[Fic] Samhain

[kittydesade]

Title: Samhain
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Pam/Castiel
Word Count:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Happy New Year
Author's Note: Happy Birthday, adsartha! This fic takes place in the Only Human 'verse for Pam/Castiel, Castiel now being human and a hunter/part-time carpenter handyman type. The rest should be self-explanatory.

Global warming did come with some benefits; the weather around Samhain was still warm enough to barbecue and they had a new porch to inaugerate, thanks to a quiet spell and Cas's restlessness. Everyone who could actually did make it over, and some friends of everyone, so the food was gone within about an hour of it getting cooked and laid out. Only one person asked about the angel wind-chimes in an otherwise pagan-filled house. No one asked why Pam was taking up with a good Christian boy (yes, he was 'that boy' now) or who was converting whom, not when she set the plate in front of him and kissed the back of his neck and quietly left him to say grace without comment.

And anyway, if there were further questions or doubts they were dispelled by the watermelon seed spitting contest that followed dinner (which Bobby won by a fair margin) and the guitar-playing and round-singing (which Pam maintained everybody won) and a battle between Simple Gifts and Lord of the Dance which resulted in one of the strangest mash-ups anyone had ever heard.

Bobby and Jimmy helped get most of the dishes rinsed and some of them cleaned before Pam shooed them out, finally. The unspoken division of labor was that Pam would pick up the trash, put away all two dishes that had leftovers, pile the watermelon onto the compost heap out back while Cas worked on the pile of dishes. She was still done before he was, standing in the doorway for a moment and just looking. Smiling. Handsome and quiet, beautiful and kind. When he smiled, really smiled this time as he hadn't quite managed to do when he was an angel, it seemed as though whatever troubles were there were infinitely manageable. The world slid away and it was just the two of them, together. So much peace and joy was a good start to a new year. The best start she'd had in a while.

After a few minutes of this she pushed away from the door and came into the kitchen, beads rustling her presence, and he smiled over his shoulder at her. She hoped, really, that her breath never failed to catch for that quiet joy in his eyes. "And now I sound like a Hallmark movie," she murmured, sliding an arm round his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder, keeping away from the elbows.

"Mm?"

"Nothing."

New arrangement: he washed, she dried. Only instead it turned into more of a he washed and splashed her a bit and she dried and flicked his arm with the towel and eventually they were laughing and soap suds were flying everywhere. Which she had to pick out of his hair, then. Silly, flyaway hair.

"Happy New Year," he grinned at her.

"Happy Halloween," she retorted, smiling. Couldn't stop smiling.

Not even when he kissed her the first couple of times, hands warm and still damp on her waist, her arms coming up almost of their own accord to loop around his neck and draw him closer. Probably about when he backed her against the counter, but only so she could kiss him more thoroughly and with proper attention to every tasty detail. The sound of his shorter breaths. The taste of barbecue sauce and coffee still spicy on his lips. The smell of good food and charcoal smoke and soap.

Her jeans were off and on the floor in a flash, his shirt followed a moment later and then she was on the counter, one hand flying up to brace herself and stop her head from bonking into the upper cabinets as he set her down. And then there was cool air on warm skin and his mouth traced a line down over the curve of her bra, the outer edge of flesh. Not hurrying, really, but with definite intent. Her hands moved with a similar intend over his body, tracing down lines of muscle sculpted by working out in the sun rather than working out. Tracing scars. Over his shoulders and down his back, tracing wings that had once existed in more form than simply ink-color on skin. It didn't seem to bother him anymore, and for that she was very glad.

There came a point, again by mutual unspoken agreement, when the counter provided too much of a height difference and was al ittle too awkward in any case and he carried her gently to the floor. Everything about him was gentle, with her, or for her, sometimes. All the little touches over her body that worked her into a frenzy of pleasure, yes, but also a less frantic more patient sensation of love. Even when he wasn't saying it with words, every look and gesture, I love you. And she meant it, with every look and gesture, when she threaded her fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck, when she smiled into his eyes as they moved, when she kissed him soft and deep as they sped higher and higher. I love you.

Afterwards neither of them could be bothered to do much more than snag the blanket off the back of the couch and curl up in it for a little while, snuggled closer, fingertips touching smiling lips and flushed cheeks and burrowing into each other's warmth. Pamela wondered if this almost euphoric sense of peace was God's way of showing approval for their love and their union, decided not to ask, but offered a different question instead when breaking the silence didn't seem too much like breaking the mood.

"So..."

"Mmm?" He opened his eyes, lifted his head a bit to look at her.

"If that was Samhain... what's Beltane going to be like?"