Impala
It was a Saturday.
Dean started the day by making toast and coffee, eating it, and then getting dressed for whatever the day's work would entail. Two years ago, that would have meant preparing for a hunt. Now, it usually means fixing up a car, grocery shopping, or cleaning the house up.
Today, though, he planned on spending a good portion of the day worshiping his baby. It had really been too long since he gave her a loving wash and wax.
In the heat of mid-August, in South Dakota, the car was definitely due for some TLC. Castiel had decided to sit on the porch and read while Dean took care of the car. The two were never very far apart from each other. And after everything they'd been through, didn't they deserve that?
They had taken the land Bobby Singer had left them, rebuilt the house, and settled there in Sioux Falls. Dean fixed cars up quite well and sold them, but he also had a steady stream of customers for immediate mechanic work. Cas helped with ordering parts and keeping numbers straight; the man was pretty good with these things.
Dean turned on the hose and wet the car down. His bucket of soapy water sat at his feet. He started slowly cleaning every inch of that car. Within twenty minutes, his shirt was drenched, mostly from sweat. He stopped in his ministrations and pulled the shirt off.
Castiel watched with mild interest as Dean continued washing the car, bare-chested. The first part of washing was over, now—on to the second part. Dean rinsed the soap off, and began scrubbing the rims of the tires. He was crouched low, and the muscles in his back glistened in the August sun.
Cas looked back to his book. He and Dean had finally professed their mutual affections about a year ago, and enjoyed each other's—ahem—private company quite often. He enjoyed the view, yes, but Dean was busy.
Dean was humming quietly to himself as he cherished his baby. He carefully cleaned the windshield wipers and the gas cap. Side mirrors were cleaned with reverence. He was dripping sweat, but was careful not to get any on the car. He decided he needed to cool off—it felt like ninety degrees outside.
Dean walked over to where the hose was laying, and squeezed the handle to allow the water to drench himself. It worked—he was definitely cooler. He returned to the car, still dripping.
Castiel watched carefully now, over the top of his book. He saw how Dean's muscles worked together as he washed the Impala. His body, golden tan from the summer sun, was positively incandescent. Even form yards away, Castiel could see little droplets of water dropping off of Dean's back and onto the ground.
Castiel didn't even realize he was moving until his finger reached out to touch Dean's back. Dean swiveled around, only to smile broadly upon seeing Castiel.
Cas grabbed Dean's shoulders and kissed him heavily. Dean was surprised at first, but dropped the sponge and wound his arms around Cas' waist. Cas' shirt was wet now, too, and they were twined together in a way that was decidedly not appropriate for company.
Luckily, they had none.
Dean hefted Cas up and around so that he was sitting on the hood of the Impala. His basketball shorts aided him in sliding back enough so that Dean could slot himself between Cas' legs. Dean lapped into Castiel's mouth, and Cas twisted their tongues together. Cas applied pressure to the roof of Dean's mouth, pulling a moan from him. Cas wrapped a leg around Dean, and gripped his back tightly, fingers digging in.
Dean never got to waxing the Impala that day. Come Sunday morn, he had to wash the hood all over again.
Oh, well.