As Castiel stands in the empty parking lot, watching the Impala’s taillights turn the corner and disappear, his stomach twists with fear.  He was there when the mark and its burden were placed upon Cain; he’s already seen the dark road ahead of Dean play out once, and once was plenty.  With a new resolve, he turns and walks numbly back into the motel to begin the fight he never wanted, a terrible sense of foreboding settling in the middle of his chest.

dean x castiel (only it's not really about dean at all it's about castiel) the opposite of warm fuzzies (I'll try to write a real story tomorrow oops) spoilers

It takes Dean a few days to put his finger on what’s wrong with Cas, but he finally does.  Castiel is definitely sad, which is weird since angels aren’t supposed to have emotions at all.  Once he’s figured out the problem, it takes Dean another day and a half to figure out what to do about it.

He goes through - and eventually discards - grand plans of throwing a surprise party at the bunker, of getting Castiel something furry and pet-like to give him a sense of purpose, of taking him somewhere beautiful for a reason other than killing something.  The answer finally comes to him when he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

He wastes no time in crawling out of bed and slipping into his robe; thirty seconds later he’s knocking on Castiel’s bedroom door.  A faintly puzzled - but thankfully not just awakened - voice from the other side calls out “come in”, so Dean does.  He crosses the small room without hesitation and pulls Castiel’s desk chair around to face the edge of the bed where the angel is perched.

"Let’s talk," Dean says, his smile soft though his tone leaves no room for argument.  

Castiel takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly then offers a tentative smile in return before answering, “Yes.”

dean x castiel warm fuzzies (it ends in warm fuzzies anyway)

Castiel can tell there’s something different about Dean; something wild and dark and troublesome.  He keeps his distance for a moment, approaching slowly, studying the crimson cloud that swirls around the pure white of Dean’s soul, wisps of the two mixing into the shade of fresh blood.  He circles Dean, watching as the man he knows better than any other watches him in turn.

Cain’s mark,” Castiel says, his eyes meeting Dean’s.  Dean jumps as though he’s been shocked; eyes widening and nostrils flaring as he looks away first and takes a step backward.

"So what?" Dean asks, his shoulders pulling into a tight shrug. 

"Dean," Castiel says, trying to fight down his fears of what the mark and its burden will do to the righteous man.  "I can help."

"Why would you help me?”  

Dean still doesn’t look at Castiel, but he doesn’t need to.  Everything is written on his very bones for the angel to see; his pain and fear and guilt.  Under it all, beneath the crimson swirl of darkness, beneath the growing tally of Dean’s sins; there’s a spark of hope, a sliver of faith.  Under everything is the man Castiel pulled from Hell, the man he can save again.

"Because I love you," Castiel answers simply, a plea and a promise.  Dean’s breath catches and he looks up, the guarded glint of his eyes softening for an instant as he meets Castiel’s gaze.

"Then help me," Dean whispers.  He closes his eyes, his body swaying in warning just before he pitches forward into Castiel’s waiting arms.

dean x castiel the opposite of warm fuzzies

It starts innocently enough; Misha’s hand in the small of Jensen’s back while they’re looking over a script together.  There’s no reason it should make him shiver, but it does.  Jensen looks up, brow drawn as he studies Misha.  He doesn’t seem to even realize he’s touching Jensen; so, Jensen shrugs it off and returns his attention to the script.

Three days later, they’re standing together waiting for a reset and Misha’s shoulder brushes Jensen’s.  It’s quick, then gone, then suddenly Misha’s shoulder is pressed to Jensen’s again and he’s not moving.  Jensen’s cheeks warm, though he’s not entirely sure why.  Once again, Misha doesn’t even seem to notice the contact; so, when he walks away thirty seconds later, Jensen can only watch in helpless confusion.

A week and a handful of lingering touches later, Misha somehow manages to sneak up on Jensen as he sits on an out of the way bench reading a newspaper between takes.  Misha’s hands come to rest lightly on Jensen’s shoulders as he leans down and asks, “Any good news?”

Jensen nearly falls off the bench at the unexpected question in his ear, blushing furiously and concentrating on the paper because he doesn’t trust his voice not to squeak if he tries to answer.  Misha’s pleased laughter is Jensen’s first clue that perhaps he’s misjudged the innocence of their repeated contact.  The impromptu kiss on the side of his neck before Misha leaves him in flustered silence is the second.

jensen x misha warm fuzzies

Jensen always thought he was a great kisser until he met Misha.  Then again, he always viewed kissing a means to an end; kiss a little, grope a little, move on to the next thing until you get down to the fun stuff.  Misha, though, he’s smack in the middle of showing Jensen that kissing can be the fun stuff.

The first time they end up all tangled limbs and spit wet lips on Jensen’s couch, he tries to follow the same old formula, but Misha stops him in his tracks.  He pulls Jensen’s hand away from his dick and puts it firmly on his hip even as he puts a little space between their lips, breathing hard.

"I want you to kiss me,” Misha whispers, eyes half closed, smiling up at Jensen, who is more than a little confused.

"I am,” Jensen answers, squeezing Misha’s hip and pressing another kiss to his lips as proof.  He tries to slide his hand south again, but Misha stops him.  Again.

With more grace than Jensen would’ve thought Misha possessed, he arches and flips their bodies until he’s on top.  His smile widening into a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose, he growls, “Let me help you out.”

One kiss turns into a seemingly never-ending string of kisses and the next thing Jensen knows, he’s breathless and light-headed, being thoroughly tonguefucked and giving as good as he gets in return.  Lazy kisses follow, one after another with ragged breaths between and smiles against each other’s lips until Misha shifts his weight, his fingertips teasing over Jensen’s waist and sliding lower.

Jensen puts his hand over Misha’s, stopping it on his hip.  Misha chuckles and presses a flurry of kisses to Jensen’s chin then tries to move his hand again, but Jensen’s fingers close around his wrist.

"Nuh-uh," Jensen murmurs against Misha’s skin, nuzzling until Misha’s lips return once more to his.  "I want you to kiss me.”

jensen x misha semi-nsfw not really though oops spnkissfic

After a thorough shower and a quick toweling off, Dean sprawls in the middle of the bed as Castiel instructed.  Alone in the bedroom, he takes his time adjusting pillows and getting comfortable.  He stretches his long legs out, trying to ignore the thrill coursing through him at the thought of what is to come.  Rather, what he hopes is to come.

As usual, it takes longest to figure out what to do with his hands.  He stretches his arms out restlessly, palms flat on the bed; he links his fingers behind his head; he rests one hand on his chest and the other on the bed.  Finally, he decides to let his hands rest on his stomach.

Once situated, Dean watches the bedroom doorway expectantly.  One minute turns into five, then into seven, and Dean starts to fidget when the reality of how exposed he is sinks in.  Lying naked on the bed as he is, Castiel will see every inch of his body when he walks through the doorway; he’ll see every softness and scar and imperfection, everything Dean hides under his clothes most of the time.

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dean x castiel not work safe* wherein i make it up as i go spnpowerexchange spnsubdean spndomcas

Dean has been at the edge of disobedience all day.  He hasn’t crossed any lines or broken any rules or done anything that would warrant actual correction.  But, all day long, he’s been so close to the line that it makes Castiel itch with the need to teach him a lesson. Particularly since Dean’s smug smile says he knows how close he is. 

Patient as always, Castiel bides his time.  He smiles and lets Dean’s near-transgressions pile up, saying nothing.  As the evening wears on, Dean grows bolder, running up to the sharp line of outright disobedience and slamming on the metaphorical brakes just in time to keep from flying over.  With each near miss that Castiel allows to pass, Dean’s frustration becomes more evident.

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dean x castiel not work safe* wherein i make it up as i go spnspankingfic spnpowerexchange spnsubdean spndomcas spnteasingfic

Dean kneels, naked and unmoving at Castiel’s feet; his knees are spread wide for Castiel’s viewing pleasure, his palms resting on his thighs, his gaze fixed on Castiel’s face.  He struggles with this, with being still, with not reacting to every fleeting expression and movement of the man in the chair in front of him.  Dean wants to flit, to move, to anticipate and fulfill Castiel’s needs.

Instead, he kneels on the soft carpet, fighting the urge to squirm as Castiel’s eyes travel slowly down his bare chest.  He sucks his stomach in reflexively when Castiel’s gaze lands there, only to feel Castiel’s bare foot nudge his knee gently.  Properly chastised by the touch, Dean lets out the breath he’s holding and lets the softness of his stomach be what it is.  Castiel smiles and Dean’s chest flutters with pleasure.

"I don’t like it when you hide from me," Castiel says softly, his smile never dimming.

"I know," Dean replies, his cheeks warming as Castiel’s gaze continues its downward path.  Cas tilts his head as he studies the planes of Dean’s body; down the sparse trail of hair beneath Dean’s navel and across the breadth of his hips before finally settling between his legs.

Castiel licks his lips, the movement slow and controlled, as he stares shamelessly at Dean’s cock - already half-hard from the close inspection - and Dean swallows down his embarrassment, his stomach flipping excitedly and his mouth going dry.  He doesn’t move.  He doesn’t even think about it.  His palms sweat where they’re in contact with thighs that ache from his position, and his breath comes a little shallow and a little ragged; but he doesn’t dare move.

"Does this turn you on, Dean?"  Castiel asks, his graveled voice colored with genuine curiosity.

"Yes," Dean answers immediately.  With the way his dick is getting harder by the second, it’s not as though he can effectively lie about it.  Castiel’s smile widens at the admission.

"Why?"

Dean falters, a bead of sweat rolling down the valley of his spine and followed closely by another.  He thinks about the question, licking his lips as he studies Castiel’s face.  He notes the way Cas’ eyes have darkened; his lashes lowered as he seems to take in everything about Dean without moving.  He formulates a response based on the sheen of sweat evident at Castiel’s temples and on his throat, and by the faint color in his cheeks.

"Because it turns you on," Dean says finally, his voice quivering with each word.  He swallows again, every muscle in his body threatening mutiny if he doesn’t move soon.  He clenches his jaw tightly, forcing himself to stay in position and two quick breaths later, his patience is rewarded.

"Come here," Castiel murmurs, low and rough, meeting Dean’s eyes as his tongue flicks out over his lower lip again.

dean x castiel not work safe* spnpowerexchange spnsubdean spndomcas wherein i make it up as i go

Two weeks after his chance encounter with Dean at the laundromat and the fantastic blowjob that followed, Castiel finds himself humming with excitement as he picks up the basket of dirty clothes and heads out his apartment door.  He makes the short walk to the laundromat in record time, torn between hoping the enigmatic chemical engineering student will be there and abject terror of the same.

He scans the neat rows of white machines through the window as he approaches the door, unexpected disappointment settling in his stomach when he sees the room is empty. Not that he expected to see Dean, of course.  Castiel’s luck is never that good.  He stares balefully at the empty washers as he goes through the motions of starting his two loads - as though it’s their fault he’s doing laundry alone again.

When the machines are started, Castiel drops into one of the hard plastic chairs that line the outer perimeter of the room and picks up a two-year-old Good Housekeeping, flipping absently through the pages.  He looks up hopefully at every fleeting sound, only to be disappointed again when he’s still the only one in the laundromat.

"You come here often?" Dean’s familiar voice accompanies his sprawling flop into the chair beside Castiel three minutes after the last time he looks.  When Cas looks up, Dean is smirking teasingly.

"Do you hang out here waiting to spring lame pickup lines on unsuspecting guys?" Castiel counters, excitement coursing through him like an adrenaline punch again.  Although he’s fantasized about Dean nearly constantly since their first encounter, he’d somehow forgotten just how hot he actually is.

"No," Dean says indignantly.  He leans closer to whisper, "I’ve been saving all my lame pickup lines for you.”

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dean x castiel not work safe* spnlaundryverse spndirtytalk spnruttingfic spnhandjob spnsneakyfic spncollege

Castiel slides into bed behind Dean, a reversal of their usual positions.  Although it was Dean’s idea, he grumbles and shifts, pressing his back more firmly against Castiel’s chest and wriggling until he’s comfortable.  Cas waits patiently, content to let Dean still in his own time.

After the last stretch and an exaggerated yawn; Castiel lets his arm drape over Dean’s body, arranging himself until his palm is pressed over Dean’s heart.  He closes his eyes, letting the familiar physical echo of Dean’s heartbeat caress his skin.  The steady thump soothes Castiel as nothing else can and, only a moment after Dean’s breath evens out and his body goes slack, Castiel feels himself beginning to drift.

Tangled comfortably with Dean under the thin blanket, he slips into the warm haze of sleep with a smile on his face.  His fingers tighten reflexively against Dean’s chest, holding onto the feeling for as long as he can, secure in the knowledge that only as a human can he fall asleep every night curled against the man he loves.

dean x castiel warm fuzzies wherein i ignore canon but keep the universe spncuddlefic spnhumancastiel i've apparently forgotten how to write porn oops (actually i've been sleep deprived and all i can think about is cuddling when i'm sleepy) spndomesticfic