In 2008, Dean takes over his late grandfather’s tailor shop in Normal, Illinois, and discovers an old leather flight jacket in the attic. A hand-painted set of wings on the back, the name Novak, and a three-quarters sewn circle of red cotton are the only clues he has to the jacket’s origins, and he enlists his historian brother to help him find the owner.
It doesn’t take long for Sam to trace the jacket to Lieutenant Castiel Novak–a pilot who lived in Dean’s apartment until his mysterious disappearance a few years after WWII–and what little information they find about him is fascinating. The guy was a stone cold badass. A stone cold fox, too, if the grainy old newspaper photo is anything to go by.
It’s to be expected that Dean idly wishes he could have known the man as he closes the annoyingly unfinished circle of thread on the jacket.
Less expected, however, is that wish coming true.
Bookmarked by ScorpioDani
26 Jun 2017
Oh. This is beautiful
Dean spends all his time being desired by others -- makes his living that way -- but being lusted after isn’t the same thing as being wanted, and he’s never felt wanted. Which is why he ends up answering an email that starts with “Dear sir, I hope this letter doesn’t offend you…” and ends with “You will be compensated generously for your time. Sincerely, Castiel Novak.”
The email says Castiel is looking for “the boyfriend experience,” as they call it in Dean’s profession. He wants a live-in, someone to hold him at night, someone to make him dinner and greet him after a long day of work with a smile, someone to play pretend with.
“Hello Dean. This is Castiel Novak from Tran and Tran. I know this is highly irregular and extremely inappropriate, but I…” There’s a long pause where Castiel just breathes. “I was concerned about your condition. Please let me know if there’s any way I can assist you. You may call or text this number.”
Yeah, alpha. You can assist me.
Dean doesn’t know how either of them even notice the ding-open of the elevator doors, but luckily there’s no one waiting for the elevator on floor fourteen. Castiel backs off of Dean, looking as flustered as Dean feels, and doesn’t waste any time dragging him down the hall to the room, where he shoves Dean against the door and kisses him again before even opening it. Castiel murmurs against Dean’s mouth: “I should be more discrete.”
“No,” Dean says in between kisses, “you definitely shouldn’t.”
“Can you smell that, Cas? Smell me wet for you?”
Cas growls again, a noise quickly becoming one of Dean’s favorites. It goes straight to his toes, goes straight to the omega inside him and makes it mewl with pleasure.