The Bodyguard (is the Omega)

5.

Castiel regretted his off the cuff invitation to have Dean along for his morning jog. Dean didn't get up until 10.36 am and by then the sun was already high and Castiel had just finished talking to the fence and close circuit TV people.

"Didn't uh sleep well," Dean said sheepishly by way of announcing his arrival. He was wearing beaming white tennis shorts, matching polo shirt and pristine Nikes. Everything was super extra small, hugging the curves of Dean's body obscenely.

"You can run in those?" Castiel smirked. "Where are you supposed to put your balls?"

"You can pop the tennis balls in the back pocket," Dean stopped mid sentence, realising what Castiel was really saying. "Fuck off Novak!"

"Really informal household is it?"

"I'm not the one jogging in a suit," Dean retorted. "What are you running after a presidential limo?"

"I waited till 8am for you but the security company came to instal the new cameras and I'm not going to look unprofessional."

"You're going to get hot," Dean muttered. "Hotter."

"I took off my trench coat didn't I?"

Dean took the lead and Castiel followed the bright beacon of Dean's tiny sportswear. They ducked under the descending metal gate that was being craned into position by the front entrance and headed for the scrub land. Dean was fit for someone who drank copious amounts of wine and seemed to do no exercise except sensuous swimming and provocative dance routines. His bowed legs eating up the dirt trails for a while. Castiel was a seasoned jogger though, deliberately pacing himself. By the time Dean stopped in a patch of shade, he was wiping his brow with the hem of his shirt. Castiel's eyes lingered on the flash of abdomen, golden with self tanner. Dean was sweating profusely, his face damp with perspiration. He bowed over a little, mouth open as he panted. Castiel loosened his tie a fraction and undid his top button.

"I hate you," Dean gasped. "You still look fucking perfect!"

Castiel smiled but then surprise took over his face when he heard the sound of hooves.

"This is Wyatt, he's always getting out of the stocks somehow, cocky bastard," Dean introduced Castiel to the stallion. "His harem's back that way."

Dean led Castiel into the stables. He disappeared for a couple of minutes into the mud room, then reemerged in denim and flannel, leather cowboy boots and hat to complete the look.

"Did you just do a costume change?" Castiel pointed out. "Is this a photoshoot?"

"I'm not going riding in leisure wear, Calvin would never forgive me if I treated his clothes like that."

Castiel blinked at Dean.

"This guy," Dean pulled down the waist of his jeans, exposing the branded elastic underneath. "Calvin Klein, up and coming fashion designer. He's getting us out of the eighties and into the nineties."

"I am not familiar with fashion."

"Yeah, I figured that," Dean mounted the horse elegantly. "You can take Doc, he's the new yearling, headstrong but he gets on with Wyatt pretty good."