SPN – Dean/Castiel – NC-17, Shut Up ‘verse, Christmas Fluff, Advent Ficlet Collection
18. Watching holiday movies
[AO3]
A nagging sense of something out of place prods Dean towards wakefulness, discomfort registering before anything else. One side of his body has been bared to the chilly morning sunlight; it takes a moment for sleep-addled thoughts to turn from that’s cold and where did the heat go? to pull the sheets up, genius.
Dean marshals his mental forces and begins to feel blindly for the comforter. A repetitive sound, one he hadn’t pieced out from the rest of the room’s background noises until just then, stops abruptly.
“Dean?” Castiel asks from somewhere behind him. “Are you awake?”
“Hmph,” Dean says, and keeps patting over the jumbled mess of bedding. He’ll find the edge of the comforter soon. Any second now.
“Dean?”
“No,” Dean says helpfully.
“I see,” Castiel says. “Would you like me to rearrange the blankets?”
“… yes.”
“All right.”
The bed moves next to Dean, dipping and then rising as Castiel leaves it. Cas is always wandering away somewhere on mornings like this, and it’s just not fair. “Come back,” Dean complains, and then the covers are jerked off him. “Cas!”
“Shush,” Castiel tells him, and the first layer drops back over his naked body. It’s not nearly enough, but the second and third layer follow, until some of that drowsy warmth of just-waking-up has seeped back in and Dean can relax into it.
He rolls instinctively towards Castiel as the man climbs back into bed, one arm already extended and ready to pull him in. Dean settles with his head on Castiel’s shoulder, soaking in the added heat with a low hum of appreciation. Castiel strokes his hair once, then shifts to grab something from the nightstand. He situates it against his knees, and the repetitive noise starts up again.
Dean cracks an eye open, and as soon as he sees the green Excel logo and Castiel’s fingers on the laptop keyboard he makes a complaining noise and throws an arm over Castiel’s chest in protest. “No.”
“Dean,” Castiel says patiently, “if you’re going to go back to sleep, I want to finish a few things before Monday.”
“I’m awake,” Dean says.
“Are you.”
“Super awake,” Dean says, yawning hugely. “Mm.”
“Because we do have unfinished business from last night,” Castiel says conversationally.
“Do we?” Dean asks, which is a stupid question and earns him the world’s most excruciatingly methodical handjob, the space under the sheets going languorous and molten with heat. Castiel spends an inordinate amount of time sucking dark marks on his neck and chest, nipples plucked and pinched in his teeth while Dean moans and his palm goes slick, slicker with Dean’s precome until Dean finally makes a fist in his hair and growls, “Get your dick out or I swear to God—”
Changing the bedding becomes a necessity after that, and while Dean’s at it he grabs his own laptop and the cord to bring into bed with them. “I’m not watching any claymation reindeer,” Dean says, taking control of the touchpad immediately while they resettle together, under pale winter sun and the smell of dryer sheets. “John McClane or bust.”
“Yipee ki yay,” Castiel says, surprising the hell out of Dean, and adds, “I’m not a complete recluse, you know,” when he asks where he’d seen it. “It plays on late night television quite frequently this time of year.”
“You know the full phrase is ‘yipee ki yay motherfucker,’ right?”
“Of course it is,” Castiel says, sounding deeply disappointed in humanity. “Well, play away.”
They’re halfway through the second one— grenades tossed, hilariously green-screened ejector seat episode underway, McClane dying harder than ever— when Dean gives in to drooping eyelids and rests his head against Castiel’s. “Hey. You still watching?”
Castiel doesn’t respond. Dean would have to pull away to see his face, but when he turns off the laptop their reflections in the black screen show him exactly what he expects: Castiel is out like a light.
“I’ll make a lazy ass out of you yet,” Dean says affectionately. He sets the laptop on the far side of the bed and grabs the comforter to pull up to their chins, sneaking a kiss to Castiel’s slack lips before he shuts his eyes again.
kototyph 