"Dean."
The hunter in question glanced up from the television. "What's up, Cas?"
"I have located another demon killing weapon."
He had the hunter's attention. Dean sat up. "Seriously? Where'd you hear that?"
The angel conjured a map onto the hotel table. He tapped it with a finger, emphasizing the importance of the coordinates as he voiced them to Dean. He wasn't sure why visual aids were necessary, but he had learned that humans tended to benefit from them. "Here, Dean. 41.6, -107.3."
Dean leaned over the map, peering at the locale. "You're sure it's there?"
"Yes."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, Cas. How do you know this isn't some crack lead? Are you sure it's… wait, what is it?"
"It is a demon killing knife."
The hunter let out a low whistle. "What were the coordinates?"
"41.6, -107.3."
Dean grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper. Cas watched, eyes glued to the writing utensil. He watched the end of it bob and swivel as Dean gripped it, smearing ink across the paper in the formation of letters. The pen seemed to sit perfectly in the man's tanned fist, the blue body cradled in the saddle of tender flesh between Dean's thumb and forefinger. The angel unconsciously licked his lips.
Dean looked up from his scribbling. "And you're sure this is legit?"
"Yes." Castiel was only half listening to Dean. The hunter, while peppering the angel with questions, had stuck the pen in his mouth. As he spoke he periodically chewed on the end, the very tip sliding between his full lips. He tapped it against his teeth, once, twice. He rotated the pen, the cap dipping into his mouth to be gripped by his teeth as he pulled it off. Dean wrote something else in the margins of the map and continued to speak, but Cas wasn't listening. He watched transfixed as Dean's tongue slid along the cap when he spoke, pressing against it ever so slightly and pulling away.
"Cas? Cas."
The angel returned to himself as Dean waved a hand in front of his face. "Yes."
Dean grinned. "You haven't been listening to a word I'm saying, have you?"
"I… I must go." The angel felt an uncomfortable stirring below.
"Whoa, whoa. Hold up, Ace. Why in such a hurry to leave? Tell me more about this magic knife you found," Dean said.
"I cannot. I am needed elsewhere." As the angel made to leave, his patented trench coat caught on the back of a chair. His tented pants were abruptly exposed to all occupants of the room. Namely, Dean. The hunter paused, eyes flickering between Castiel's nether regions and his face.
"Awkward," Dean laughed.
"My… my apologies," the angel stuttered. He tried to make a run for the door, but the fabric of his slacks created a friction that sent all sorts of sensations shooting up his spine. Effectively, it rooted the angel to the spot.
"Whoa, Cas. Hold up, man. You can't just go waving that thing around. You'll hurt somebody."
"Dean. This is not the time for humor. I am… rather indisposed."
"Yeah," the hunter smirked. "I can see that."
Castiel blushed and looked away.
"At least hide it with your coat, dude. Less awkward that way."
Castiel hurriedly gathered the folds of his trench coat about himself. It did little to diminish his embarrassment and the awkward stirring in his loins.
"Much better," Dean said. "Just hide it till you're alone then finish the job on your own time."
The angel wasn't exactly sure what Dean meant, but he chose to suffer no longer. Returning to himself he took his leave and mojo'ed himself out of the room.