Some nights—that may or may not be Dean’s favourites—found them lazing on the collection of couches in the bunker’s excuse for a living room. Not every night could be a high-stakes death chase, of course, so sometimes they liked to take their respites where they could get them, and do absolutely nothing instead.

On such night found Cas reading to Dean while he enjoyed the easy relief of half-heartedly staying awake, lounged languid and relaxed on one end of a sofa, with Cas perched, book in hand, on the other. There was something soothing about Cas like this, caught up in his book, that calmed Dean more than he was prepared for, but was grateful for all the same.

“The fountains mingle with the river, and the rivers with the ocean; the winds of heaven mix forever, with a sweet emotion,” Castiel recites in a low voice, rough and warm and Dean thinks in his drifting state that it’s exactly the kind of sound he would love to wrap himself around in. Not, of course, that he would ever admit that Cas reading poetry does it for him.

But, well. It kinda really does.

“Nothing in the world is single; all things by a law divine in one another’s being mingle—” Cas continues, before he stops suddenly, letting his hands fall into his lap and his book (of poems, Dean presumes) along with them.

Realising the lulling tone of his friend had ceased washing over him, Dean jerks his head up from where it had dropped onto his arm leaned against an armrest. “Why’d you—” he starts, only to look up to find Cas facing him, book forgotten where it lies balanced on his thighs.

His gaze is as steadfast and unwavering as ever. “Why not I with thine?”

Cas reaches his hand across the divide to rest it on the bridge of where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, his thumb rubbing softly at the underside of Dean’s stubbled jaw. “Wha—?” Dean begins to ask, heart catching in his throat as his breath begins coming faster when he realises Cas was directing the poem at him. “Oh.”

“See! the mountains kiss high heaven, and the waves clasp one another; no sister flower would be forgiven, if it disdained its brother,” he whispers, the gravel of his voice grating over every one of Dean’s nerves as if like flint trying to light a fire. His hand inches ever closer to cup Dean’s cheek. “And the sunlight clasps the earth.”

Dean moves, chest constricting quick and shallow as he shifts on the sofa.

“And the moonbeams kiss the sea;—”

“Fuck, Cas--“

“What are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?” Cas finishes, mouth so dangerously, terrifyingly close to Dean’s own by now that Dean can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the distance that still remains.

“Jesus, you eloquent shit, took you long enough to ask,” he grins against Cas’ lips, before whatever words either might have said next are lost in the sweet requital of a kiss too long in the making.. 

Who knew a night of nothing could end up changing everything? They really needed to do nothing more often.

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