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Summary
Without thinking, Dean strips the article over his head and tosses it in the odd direction of his duffel; the cooler air of the room is barely a reprieve once its discarded, but for now, he can put up with it, if it means he doesn’t have to sit in his own filth. What he needs is a cold shower, or to stand in front of the box fan on the windowsill, if it didn’t mean stirring up already humid air indoors.
Castiel doesn’t speak to him for a long while after that, too focused with his tie and fiddling with his shirt cuffs; not uncommon, but it still unnerves Dean sometimes, how often Castiel fidgets, like he has somewhere else to be. Anywhere but here where Dean wants him, as much as Dean is loath to admit it. Because admitting he’s attracted to someone is one thing, but to an Angel, and Castiel, no less?
On a list of things to get sent back to Hell for, that’s probably at the top of the list.