Author's note: Whew, it's been a long wait! This is part one of two of "Hotel California"'s bonus epilogue. Dean's ready for the next step, and Castiel wants it to be perfect. Enjoy!
"Dean, this trip is unnecessary. I could have easily procured the supplies we required-"
"It was a five minute drive you big baby. Besides, there's a whole rack of this stuff and with my luck you would have grabbed the first tube you laid eyes on and it would be banana flavored or some weird shit."
"I am more than capable of selecting an appropriate brand of lubri-"
"Damn it Cas, if it's going inside me I want a say in what it's going to goddamn smell like!"
"…I-I didn't realize you were intending to-"
"Well I am, ok? So shut up and let me figure this out."
"…of course. I'll go investigate the prophylactics."
"Okay. None of that ribbed crap. I hate those things."
"I will…do my best."
"'Kay. I'll be there in a second."
Dean was getting anxious. Castiel didn't need to be a fully powered Angel of Lord to see the tension in Dean's shoulders, or the edge of white to his knuckles where he gripped the steering wheel. Castiel moved to comfort him and in doing so rustled the plastic bag containing their recently purchased supplies. Dean practically flinched. Castiel decided that this wouldn't do. If he was penetrating Dean tonight the hunter was going to be relaxed and eager, or Castiel wanted no part of it. He spent a few precious moments considering how to best east the nerves Dean was clearly suffering from, before the Universe provided him with the perfect solution. A mere two hundred yards from the bunker, the Impala hit an unseen pothole, and Dean swore, eyes alight with concern for what Castiel understood Dean considered his "baby". With an invisible flick of Grace, Castiel reached into the Impala's complicated mechanisms, searching quickly for something nonessential that he could loosen. There. By the time the Impala had resettled from the jolt Castiel had worked the small gear free from its place, resulting in a harmless but very audible rattling from within the Impala's workings.
"Shit," Dean cursed, "Can you hear that?"
"Yes," Castiel concurred, "Though I have very sensitive hearing."
"Damned bump must've knocked somethin' loose," Dean muttered as they pulled up to the entrance to their underground home.
"Do you want to take a look at…'her'?" Castiel asked, using Dean's preferred pronoun for his vehicle.
"No, no, it's okay," Dean said quickly as they pulled to a stop, "We've got other-I mean I know you want-" Castiel stopped him with a hand on his thigh.
"This is important," he said quietly, "We should look into it. You can show me, and then next time I'll be able to assist."
"Yeah," Dean agreed hesitantly, thoughts clearly already on the Impala's innards, "Yeah okay. I'll go get the toolbox."
"Excellent. I'll wait here." One didn't live for a millennia without learning a few good distraction techniques.
If there was a sight in the world more beautiful than Dean Winchester sweaty and covered in motor grease Castiel had yet to see it. Outer layers stripped in the early evening heat, Castiel handed over wrenches and sockets in his shirtsleeves, drinking the golden skin and lean muscle on display as Dean bent over the Impala's engine in only his sleeveless undershirt. Dean was aging gracefully, the hard edges of youth smoothing with the approach of middle age, vitality and maturity encased in a visage that grew more entrancing to Castiel with each new laugh line. He was in his element, solving a simple mystery with a machine Dean probably understood better than most people, and Castiel was happy to be a part of the process. An hour of tightening and adjusting, and Dean was exuding quiet satisfaction as he revved the Impala's engine, her purr even and uninhibited.
Castiel abandoned his perch on the Impala's hood as Dean cut the engine, only to find his hands and much of his backside coated in fine sheen of red dust. He showed Dean as he tossed a dirty rag back in his tool chest.
"California dirt," Dean said, wrinkling his nose as he kicked at the dusty tires. It was a small matter for Castiel to duck into the bunker and find a large bucket and some soft sponges. He emerged armed with soapy water and a wicked grin as he "accidentally" splashed Dean with the first smack of his sponge against the Impala's hood. Dean retaliated mercilessly and it wasn't long before they were both soaked. Between being caught in the crossfire and being the setting for a few sudsy groping sessions, some of the water eventually made it onto the Impala.
"I know what you did here," Dean said, looking over at Castiel dryly as they admired the pristine Impala in the fading light, "What with the car maintenance and the soapy frolicking."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Castiel admonished, his expression carefully neutral. A strong hand on the small of his back and a soft pair of lips against his own melted his reserve, and Castiel found himself smiling into Dean's kiss. He let his hands glide up Dean's sides, reveling in the soft shirt over firm but relaxed muscle, tacky with sweat and grease. Dean pulled Castiel closer into a firm hug.
"Thank you," he murmured into Castiel's thick hair. Castiel simply wound his arms tighter around his lover, utterly content.
"Do you, uh," Dean began as he stepped back, hands still loose around Castiel's waist, "Do you wanna grab the stuff from the car? I'll stash the tools in the closet and meet you in my room in a minute."
Castiel tilted his head to bridge the very small gap between their mouths, quick and light.
"I'll see you then," he agreed.