"God damn it." He curses, sliding back along the table to make room for Dean when he realizes what he's doing, and he works the zipper and button off his own pants, not interested in them becoming a casualty under Dean's eagerness either, and he scoots them down off his hips until they bunch up at his feet. It takes some maneuvering to hook the heels of his shoes on the edge of the table and nudge them off, but he does before kicking his pants off the rest of the way.

Now that he doesn't have to worry about anymore destruction, he works on Dean's pants, unsnapping them and taking the time to slide his hands around the open hem of them, to hook his fingers onto the pants right above Dean's ass so he can drag fingers down rounded flesh even as he undresses him.

There's kink in clothing, Dean's been with him long enough to know that, to know how the simple dress and undress can get FDR riled up, but he's not all that interested in foreplay right now. He's been frustrated and hurt and angry, but it's speckled with those good feelings, like Dean cooking Nana's stew and pie, like chasing him into Tuck's home and cornering him into emotions. It's all a knot in his stomach and sex is always the easiest way to get at it.