Dean hated soap. Hated it. He hated the smell, all sharp and unnatural; he hated the feeling of it all slick against his skin; and he HATED it when it covered the smell of Cas.
With a low growl, he crept up behind the boy in the pretty red cape and pounced, leveling him to the soft ground.
“Dean!” Cas protested, face pinching up in frustration at the young werewolf. “You’ve soiled my cloths again!”
“You smell like soap again,” Dean grumbled, already rubbing against all of Castiels exposed skin.
“Because I took a bath, Dean, I’ve already explained this to you,” he huffed, but the anger in his voice had already faded. This was practically a daily routine by now–Castiel would take a bath in the morning, start his chores, and by lunch he would be covered in dirt and Deans scent again. Mother stopped questioning him about it long ago.
“You smell better with a bit of earth on you, anyway.” Now Dean was nipping at his neck and ears. Castiel had shifted so he was laying comfortably between Deans legs. “You don’t smell like you when you use soap.”
Castiel giggled and stroked his fingers through the back of Deans hair–it made his tail wag and his leg jump and a pleased whine curl out of his throat, just like Castiel knew it would.
“People are different than wolves,” he explained in a hushed voice, “we have to stay clean, or others won’t want to be around us.”
“But you smell better without soap,” Dean insisted.
Castiel smiled, a large, just-for-Dean smile. “That’s just for you and me, isn’t it.”
'Yes,’ Dean thought, pretty green eyes sparking with possession. 'Mine.’
“Mine.” It was a growl more than a word, accompanied by a light bruise on Castiels warm neck, vaguely resembling the shape of Deans plush mouth. “All mine.”
“Yes, Dean. All yours.”
for m-arci-a, bc she dragged me into this trash au and I felt like giving her a gift *throws this in your face and runs away*