"Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the angels in heaven, it's fricking cold out," Dean says. He looks over his shoulder. "Uh, no offense, there, Cas."'
"None taken." Castiel is wrapped in a turtleneck wrapped in a blanket on the couch, and he's huddling against a mug of cocoa. If he had salt-and-pepper hair, he'd be a goddamn Christmas special.
Dean resumes shedding his coat; the sweater he's got on underneath is threadbare, and as he puts the groceries on the counter his hands ache, so brittle he thinks they're going to snap right off. "Aren't you cozy."
"You could join me." Said, always, in that low, casual tone that drives Dean crazy to this day trying to figure it out.
"After I put the eggnog away, genius." Brittle hands or no, Castiel looks like the definition of warm and toasty over there on the couch, so Dean moves quick to rid himself of the groceries. It doesn't even occur to him to ask for help; Cas looks too perfect all nestled up there, and Dean couldn't think of shattering that picture.
He's thawing a bit by the time he gravitates to the sofa and forces his stiff legs to bend. Castiel raises the blanket like a cape, setting his cocoa aside on the end table and opening mug-warmed hands to curl around Dean's jaw. "You are cold," he murmurs, pressing his lips to Dean's in a soft greeting.
"D-duh," Dean starts, but his jaw stutters, half undone by the cold and half by the kiss. He curls up the lower hem of Castiel's turtleneck and flattens his palms against the angel's stomach; Castiel hisses with the sudden cold and Dean chuckles and sighs as warmth starts to bleed into his fingertips.
Castiel's eyes droop; he leans forward, drawing Dean into his arms, and presses their foreheads together. "You need to warm up," he says.
"Remember what I said about 'Duh'?" Dean arches an eyebrow at him; this close, his vision is out of focus, and three or four sets of eyelashes blink back.
"Perhaps I just like to hear you say it." Castiel's fingertips dance up Dean's spine, and a different kind of chill assaults Dean's senses in their wake.
"That's a strange thing to like." Dean's warming up now, gut first, and he presses his mouth to Castiel's again, feeling the sweet surge of want fill his still-cold toes with tingles.
"I like your superior look," Castiel says, and the secret smile on his face is so very knowing that Dean can only think there must be secrets inside it. He pulls the blanket over them and goes searching.
i imagine they're a bit older here
"None taken." Castiel is wrapped in a turtleneck wrapped in a blanket on the couch, and he's huddling against a mug of cocoa. If he had salt-and-pepper hair, he'd be a goddamn Christmas special.
Dean resumes shedding his coat; the sweater he's got on underneath is threadbare, and as he puts the groceries on the counter his hands ache, so brittle he thinks they're going to snap right off. "Aren't you cozy."
"You could join me." Said, always, in that low, casual tone that drives Dean crazy to this day trying to figure it out.
"After I put the eggnog away, genius." Brittle hands or no, Castiel looks like the definition of warm and toasty over there on the couch, so Dean moves quick to rid himself of the groceries. It doesn't even occur to him to ask for help; Cas looks too perfect all nestled up there, and Dean couldn't think of shattering that picture.
He's thawing a bit by the time he gravitates to the sofa and forces his stiff legs to bend. Castiel raises the blanket like a cape, setting his cocoa aside on the end table and opening mug-warmed hands to curl around Dean's jaw. "You are cold," he murmurs, pressing his lips to Dean's in a soft greeting.
"D-duh," Dean starts, but his jaw stutters, half undone by the cold and half by the kiss. He curls up the lower hem of Castiel's turtleneck and flattens his palms against the angel's stomach; Castiel hisses with the sudden cold and Dean chuckles and sighs as warmth starts to bleed into his fingertips.
Castiel's eyes droop; he leans forward, drawing Dean into his arms, and presses their foreheads together. "You need to warm up," he says.
"Remember what I said about 'Duh'?" Dean arches an eyebrow at him; this close, his vision is out of focus, and three or four sets of eyelashes blink back.
"Perhaps I just like to hear you say it." Castiel's fingertips dance up Dean's spine, and a different kind of chill assaults Dean's senses in their wake.
"That's a strange thing to like." Dean's warming up now, gut first, and he presses his mouth to Castiel's again, feeling the sweet surge of want fill his still-cold toes with tingles.
"I like your superior look," Castiel says, and the secret smile on his face is so very knowing that Dean can only think there must be secrets inside it. He pulls the blanket over them and goes searching.