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Follow the Signs

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Soundtrack: Back To You – Twin Forks

Follow the Signs

Dean Winchester is his best friend.

Castiel doesn’t realize it at first. He’s a new teacher at Fox Burrow Middle School in Kansas, a veteran of junior highs in neighboring Colorado, but lonely in new place. At first he thinks that Dean – the gym instructor – is being friendly by sitting next to him each day during the lunch break, checking in on him between classes, and hanging around him in the teacher’s lounge. He still thinks that when Dean brings him coffee from a local shop some mornings, or when Dean invites Cas over to watch movies.

It only occurs to Castiel as he is at Dean Winchester’s modest residence for their biweekly Twilight Zone and pizza night, six months into his move to Kansas, that that is what they are.

Best friends.

“Dean,” he says.

Dean glances up mid-bite of his slice meat lover’s and swallows before he hums, “Yup?”

“Are we friends?” Cas asks. Because he can’t be crazy. That has to be what they are. But then, he never knows. Castiel has spent most of his life misinterpreting his relationships, thinking that they are more or less than what others feel that they are. He’s never been skilled with people. Even now, anxiety reaches in and grasps at the edges of his mind, worry niggling over what Dean’s answer will be.

Dean gives Cas’ shoulder a gentle sock and says, “Of course, man. What did you think we are?”

“Oh,” Cas says, and fidgets with his fingers in his lap, “Friends. I mean. Yes. We’re friends. I’m just not very good at people. You know that.”

Dean is a handsome man. He knows that, and thought it the first moment that he ever saw Dean in his ridiculous red gym shorts and standard issue Fox Burrow Middle School white tee. His smile is something else, truly something else. It’s the infectious kind of smile that makes others around him smile. Initially, he seemed like the kind of man that might have made fun of Castiel when he was young, confident and cocky – but Dean is anything but that. He’s kind, loves science fiction and good books, his car and his brother, well-cooked food and quality beer.

He’s wonderful.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Dean says, attention flicking back to the half-eaten slice of pizza still left on his plate. He eats it, though with less gusto than before.

“I didn’t offend you, did I?” asks Castiel.

Dean shakes his head, and waves Cas off with a wide gesture of his hand. He says, “Nah, man. I’m just kinda burnt out today, you know? Some kid had an asthma attack during third period and shit, it was so dramatic. Had to take him to the nurse and left the class to their own devices. Crazy day.”

“Ah,” Castiel says. His Friday has been standard thus far, disappointing students that didn’t do their homework by checking it and dealing with the typical amount of drama that watching over a large group of prepubescent kids.

He finishes his own pizza (Hawaiian, which Dean submits to ordering even though he claims it’s ‘weak’ to use pineapple as a pizza topping) and reaches for another slice. He does love this tradition and has never had a person in his life willing to do this before, simply eat and joke and watch old television together.

It’s pleasant.

Dean is pleasant.

And when they’re here instead of Fox Burrow, things are different. Dean doesn’t wear his gym gear and Castiel isn’t in a suit and tie. They can relax in jeans and t-shirts and kick back to quality science fiction with beers in their hands and no need to be staunch and set a good example for an entire school of unruly almost-teenagers.

“You know what we need?”

Ah, so it’s going to be one of those nights. Dean reaches into the drawer underneath his thrifted coffee table and pulls out possibly the most cliché belonging that he has to his name – a fake Bible with a false middle, where he keeps his pot stash and a flask of “the good stuff” which he has “just in case.” Dean has never explained what “just in case” means, but judging by both Dean’s taste in movies and what little Dean has revealed about his relationship with his father, “just in case” either refers to the zombie apocalypse or an encounter with John Winchester.

Dean rolls a joint for them to share and lights the end. As Castiel always does, he wonders if this perhaps makes them a bad influence on their students.

But then, it’s not as though he and Dean light up behind the school and attend their classes under the influence. It’s a weekend thing, when one or both of them has had a crap week and needs something to bend them back into shape. Beers, a joint, pizza and Twilight Zone seem to always do the trick, although tonight, Dean seems distant, yet to be cured by the night.

Castiel doesn’t count himself able to tune in on emotion well, but he has a better sense of it when he’s with Dean. Dean expresses emotion in hot, quick bursts, is loud and lively and wears his heart on his sleeve. If he’s quiet, then something surely must be wrong.

“Dean, are you all right?” Castiel asks.

Dean shrugs and melts back into his couch. He puts his feet up on the rickety coffee table in front of them and says, “Dunno, Cas. Am I ever all right?”

“That sounds ominous,” Castiel replies, “This isn’t about your dad, is it?”

Dean huffs, “It’s not just my dad, but yeah, when isn’t it my dad?”

“Family function?”

“Not yet,” Dean says, “Sam wants us all to get together for a family event with Jess’ folks and crap. Fuckin’ hippie-ass peacemaker.”

Castiel can’t help but laugh at that, his high making him hazy at the edges of his brain. He bumps Dean’s shoulder with his and says, “Your brother is trying. At least you’ll get to see your nephew.”

Dean grumbles, but concedes that Cas is at least correct on that front. His nephew is his favorite part of any required family function. The kid is pretty spoiled for a child of three, at least by his uncle – Dean goes on and on about the stuff that he brings with him for chubby-cheeked Bobby John, from model cars to build together to new coloring books and sets of crayons. He’s already started in on his niece, too, who isn’t even out and about in the world. Last weekend, he made Castiel come to him with the local shopping mall and came out with an entire set of superhero-themed onesies.

But being around his father does stress him out, if only because John never took well to Dean’s confession that he is bisexual (Sam tells Dean that he is ‘pansexual,’ and Dean agrees, but he doesn’t know how to explain the term to their father and so doesn’t bother trying), or was disappointed in Dean’s choice to drop out of high school and attain his GED instead of going through with the classic practice of four years of tortured teenage hell. John still doesn’t like that his son in his mid-thirties collects comic books and action figures, and prefers to spend time with Castiel over going out and seeking a future wife. Wife, John always pointedly says.

Castiel has only had the pleasure of meeting the man once, and he’d prefer to keep it at that if he could. John Winchester isn’t evil, but he isn’t likeable either, and the stress that he puts onto Dean’s shoulders rubs off on Castiel from time to time.

Dean catches Cas staring at him and makes a face. He says, “Cut that out, dude. You’re freaking me out.”

Castiel does ‘cut it out’ and turns his attention back to the television as the Twilight Zone episode comes to a close and Dean picks up the remote to start another. They watch this one without much talk, and when it comes time for Castiel to at last say his goodbyes and turn in at his own apartment, the air between them is more somber than festive.

Dean still embraces him at the door before he leaves, tosses a customary insult at Castiel’s Honda Accord, and claps him on his shoulder.

And as always, when Castiel climbs into his car and turns the key in the ignition, he finds his gut stirring with the sensation that his students would call butterflies, and from that would deem his feelings toward Dean Winchester, gym instructor, as a crush.


“I’m just saying, why haven’t you just boned the dude already?”

“Because he’s not interested in me like that, Gabe,” Castiel says into the receiver on his cellphone as he shoulders his way into the local Starbucks for a couple of lattes before school. It’s crowded by the usual before-work crowd, tired-eyed people in their twenties and thirties, all decked out in cardigans and business casual. He slips into line behind a young woman with a rope of fake pearls around her neck and her blond hair in braids, and tries not to entertain the idea of fratricide.

“How the hell do you know?” Gabriel asks, “You just said he got all bummed after you two established your friendship on Friday, so maybe he’s got a hankering for your schlong just like you’ve got a hankering for him.”

“I am not hankering for anybody’s schlong,” Castiel petulantly says to the phone, and gives an awkward, apologetic smile-wave combination when a couple other patrons turn around to stare. He adds, “I’m trying to get coffee. Stop being obscene.”

I’m trying to get coffee, stop being obscene,” Gabriel mocks back in a high-pitched voice, “Look, mother, since when have you been good at social cues? Just fess up. I’m telling you, he wants the D.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Dude, I gave you the talk when you were like, twelve. D. The dick. Molten gearshift of love. He wants it. Probably in his ass. Guy sounds like a hella bottom.”

Another couple of stares back at him.

“Is this really why you called me at half-past six in the morning?” asks Castiel.

“It’s half-past eight here,” Gabriel defends.

“May as well be your three in the morning,” Cas replies.

Gabe chuckles and responds, “Yeah, you got me there. Nah, I called you ‘cause Michael called me. Mom’s up and about again and he needs somebody to babysit her while she’s stuck with her bum leg. You’re the responsible one, so…”

“Oh, no. I am not getting cajoled into that,” Castiel says, “I have a job. And I live in Kansas! You’re the closest to her.”

Gabriel groans, “Why does she always get pawned off on me?”

“You’re the one that thought New York would be a sterling idea,” Cas says.

“It seemed like a good idea at eighteen.”

“Not far enough away from Jersey to relieve you of your responsibilities, I am afraid,” Castiel hums.

“Damn it.”

“At least it means that at the next reunion she’ll be using you as ammo for why the rest of us don’t care.”

“She’ll find something else to bitch about. My weight. Kali. My taste in television.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Castiel agrees, “I have to go, Gabriel. I’m at the front of the line.”

“Right-o,” Gabriel says on a sigh, “And don’t forget what I said about lover boy. You get that penis. Believe in the penis, Castiel. Be the penis.”

“I’m hanging up.”

Caress the penis, lick the penis –”

Castiel presses the ‘end’ button on his phone and slips it into the pocket of his overcoat before he turns his attention to the red-faced Starbucks barista behind the register. He recites his and Dean’s usual coffee orders, each of them plain and practical and without all the sugar and trimmings that Gabriel enjoys with his caffeine.

He does feel for his brother, at least as far as dealing with their mother goes. She’s getting on in age and being stubborn, made an executive decision that when her physician told her she needed to start taking calcium supplements, to not listen. Lo and behold, a few months after the recommended calcium going ignored, she trips down the last two stairs in their childhood home and breaks her hip.

Naomi now is using this hip as an excuse to guilt her children into tending to her, no matter where in the world they may live or what lives they are leading. Michael, being a doctor in Jersey, deals with the brunt of it – but with his hours it is impossible to keep up with everything. Gabriel is the next closest, and so the lade falls to him, at least for a short time.

Castiel collects the drinks and slots them into a cardboard carrying tray, which he places carefully into the passenger seat of his Accord. Fox Burrow is only a few minutes from here, but with the traffic both on the road and in the parking lot, the journey from Starbucks to the teacher’s lounge takes a solid half hour.

Dean is already there, reaching for a coffee mug in the cabinet above the lounge’s shitty, unreliable coffee maker.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets.

Dean jumps and turns to glare, “Jesus, dude, we need to get you a bell or something.”

Castiel lifts the Starbucks and supplies, “I brought you coffee.”

“I take back everything that I’ve ever said about your ugly-ass Accord,” Dean says, and swoops in when Castiel removes one paper cup and holds it out in an offering, “God bless you. I will do whatever you want for the rest of the day. Blowie in my office?” He nudges Cas with his elbow.

Castiel laughs like he’s supposed to, because that’s a joke, even if it doesn’t feel like one.

It doesn’t help to have his brother’s voice echoing in his ears saying believe in the penis.

Dean claps Castiel on the shoulder and leaves the lounge with his Starbucks in hand, just in time for Charlie, the teacher of all things computers, to enter in. She, like Gabriel, believes that Dean harbors a secret sexual attraction to Castiel, no matter how many times Castiel insists that Dean does not. Dean greets her with a grin and a wink on his way out, and when she spots Castiel standing awkwardly with the Starbucks tray and pink staining his cheeks, she laughs.

“You got it so bad.”

“Shh,” he murmurs, and glares. That is all he has to say to her, really.

With that said, Castiel disposes of the tray and hikes his laptop bag further up on his shoulder. His classroom is empty of students when he arrives, and he seizes the opportunity to review his lesson plan and make sure that he’s organized enough to take on the day. Gradually, students file in, some chattering with others, while others still tap away at their cellphones and even more brood at their desks. He gives one boy a sympathetic glance. Middle school isn’t easy for anyone – the least he can do is show them some kindness.

After the bell rings, Castiel calls his class to order, a task that always takes a solid few minutes. He starts off with a review of their vocabulary words and spelling lists, setting them on a task that will keep him focused enough to find the page that he lost in the class textbook.

Only about halfway through, the door opens, and none other than Dean Winchester pokes his head through the door.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, and then waves to the kids, “Hey kids.”

“Hi, Mr. Winchester,” some of them mumble. A couple of girls in the back giggle at the appearance. Dean Winchester, gym instructor, is known well as the resident Fox Burrow heartthrob.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replies, “Is there something I can assist you with?”

“Yeah, I was gonna text you, but I forgot about this thing my brother has tonight, some dinner for his firm? Anyway, I’m supposed to show up with a plus one. You wanna come?”

Castiel licks his lips and glances away from Dean’s smiling eyes. He clears his throat and says, “Ms. Bradbury isn’t available?”

Dean’s smile falls a little. He shrugs, “I haven’t tried her, but uh. You were my first choice.”

“I suppose I can attend,” Castiel replies.

The smile on Dean’s face reappears, and he gives a thumbs-up as he says, “Awesome. I can come grab you at like six? Unless you wanna hang between school and then.”

“Six is fine,” Castiel responds.

“Nice. See you,” he says, and gives a little wave and wink to the class, which spurs another series of giggles and some chatter as Dean closes the classroom door and heads back to attend to his own duties.

“All right, all right,” Castiel says, and holds up his hands to hush the students, “I know Mr. Winchester is very exciting, but we have a lot to cover –” one of his more studious seventh graders lifts her hand, so Castiel asks, “Yes, Krissy?”

“Are you and Mr. Winchester boyfriends?” she asks.

Castiel feels the blood rush directly to his face. He clears his throat and stammers out, “I don’t think that’s an appropriate…no, we’re not.”

“Why not?” Krissy asks.

“Because Mr. Winchester and I are not interested in each other that way,” Castiel answers, “Now, I’d like to get back to –”

Another student lifts their hand.

“What is it, Kevin?” sighs Castiel.

“You don’t like Mr. Winchester?” he asks.

“No, no,” Castiel rushes to says, “I like Mr. Winchester very much. It’s just that –”

“So you like him like that,” Krissy concludes.

Castiel narrows his eyes at them and folds his arms over his chest. He comments, “You ask remarkably invasive questions for seventh graders.”

“You do!” Krissy says, “Mr. Novak likes Mr. Winchester!”

“I do not –” Castiel cuts himself off at the frowns of his students, “All right, fine. Yes. I like Mr. Winchester. But this is between me and the thirty two of you, do you hear me? You are not to go telling Mr. Winchester about what I’ve said here.”

“Novak and Winchester sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“That is enough, Ruby,” Castiel says, “And if we don’t drop the subject in the next five seconds, I am going to add ten more words to this week’s spelling list.”

The students groan, but nobody brings up Dean for the remainder of the class. Castiel counts this as a victory, even if his heart beats quicker than it did when the day began and he can’t keep the pink from staining his cheeks. His students have made him admit what he, Charlie the computer teacher, and his obnoxious older brother could not.

Castiel very much likes Mr. Winchester.


Third period is about to end, which is fantastic, because Dean is actually going to starve. A few hours with the friggin’ balls of energy they call ‘students,’ and it’s like he’s been trapped in the desert for goddamn three months. Five minutes to the bell, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He blows his whistle to garner the attention of the thirty-odd kids scattered around the volleyball nets set up around the gym and claps his hands together, ushering them over.

“All right,” he says, “I saw a lot of good work out there today. If you guys can do that again tomorrow, we can do dodge ball on Friday. How does that sound?”

A cheer erupts from the kids, and he can’t help but smile. He knows his job is sometimes kind of dorky, but he loves what he does. The kids are great, if sometimes annoying and smelly, and son of a bitch – how can he not love this place when it’s the place that he met Cas?

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, and blows the whistle again to silence the chatter, “Go change outta your clothes. I’ll see you tomorrow!” The students scramble to obey, filing into the respective locker rooms to swap out of their gym clothes and back into their other things.

Dean wanders back to his office, which is situated in the boy’s locker room, while Bela, the other gym teacher on for the period, trots back with the girls. She gives him a wink before disappearing, and he gives her a thumbs-up.

And at least with this job, he thinks, there isn’t much time to dwell on shit. The kids keep him busy and his mind occupied, which leaves little time to let his brain wander to Cas.

The first day he saw that guy, he about shit a brick. Sure, Cas is awkward and speaks in long, stilted sentences, but he’s also the coolest dude that Dean’s ever met at the workplace, period. And the hottest.

Damn. He shouldn’t be thinking that way. Cas isn’t attracted to him like that. Hell, for all Dean knows, Cas isn’t attracted to men like that. He doesn’t talk about his sexuality, at least never has to Dean, and there was that one time he agreed to a coffee date with Meg Masters of the science department.

Suffice it to say that the date did not go well.

Dean keeps an eye on the boys through the window between his office and the locker room, though just as he shifts his attention to his computer to check the time, a knock sounds at his office door.

“Come in,” he calls.

Kevin Tran opens the door.

“Hey, bud, what’s up?”

Kevin fidgets and glances down at the floor.

“You okay?” Dean asks, scooting his rolling chair forward, “I saw you take a spill out there. You need me to write you a pass to the nurse?”

“I’m okay,” Kevin says, and fidgets, “Um, Mr. Winchester? If you knew somebody liked somebody, and you thought that somebody liked the other somebody back, do you think you should tell them?”

Oh, God. Advice. There’s one thing that Dean has always been terrible at handling. He can tell them how to spike a better volleyball, but he can’t tell them what to do if they have a crush on somebody. Hell, Dean can’t even tell himself what to do when he has a crush on somebody. And he does have a fucking crush on somebody. A big, stinking, in-your-face crush that won’t go away, no matter how hard he tries to tell it to.

“Well,” Dean says, and purses his lips, “Is this something goin’ on with your friends?”

Kevin shakes his head.

“Kevin, if you like somebody, dude, you should let them know,” Dean says, “If they don’t like you back, it might hurt, but you’ll turn out okay.” Big words, coming from him.

“It’s not me!” Kevin says, and flushes, “Mr. Winchester, do you like Mr. Novak?”

“I – what?” Dean manages.

“Because first period today Mr. Novak said that he likes you,” Kevin rambles on, “And we’re not supposed to tell you, he said, but I thought somebody should ‘cause I think you like him too. And you just said that you should tell people when you like them! So Mr. Novak should tell you already, right?”

For a second, Dean is too stunned to speak. He clears his throat and says, “You think Mr. Novak likes me?”

“Yes,” Kevin says, “He said so in class, after you left. Don’t you like him too?”

Dean scratches the back of his neck and says, “Uh. Yeah. But don’t you friggin’ tell anyone I said that, you capisce? Especially Mr. Novak. I can tell Mr. Novak myself.”

Kevin brightens, “You’re gonna tell him?”

“None of your dang beeswax, kid,” Dean says, and points to the office door, “Now out you go. You don’t wanna be late for your next class.”

Kevin just smiles and says, “Okay. Have a good day, Mr. Winchester.”

“You too,” Dean says absently, and watches Kevin return to his locker to gather his belongings.

Jesus Christ.

Dean takes a moment to breathe, relieved when the last of the students drift out of the locker room and he has the place to himself. He needs a moment, if only to think. He holds his face in his hands and runs his fingers through his hair, stomach churning. If Cas likes him too…

God, maybe he should listen to his own advice. Maybe he should fess up. But this whole Cas shebang has him feeling like he’s the one in middle school, trying to work up the nerve to talk to the pretty girl sitting in the front of the class. He chews on his lower lip and pulls out his phone, bringing up the contact for Cas.

His thumb hovers over the keypad on his cell, but Dean shakes his hand and flips the phone closed again, tucking the thing into the pocket of his gym shorts.

If he’s gonna tell Cas that he’s got a thing for him, then Dean will do it the right way.


The prospect of fessing up to Cas that he likes him plagues Dean with nerves for the rest of the day. He goes through the motions, helping kids with the volleyball unit and sitting down to lunch with Cas like nothing is different, but he knows other people know. He can feel the looks, especially from Charlie, who bounces her eyebrows at him from her space two teachers away from him.

If there weren’t children in the vicinity, Dean would give her the biggest middle finger the world has ever seen.

Christ, he even feels stupid in his usual gym teacher duds, wishing desperately he had a pair of jeans on him so he doesn’t look like such a fucking goof when he goes to track Cas down after school lets out. Dean knows for a fact that Cas stays at least an hour later than necessary so he can get work done for the following day, but that’s not enough time to run back to his place, swap out his things, and come back, all in time to announce, “Hey, jackass, I like you. Maybe we could hang out with pizza and beer like usual but then also fuck? Yeah, doesn’t that sound awesome?”

So awesome.

Dean is so worked up by the end of the day that when his final class lets out and the hallways flood with kids making a break for home, he sequesters himself in his office and dials Sammy’s number.

Sam answers with, “If you think you’re getting out of tonight, you’re not.”

“Fuck you, dude, I’m having a crisis,” Dean mutters back.

“Are you allowed to say ‘fuck’ at school?” Sam says, “For shame.”

“Damn it, Sammy. I’m gonna ask Cas out,” he snaps.

“What, really?” Sam whistles and then says, “Cool. For a while, I thought your balls were just like, totally missing.”

“I hate you.”

“So why are you calling me?” asks Sam, “I’m not Cas.”

“I’m friggin’ nervous, okay?” Dean says, and tugs on the collar of his t-shirt, “I’m sweating, I’m short of breath, my heart is racing – I think I’m sick. Maybe I don’t need to ask him out.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Sam says, “Dude, calm the hell down. What brought this all on anyway? I was pretty sure you’d never grow the stones to finally do it.”

“…One of the kids said Cas said he likes me.”

“No wonder you chose to teach junior high. You belong there.”

“Shut up,” says Dean.

“Dude,” Sam reasons, “Just do it. You already said he agreed to come with you tonight. Just like, make that into a date thing. It’s the perfect opportunity.” When Dean doesn’t respond right away, Sam keeps going, “Come on, Dean. You’ve wanted the guy’s nuts since you laid eyes on him. Stop being such a wuss and just do it.”

“Like you have room to talk,” Dean replies, “Remember when you were gonna pop the question to Jess?”

“That’s different,” Sam defends, and Dean can freaking hear the pout on his face, “You’re not proposing marriage to the guy, Dean. You’re asking him on a date. A first date, might I mention. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is so.”

“I’m not doing this,” Sam warns, “It’s not a big deal, and I have to go. I have a meeting with a client in less than five minutes and I need coffee before I touch that beast.”

“Fine,” Dean says, “Bitch.”

“…Jerk,” Sam says back, “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

When they hang up, Dean doesn’t feel any less nervous, but he does feel more fortified. He can do this. He’s fucking awesome. Why wouldn’t Cas want to go out with him?

Except Cas knows every last one of Dean’s flaws and knows all about his family baggage, so why would he want to date Dean?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s at Cas’ classroom until he’s in the open doorway with Castiel staring at him like he’s sprouted a second head spontaneously.

“Is there something I can help you with, Dean?” Castiel asks. He looks like he always does when he’s wading through a bunch of work – hair mussed from grabbing at it, brows drawn, clothes rumpled – and it’s damn sexy. The sight is enough to make a knot in Dean’s throat.

He swallows that knot down and steps into the classroom, closing the door behind him. Dean clears his throat and says, “Uh. Yeah.”

“All right,” Castiel says, and sets aside a stack of homework assignments, “I am all ears.”

“So, um. Earlier today,” Dean says, “One of the kids was talkin’ to me, and um,” he starts to chew on his lip again, and finds his eyes lowering to the floor. Son of a bitch. His palms and sweating and his fingers are shaking. This is a disaster. Why the heck would somebody like Cas, a put-together, handsome English teacher, be into some GED-toting gym guy?


“Damn it,” Dean says, “He said you said that you like me. Like, like-like me.”

“Like-like-like you?” echoes Castiel, and then he curses, “For shit’s sake. I told them it was between us and they were not to tell you. I’m very sorry, Dean. I know that you’re not interested in me in that way, and I completely understand if you have to report –”

“Wait, what?” Dean interrupts, “No, Cas. The reason I’m here is because I’m trying hard to nut up and tell you that I like-like-like you too.”

For a moment, all that Cas does is gape at him, mouth parted and brows still crunched together. Then he stands. Cas sweeps across the room to Dean, cups his face in both hands, and presses their mouths together. Dean leans into it with a little breath of surprise. His eyes slide closed and his hands find their way into Cas’ messy, dark hair. Cas opens his mouth and Dean slides his tongue inside, exploring –

“Whoa,” Dean says, and pulls back, “Hold on a fuckin’ second. Do you have a tongue ring?” Dean takes Cas’ jaw in one hand and peers into his open mouth. Sure enough, a silver barbell twinkles up at Dean in the fluorescent classroom light. How is it possible that he has not noticed that until now?

Cas extracts himself from Dean’s grip and says, “It was college.”

Dean laughs and shakes his head. Cas smiles back, and Christ, it’s the most goddamn perfect smile that Dean has ever seen. He can’t help but lean in and kiss the smile right off of Cas’ face, dipping his tongue back inside to taste Cas’ mouth again, exploring to the very edges. Out of automatic instinct more than anything, Dean grinds his half-hard cock up against Cas, and Cas breaks the kiss to gasp.

“Shit,” Dean says, “Sorry. Too fast?”

“No,” Cas says, and smirks. He leans past Dean and flicks the lock on the classroom door closed before his eyes land on Dean’s face again, licking him up and down from his eyes to his lips to the place on Dean’s gym shorts that’s tented by obvious need. He exhales, “…Not fast enough.”

Dean’s heart stutters at the words. He licks his lips and thinks of what to say, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. Fortunately, Cas takes care of the problem entirely. He seals his lips over Dean’s and kisses him hard. Their tongues slide together again, licking and stroking as Cas backs Dean up against the desk at the head of the classroom.

Cas rolls his hips against Dean’s, and ah, there it is. Castiel is just as hard as he as, needs it just as much as Dean does. And holy hell, not only does the guy need it, he’s taking it. Cas’ long-fingered, tan hands slide right up underneath Dean’s t-shirt, stroking over his torso, fingertips skating over nipples, nails gently biting into sensitive skin. Dean splits their kiss to throw the shirt over his head, casting it down onto the cheap carpet of the classroom.

They shouldn’t be doing this here, but he doesn’t care. All that he can think is that Cas, the blue-eyed new guy that he’s harbored a thing for since he arrived, wants Dean just as much as Dean wants him.

“You are way too dressed for this occasion,” Dean tells him.

Castiel lets out a breathy laugh and says, “I agree.” Though both Cas’ overcoat and suit coat sit draped over his desk chair, he still has on a button-down, his tie, his once-pressed and now wrinkled slacks – the whole nine yards. And Dean wants it all off. He starts with the tie, loosening it and pulling it up over Cas head. He treats Castiel’s clothing with a respect that he does not afford his own, untucking the button-down and hanging it over the chair alongside Cas’ other things.

Shirtless, he’s even better looking.

“God damn, Cas,” Dean says. He rakes his eyes over the tan, runner-tight body and whistles, “You been keeping that from me this whole time?”

The tip of Cas’ tongue pokes from his lips to wet them, and Dean’s up and running all over again. But just as he leans in to seize control, Cas stops him, holding Dean back at an arm’s length. Dean feels almost too exposed, thrown off by the way that Cas looks over his freckled shoulders, the tattoos that his t-shirt covers, down to a belly with a little more pudge than he’d prefer to have.

“You’re perfect.”

The way Cas says the words sends a bolt of feeling down Dean’s spine. Holy shit. There’s nothing like that deep, rough voice telling him he’s good looking.

“Shit,” Dean says, “I need it.”

Cas presses damp kisses to Dean’s throat, sucking little bruises to life on his skin. He nips down and Dean shudders. He’s losing it, losing his ability to process anything that’s going on. So thank the fucking Lord that one of them does, because Cas bends down and instructs Dean to remove his shoes. Dean obeys, and kicks off his shorts and briefs when Cas pulls those off his body, too.

Dean is naked. He is butt naked in the middle of a seventh grade English classroom, and he doesn’t even care. All he cares about is that Cas is with him on this, neatly pulling off patent leather dress shoes and arranging them beside his desk.

When the sound of Cas’ belt clinking open tickles the air, Dean wraps his fingers around his erection. He strokes over himself, grateful to have some touch where he needs it. He leverages himself with his free hand pressed into the back of Cas’ desk, behind neatly stacked papers and a mug of pens.

He feels Cas’ heat behind him, and inhales sharply when Cas’ hand closes around his wrist and pulls Dean’s hand away from his cock. He keeps Dean restrained like that, keeps a tight grip around his wrist as he kisses along the back of Dean’s neck, over his shoulders and down, down, down his spine.

When Cas lets Dean’s wrist go, his hands slide down to Dean’s ass, cupping the cheeks, smoothing his palms over them, stroking dimples with his thumbs.



“I am going to eat your ass.”

Dean curses at the nonchalant sentence, and before he can think about what he is doing, he cants his hips back to take to the invitation. Cas is slow about it – he peppers kisses over the globes of Dean’s ass first, licking and sucking and biting. When Cas laps along Dean’s hole with the first, long lick, and the stud in his tongue catches along the rim of muscle, Dean jerks up and groans. He steadies himself with both hands on the desk, knuckles white with pressure.

The gradual, methodical way that Cas takes him apart has him panting and swearing. He’s never had anyone pay this much attention to him before, pushing their tongue inside and out like they’re building a masterpiece with flicks of muscle. Between his legs, Dean’s cock leaks precome at the head. He wants to grab his dick again, but no, he won’t do that with Cas here.

Dean loses himself. He presses back into the tongue eating him out, craves the slick and the warmth as Cas holds his cheeks apart.

“Cas,” he says, voice hoarse and desperate, “Cas, please. Baby, please.”

The affectionate little nickname makes Castiel pause mid-lick, and at first Dean thinks that he’s misread the situation. Then Cas speaks, voice heavy and low with lust, “What is it that you want, Dean? I need you to tell me.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told that twice.

“Fuck me,” he says, “I need you to fuck me.”

But then, he realizes, they’re in a classroom. What the hell is in here that they can use to get everything nice and slick and relaxed so that they can tackle this relatively pain-free?

Cas climbs back to his feet. He leans over him and tips Dean’s chin up, pressing a close-mouthed kiss to the center of Dean’s forehead before he reaches across his desk.

A bottle of lotion.

Thank God.

Cas pumps generic St. Ive’s into his hand, coating fingers generously. The first of the digits slides inside Dean without any trouble at all. He’s already relaxed and wet from the pressure of Cas’ tongue inside him, and a finger is barely a half-step forward from that. He moans and rides back on Cas’ hand, welcoming it when Cas pushes another finger inside him. The stretch feels good, but it’s not enough. He needs Cas.

“Need you,” Dean gasps, “Need your cock. Need it in me.”

“Shh,” Cas hushes him, and rubs Dean’s side with his free hand. He says, “Be patient.”

“Be faster,” Dean says back.

“You’re remarkably chatty for a man that’s about to be fucked over a desk,” Cas says.

Dean casts an irritated glance over his shoulder and says back, “You’re remarkably calm for a dude that’s about to bend me in half and fuck me over this desk.”

A surprised burst of laughter erupts from Cas’ lips, rumbling in his chest, and even with three fingers pumping in and out of him, Dean can’t help the laughter that shakes through him, too. It’s good to know that even without clothes and about to be doing the dirty over Cas’ desk, they’re still best buds. He worried about that, a little. Dean didn’t want to ruin the fun that they were already having.

“Dean,” Castiel says, “I don’t have protection on me.”

“S’cool, I’m clean,” Dean says.

“I am too,” Cas responds.

Then his fingers are gone. A moan of complaint escapes Dean before he can help it, and to that Castiel swats one side of Dean’s ass. Dean whines at the sensation, a noise that has Cas asking, “You like being spanked?”

“A li’l bit,” slurs Dean, so Cas does it again, a light smack, before he reaches for the lotion and coats his cock.

And what a cock it is. It’s nice, a solid length and good thickness, and unlike Dean, Cas is uncut. His toes curl against the carpet as anticipation builds. He wants that cock inside him, wants Cas to ride him hard and good and dirty, wants them to dive so fast into it that they’re sore and exhausted for days.

When Dean feels the pressure of Cas’ cock against him, he hangs his head and groans. It’s everything that he thought it would be and more. As Cas starts to slide home, Dean’s breath catches, the way your lungs hitch right before the drop on a roller coaster, right before gravity seizes you and takes you down the curve and you’re thrilling and breathless and screaming.

Castiel pauses when he’s in to the root, and Dean bites over his shoulder, “Fuck me already, man.”

Cas laughs, but he abides. His cock slides out of Dean and then thrusts back in, erratic at first Cas tries to build a good rhythm. As soon as he catches it, he’s fucking into Dean harder, riding him faster, nails digging into Dean’s hips as he drives into him. He’s relentless, letting it go and thrusting hard, hitting the sweet spot more often than not.

The curses that tear out of Cas’ throat are more obscene than Dean has ever heard from him, and it turns him on like nothing else. He finds himself talking dirty back, muttering, “Yeah, fuck my ass just like that,” and “Pound me, baby, hard, I can take it,” as skin slaps against skin in the quiet of the empty classroom.

Then Cas’ hand wraps around Dean’s erection, and he knows that he’s doomed. He pushes his hips back to meet the movement of Cas’ cock drilling into him, and when he draws back out friction runs over his cock in the most magnificent way. The attention he’s getting to both ends is overwhelming, enough to send electricity all over Dean’s skin, buzzing in his ears, fuzziness to the corners of his mind until –

“Son of a bitch!”

Dean comes all over the side of Cas’ desk, harder than he has in ages, in white ropes over the cheap material.

He can tell that Cas isn’t too far behind him, steadily rocking hips getting caught at the same time that Cas’ heavy breathing creaks with surprise. Cas pulls out and comes over the insides of Dean’s thighs. He kisses Dean’s shoulders as he does, sinking teeth into skin so he doesn’t make too much noise.

For a long while, they slump together over Castiel’s desk and breathe heavily, too sated to move, too wrecked to string words together.

“Wow,” Dean finally says.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, “Wow.”

Eventually, they do part to redress. Dean wipes his legs off with a wad of tissues that he stuffs to the bottom of Cas’ trashcan, while Cas fishes a can of Lysol air freshener from the bottom drawer of his desk and sprays the air, the furniture, and both of them before replacing it.

Their clothes are far more disheveled than they were. Their hair sticks up, their eyes are bright, and their cheeks are flushed.

“Oh, crap,” Dean says when he checks his phone for the time, “I have to get back to my place so I can change, or we’re gonna be late for Sammy’s thing.”

“I need to shower,” Cas says decisively.

“Okay, yeah,” Dean says, and leans over to kiss Cas one more time before they throw open the door and make off to sneak out through one of the back doors. Once outside, Dean kisses Cas again, claps him on the arm, and says, “Pick you up at six, right?”

“Right,” Cas agrees, and kisses him back for good measure.

And if, when Dean and Castiel arrive at the dinner, Sam murmurs ‘I told you so’ into his brother’s ear, Dean doesn’t mind. Because even if Sam did tell him so, Dean is walking on cloud freaking nine right now. He is Dean Winchester, gym teacher, and he like-like-likes the guy that’s on his arm right now, the English teacher.

Castiel Novak, English teacher, and Dean’s best friend.