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The house was just the same as Dean remembered it.
He turned off the Impala and sat there for a moment on the side of the road, resting his gaze on the pretty, modern, house before him. The trim was white, the paint a pleasing light gray, both colors just a little faded. Two years had been surprisingly kind to the house itself. The garden in front was, of course, perfect. Dean knew that the house’s owner wouldn’t dare let even the smallest weed remain alive for long. In a way, that made Dean feel better. It proved that even though so many other things had changed, Castiel hadn’t.
Dean opened Baby’s door with hands that were clammy with sweat.
He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. He was concerned, but not about what someone might think. He was nervous because he might knock on the door and a beautiful woman—or man, for that matter—might open it. He was nervous because there could be a child that answered instead. He was scared because Cas might answer too.
Dean didn’t know what was going to happen. He deserved to be punched in the face. He deserved to be screamed at, to be forced to his knees and beaten with a belt or a whip or whatever the fuck was on hand. Dean deserved to be thrown back toward his car without a word.
He didn’t think he would survive any of it.
He felt fragile, breakable, weak. His legs trembled as he walked up the slightly sloped driveway. He felt like he needed to sit down, or maybe just take a breather. It wasn’t an unusual feeling, just one of the many things that Dean had gotten used to. His head spun when he even stood up. He zoned out when he drove for more than four hours straight. He got tired holding a shotgun up.
He’d almost been killed by the vampire he’d hunted yesterday.
Dean’s face was still banged up, the bruised side of it hot against the cold air of the Washington winter. His ribs ached, his left knee twinging every time he walked. His whole body felt like it had been hit by a truck. He was far more exhausted than he should have been after a simple vamp hunt. It was kind of humiliating. It was definitely frightening.
He felt Castiel’s presence everywhere he went, but it had been especially strong in the past few weeks, and it was the strongest it had ever been right now. He felt like a compass, always pointing to north no matter what direction he was spun or what place he was in. He always knew exactly how far away Snow River, Washington was. He always knew exactly how long it would take to drive from wherever he was to Cas. To safety. To salvation.
John would never know.
It had been two years since Dean had last seen Castiel. Since Castiel had tentatively brought up the idea of dating. It had been gentle, expected. Castiel hadn’t known. He knew almost everything else. He knew Dean was a Sub, which exactly three other people in the entire world knew—his father, his brother, and the doctor that had assessed him. Castiel knew that Dean hunted. He knew about the things that went bump in the night. Of course he did; that was how he’d met Dean in the first place. A ghost haunting his neighbor’s house, Dean breaking into his backyard with a shotgun loaded full of salt and an awkward lie on his lips that Castiel hadn’t believed for a single second.
Castiel didn’t know that Dean was bad, though. He didn’t know that he was broken, that he was wrong, that he was fucking poison. Dean was scared, too. He’d been terrified when Castiel had tentatively brought up the topic of dating, all those months ago. Dean had never stayed in one place for too long. He didn’t want to bring the curse that was his existence onto someone as pure and precious as Castiel.
But here he was, dragging himself back, so weak he could barely stand. He was dying, and not because of a monster or a curse.
Dean’s heart rate increased with every step he took toward that nondescript, white-painted door. Castiel’s garden smelled amazing, as always. Dean took a second to smile shakily at the beautiful flowers that were blooming, even though it was the dead of winter. Dean didn’t know the names of them. He wished he did.
Castiel had exactly two steps that led up to his front porch. Dean’s knees shook at the sight of them. He wanted so badly to collapse, to fall to his knees right there and bow his head and close his eyes. It was a ridiculous notion—of course it was—but his body was fatigued with more than just leftover exhaustion from the hunt.
Dean forced himself up one step, then the other. At long last, he stood on Castiel’s front porch.
The first time he’d done this, he’d been disguised as an electric repairman, of all things, asking if Castiel’s house had seen any flickering lights lately. It had. The ghost had been simple to gank. So simple that Dean had had two extra days before he’d had to go meet his dad in Eagle, Idaho. Two extra days to succumb to the calm power of the gentle Dom that had believed him the first time he tried to explain about the supernatural creatures he hunted.
Dean raised a shaking hand and knocked on the door, wincing at how the cold wood made his knuckles ache. The knock was weak, enough that he might have to ring the doorbell to be heard. He prayed he wouldn’t have to.
Dean shivered where he stood, the wind cold and biting. It didn’t snow as much in this part of Washington, but Dean knew it was possible. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see flakes falling from the frigid, overcast sky. It had been threatening rain for two days. Dean knew because it had taken him three to work up the courage to even come here.
Ever since his dad had died three months ago on a werewolf hunt, Dean had slowly been rotating closer and closer here. Like a needle in a compass pointing north, this place felt magnetic, as impossible to ignore as the force of gravity. No matter what he did or where he went, he would always end up here.
Footsteps sounded behind the door. Dean sucked in a breath, straightening instinctively. His shoulders lifted, went back. His arms twitched, fighting against the urge to slip behind him so he could clasp his left wrist with his right hand. He kept his gaze up, even though everything in him wanted to drop it to the bee-themed welcome mat beneath his feet.
The door opened, and Dean was enveloped in blue.
Dean had traveled all across the country, met thousands of people, and he’d never met anyone with eyes like Castiel’s. He knew that to be a fact. He’d looked. Castiel’s irises were unique to him, and only him. They were the color of the summer sky, soaring and light with the promise of freedom and warmth. Dean loved Castiel’s eyes.
He saw them widen, saw the moment they recognized who he was. A violent tremble ran through his entire body when that familiar, raspy voice said softly, “Hello, Dean.”
Dean fought the tightness in his throat, remembering orders from eternities ago. Verbal acknowledgement, sweet boy. I need to know that you’re okay.
“Hey, Cas.” The name felt wrong on his tongue. ‘Sir’ was much better, but Dean hadn’t earned the right to call Castiel that. He wasn’t entirely sure he would ever be worthy of that ever again.
Castiel tilted his head to the side, blue eyes piercing. Dean forced himself not to look away, instinctively knowing he’d be admonished for that. Castiel wanted to see him. He wanted to read him, to look into the very depths of his soul and examine whatever he found there. Dean looked back, praying that it would be good enough. That he would be good enough.
Castiel’s eyes softened, becoming impossibly gentle. There was a tinge of sadness to his voice when he said, “Oh, Dean.” Dean had to fight back a choking wave of feeling at that. He watched, jaw clenched against his emotion, as Castiel took a step back and opened the door wider. “Come inside. It’s freezing out there.”
Dean stepped in without a word. It hadn’t been an order, of course it hadn’t, but he didn’t think anything on the physical planet Earth could have stopped him from obeying in that moment. His body felt shaky and disjointed, like he’d been taken apart and put back together the wrong way.
That’s why I’m here, a soft voice in the back of his mind whispered. I want to be put back together again the right way.
Castiel’s house was warm. It smelled of spice and something delicious, like baking bread. Dean felt the tension drain ever so slightly from his shoulders. He kept them up and back despite that, discipline written into every line of his body, but he felt some of his fear from before begin to dissipate.
He turned to the dark-haired Dom, expectant. Waiting.
Castiel looked at him calmly, the door shut behind him. Not locked, never locked. Dean hadn’t been forced to do anything the entire time he’d known Castiel. Everything was voluntary, a choice, an option. It made Dean’s submission so much sweeter.
He had to bite his tongue to keep from dropping to his knees right where he stood.
Castiel’s blue eyes were sad when he looked Dean up and down. “The world has not been kind to you.” His voice was quiet. “Come, Dean. Let me see you.”
Castiel gestured for Dean to follow him. Dean did, faithfully and silently, trailing Castiel as he moved from the front door into his house. Dean knew where they were going. It haunted his dreams some nights, an unattainable heaven that he wouldn’t reach even if he died.
The living room was exactly as Dean remembered it. A bookshelf overflowed with all kinds of novels, from fantasy to sci-fi to historical fiction to plain old textbooks. Dean even saw a dictionary in there. He wondered if Castiel had ever read it. He probably had, the dork. The coffee table was just as cluttered as before, the couch just as comfortable-looking.
Castiel sat down and looked up at Dean, who stood awkwardly off to one side.
“You have two choices,” Castiel said calmly. Dean shivered, his knees threatening to buckle. “You can sit up here with me, and we can talk. Or, you can kneel right here, and we can still talk. There is no way out of a conversation, whichever route you wish to go. I will not be angry with you, no matter the choice you make.”
Dean’s legs gave out. The crack of his knees hitting the carpeted floor made him wince, even though the pain was dull and barely noticeable. The relief of this, of being smaller, of being good… It was too much to grasp.
Castiel reached out, hand clasping gently on Dean’s shoulder. He pulled Dean up, the indication clear, and a whine fought its way out of Dean’s throat before he could stop it. Was his kneeling not pleasing? Had he done it wrong? Did Castiel not want him? Good God, had he been bad? What—
“Shh, sweetheart,” Castiel’s rumbling voice soothed. Dean let it wash over him, let it calm his panic. He felt like vomiting. “Shh. I need to get a pillow, hold on.”
Oh. Oh. Dean was stupid. He should have remembered that. One of Castiel’s most important rules was that Dean was not to come to permanent harm, and that included kneeling on the floor without a cushion. Castiel reached over and grabbed a pillow, placing it on the floor at his feet. At the last second, he seemed to hesitate. After a moment, he shifted the cushion so it was between his legs, then motioned for Dean to kneel between the ‘V’ of his knees.
Dean’s legs pretty much gave out again. He wasn’t even sure how he’d remained standing for so long. The feeling of being small and safe and protected, of being enclosed by Castiel’s powerful legs, was even better than before. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and released a soft, low whine of gratitude.
“I need to know what you need, Dean,” Castiel said gently. “I need to know how you’re feeling.”
Dean swallowed, throat clicking. He didn’t want to talk. Coming up with words felt exhausting, right now. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and let himself fall.
He had an order to follow, though. He opened his eyes and forced his throat to work, forced his mouth to shape words. “Need you,” he rasped, fighting the instinctive shame that rose up at those two words. “Need to… to be good. Need to be yours.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Castiel said softly. “You already are.”
A soft sob worked its way out of Dean’s throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his jaw shut tight. Maybe if he closed himself off completely, he could keep the big, ugly ball of emotion from escaping him. It had been building, huge and dark and hideous, ever since Dean had fled this house two years ago. It hadn’t stopped growing, not even during the chaos that had followed John’s death.
Castiel put a hand on Dean’s head, guiding him down to rest it against his left knee. Dean felt his temple come in contact with the soft fabric of the sweatpants Castiel was wearing. The ability to rest his head caused the last of the tension to drain from his body. He released a soft, weary sob.
Dean was well aware of the position they were in. He knew exactly what might be happening had he been with anyone else. He’d sucked people’s cocks before, Dom or Sub, for money or for pleasure. He knew this position. He also knew that he’d never do that with Castiel. Not ever.
The memory of one of Castiel’s first ever orders resurfaced like a cloud of sand in water. You will never attempt to give me sexual gratification that I do not initiate beforehand, understood? My preferences are not in that of physical pleasure. You may go the entirety of our time together without ever seeing me naked.
Dean had seen Castiel naked, but he’d still respected the Dominant’s wishes. He remembered the conversation they’d had after their first ever scene. Castiel had said a word, one that Dean had been very careful to learn the definition of in the coming years. Asexual. Dean sort of understood where Castiel fell on the spectrum of asexuality. Then again, he sort of didn’t.
It was okay. He didn’t have to think about it, with Castiel. He just had to obey.
A gentle finger traced the lines of his face, startling him only slightly. He hadn’t been aware of how far into his thoughts he’d slipped. “You’re so thin,” Castiel murmured, running his thumb gently along the bolt of Dean’s jaw. “Has anything happened? Have you been safe?” His fingertips grazed the bruised side of Dean’s face, cool against the hot, injured skin.
Dean swallowed, forcing the words to come out, something he hadn’t admitted aloud since he’d gone to Bobby for help burning the body. “My dad died.”
Castiel’s thigh tensed slightly underneath Dean’s head. Dean knew what Castiel thought of his father. Two years ago, he hadn’t agreed with Castiel’s claims that he was an abusive asshole. Dean wasn’t so sure what to think anymore. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. How long ago was this?” Castiel asked, careful.
“Three months,” Dean said quietly. “Almost four, now. I… I came as soon as I could.”
Castiel’s fingertips stopped tracing his face. Instead, he simply laid his hand gently on Dean’s cheek. It was warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that everything was okay. That ‘as soon as I could’ was soon enough.
“How long has it been since you’ve been down, Dean?” Castiel asked. His voice was soft and gentle. Dean’s eyes were still squeezed tightly shut. He couldn’t see the concern on Castiel’s face, but he could feel it in his words. It made him feel physically sick.
“I… I… I d-don’t—I… I don’t wanna tell you,” Dean whispered, ashamed. He turned his face away from Castiel’s hand so he could press it into his thigh, the split in his lip scraping against the soft fabric of Castiel’s sweatpants, his nose aching where he bent it a little.
“Shhh. Alright, that’s fine,” Castiel soothed. His hand swept upward slowly, stroking softly through Dean’s hair instead of just resting on his face. The feeling was so nice, so familiar, that Dean felt his eyes begin to prickle. Castiel stroked a gentle thumb across his bruised cheekbone every couple strokes. “I know you aren’t the best at taking care of yourself. That’s okay. That’s why I’m here. I’ll take care of you. You’re okay, Dean. You can let go.”
Dean’s next exhale was ragged, shaky. He pressed into Castiel’s thigh even more, squeezing his eyes shut so tight he saw purple and green starbursts.
“I’m… I’m s-sorry,” he sniffled, needing to speak, needing to say what he’d come to say. “I… I know I sh-shou-shouldn’t be here, but I needed… I needed…” Dean broke off, inhaling shakily. Castiel was quiet, letting him speak, his hand still carding gently through Dean’s hair. “I f-felt so alone, Cas. I needed to see you. I’m sorry, sir.”
Saying ‘Cas’ right now felt wrong. Informal. Disrespectful. ‘Sir’ was better. Sir was always better. Sir felt different when he was talking to Castiel, as opposed to his father. Saying it to his father felt like a survival tactic. Saying it to Cas felt like a prayer.
“Oh, sweet boy,” Castiel said. The pet name shook another sob out of Dean’s chest. “Shh, you don’t need to apologize. I’m glad you came here. I’m glad you came back.”
“B-But I don’t deserve it,” Dean choked out, feeling like a pathetic child. “You w-were the best thing that ever happened to me and then I l-left like an idiot. I t-to-took you for granted and I shouldn’t have and you should be mad at me, you should b-be so, so mad at me. You should hit me. Why haven’t you hit me yet?” Dean finally opened his eyes, looking pleadingly through a sheen of tears at the Dom that was still petting him like he wasn’t being the most disrespectful brat ever right now.
Castiel’s face was calm, his eyebrows drawn together with what looked like sorrow. “Do you want to be beaten, Dean?”
“I deserve it,” Dean gasped out. “I deserve t-to… to hurt.”
“Are you the Dominant?” Castiel asked. His words had a sharper edge to them than usual.
Dean blubbered out another sob, shame and guilt flooding through him. “N-No, God, no, I d-didn’t mean that, I swear, sir—”
“Shh, I know,” Castiel soothed. His voice was still firm, but it had lost that sharp edge to it. “Listen to me. You are the Submissive. I am the Dominant. That means that I decide what you do and do not deserve while you are kneeling for me, do you understand?”
The gentle hand in Dean’s hair tightened ever so slightly, guiding him to pull his face out of hiding so he could look Castiel in the eye. The Dom looked deadly serious, but not angry. It soothed some of the panic in Dean’s chest. He nodded shakily. “I u-u-underst-stand, s-sir.”
Castiel’s gaze softened as he looked at Dean. Dean had no doubt he looked pathetic, tears streaming down his face, blood beading from where he’d split his lip just by talking. He wanted to hide, to bury his face in Castiel’s thigh again, but the Dom wouldn’t let him. Not yet.
“Then you’ll know what I’m saying is true. I think my sweet boy has been hurt enough. I think you left to punish yourself, but you came back because you felt lonely and scared. Am I correct?” Castiel’s eyebrows rose in question, his eyes soft with concern and kindness.
Dean could only nod, a shaky sob daring to emerge from his throat.
He had no words to describe how lonely he’d felt after his father had died. Bobby had offered him a place to stay, but Dean hadn’t been able to live with himself, knowing he was burdening the old hunter. Sam was still in college, hadn’t answered any of Dean’s texts or calls. Dean was all by himself, and in those weeks after his father had died, the world had seemed so big. And then the symptoms had started coming back, and he’d known exactly who to go to.
“I g-got sick again,” Dean whispered, shame flooding through him. “I’m s-sorry.”
The first time he’d ever met Castiel, he’d been half-dead with drop sickness. He hadn’t been in real subspace since he’d presented, a good six years ago. The doctor he’d finally gone to, embarrassed but scared of the idea of his body shutting down, had recommended he find a real Dominant immediately.
Dean had gone to a club, figuring it was the best place he could go if he was looking to find someone. He’d met Castiel, who’d only been at the club because he was being paid by his brother to ‘mingle,’ as he’d said, air-quotes and all. Dean had been unable to look away.
He hadn’t minded that Castiel was asexual. If he was being honest, he wasn’t so sure about himself, sometimes. He’d often wondered if he liked sex for the sex, or if he liked it for the intimacy he didn’t get anywhere else. Sex meant touching. It meant stroking and petting and kissing and whispered praises. It made him feel less like he was drowning.
He didn’t mind the no-sex thing with Castiel. The Dom was more than enough to fulfill his needs, physical and emotional or otherwise.
Castiel didn’t get angry like Dean had thought he might at the news that Dean had gotten sick again. He simply frowned a little with concern. “I could tell, sweet boy,” the Dom said. Of course he could. “You’re okay, sweetheart. Shhh, it’s okay. I’m not angry with you.” He stroked a hand down the side of Dean’s face, releasing the gentle grip he’d had on his hair. “I’m sad that you didn’t feel safe enough to care for your needs like you should have. I’m sad that I couldn’t be there to help you.”
“You’re helpin’ me now,” Dean said quietly, voice still thick with tears. “I… I feel better than I have in years.”
“That’s good, sweet boy,” Castiel said softly. He smiled, hand coming down to cup loosely at Dean’s neck. His thumb stroked gently at the soft spot behind Dean’s ear. “I’m so glad to hear that. I’m so proud of you for coming to me for help, Dean. You’re such a good boy.”
More sobs, more tears. Castiel didn’t get angry or annoyed. He never got upset with Dean, save for when Dean did something stupid or hurt himself. He was endlessly patient, the kindest human being Dean had ever known. Dean was so, so lucky to have him.
“Can… Can you talk?” he rasped quietly. “I wanna hear what… what you’ve been doin’.” The ‘since I left’ was silent, unneeded.
Castiel smiled, thumb still rubbing gently at the soft spot behind Dean’s ear. “Of course, though I can’t say it will be very interesting. There haven’t been any more ghosts here, since that time you took care of them. The most dangerous thing I’ve dealt with was a coyote with its head stuck in a pickle jar last May. I attempted to help him and was bitten in the calf for my trouble. I had to get rabies shots.” Castiel shuddered even as Dean laughed shakily. “I also broke my wrist and got the cast off recently. I fell while attempting to reach some sugar on the ladder in the bakery storeroom.” He shook his head. “Gabriel had to help me tend my bees for a whole week. It was a nightmare.”
Dean laughed weakly again, despite the horrified tone in the Dominant’s voice. He’d never met Gabriel, but he’d been told enough stories to get an understanding of Castiel’s brother’s wild personality. They ran a bakery together, and every Sunday morning, they went to the farmer’s market to sell pies and the honey that Castiel’s bees produced.
“What else?” Dean asked, feeling a little more settled in his skin. The soft stroke of Castiel’s thumb was grounding, keeping him from floating away completely. He already felt better now than he had in the entire past year.
“My honey won a few contests, as did Gabriel’s mint pie,” Castiel said. “The bakery has gained quite a bit of popularity in this town since you were last here. We bought the building next to us and did a large renovation. There are fourteen more employees than before.”
“That’s awesome, Cas,” Dean said, smiling genuinely. “I’m glad.”
“I am as well,” Castiel said. He smiled, seeming to be lost in thought for a long moment. “I’m even more glad that you’re here, Dean. How… How long are you planning on… staying?”
Dean swallowed. It was the question he’d been dreading since he’d first stepped foot on that front porch. He knew the answer. He also knew he could never speak the truth out loud. He was afraid it might destroy him. Worse, it might destroy whatever beautiful thing he had right here, right where he was sitting.
“I don’t, uh… I don’t know.” A coward’s response. “How… How long do you want me to stay?”
Castiel looked down at Dean with calm, serious blue eyes. “I told you before, and I will tell you again, sweet boy. I would be glad for eternity with you, if that is what you desire. The choice is yours. It’s always been yours.”
Dean swallowed, feeling more tears try to fight their way up. He forced them back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Wasn’t he done crying yet?
It was hard to hear what Castiel had said. It was hard to reckon with the idea of being wanted after so long being alone.
“I, uh… I can’t… I don’t have an excuse anymore,” Dean said quietly. He looked up at Castiel, at his calm blue eyes. “My dad’s dead. Sammy’s in college. I have no one left. And I… I don’t want to hunt anymore. I wanna be done. I wanna have someone and I wanna be happy and I… I want you. But I… I…” He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut as he gathered his courage. “Sir, I’m… I’m scared.”
“What are you scared of, sweet boy?” Castiel asked, gentle as always.
“Uh… you? Not—Not, you, but, like… Like, you not wanting me,” Dean said quietly, feeling almost ashamed. “I don’t… I don’t wanna stay here and then have you realize that I’m… that I’m bad.” He bit at his tongue, remembering the reason he’d run out of here two years ago.
Castiel hummed softly, sounding sad. “You aren’t bad, Dean. I understand that your past experiences make it hard to trust a Dom, but believe me when I say that I want you here. You… You were like a blessing from the heavens, when I first met you. You practically fell into my lap, the perfect Sub. You appreciate me for who I am. You never once questioned the fact that I was a Dominant that didn’t want to have sex.”
“No one should,” Dean said, frowning. He opened his eyes to look up at Castiel, hating anyone who had ever made the beautiful, gentle Dominant feel insecure. “There’re other ways of dominating, just like there’s other ways of submitting. Not everythin’ has to be about sex all the time.”
Castiel smiled, eyes slightly mistier than before. “I know. I’m so, so grateful that you understand that. You’ve never once judged me for who I am. You never questioned if I had a particular thing I didn’t want to do. You handled me and all my concerns with beauty and grace. You’re perfection, Dean, and I am not fool enough to let you get away again. Not unless you want to.” He looked at Dean with eyes that weren’t quite pleading, but close.
Dean swallowed, knowing the answer. He’d known what he’d wanted a long time ago, and it wasn’t a life of hunting. Hunting was hard. It was brutal. It was worse when he was all by himself. Dean hated being alone. Even when his father had been with him, he’d felt isolated. The hunting life hadn’t been for Sam, so Sammy had left.
Dean thought that maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to do the same.
Surprisingly, there was very little guilt that came with that admission. He’d given enough to the hunting life. Sure, he was concerned about the people who might die, the monsters that might continue living because he wasn’t there to hunt them. He also realized that he’d never asked for this. It was time he started doing things for himself, too. One of those things could be this. It could be Cas.
This was scary, but Dean did scary things all the time. He’d learned that often, doing the scariest things yielded the best results. Going into a haunted house alone also meant saving people. Going to a bar with the intention of meeting a real Dominant for the first time had meant meeting Cas. Maybe saying yes would mean he finally got a chance at real, true happiness.
There was only one way to find out.
“Okay,” Dean said. He was still kneeling, still had his head on Castiel’s thigh and the Dominant’s hand in his hair. It felt natural, easy, good. It felt like the first real home he’d ever had. “Okay.”
Castiel beamed. Dean didn’t think he’d ever get tired of that smile. “I’m so proud of you, Dean.”
Dean smiled shyly, resisting the urge to hide his face. “You, uh… you feelin’ up to kissing?” He’d learned that Castiel enjoyed kissing, as long as there wasn’t any sexual intent behind it. “If not, that’s fine. And if you gotta go somewhere, that’s fine too. I guess I kinda just barged in on you, and, uh—”
Castiel leaned down and shut him up with a gentle kiss on the lips. “I am more than happy to kiss you, Dean Winchester. For the rest of my life, if I may.” He smiled down at Dean, eyes sparkling with warmth and excitement. “As for time… We have all the time in the world.”
Dean smiled shyly and leaned up for another kiss. “I, uh, I think I’m gonna hold you to that.”
Castiel beamed at him with warm, loving blue eyes and gestured for Dean to come up and sit on his lap. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s lower back, holding him close like he was something precious, and whispered softly, “Go right ahead.”