Dean’s eyes are fire and passion and he holds Cas like that for a moment. “I love you,” he says. “I’m a fucking idiot, Cas, I love you.” His lips meet Cas’s before he can reply, the kiss quick and deep and real, his tongue running over the corners of Cas’s mouth.
“Cas is not sure if his “official attire” is a prank, because Frank, Cindy, and the other djinns seem to be dressed like any other American people, and he is at least half sure that the queen doesn’t care that he’s in a trenchcoat. He studies the clothes laid out in front of him, the black-and-gold harem pants, the pointed, violently golden shoes, and… where’s the shirt?”
He buries his face in Dean’s neck, breathing his whiskey and gunpowder scent. He’s fairly sure he’ll freak out about this later, but for now he lets himself enjoy this moment. In the aftermath, he’s all glowing warmth, floating.
Cas opens one eye, and is shocked to see a cool blue glow lighting up the room.