Dean really likes the new coat.
Like, really likes it.
He likes the way it sits across Cas’ shoulders, fitted and tight but not so tight that it bunches. It tapers in, just a little, at the waist, and when Cas holds his arm in just the right way, Dean can see the holy-hot-damn curve of his bicep, lightly defined, even through the fabric.
It’s a bit longer than the old one, and it’s got this really, really damn nice flow to it when Cas walks around. There’s a weight to it.
Dean likes the fabric, too. He likes the darker colour, the way it looks next to the new, blue tie. He likes the heavier feel, the way the canvas catches on the calluses of his fingertips.
What he likes most, though, are the lapels. He likes how damn… grabbable they are. He likes – he loves – fisting his hands in them, curling his fingers into the thick fabric and yanking Cas in.
He loves holding Cas in place, just so, and kissing him within an inch of his life.