Our Sweet Rapture

12

The first thing Dean noticed when he woke up was that something warm was lying pressed up against the entire left side of his body, the pleasant heat of it seeping into his skin like liquid fire. The second thing was that something equally warm, yet incredibly soft, was splayed out over the rest of him.

When he blinked his eyes open, his vision immediately filled with an inky black that immediately had him snapping his head up, confused panic and a horrible sense of not knowing where he was rushing in. It was quickly chased away, however, by the soft touch of fingers against his upper arm, and a soothing caress to the inside of his head.

Give it a minute.

Castiel's voice was like a whisper within his mind and when Dean looked to the side, he was met with the calming, half lidded blue of the angel's eyes.

Oh.

The thought travelled through the bond before he even had the time to figure out how to make it do so, and Castiel closed his eyes with a contented sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. Dean could feel the other's amusement trickle throug the psychic link like a miniature waterfall and he blinked dumbly, his mind drowsily sorting through the memories of the past hours that the sensation of Castiel's consciousness moving against his sent rushing back.

I fell asleep, he grunted through the bond, and felt Castiel's mirth give way to silent confirmation.

You did.

Dean looked at his wrist, realizing too late that his watch was lying upstairs on the sink where he put it the night before.

What time is it? he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Almost four in the afternoon, Castiel answered, causing Dean to squint in confusion.

I slept the entire day?

Your body needed the rest. Forming the bond took quite a toll on you.

Dean tried to sit up higher, but without much success. Slowly, he shifted his eyes from the male by his side, to the large, feather-clad limb that was draped heavily over their bodies like a giant comforter. Pointedly, he raised a brow at Castiel, which Castiel answered with a mental shrug.

You were cold, he explained simply. Dean's eyebrow shot up even higher as he slowly lifted the wing to reveal the spot where Castiel's arm was firmly circled around his waist. Castiel's eyes narrowed to give him a challenging look from underneath dark lashes.

"Let me remind you that you fell asleep while petting me like abnormally large cat. All your arguments are invalid."

"I did not—" Dean's protest was cut short by Castiel's memory of Dean himself, dozing off with his hands slowly stroking down the oil colored feathers, and Dean immediately shut his mouth again, trying his best to ignore the triumphant surge he got from his bedmate in return.

Not a word, he warned silently, and Castiel's mouth curled into a smirk.

Of course not .

Castiel slowly moved his hand down Dean's torso to trace nimble fingers over the jut of his hip, the angel's thumb swiping back and forth to just barely grace the edge of coarse pubic hair. Dean tried to suppress a shudder, but failed, when the mirth coming from the angel's mind quickly morphed into a more goal oriented interest.

I thought angels were supposed to be all about sexual abstinence? Dean teased. Castiel snorted, a flicker of disdain cutting through the angel's focus.

Those rules were man-made by the men of the clergy, he explained, the hand on Dean's hip dipping even further down. Heaven had nothing to do with them.