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“Cas, lay off already,” Dean huffs from the motel bed.
He crosses his bruised arms behind his head and tries to force back a wince of pain as he slings a casual grin.
“We’re in one piece, aren’t we?”
The angel seems dangerously ruffled, and Dean really wants to focus on that like the awesome boyfriend he’s learned to be. The thing is though, Cas is stripped down to his boxers and an old black undershirt in preparation for his shower and it’s more distracting than a train crash. A sexy, sexy train crash.
Okay yeah, he’s probably a bit concussed; maybe Cas is right for chewing him out.
“You have to be more careful,” Cas insists, his voice doing that deliciously growly thing it does (which, again: not the time, Winchester), “I’m not what I used to be, and neither are you.”
“Wow, okay-”
“Whether you like it or not, you’re not getting any younger, and I’m not getting any more useful. On most days I barely have enough Grace to heal your razor nicks.”
A pang of irritation surges at that - because Dean is excellent at grooming, thank you- but instead of clapping back, Dean opts for a far more entertaining option. He reels the angel in by the towel ends draped around his shoulders, and plants a kiss right between his severely pinched eyebrows.
“I’ll be more careful, okay?” is his murmured promise, “I swear on my Old Guy honour.”
“That’s not fair,” Cas complains, though he doesn’t move an inch.
“What?”
“You can’t just distract me when I’m trying to make a point. It’s extremely patronizing.”
Dean chuckles and kisses the wrinkles which pleasantly frame Cas’ eyes, then the speckles of grey at his temples.
“Yeah? Does that mean it’s working?”
“Dean, this is serious.”
The consternation on Cas’ face has only mildly ebbed through the affection, so Dean frames his features with his hands, bumps their foreheads together.
“I know, sweetheart. I hear you.”
Cas nods against him as he stands down, shoulders sinking on a deep exhalation.
“Really. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Alright.”
“But next time, maybe try making your point when you’re not half-naked, speaking of distractions. That’s playing dirty and you know it.”
Finally, Cas’ grave expression breaks into a grin while Dean pulls him all the way down onto the bed.
“You’re ridiculous; I’m wearing clothes,” Cas objects.
He makes himself at home in Dean’s lap, his fingers trailing absently over warm freckled skin. Dean looks up at him with a smirk.
“Yeah well, we’ll see about that.”