Chapter Text
The dryer doesn’t take too long to be fixed. Dean does it himself, even though he has to drive to three different hardware stores to get what he needs. He figures it’s a small price to pay for having Cas properly clothed; the amount of awkward boners he’s had to hide from Sam and Cas over the past few days has been obscene.
And so the dryer gets fixed, and Dean happily does a load of laundry for Cas, thinking he’s only got a few more hours to bear of Cas wearing his shirts - or even worse, wearing no shirt at all.
Cas thanks Dean profusely for doing his laundry when Dean delivers a stack of clothes to the man’s room - and no, Dean absolutely does not stare at Cas’s arms as he takes his clothes.
At any rate, Dean thinks his ordeal is over and that Cas will go back to wearing the shirts and sweaters he picked up over his first few months as a fully-fledged human.
But no. No. Two days later, Dean walks into the kitchen in the morning to see Cas wearing one of his shirts again. Cas mumbles a good morning, then shuffles away with a cup of coffee in his hand. Dean gapes after him.
Later, when Cas is more awake, Dean tries to bring it up - except that he finds he can’t think of what to say. He likes it. He likes Cas wearing his clothes. Even if it does cause a few more Cas-related boners to happen.
So he lets it slide. Just this once.
But it keeps happening, and Dean’s shirts just keep going missing from his drawer - probably straight into Cas’s. It keeps happening, and Dean keeps letting it happen because something about seeing Cas in his shirts makes a fierce something rise in his chest, and it’s too addicting to let go of.
After a few weeks of this happening, Dean wakes up from a mid-afternoon nap to find Cas standing at his drawer, rifling through his shirts. He’s got a towel draped over one shoulder. Under the towel is what seems like miles of long, tanned muscle. Dean makes a strangled noise.
Cas looks over at him, his eyebrows raised in shock. “Dean,” he says, “Did I wake you?”
It takes a few tries, but Dean eventually manages to say, “Uh, no. I - uh. What are you doing?”
Cas holds up a shirt. It’s blue plaid. It’ll look great on Cas. “I’m looking for something to wear.”
“You have things to wear,” Dean points out, though he immediately regrets it when Cas’s expression grows abashed.
“I know,” Cas says, sounding dejected. He puts the shirt down.
“Whoa, hey,” Dean says, pushing off the covers. “I didn’t say I minded.” He gets up and takes up the shirt again, offering it to Cas.
But Cas is shaking his head. “No, Dean, I should wear my own clothes. I have enough. Yours just - they smell nice. Like you.”
He might as well announced he was running for president. Dean stares. He drops the shirt back in the drawer “Sorry?”
Cas shrugs. “Your smell is comforting to me. It helps me fall asleep.” He looks at Dean, apologetic. “I’ll stop.”
And that’s it - three weeks’ worth of muted frustration make it so easy to surge forward and back Cas up into the drawer. He hears it slide closed and rock backward into the wall as he leans forward to kiss Cas, tilting his head. Cas makes a small sound of surprise, but he quickly recovers, returning the kiss and pulling at Dean’s shirt like he’s planning on stealing that one too.
When Dean pulls back, he feels better than he has in three weeks. He lets his hands skim down Cas’s ribs, fingers catching where it’s still slightly damp from his shower. “Bring my clothes back,” he says, touching his forehead to Cas’s.
“Of course,” Cas says, out of breath. He sounds disappointed.
“And bring yours, too,” Dean continues. “There’s space in the drawer. Bring the rest of your shit, too.”
For a second, Cas’s eyes are wide and hopeful. Then he pauses, his eyebrows furrowing. “Dean. You are asking me to move into your room, correct?”
Dean just kisses him again, open-mouthed and languid. When he pulls away, Cas’s expression has grown into something a lot more devious.
“I will take that as a yes,” he says, swiping a tongue over his bottom lip.
Dean watches the motion with half-lidded eyes. “Yeah. Do it later,” he says, his fingers curving around Cas’s waist.