Chapter Text
"There. Perfect."
"Cas, I look like a-"
"You look like a gorgeous boyfriend, Dean, who graciously allowed me to paint his body for the third time. This is the third time, right?"
"Yeah, it's the third time." Dean smiled and wished he could run his hand through Castiel's hair. "How did you know?"
"The pictures. There's only two different paintings, so I took a guess." Castiel stood again, carrying his palette and brushes to the sink. Dean watched him happily.
Three months later, Castiel was used to Dean living with him and was starting to let Dean help him remember things. He'd coped with his memory loss, accepting it almost instantaneously. He'd allowed Dean to explain everything to Principal Harvelle, then come back to work a week later, being as careful as he could be. The stitches came out a month later, when the stab wounds from when Sam had taken over his body had almost healed completely. Castiel still had a long white scar down his forearm and was sore around where he had stabbed himself in the stomach. Dean had been helping him until he'd felt better about it, but Dean knew it hurt him sometimes where he put too much pressure onto it or exhausted himself.
Of course, now it was summer, so there wasn't much for either to do. Castiel sold his painting for money over the summer, and they sold at high prices. It was enough to get both men through the summer months. More than enough, really.
"You're fucking lucky that I would be dead and gone without you," Dean told Castiel as he picked up the camera. "Otherwise you'd never be able to do this."
"I know," Castiel smiled. "Come on. Put on that pretty model face and maybe I'll wash you clean."
"Oh, you're definitely washing me clean," Dean mumbled, covering himself and closing his eyes.
He waited until Castiel told him it was okay to move.
"You," Dean said as he walked closer to Castiel, smiling, "are so washing this off of me. No protesting."
Castiel laughed up at him. "You baby," Castiel teased, pressing his lips to Dean's painted cheek. "Go get in the shower. I'll join you in a second."
"You'd better." Dean grinned. "Showering with you is the best fun."
"I'm sure it is." Castiel called after him. He always had to have the last word.
Dean laughed and made his way into the bathroom, admiring the intricate painting on his body, then slid into the shower. Reds and golds washed down the drain as the water pelted against his face. Greens and whites joined it for a moments time before Castiel joined Dean, towel in his hand, stripped of all clothing.
It really was good to have Castiel around. Dean had missed him in those few weeks, and he was ecstatic to have his baby back. He was still happy and it had been months.
As soon as he could, Dean kissed Castiel. They pulled apart and Castiel made a face. "You taste like paint still."
"Sorry," Dean chuckled. "I didn't mean to make you taste it too."
***
Dinner was Dean's favorite part of every day. They both worked together, taking turns in choosing what to make and being the helper.
That night, Dean was the helper. He handed Castiel everything he needed and helped him stir or mix or whatever, enjoying the feeling of Castiel's lips on his neck every few seconds. It made him grin and want to flip around and pin Castiel against the counter.
"Hey-" he stuttered as Castiel let his teeth brush against his neck. "Hey! If you don't- stop I'm going to end up- fuck- Cas!"
Castiel chuckled. "Just shut up and hurry up with putting that into the oven. I want to make out."
"Make out," Dean scoffed, stirring slower on purpose. "You make it sound like we're high school students."
"We teach them, don't we?" Castiel grinned, looping his arms around Dean's waist. His hands hung over the zipper of Dean's jeans. "It's only fair that we take up the language."
Dean laughed and rolled his eyes. "You're a dork, Cas."
"So are you. Hurry the hell up."
"Just what are you wanting me to do again?"
"Pour the fucking food into the fucking pan and put it in the fucking oven, Dean," Castiel's breath hissed against Dean's ear. Dean licked his lips and smirked.
"Can you repeat that?"
A smile formed on Castiel's lips. "Put the fucking food-" Castiel bit down on Dean's neck. "-into the fucking pan-" He bit a little further down, flicking his tongue against the skin. "-and put it in the fucking oven before I fuck myself."
"Is that even possible?" Dean wondered aloud as he poured the contents of the pot into the baking pan. "Can you fuck yourself?"
"With my hand, yes," Castiel mumbled against his neck. "With a toy, yes."
"So you can't truly fuck yourself. Like- you can't just move it back there and-"
"Jesus Christ, Dean, hurry the fuck up before I use my fucking hand."
"Sheesh, okay," Dean laughed, bending over to put the pan in the oven. Dean could feel Castiel's hardness through both pairs of pants. "Bedroom. Now. Go."
"Kitchen. Against the counter." Castiel whispered, already turning Dean around and pushing at his pants.
***
That night, after dinner, they both sat outside on the porch for a while, watching the sunset. Once the sun had set, Dean went inside to make coffee for both of them.
When he came back out, Castiel was laying in the grass, staring up at the slowly appearing stars. One arm was folded beneath his head, the other picking at the grass by his hip absently. Dean smiled from the porch and carried both mugs down to Castiel, standing over him until he sat up enough to take the cup and sip it. Dean sat down behind him, legs crossed Indian style. Castiel took one more sip of coffee before he handed it back to Dean, who smiled and set it beside his own hip.
Then Castiel leaned back again, head in Dean's lap, and they both sat there watching the stars in a comfortable, happy silence. Dean's free hand played with Castiel's hair while his other held his own coffee. After a few minutes he set the mug next to Castiel's and let his fingers trail down Castiel's temples and cheeks as he leaned down. "Spiderman kiss," Dean whispered, smiling into the upside down kiss.
It was the perfect night.
***
"Dean?"
They were laying in bed now, legs tangled together despite the ridiculous heat. In protest of Dean's complaining about the cold temperatures earlier in the year, Castiel wasn't using an air conditioner to keep the house cold.
"Yeah, baby doll?" Dean opened his eyes slowly.
Castiel was staring at him. "Will you tell me another story about what happened?"
"Cas-"
"Please? I can't sleep... I want to see if I can remember it."
"What do you want me to tell you about?" Dean sighed and lifted his hand to Castiel's cheek. His thumb ran across Castiel's lower lip gently. "Thanksgiving? Christmas? Why you were in the hospital? What?"
"Tell me about Christmas night. I don't think I've heard that one yet." Castiel smiled slightly. Dean could look at that smile forever.
So he started to tell the story of Christmas night. He talked about what he'd given Castiel, what Castiel had given him, and what happened afterward.
This happened often. At least three nights a week, when they settled down to sleep, Castiel would ask for a story about something he'd forgotten. He liked being able to see if he could remember it in the morning when he woke up. Castiel had also started writing down his dreams just to be sure he remembered them.
It was a little obsessive, but Dean figured Castiel was entitled to it. After all, he had lost many months of memory. The guy was bound to be a little freaked out and paranoid, even three months later.
By the time Dean finished, Castiel was asleep against Dean's shoulder, having moved closer in the middle of the story. Smiling, Dean wrapped his other arm around Castiel and mumbled a soft "I love you." Then he drifted into sleep himself.