For Dean on his 38th birthday

[godless_son]

This year, Castiel did not purchase a pie for Dean's birthday. This year, Castiel baked a pie. A real pie with sugar and butter with nothing remotely healthy about it accompanied by full fat vanilla ice cream. It had taken 28 practice pies baked at Neil's house (sometimes at very odd hours of the night, he hopes they aren't angry) and he had taken the liberty of ensuring that Dean got a good night's sleep so he could make the official birthday pie exactly perfect.

There is a fortuitous fresh blanket of snow on the ground and he thinks their home, for all of its flaws, has never looked more perfect. Yukio had chosen to remain at his own apartment last night so aside from the their veritable herd, they have the house to themselves. After feeding, walking and generally tending to the hoard, he readies an overlarge piece of pie a la mode and a cup of coffee and carefully makes his way into their still dark bedroom.

Once the pie and coffee is safely in place he peels off his t-shirt and pauses, looking down at Dean's face in the pale morning light. He has a few more gray hairs than last year, an almost imperceptible deepening of the fine lines around his eyes. In Castiel's eyes, he looks somehow better for it, the signs of aging a badge of pride considering all they have gone through. While Castiel may have celebrated his vessel's fortieth birthday, his hair has not more gray and the lines around his eyes look basically the same as the day he inhabited this body. Jimmy was 35 when Castiel took the body from him so he supposes that Dean looks older than him, now. He wonders if the difference between 35 and 40 are obvious, if people wonder about his age. He is unsure how much longer he can stand watching Dean age without him but knows he is lucky to be able to still protect him as he can. He is a very lucky man.

"Dean," he murmurs, crawling onto the bed and running his fingers through those short, gray hairs at Dean's temple. "Happy Birthday."

Comments

[always_enduphere]

Dean flushes faintly, not for the idea of gifts but for the idea of being celebrated at all. Castiel is quite right - he's gotten better about accepting kindness, but praise is still touch and go, and Dean shifts, flustered at the small smile on his own face, and lifts up onto his elbows, distracting Castiel with another kiss.

[godless_son]

"Sex then pie," Castiel breathes, quite aware of Dean's attempt to change the topic but also very much wanting the sex. He deepens the kiss, grabbing a little to hard at the sharp points of Dean's hips as he shoves Dean's pajamas down enough to grip warm skin.

"Did you know you have three new gray hairs?" he murmurs, teeth skimming over the stubble at Dean's neck. "I like them. I like the changes."

[always_enduphere]

"Why'm I not surprised you're keeping track?" Dean pants at the ceiling, hitching his hips up to meet Castiel's. He turns his head for Cas' teeth and shivers for the scrape. "Where are they? Temples or chin?"

[godless_son]

"Interestingly, most of your beard seems to get more red with each passing year but there are two new gray hairs on your left temple and one right here," he says, teeth nipping at the soft skin below his jaw.

He smiles down at Dean, impatiently rucking Dean's shirt up to his armpits and trying to pull it over his head. "You're going to look older than me, in a few years, you know. This body was a few years younger than you when I took control."

[always_enduphere]

"Calling me a cougar and a cradle robber in one breath," huffs Dean, even as he lifts his shoulders to help free himself of the shirt. As soon as it's gone, he pulls Castiel down on top of him, reveling in the simple pleasure of skin on warm skin. "And a ginger. What kind of birthday is this?"

[godless_son]

"I will never understand society's strange prejudice against red hair," Castiel states, wriggling, purposefully rubbing his prickly face against Dean's neck. He grins against Dean's skin as he sends his sleep pants to a far corner of the house with a thought and wraps his fingers around him. "It is special, just like it is special to have green eyes. Also, to have bowed legs, for that matter. I have a particular fondness for your bowed legs."

[always_enduphere]

"Words not heard outside of John Wayne's fanclub," Dean laughs, pleased with his joke for all that he knows Castiel won't understand it, but his satisfied smile is soon traded for a groan. Dean hums, shifting up into Castiel's grip. "How about you magic wing those pants of yours away, too, huh?"

[godless_son]

"And then what?" Castiel murmurs, free hand grabbing Dean's hair just hard enough to ride that edge of pain. He tugs his head back, exposing his throat as he continues to stroke him. "It's your birthday and you can have anything you want. Do you want to fuck me or I could fuck you? I could make you come just like this. Or I could take all the choice away, easily. What do you want, Dean?"

[always_enduphere]

Dean sucks in a breath. Castiel is tugging hard enough at his hair to sting, and Dean twists his head, pulls against it until his eyes begin to water. "Ride me?" he asks, licking his lips. "And don't be nice about it. Just let me see you come, Cas."

[godless_son]

"Yes Dean," he says, drawing his now bare legs up, dropping his hand down to Dean's chest to pin him to the bed. With a thought, the fingers of his free hand are slick with lube and reaching around to begin a shorter prep than usual.

"I like this position," he breathes, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he shoves two fingers in quickly and artlessly. "I like your attention on me. I only like your attention on me. I like watching you underneath me."

[always_enduphere]

"Pretty fond of it myself," says Dean. He drags his hands over Castiel's thighs, callouses catching at his skin. He lets himself savor the feel of him, those fine, curling hairs, the warmth against his fingertips, and then he reaches back to grip the headboard. "How about you angel me up a tie. A blue one, like you used to wear?"

[godless_son]

Castiel bites off a moan as he manages to reach his prostate, eyes hooded as he stares down at Dean.

"I miss that outfit, sometimes," he says, the exact brand and color tie manifesting in his hands with a thought. He quickly loops it around Dean's wrists, knotting them to the headboard just a little too tight, a little too painful. They will hurt, leave marks just as he thinks Dean wants it.

He rises up, slicking Dean up quickly, groaning as he starts to lower himself.