"Are you gonna do this every day?" Dean asked through the mirror at Castiel kneeling on the bed behind him.
"Your morning routine fascinates me."
Watching him get dressed and make his hair look 'accidentally' messy with a waxy product hadn't grown tiresome for Castiel yet, especially the last few mornings that required Dean to wear his cheap FBI suit. Observant blue eyes quietly followed Dean's hands around his waist as he sent the belt through each loop. The cheap suit hugged him a little too tightly those days since eating at home added a few pounds to his muscular frame.
There was no time to get a new suit. A string of deaths by drowning caught Dean's attention and he guessed another aquatic ghost in the nearby river was taking revenge. Castiel noticed a flush of faint color now that the excitement of a new case found him, despite Sam still being too weak to hunt. Dean seemed content - as content as a restless Winchester could be - and Castiel liked the flush of color in his skin. It reminded him of the reddish tint that overtook Dean in the last moments before his body shook and jerked under the releases that Castiel gave him.
"Gimme my tie there," said Dean.
The absent, gruff order startled Castiel out of some sort of peculiar cloudy mind. His human brain frustrated him the way it wandered into thoughts beyond his control. As he grabbed the tie draped over the headboard and handed it to Dean, he wondered if humans even knew how little control they had over themselves. The last thing he knew, he simply watched Dean slide a belt around his waist, and then suddenly, his distracted brain ricocheted him back to three nights prior when Dean came especially hard under his touch. He finally felt like he was getting the hang of physical love and there was a strange bewitching kind of power in making Dean lose control of his senses like that. In truth, Castiel found his brain drifting back to that moment the longer they went without having sex again. Dean was entirely focused on his case, and rightly so, but they never went that long without it before.
Dean deftly flipped the tie around his neck and began a knot at his throat. "Thanks for hangin' back with Sammy today. Make sure he eats something. You know how to heat up a can of soup, right?"
Focus, Castiel. "Low heat on the stove. Intermittently stir it." He repeated one of Dean's cooking lessons word for word.
"Good. Call me if his fever gets any higher. He's not too bad now, but if it shoots up real sudden, dump him in the bathtub with cold water. Don't let it get any higher."
"I understand, Dean." He knew Sam needed looking after but it only resonated as a distant thought further away in his mind. Yesterday, Castiel experienced agitation for no logical reason. Today, he couldn't seem to focus on anything. Perhaps he was falling ill now that he was human and susceptible to the weaknesses of that species. He rubbed his eyes and took a breath. That felt good for the moment. Brief clarity surfaced.
"What's with you?"
As Dean turned, facing him on the bed, Castiel rose up on his knees and stared him down with the intensity and way-too-close-proximity that he unknowingly showed as an angel. That morning, though, he seemed to mean it. Dean's mouth twitched questioningly, those smooth lips that shined where his tongue grazed the skin. Heat spread through him and he suddenly recognized the reason behind his agitation and lack of focus. How fascinating that the desire for coupling affected a human body's other senses. If he wasn't so fixated on the sliver of Dean's tongue showing between his teeth, he might have analyzed the biology of it further. It didn't matter though. Dean's tongue mattered. Dean's stubble mattered. Dean's scent mattered.
"Cas?" Dean's head tilted forward and his brow raised in suspicion.
Cas swallowed despite his throat being dry. "Do you ... Perhaps you could delay your witness interview."
