mazoodle asked for Destiel arguing over bed space.

This is sort of like that. Sorry.

~

Dean wakes up with Castiel’s shoulder in his mouth.

He shakes his head, blinking rapidly and propping himself up on his elbows, allowing himself to stare at the man before him.

There are purple bites travelling across his collarbone (Dean’s decided he really, really loves Cas’ collarbones) and even more down near his hips. The marks make their way past the blankets, into territory Dean had only dreamed about until last night, when both of them had gotten much too drunk, and much too touchy.

Things turned into other things, and by midnight, they were both sprawled across the sheets, tangled up in each other.

Whether or not they were a thing, or if Cas even remembered it, or if it was something he regretted was irrelevant at the moment, because there was a far more pressing matter at hand.

“Move,” he whispers, gently pushing Cas over a bit because Dean’s seriously about to fall off here.

But Cas is surprisingly heavy, and he just grumbles something, and curls into Dean’s side. Part of him rests on Dean’s chest, and his leg buries Dean’s leg.

“Cas, come on,” he mutters, ignoring the flutter in his chest as Cas drapes his arm across Dean’s bare chest.

“Cas, Jesus,” Dean says, desperately trying to untangle himself from him without waking him, or falling, even though now half of his back teeters over the edge of the bed.

“Castiel,” he says, kissing the tip of his forehead. “Time to wake up.”
But Cas just mumbles, moving into Dean more, and finally, the weight is too much.

They tumble off the bed, Dean catching the brunt off it, back against the hardwood floor. He curses in pain, breathing heavy. His chest rises up and down with heavy breaths, carrying Castiel with them, who, amazingly is still asleep.

Cas works his way on top of him better, head against his neck, and lets out a steady flow of air, eyes still closed.

Dean just laughs.