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“Daddy, will you have a tea party with me?”
Dean casts his glance over the newspaper he’s been scouring and looks at his daughter. Her eyes are wide, hopeful, her bottom lip held between her teeth and while Dean’s not really one for tea parties (that’s more Cas’ area of expertise), Dean smiles. He’s never been able to say no to Chevy’s big baby blues.
“Sure, Squirt. Your house or mine?”
Chevy beams and toddles off down the hall towards her room, shouting, “Mine!” over her shoulder as she goes.
Dean stands and follows her.
In Chevy’s room Dean is guided into a tiny pink chair. He grimaces as he sits down, praying to God the legs don’t crumble under his weight, and doesn’t breathe until he knows he’s not going to go crashing to the ground.
“Ladies,” he says, nodding at Chevy’s doll seated to his left, and her favorite Barbie to his right. Chevy lets out a giggle and a wave of accomplishment rolls through Dean. His baby girl’s laugh is one of the best sounds in the world, right up there with the steady rumble of the Impala, and Castiel’s voice when he’s sleepy or turned on. Goddamn Cas’ voice when he’s turned on…
No thinking about sex in front of your kid, Dean, he reminds himself.
Following her giggle, Chevy let’s out a gasp, her tiny hands flying to her mouth and her eyes growing as big as saucers.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.
“You’re not ready for a tea party,” she points out, eyeing his plaid shirt and jeans.
Dean looks down at himself. “Okay, uh… what do I need to be ready?” He questions.
Chevy’s face pulls into a thoughtful frown and she twirls one of her blonde curls around a finger. “Feathers,” Chevy finally responds, “and some make up.”
Dean swallows hard.
Chevy digs her make-up set out of her dress up box and climbs on Dean’s lap with a sure fire determination that’s so reminiscent of Cas, Dean has to chuckle
The little girls’ hands come to rest on either side of Dean’s face, and she draws his gaze to hers. “Hold still,” she instructs.
Dean nods. “Okay."
He watches as Chevy dips a make-up brush into her small pallet and swipes the bright color across his cheeks. It tickles against his skin, and his lips twitch marginally, but he stills when Chevy gives him a look. (One she certainly learned from Cas, no doubt.) Next Dean’s told to close his eyes where Chevy adds some purple, her little hand brushing practiced and true over his lids.
When she holds up several tubes of lipstick and asks, "Which one, Daddy?” Dean studies them carefully before pointing to one that doesn’t look to be too offensively loud. (Though they all look pretty much the same to him.) Chevy nods her approval and smears the lipstick over Dean’s lips.
His look is completed with a black boa draped across his shoulders and a crown placed oh so carefully atop his head. When Chevy stands back to survey her work, she smiles and claps her hands together.
“You look beautiful!” She chimes.
Dean lets out a laugh. “Thanks, Baby.”
Finally, Chevy deems him ready for tea.
She pours imaginary tea into the cups on the table, showing Dean how to drink it with his pinkie finger up, “Papa said it’s the right way,” she tells him. Dean nods and points his pinkie towards the ceiling.
Chevy chatters away over invisible biscuits and scones, spooning non-existent sugar into Dean’s cup and pouring more tea for her doll.
Dean watches it all with a smile on his face.
After some time the sound of the front door can be heard opening and then Castiel is looming in the doorway, drinking in Dean’s state with a half-smile on his face and a glimmer in his eye.
Dean huffs. He is so never going to live this down.
“Hi, Papa.” Chevy greets.
Castiel’s smile deepens. “Hello, Bumblebee.”
“We’re having a tea party.”
“I can see that. Did you do your father’s make-up?” Castiel asks, folding his arms across his chest and smiling down at his daughter as she nods her head.
“He held very still.” She informs Castiel.
Castiel’s weighted blue gaze flits to Dean. “You look lovely, Dean.” He says.
“Shuddup.” Dean grumbles. He doesn’t even need the damn blush now his cheeks are doing a pretty good job all on their own.
Castiel’s face softens, catching Dean’s discomfort and he strides across the room, crouching down next to Chevy’s chair and resting a hand on her shoulder. “May I join you?” he asks.
“Yes,” Chevy replies, “but you have to wear the tutu.”
Castiel nods, his face devastatingly serious. “I wouldn’t dream of refusing.” He crosses the room to Chevy’s dress up box and fishes out a bright pink tutu with an elastic waste band. When he slides it over his hips, Dean’s heart leaps and all his embarrassment melts.
He officially has the best husband in the world.
Castiel settles onto the floor next to Dean, pressing a kiss to his lips and giving Dean a warning look when he does a messy job of it, purposefully smearing his lipstick all over Cas’ mouth.
Chevy lets out a peal of laughter when she see’s Castiel’s newly disheveled face.
“Don’t you think Papa needed some too, Chev?” Dean asks with a broad grin. Chevy nods and pours Castiel some tea.
As far as tea parties go, it’s one of the better ones Dean’s attended in his life. As he and Castiel tuck their daughter into bed that night she wraps her arms around Dean’s neck and hugs him from where she lies on her bed.
“Thank you for playing tea party, Daddy,” she murmurs in his ear, her little voice tired and heavy.
Dean kisses her forehead. “I loved playing tea party with you,” he tells her.
She smiles, a soft little tug of her lips and lets her eyes slide closed.
Outside the door Dean tugs Castiel down the hall, eager to get his husband out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable so they can make out and watch the Food Network in bed.
“Let’s get you to bed too, Papa,” Dean says.
They never make it to the bedroom though.
Instead Castiel crowds Dean up against the wall, gripping his hips and kissing him soundly, his tongue flirting with Dean’s mouth in the most delicious of ways.
“I had fun with you today,” Castiel says, his voice gruff in Dean’s ear. “You should attend Chevy’s tea parties more often.”
Dean smirks. “You just wanna see me in that boa again.” he jokes as Castiel nibbles at the corner of his mouth.
Castiel makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Are you offering?” He wonders, lips running over Dean’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.
Dean lets out a laugh. “Not a chance, Cowboy.”
Castiel shrugs. “I prefer you naked anyway,” he says. He bites at Dean’s neck and Dean sucks in a gasp.
“Then by all means,” Dean wheezes, “let’s make that happen.”
Castiel lets out a low, dark chuckle, and Dean practically drags him into their bedroom.