze drifted down, and the air between you changed. He drank you in like your body was a wonder of the world, and he was just getting a glimpse.
It wasn’t the first time you’d received such a look, but hot damn, you hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
By the time he refocused on your face, your lips were parted and your heart had jumped up about three speeds.
His gaze could be so intense. It was part of what attracted you in the first place, his singular focus and tenacity. He also held incredible strength, knowledge of the world and so many of its secrets, but he chose to live here in the bunker.
He chose to stand and fight with Sam and Dean and other hunters like you.
He chose to love you, and be here with you, talking about nothing at all and sharing your bed.
“It’s not nothing,” he said. This close, touching your skin, he had likely read your thoughts.
You blinked in confusion. “Wh-what?”
“Being here with you is never nothing,” said Castiel. “Not for me.”
He reached for your cheek again, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. He bent down to kiss you, and you welcomed him with open arms. You wrapped them around his shoulders and he shifted you underneath him, bracing a hand against the bed.
Your fingers wound up in his dark hair. He made a pleased sound when your nails lightly dragged down the back of his neck. So you shifted your hips to accommodate him, and he planted himself between your legs. He fingered the hem of your silky shorts.
But then he paused, breaking the kiss to look into your eyes. Uncertainty had crept back into his.
“Sorry. This counts as play time, does it not?” he asked. “We…weren’t supposed to do this tonight.”
With a giggle, you took his face in your hands and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, with heat and tongue and full of promise. “All I said was, all of our time doesn’t have to be play time.”
Castiel’s head tilted with a small grin. “So…most of it can be?”
You nodded, giving him a “serious” look.
“Oh, yes,” you said. “Most is good.”
With that invitation, Castiel would take his time removing your white satin.
AN: And finally, Castiel! I want to write for him more often. He's so adorable.
To read Part 1: Sam.
To read Part 2: Dean.
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