One Little Thing

Just A Bit Is All It Takes

Dean always liked watching Cas fall asleep.

There was some sort of innocence to it that he couldn't quite put into words.

And he always looked so beautiful like that. So peaceful.

So Dean would always pull a chair over next to that shitty motel bed and tell him shitty stores and tell him shitty jokes while he slept.
He never knew exactly why he did those things.
Or exactly why he loved doing them so much.
Maybe because he just needed someone to really love - to pour his heart out to - even in the midst of this oh-so hellish life.
He'd tell him that he was beautiful, how amazing he is, how he barely deserves him.
He'd tell him about how being able to look into those amazingly blue eyes is the best part of his day. And how perfect he is. He was just so perfect. Too perfect, even.

Sometimes he'd kiss his cheek, or his forehead, maybe his nose.
Sometimes he'd run his fingers through his silky black hair.
Maybe trace his knuckles along his jawbone.
Cup his face.
And he always looked so content. So happy like that.
And sometimes, when Cas was splayed out on the bed, he might cuddle into him or pull him onto his chest and run just the pads of his fingers along his arms or over his cheekbones, or hold his hand, just to get to know the muscles and bones that left indents and ridges on his skin.

And he'd still continue whispering how grateful he is to have him.
He'd continue whispering how happy he makes him.

But one night, when he'd pulled Cas up onto his chest and wrapped him in his arms, he realized the angel's heartbeat had tripled and he was still whispering sweet-nothings and the cold realization that Cas was awake began to settle in.

"Dean.." He mumbled, but rather than realizing he was wrapped in his arms and scurrying away, he just spread his legs over Dean's and rested his chin on his collarbone to look up at the hunter. And he could tell he was embarrassed. And he could tell that his cheeks had flushed red because he had just told Cas he loved him.

And then Cas was blinking open his blue eyes and Dean relaxed and stared into them because he always got so lost in them.

But then Cas was kissing him, leaning up and pressing a soft, tender, wanton kiss onto Dean's lips. It must've lasted two seconds. Maybe three.
And Cas was left brushing his lips against Dean's. He'd heard everything. Every word of every confession. Not every night. But just this night in particular because he'd kissed the top of his head a bit too firmly and pulled him onto his chest a bit too quickly.

"I love you, too.."