With that coat?
A short, fluffy destiel ficlet in which Dean dresses Cas for dinner.
“Cas, buddy, you can’t go to dinner dressed like that.” Dean’s fiddling with his own tie, intent on straightening it, but looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of the trench-coated man. “I told you to change into something.”
Cas’ eyebrows pull together, confusion marring his features before his lips part to allow the ever-so-snarky protests. “Dean, all of my clothes are in the wash. You know that.”
Fuck. Well that much was true – Dean should have remembered to put Cas’ shit in the drier before jumping into the shower. Wasn’t a big deal though. Cas was almost his size, so they could probably get away with sharing for the night.
“Come on then, sit on the bed. I must have something for you.” With all the hunts he’d been on, there had to be some sort of suit in his closet. Hell, the two of them shared everything else – including an apartment. They might as well share clothes, too.
Dean didn’t check to see if the fallen angel had listened to him – no, he was too busy flipping through different shirts in order to get to the ‘FBI’ section. There was only one suit that he finally deemed good enough for Cas – and when the hunter turned, the guy was already undressed.
“Dammit Cas, you can’t just do that!”
“But you told me I couldn’t wear –”
“You know what I meant.”
Cas smiled then, all teeth and rosy cheeks, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to get angry at the damned son of a bitch. “Fine,” he breathed, approaching his side with the suit and tie, “Then I guess I’ll have to dress you myself.”
Watching Cas’ eyes widen – watching that innocent bright blue darken with knowing clouds – it would never get old. And as Dean trails his hands up Cas’ bare skin, small sweeps of his tongue following, he hears the intake of breath that lets him know that he’s winning.
“I told you to change.” Dean’s voice is lower now, the sound scratchy as if his words are lodged deep in his throat.
There’s a moment of understanding – a moment of silence as the hunter picks up Cas’ feet, one at a time, and drags the fabric upwards, lingering just a little too long at his waist.
But they have somewhere to be – a charity dinner to follow through with – so Dean forces himself to move on to the buttons of the shirt, followed by the jacket.
“Cas…” The hunter wants to say something – anything to make the moment more precious, more special. But the fallen angel is having none of his bullshit tonight, and instead wraps a hand in Dean’s tidied hair, pulling his face up from the tie he’d just fastened around Cas’ neck.
“You talk too much, Dean,” Cas whispers with a smile, those lines of chapped skin curving wider as Dean leans in to kiss him.
“And you are very picky tonight.”
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, pulling Cas up by the tie into a standing position so that he could get a better look at him. He looked – well, stunning, actually. All bright blue eyes and dimples with a jet black suit. It fit him well.
“I know. But at least now you’re decent for dinner – although personally…” And Dean’s voice gets quiet as his hand entangles itself with Cas’, his breath hot in the fallen angel’s ear, “I’ve always preferred the trench coat.”