Day: April 11, 2016

Dean’s jeans are taking their sweet fucking time getting off his ankle, but Castiel doesn’t seem to mind the lull in the proceedings. He’s flushed and already sweating a little, looking up at Dean with bright eyes and his lip caught in his teeth, and even though he’s clearly laughing at him Dean can’t make himself care too much.

“Do you perhaps require assistance?” Castiel asks solicitously as Dean shakes his leg again, harder, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Ha fucking ha. Just give me a minute, okay?” he grumbles, and Castiel settles back in the pillows, his arms sliding down from Dean’s shoulders.

“I see. You’ll let me know, then?”

“Goddamn it,” Dean growls, rearing back on his knees and grabbing for the wadded cotton. “Stay there, I’m just going to go and— burn these real quick—”

“That would be a waste,” Castiel says, tucking one hand behind his head, the other rubbing idly at a red mark high on his chest. “They have a hole, you know.”

“A what?”

“Hole,” Castiel says, and he’s grinning in that Cas way of his when Dean looks back at him, big and fond and a little dopey.  “Right…” His fingers skim up the back of Dean’s leg to tap his ass, right at the swell. “Here. About the size of a coin.”

Dean feels a bizarre flash of embarrassment, even though Cas can see considerably more skin than that at the moment, but then he says, “I like it,” hushed, like it’s a secret, and his gaze drops to Dean’s stomach. Lower.

“Yeah?” Dean responds with a slow grin of his own. He gets a finger hooked in his sock and cuff and pulls them off, finally, and then he’s sinking back on his hands and knees above Castiel. He bends his head so that all Cas has to do is tilt his chin up and their lips are brushing. “Now, where were we?” Dean murmurs.