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There are three peaches in a row on the sill of the kitchen window.
Cas is leaning on the sink, sleep warm and rumpled, boxers low round his waist, t-shirt creased and unevenly hemmed, sipping coffee from a chipped mug. He hums to himself, quietly observing the sun rise creep across the garden and occasionally running long fingers over the fuzzy skinned fruit.
Benny leans against the door frame and watches. He loves Castiel most at the turns of the day. The moments when the teeter totter of time flips from the cool of night to the bright busy day and back again. In the evening, Cas is full of the day, excited and questioning Benny about everything that happened, trying to tease out the meaning of every interaction but here, in the early morning, he is softened by sleep, introspective and prone to silence.
The vampire pads quietly to stand behind his lover, slipping his arms round Cas' waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Cas turns his face to rub both of their stubbly cheeks together, before tilting to peck Benny’s cheek with a soft kiss.
‘They were picked too early’, Cas’ voice is sleepy and deep.
‘The peaches? Were you planning a pie, little bird?’, asks Benny, scooting his hands up under Cas’s shirt to run them along the stretch of warm muscle.
Cas sighs and leans into him.
‘Yes. They were picked too early, so they’re hard. The internet said that one of the easiest ways to hasten them softening was to let the sun warm them and help to produce their natural sugars and aid the perfect moment of ripeness.’
‘Hence the little window dressing we got going on here, huh?’, Benny has to hide his smile in the former angel’s shoulder.
Cas hums an affirmation before reaching over to adjust the position of the peaches. When they are settled to his satisfaction he relaxes back into Benny with a sigh.
‘To angels, every moment is ‘perfect’. They have to be. The moment someone is born, the moment they die, happy moments, sad moments, the moment a bomb drops, the moment a flower opens, they’re all given to us by God and so, they are exactly what they are meant to be. Perfect.’
‘Do you still miss it?’, Benny’s voice is quiet, and he gently rubs soothing circles into Cas’ stomach with his thumbs. Cas squints out of the window, watching the garden gradually warm with the beginning of the day.
‘The peaches were picked too early. So, we warm them on the window sill and try again. That’s what humans do. And when that perfect moment of ripeness happens, we feel every bit of the satisfaction that comes with it. Every sweet drop of that perfect moment is ours. And we cherish it, because all those moments are finite. One day they’ll be no more. To an angel, every moment is perfect but there’s no satisfaction. It just is and was and forever will be.’
He turns in the circle of Benny’s arms, looping his own around the vampire’s neck and looking up into his bright blue eyes.
‘I don’t miss being an angel. I miss all the perfect moments that I never noticed when every moment was perfect’, he says quietly. ‘All the perfectly ripe peaches, all the flowers opening, all the loud births, the quiet deaths and everything in between that I never took the time to see, even though I had forever in which to see it. I missed it and I miss it.’
Benny cards his hand through Cas’ hair, cupping the side of his face and then dragging his thumb down the curve of his jaw. He leans until he can feel Cas’ breath ghost over his lips before brushing their mouths together.
‘Let’s not miss another’, he murmurs.