Morgan made his way down the hall and into his bedroom, gathering a set of loose pyjama pants, and a sweatshirt, for Dean, along with a large fluffy towel from his bedroom. There was no sign of the Tams, so far, and he assumed they were likely in their rooms, reading, or something. Morgan let himself stare at Dean's lean torso, as he walked back down the hall, reminding himself that the boy had a Master.
"Here you go," he said, laying the small pile on the counter.
"Nothing to fashionable, but I doubt you want to try and squeeze into anything leather while you're damp," he laughed.