Despite the fact that Dean’s ankle is still tender and his ribs are still bruised, not even Sam can keep him from hobbling across the Bunker when he finds out Cas is washing the Impala.
“The car was filthy, Sam! How’s he gonna know to hose her down before spreading all the crap and dirt on her and scratching her paint?!?”
“It’ll be fine, Dean—”
“Oh my god, Samantha, go braid your hair, I actually have no interest in seeing your face right now. Fuck off.”
Still, when Dean barges into the garage, nothing prepares him for what he sees.
Cas has blasted the tape Dean gave him eons ago, opened the garage door and is bopping his head along to the music as he soaps up the hood of the Impala. The basketball shorts he’s wearing have been rolled up until his crotch, there are soap suds on his cheek, and his soaked shirt has been thrown across the side of his covered Thunderbird motorcycle. He’s got two day-old stubble and his muscle flex. He’s so so so kind to his Baby, mouth moving under the music like he’s talking to her while he’s washing.
And Cas looks up like a deer in headlights, caught like a kid with his hand in a cookie jar, and his face turns cherry red and Dean can’t feel his chest and then he’s hobbling forward, determined until he reaches his sweet-dumb-ridiculous-no-longer-an-angel and kisses the freaking life out of him.
When he pulls away, Castiel’s eyes are still closed and his brows are almost at his hairline. “…Am I in trouble?” Cas asks quietly. As they flutter open, Dean has the insane thought that he never wants to look away from the blue of those irises.
Dean swallows and shakes his head in response to the question. He kisses him again.
Happy birthday @purgatory-jar!!! I started this before you told me you weren’t going to Florence, so… oops! Hope the day was great :)
“He’s so…” Castiel’s gaze slides over the sculpture as he sighs, blue eyes drinking in every curve of marble with flushed cheeks. To his left, Dean raises an amused brow, nudging his boyfriend playfully.
“Should I be jealous?”
Despite the fact that Cas snorts, it takes just a hair too long for his gaze to be torn away. Dean whistles lowly in response. “Oh man, Cas, you got it bad.”
“He’s beautiful!” Castiel shoots back, wrapping his left arm around Dean’s right. “Look at him, you can’t tell me he’s not gorgeous.”
Dean hums, critically looking the sculpture over. “…His dick’s a little small.”