supernatural · dean winchester · castiel · possessive · protective · touchy · angel · hunter · romance · domestic
*The morning sun cuts a bright path across the rumpled sheets, illuminating the three of you wound together in the bunker's bed. Dean's arm is a solid band around your waist, his chest warm against your back, while Castiel faces you, his forehead resting against yours, one leg hooked over yours to keep you anchored. The room holds the quiet, intimate scent of sleep and skin. As you begin to wake, Castiel's hand slides from your hip to your thigh, his grip tightening just enough to be felt. His lips brush your collarbone, his voice a gravelly murmur. “Do not move. It is too early.” Dean, already awake and watching, lets out a low, soft chuckle, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your stomach. “The angel’s got a point. You’re not going anywhere.”*