It’s 8.30 on a Monday morning, and Dean’s standing at the counter gearing himself up for the morning rush. He sees them, business types in their suits and shiny shoes waiting outside, jiggling from foot to foot as they linger desperately to get their morning caffeine fix before they can start their working day.
Dean’s been running his own business for a little over a year now. It was a gamble, setting up his own independent coffee shop in the business district and competing against the chain stores. Thing is, he knows his coffee is better; knows he offers a better level of customer service because it’s personal, and above all, he can deliver to any of the top flight firms within 20 minutes and always gets the orders right first time. It took him 6 months to build up his customer base and now, after a rocky start and despite his dad telling him to jack it in and work at the family’s auto shop, his business is thriving.
It’s due in no small part to the fact he actually pays attention to his customers, knows their habits and their orders. Like now, the twitchy guy first in the line, the one in the rumpled suit and the shirt that’s not quite tucked in properly. He always orders a small Americano, extra hot, with an extra shot, just to get him through until lunchtime, at which point he’ll come in and order another one. Or there’s the lady lawyer, always wearing a crisp white shirt and black suit, raven hair immaculate. She never says anything more than a cursory, “Hello,” grabbing her caramel latte with impeccably manicured fingernails and leaving in a puff of Chanel No 5.
And above all, there’s him.
Dean still doesn’t know his name, and generally just refers to him as ‘hot trench coat guy’ which totally doesn’t do him justice at all. Apart from the fact he wears a trench coat. And is hot. Really hot. Like, if Dean could imagine the hottest guy ever, put him in the guise of a tax accountant with too blue eyes, two day stubble, dark brown hair that sticks out every which way and a voice like sandpaper scraping over gravel, that would be him.
And also, he’s way out of Dean’s league. He comes in every lunchtime, orders a tea (English breakfast, with just a splash of milk and no sugar) in his instant hard on voice and sits in one of the comfy chairs on the right, opposite a slightly taller, blonde man with a cut glass English accent and impeccable manners. He’s heard them talk about a whole manner of things, from their jobs to poetry, to classical music, to European history. It’s intellectually intimidating, and totally, utterly beyond Dean’s comprehension. Theirs is a word full of soirees, fine dining, foreign movies and piano recitals. Dean’s world is full of diner food, classic rock and the occasional Vonnegut when he gets a moment. The two just don’t mix.
Dean’s been mooning over him for months, staring at him from behind the cardboard coffee cups, watching as he holds the mug of tea and sips quietly while his friend talks. Dean’s seen them coming out of Waterhouse’s the accountants, knows that they’re work colleagues but can’t help the feeling that they’re something more too. It gives him a spark of jealousy in his gut; something that he knows is completely irrational but still, it gets to him every time they look at each other.
He feels a slap on his back, and turns around to see Sam grinning at him. Kid’s still learning the ropes, working at the coffee shop until university starts up again. He said he’d much rather be steaming milk than under a rusty pick up covered in grease, being yelled at by their father. “Caught you daydreaming again,” he says, smirking.
Dean’s pulled out of his reverie. “Wasn’t. I’m just tired.”
Sam gives him a knowing look. “Sure,” he drawls, “Tired. Well, Hot Trench Coat Guy won’t be in until 1pm. Little early for the fantasies to start.”
Busted. “Shut up, Sammy, and open the damn door.”
Sam knows him well. Too well. Dean’s coming up to six months without a relationship, without even a half decent lay, and he’s getting twitchy. It’s just…whenever he goes out looking for guys, they never seem to measure up to Hot Trench Coat Guy. They’re always too short, too tall, eyes aren’t blue enough, hair too tidy…it’s pathetic, he knows it is, and yet he just can’t seem to snap out of it.
The morning passes in a blur of lattes, iced coffees, granola bars and breakfast paninis. Before he knows it, Dean finds himself coping with the lunchtime rush and suddenly, he’s faced with Hot Trench Coat Guy. His lips are a little dry but still eminently kissable, his blue tie is askew but then it generally always is, and as Dean looks up to his eyes he sees that although they’re blue as usual, they look a little tired today.
“Tea please. English Break…no wait. I’ll have a cup of Assam if you have it.”
“Assam?” Dean’s surprised. The guy never changes his order, not in the months he’s been coming here.
“If you don’t have it, that’s fine. I just felt the need for something stronger.” The guy says tiredly.
“Something like that, yes.”
Dean ducks under the counter, searching through boxes and boxes of tea until he finds a small tin of Twining’s Assam, something Sam had brought back from a trip to England. He doesn’t usually serve the loose leaf tea—too messy—but if it’s what Hot Trench Coat Guy wants, Dean doesn’t want to refuse. Dean holds the tin up triumphantly and smiles. “You got it,” he says, putting two spoonfuls into a small glass teapot and filling it with water. “This ok for you?”
“Perfect, thank you,” he says, and he smiles. It’s only a small one, but Dean notices it all the same and his heart gives a little flutter. Jeez, he truly is screwed. He takes his money, rings up the register and hands him a receipt before moving on to the next customer.
“Excuse me,” says the guy’s companion, “But you don’t expect him to use this without a strainer?”
“A tea strainer.”
“Balthazar, be quiet, it’s fine.”
“No, Cassy, you can’t drink it like that. A strainer,” he says to Dean, “It’s metal, made with mesh, like a…”
“I know what a strainer is,” Dean snaps. It’s true, he does, but he was so distracted by Hot Trench Coat—Cassy—that he completely forgot. He can feel himself growing hot as he rummages around in the utensil draw. Finally he finds one, giving it to ‘Cassy’ and trying his best to smile at Balthazar (who the hell calls their kid ‘Balthazar’ anyway?) without looking malicious. They pay for their drinks, and sit in their usual spot while Dean curses himself for looking like a total idiot.
He watches as they laugh together, jealousy swirling in his gut.
The rest of the day passes in a blur, with periodic pauses so Dean can cringe with embarrassment and try to fit his whole fist in his mouth. It’s stupid, totally stupid. He’s never been like this with anyone; he knows he’s pretty good looking, and has had no problem in picking up guys or girls. This guy, though, seems to make him lose all sense of rational thought. It’s stupid—he’s just a man after all. Yes, so he looks pretty successful, doesn’t really talk that much and has asshole friends but still…just a man, who’s totally out of his league. Dean knows he should put him out of his head.
It’s while Dean’s alone in bed that his thoughts betray him. He can’t help it. The way Cassy looked at him, the way he smiled, that fact that Dean knows his name or at least part of it now. Dean reaches into his boxers, gripping his hard cock and moaning as he begins to stroke himself. He starts moving, rocking back and forth, fucking his own fist as he speeds up. He’s moaning, incoherent at first before his lips betray him. “Cas,” he moans, lips forming the nickname like they’d always known each other. “Cas.” He imagines him, smiling their hands touching as Dean hands him his drink. Those lips, slightly chapped, begging to be kissed, licked and sucked. The gravel voice whispering, ‘Dean,’ and that’s it, that’s enough to have Dean coming over his fingers.
He pads to the bathroom, cleans himself up as quickly and quietly as possible so as not to wake Sam, then he crawls into bed and dreams of too blue eyes and a small, shy smile.
The rest of the week passes quickly. Cas (because ever since last night he’s calling him Cas in his head now) and Balthazar come in each lunchtime but there’s no repeat of Monday’s incident, though Dean’s sure he catches Balthazar smirking at him. Before he knows it, it’s the weekend, and he puts all thoughts of work out of his mind while he and Sam go on a fishing trip. Sam’s back at college in a few weeks, and Dean wants to spend as much time as possible with his brother before he goes back.
Monday rolls around, and Dean’s sorting out the delivery while Sam deals with the lunchtime rush. When Dean’s finished cataloguing the new stock, he joins Sam at the counter, scanning the seats for Cas. There’s no sign of him, nor Balthazar.
“Dude,” Sam says. “You’re so obvious. He’s not here.”
“Who isn’t?” Dean feigns ignorance.
“Hot Trench Coat Guy. He didn’t come in today.”
“So, I can see you looking for him. Dean, you gotta snap out of this.”
“I ain’t snapping out of anything, Sammy. It’s fine. You think I have this crush? I don’t even know the guy, and he sure as hell doesn’t know or care about me. Just…drop it, ok. So he didn’t come in today. So what?”
Sam holds his hands up defensively. “Ok, ok,” he says, turning to rinse out the frappe blenders (Dean couldn’t call them ‘frappucinos’ after a receiving a strongly worded letter from Starbucks’ lawyers). They work in silence, while Dean tries to think of the many different reasons Cas hasn’t come in. He could have a day off, be working away for a couple of days, maybe he’s at a lunch date…anything was possible. It still didn’t stop the uneasy feeling in his gut, though. What if he’s gone somewhere else, found a better coffee shop? What if he’s gotten another job, away from here, and Dean will never see him again?
Dean spends the afternoon trying not to think about it. Finally, half an hour before they close, the door opens and in walks Balthazar. Behind him is Cas, looking…well, looking awful. The guy’s tie is more askew than normal, his shirt isn’t buttoned right, and his coat is only hanging on one shoulder. He looks like death warmed up. Dean thinks he could be drunk at first, but then he takes a look at his face, sees the pale clammy skin and drawn eyes. “Come on Cassy, this should help you.”
Dean hears Cas say something weakly, and Balthazar shakes his head. Cas sits down, and Balthazar comes to the counter. “One medium Americano please. Do you have any herbal tea?”
Dean starts to reel off what they have. “We have some fruit teas, some lemon black tea, gunpowder green, green tea with mint, green tea with jasmine, green tea with ginger…”
“Ginger. I’ll have the ginger one. And can you put a splash of cold water in please?”
“Coming right up,” Dean says, but he’s not really looking at Balthazar. Cas is slouching in his seat, leaning over and looking ready to vomit. He makes the coffee, pours water on the teabag and hands them to Balthazar who pays and takes them over to their seats. “Cassy, drink this, dear. It’s ginger, it’ll stop you feeling sick.”
Cas looks at him, and Dean can tell he’s not convinced, but he takes a sip anyway. After that, Dean’s distracted with cleaning up, shutting off the coffee machine, wiping surfaces, putting chairs on tables. When he’s finished, he notices with a little annoyance that Cas and Balthazar have gone.
Sam heads off, promising to get dinner ready for when Dean comes home, so that leaves Dean to take one last check around the place and close up. He’s about to turn the lights off when he hears something coming from the bathroom. He walks over, opening the door quietly. There’s the noise again, a low moan and heavy breathing. Thinking it’s a couple fucking in the stalls (it’s happened before) he walks over and bangs loudly on the door. “Come on,” he says, “Clean up and get outta here.”
There’s a retching sound, and then the splash of water. Dean opens the door and is shocked to find Cas, leaning over the bowl, throwing up. “I’m sorry,” he says in between retches, “I’m so sorry. I’ll…I’ll pay for any mess just please, give me a few more minutes.”
Dean’s frozen for a few seconds, unsure of what to do until his instincts take over. He walks over to him, bends down and puts a hand on his back, rubbing in circles as Cas leans over and throws up again.
“Hey, it’s ok, it’s ok,” Dean says, trying to sound reassuring.
“Oh god, I feel so awful. I’m so embarrassed,” C as manages to choke out.
“Don’t be. Seriously, don’t be. Can’t help being ill, right? You been to a doctor?”
“No. I haven’t really had time and I suppose I thought it would pass. I managed to get through most of the day but then the sickness started.” He reaches over the bowl and retches again.
“We need to get you home and into bed. Where’s your friend?”
“Balthazar? I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t even know how long I’ve been in here.”
Some friend, Dean thinks. Balthazar had obviously abandoned him and gone home. “Stay here, I’ll get you some water,” he says.
Dean goes and gets him a glass of water, forcing him to drink it all so at least he has something to throw up, and he won’t get dehydrated. After a few minutes Cas seems to settle enough to stand up with Dean’s help. Dean grabs a cup off the side and walks Cas to his car. “Just sit tight. I need to lock up, and then I’m taking you home and we’re calling a doctor ok?”
“Ok. Thanks, Dean.”
“No worries, we’ll get you better.”
It’s only when Dean’s finished locking the shutters that he realizes Cas called him by his name.
They get to Cas’—Castiel’s as he had informed Dean in the car, and that’s got to be a weirder name than Balthazar for sure—apartment without him throwing up in the car, and Dean is secretly relieved about that because crush or no crush, no one vomits in his baby. He helps Cas into the elevator to the fourth floor, taking the keys and letting them both in. It’s big, intimidatingly so. Dean figured it would be big, because Castiel obviously has a highly-paid and well respected job but even so, he never expected it to make him feel so…uncomfortable, small. He leads Cas to his corner couch and lays him down. “In the second bedroom,” Castiel croaks, “There’s an ottoman with blankets inside.” He points to his right, and Dean follows, entering the second bedroom which is about as big as Dean’s living room. He finds the ottoman, pulls out the blankets and sets about covering Castiel entirely. Castiel is shivering, aching with the effort of throwing up, so Dean tucks him in tightly before getting him another glass of water.
“Thanks,” Castiel says quietly.
“S’nothing. What’s the number of your doctor?”
“I don’t…I’m not sure…do I need one?”
Dean leans down, looking into Castiel’s clouded eyes. “Dude, you need a doctor. You’re gonna dehydrate if you keep throwing up. They can give you stuff to make you stop; check that it’s not something more serious. Don’t be a hero, ok? Just let me know the number.”
Castiel nods weakly, fishing his cell phone from his coat pocket and managing to slowly scroll down the numbers. He finds the one he’s looking for and dials, handing the phone to Dean. On the fifth ring someone picks up, and Dean’s telling them Castiel’s symptoms before demanding a doctor comes out to see him. It only takes a half hour before the buzzer sounds and Dean’s letting the doctor into Castiel’s apartment.
The doctor injects Castiel with an antiemetic, stopping the vomiting and preventing dehydration. Castiel is to drink nothing but water until the morning, trying to flush whatever it was that caused the stomach flu to get completely out of his system. He is also, to his mortification, signed off work for the rest of the week so his body can recover and his eating can get back to normal. The doctor leaves them, with Dean sitting at Castiel’s feet while he calls Balthazar and tells him he won’t be in work for a few days. Dean scowls as he talks, wondering what kind of person would leave someone who was clearly ill in a coffee shop. Turns out Balthazar had gone to the medical centre around the corner to get some help, but by the time he’d managed to get someone they’d already gone. Or so he claims, anyway. Castiel finishes his call and they sit in silence for a few moments.
“Dean,” Castiel says eventually, and Dean can’t help the shiver that courses through his body when Castiel says his name.
“Yeah? You ok?”
“I’m ok. I just…thank you. You didn’t need to do this—I’m sure you’ve had a hard day and you want to go home without dealing with some ill customer, but I wanted you to know that I’m very grateful.”
Not just some ill customer, Dean thinks idly. “No biggie,” he replies. “You want me to stay?”
“No, no I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep.” Right at that moment, Castiel yawns loudly.
Dean eyes him. “Well, we’d better get you to bed then, right?”
Castiel shakes his head. “I’ll be ok here. Don’t want to be sick on the bed sheets—they’re Egyptian cotton, they’d be ruined.”
Dean nods. Of course they’re Egyptian cotton. “Right, ok. Well, I’m going then, but seriously,” he grabs a pen and piece of paper, and writes down his telephone number, “if you need anything at all, give me a call. Any time.”
“Thanks, Dean. You really don’t need to do this.”
“What can I say,” Dean shrugs, “you’re a good customer.”
Tuesday, mid morning, and Dean’s beat. After he left Castiel he got home, got berated by Sam for being late, only to have him totally change his tune once he told him why he was so late. Sam had tried well into the night to get him to spill some juicy details despite Dean telling him there were none. He’d gone to bed with Sam slapping him on the shoulder and giving him a sly wink. He barely slept though. Just seeing Castiel, actually knowing his proper name, seeing his apartment…Dean tossed and turned, his brain conflicted. He wants to see more of Cas, wants to get to know him and knows he actually has a chance but on the other hand, Cas is so clearly way out of his league maybe he’s just fooling himself?
So now Dean coasts through the morning until lunchtime, when he sees the familiar face of Balthazar come waltzing up to the counter. At first he’s surprised Cas isn’t with him until he remembers, and then Balthazar’s ordering his Americano and smirking at him.
“So, I gather yesterday evening was eventful?” He says, smiling.
“In that I had to take your vomiting and dehydrated friend home, yeah I guess you could say that.”
Balthazar looks taken aback somewhat. “If you had waited, I was getting medical assistance for him. I didn’t realize he’d been whisked off his feet by a knight in shining armor.” There’s no malice in his voice, just a sly hint of amusement and something that Dean can’t work out.
“Well lucky for him I was there, huh?” He replies, placing down Balthazar’s order.
“Indeed. And on that note I bid you adieu for the day,” Balthazar says. “I’m sorry I can’t stay but lunch times are rather boring when there’s no one to converse with, wouldn’t you say?”
“Depends. I find there’s always a lot of people who want to talk,” Dean says, and Balthazar nods.
“Of course. I bet you can’t stop talking to people all day in this job. You certainly do seem to pay a lot of attention to your customers.” Balthazar smiles, before turning and walking out of the coffee shop, leaving Dean slightly irked, and slightly confused.
It gets to 1pm, and Dean finds himself wondering how Castiel is, whether he’s feeling better. He curses himself for not taking Cas’ number, thinking that he could have at least called to see how he was. His eyes fall on the tin of English Breakfast tea nestled amongst the other teas on the back wall, and he has an idea. “Sam?”
Sam’s in the middle of steaming a pot of milk. “Yeah?”
“You ok to mind to shop for an hour? I got an errand to run.”
Sam smirks. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a hot, sick guy in a trench coat who you totally went home with last night?”
“Shut up,” Dean says, willing himself not to go red. “Just answer the question.”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You go play nurse.” Dean pointedly ignores Sam’s grin as he pours milk into the tea, puts on a lid and grabs his coat.
He drives to Castiel’s apartment, convincing himself that no, he’s not being a stalker, he’s just seeing if the guy’s ok is all. It’s totally not a weird thing to do. And if he remembers the door code to get in to the apartment then well…he’s just got a good memory.
It’s once he’s outside Castiel’s door that he thinks maybe the whole idea is stupid. He gets the fear as he’s about to press the button, but then does it anyway because he’s never been a guy that doesn’t do something because it scares him. He waits, listening intently to the shuffling inside before the door finally opens. Castiel’s stood there in a dressing gown, his hair messier than normal, eyes puffy with tiredness but no longer red. He’s not as pale, either, which is a good sign.
“Dean?” He croaks.
Dean holds up the cup. “I thought…since you wouldn’t be coming in for tea I thought I’d bring it to you. Totally on the house.”
Castiel stares at him for a moment, just long enough for Dean to start to feel uncomfortable before smiling and letting Dean in. The blankets are still on the couch, but there’s an empty plate on the coffee table with some breadcrumbs on it, meaning Castiel has at least managed to eat something. Dean hands him the tea.
“You really didn’t need to, Dean,” Castiel says before taking a sip.
“S’no bother. I figured you’d still want it, and it gives me a chance to check you haven’t spewed up a lung or any other vital organ.”
Castiel chuckles into his drink, and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard a nicer sound. “So, how are you feeling?”
“Better. Much, much better thanks to you. I’m afraid I’m one of those stubborn people who just refuse to call a doctor no matter how serious. It’s a good job you called them.”
Dean looks down at the floor, slightly embarrassed. “Well, I got experience of my dad. Old man just won’t call a doctor even when he really needs one, so I know a few things about convincing people.”
“I’m glad,” Castiel replies, and Dean looks up to meet his eyes, staring at him earnestly.
“All part of the service,” Dean says, smiling. They stay like that for a minute or two, just looking at each other and smiling, before Dean coughs. “So, there anything else you need? Anything I can get you?” He’s just being a good guy, that’s all. Totally not being a creepy stalker.
“It’s fine. I’ve ordered a few groceries online that should be coming tomorrow. Balthazar’s visiting later…”
Dean snorts at this. Of course Balthazar would visit him. Figures. “…so no, not really. Unless…”
Castiel ducks his head, smiling again in a way that Dean totally doesn’t think is cute because he’s not a girl. “Unless you want to pop by tomorrow with some more tea? And maybe one of those lemon muffins you sell? I’ll pay, of course.”
“You got it,” Dean says, finding it hard to contain his joy. Another excuse to see Cas again. Awesome.
They talk for a while longer, about how it’s been in the coffee shop, how Castiel’s sure the work is piling up while he’s away. He’s a tax accountant, which is absolutely as boring as it sounds, but the money’s really good and he gets to deal with pretty high class clients who tip well. Dean talks about setting up the coffee shop, the risks of going into business on his own and how these are outweighed by the fact he absolutely loves his job, loves the customers, and loves meeting interesting people.
Dean leaves with a promise to see Castiel the same time tomorrow. When he gets back to the coffee shop, Sam’s coped with the last of the rush. “Go ok?” He says.
“Yep.” Dean’s giving nothing away. Nothing.
“You going tomorrow?”
Sam can’t stop laughing.
It’s Wednesday, which means things get a little busier; lots of people congratulating themselves for getting through half the week and having an incentive to get through the rest of it. Dean copes well with the morning rush, keeping his eye on the lemon muffin levels just in case he needs to put one aside. He’d rather lose a sale then have Castiel miss out, which is a pretty alarming indication of how far gone he is.
The time rolls round to 1pm and Dean’s out of the door, passing Balthazar who’s on his way in and gives him a cursory ‘hello’ and knowing smirk. Dean ignores it. Balthazar can think whatever he wants to think and secretly, Dean’s more than cool with the idea that he could be jealous.
Castiel looks a lot better when he opens the door. He’s definitely got more color to his skin (which, Dean reflects, never had much color to begin with) and his eyes seem brighter. He’s still not totally right, but then, after a full day of spewing your guts up and dehydrating, it’s going to take more than a couple of days to recover. “Well, you look better,” he says as he walks into Cas’ apartment.
“I feel better,” Castiel replies. Dean hands him his tea and lemon muffin, which Castiel grabs at enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking forward to this all morning,” he says, taking the muffin out of the packet and holding it up reverently.
“Big fan of the muffins, huh?”
“Definitely.” He takes a bite, “It’s like an orgasm in my mouth,” he says, chewing, then immediately goes red. “Sorry. I just…haven’t had one for a while.”
“A muffin or an orgasm?” Dean can’t help saying, then bites his own tongue as punishment for it seemingly having a mind of its own.
Castiel just smiles shyly. Dean smiles too, liking the fact that Castiel has let his guard down somewhat. He’s usually this reserved character than merely asks for tea and sits in the coffee shop looking all hot, chatting politely. Dean’s never seen him like this before and he likes it, he likes it a lot. “No worries, it’s cool.”
“Do you make these yourself?”
Dean shakes his head. “Nah, no. Friend of the family, Ellen, cooks them for me. You wouldn’t think she’d be all domestic to look at her, I mean, she owns the Roadhouse so...”
“The Roadhouse? The bar opposite the theater?”
“That’s the one.” Stands to reason Castiel would know it in the context of something far more genteel. The Roadhouse is full of biker types and plays classic rock, which Dean loves. Ellen’s a great cook, but she’s also great at setting drunks on their asses if they start getting rowdy. “So yeah, she’s a really good cook.”
Castiel takes another bite. “She must be. I do a lot of baking but this…this is heaven.” Dean’s transfixed, staring at Castiel as he eats the muffin, watching his neck as he swallows down. What he wouldn’t give to just step lean right over and lick all the way up to his jawline, have him moan in appreciation.
Dean must have been staring for a while, because he suddenly hears Castiel call his name, and he finds that Cas has finished his muffin. He shakes himself. “Sorry, just a little, distracted.”
Castiel cocks his head to the side and ‘hmms’ in contemplation. “Busy day?”
“Yeah, kinda. Always picks up on a Wednesday, then it just gets worse until Friday’s over.”
Castiel nods. “I imagine you work very hard, especially as it’s your own business.”
“Yeah, well, I try. It’s either that or go back to my dad and work in a auto shop. Don’t wanna do that.”
“Must have been a very brave decision to make, to start out on your own,” Castiel says, setting his cup down. “I sometimes wish I had had the guts to what I wanted instead of following the family.”
“Oh right. But you have this,” Dean motions around the apartment. “I mean, not to butt into your private life but you gotta get good money, right?”
Castiel nods. “I do, yes. But you know, money’s not everything. There’s more to life, like friends, relationships, happiness.” He sounds almost wistful.
“Yeah well, I got the friends at any rate. The relationship and the happiness are pretty absent at the moment.” Dean’s staring again, he knows he is. But there’s a crumb stuck to Castiel’s top lip that he just wants to lick off, and he can’t help but lick his own lips at the contemplation.
The conversation changed tack after that, and before he knows it, Dean realizes it’s time to go. He promises to return tomorrow, and as he leaves, Castiel takes hold of his hand. “Thank you,” he says, holding it just a beat too long.
When Dean gets to his car, he finds his hand is hot, still tingling from where Castiel touched it.
Thursday passes much the same as Wednesday did. Dean once again goes to Castiel’s apartment, taking some tea and a white chocolate chip cookie that he thought Cas would like. Castiel definitely did like it, a lot judging by the noises he made which went straight to Dean’s crotch, so much so that he had to excuse himself and sit in Castiel’s plush, black-tiled and mirrored bathroom while he calmed his dick down. When he left, he noticed Castiel standing a little closer, lingering a little longer this time before they said their goodbyes. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he saw something in Castiel’s eyes, that spark of attraction and lust, the kind of blown pupils a person gets when they want to lick someone all over.
He thinks about it on the drive home. He’s getting all the right signals from him, or so he believes at any rate. He hasn’t been told to fuck off or called a crazy stalker or anything, so maybe he should just go with it. He gets back to the coffee shop, and when things have died down at around 3pm, he decides to talk to Sam. Sam can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s got a pretty smart head on his shoulders.
He sits at a table while Sam laughs at him from behind the counter. “Not funny, Sam,” he pouts, arms crossed in front of him defensively.
Sam takes a breath. “It’s totally funny! Seriously Dean, this is you we’re talking about. I mean, you’ve usually had your way with them and moved on to the next one by now.”
“Not funny, Sam.” Yes it’s true he used to play the field a lot, but not recently, not since…not since Cas.
“So why this guy. Why’s he different?”
Sam puts his hands up defensively. “I’m being serious! Seriously, why’s he different to all the others?”
Dean stares at Sam for a while, before throwing up his hands. “I dunno, ok? I don’t know. I mean, he comes in here with his stupid asshole of a friend…”
“You don’t know Balthazar’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, whatever, Anyway, he comes in here, orders the same drink, sits in the same chair, leaves at the same time…and he’s always really…polite, and genuine and seriously Sam you should see it when he smiles; it’s like the whole room lights up. And he’s so hot, like seriously hot and he doesn’t even know it. I mean, even when he was throwing up, all he cared about was ruining my toilets and wasting my time. And he’s funny too, when he lets his guard down. I’ve only seen it a little but he’s totally…different. And…”
“Ok, ok,” Sam interjects. “I get the picture. Geez Dean, I’ve never seen you like this.”
Dean puts his head in his hands. “I know…I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s like I’m freaking 15 or something.”
“So what?” Dean looks up to see Sam leaning on the counter, chin resting in his hand.
“So, ask him out. Think of something you both like doing, and go for it. From what you’ve said, it seems like he likes you too.”
Dean leans back in his chair. “Really?”
“You go to his apartment everyday taking him tea and food. If he didn’t like you, he’d have told you to back off by now, believe me.”
Right. Dean knows he’s been a little…overzealous but then, he is pretty hung up on the guy. And, Castiel hasn’t pushed him away, which is good. “So I should ask him out?”
“What harm could it do?”
Dean has a vision of Castiel holding his still beating heart and squeezing it while laughing maniacally, but quickly shakes it away. “Yeah, I’ll see him tomorrow, see how it goes, then ask him on a date Saturday when he’s fully recovered.”
Sam smiles. “Sounds like a plan. And, if it stops you hanging around here being all mopey and sexually frustrated, I’m all for it.”
“Shut up, Sammy.”
Friday comes, and Dean’s extra vigilant this time when he sees Castiel. He takes him his usual tea, but Ellen’s given him a carrot cake to try, so he takes Castiel a slice. It’s customer research, he tells himself. Cas is looking better, so much better when he opens the door, and Dean can’t help but gasp. He’s dressed in a casual t-shirt that’s just a little too short and rides up, and jeans hanging low off his slim hips. Dean’s mesmerized when he moves, revealing a little happy trail that no doubt turns into soft black curls around his crotch area.
“What?” Dean shakes himself, wondering just how long he’s been staring.
“Are you coming in?”
“Yes, yes. Sorry man. Long morning.” He lies, and Castiel chuckles. Dean steps into the apartment, noticing that it’s been given a thorough clean since his last visit. “Had the cleaner in?” He asks nonchalantly.
“Oh, no. I do it myself. I quite like cleaning in a way; it gives me time to think about things.”
“Lots of things on your mind?”
Castiel turns to him and smiles. “You could say that, yes.” He eyes the package in Dean’s hand. “So, what delight have you bought me today?”
Castiel’s eyes immediately widen. “Carrot cake? Really?”
“Ye…hey!” Before Dean can finish, Castiel’s practically snatched the bag out of his hand and is examining the contents. He then looks at Dean and goes red all of a sudden.
“Sorry, that was really rude. I’m sorry. It’s just…I love carrot cake. So much. Is this a new line you’re adding?”
It is now, Dean thinks. “Yeah. Ellen’s been trying different things.”
Castiel takes the slice out of its plastic wrapper and bites off a piece. The resulting deep throated moan goes straight to Dean’s dick, and he bites his lip to prevent himself moaning too. “Taste good?” he manages.
“Ellen is an incredibly talented woman. I’d love to meet her.”
“And eat her cakes, right?”
“Goes without saying. You have to try this.” Castiel breaks off a piece, but instead of handing it to Dean, he comes closer, raising his hand towards his mouth. Dean opens automatically and Castiel puts the cake inside, watching him intently. Dean chews, and swallows. He’s more of a pie kind of guy; cake generally just tastes like cake to him. This, however, even he knows this is pretty special. “That’s really good,” he says.
“It is. It really is.” Castiel nods.
They sit down and talk again, only this time, Dean notices that Castiel shifts closer to him on the couch, almost so their knees are touching. If it were anyone else Dean would probably feel uneasy but with Cas, it’s comforting. He’s starting to love these lunch time meetings, sitting with Cas and just hearing him speak. And eyeing him up every chance he gets, let’s not forget that.
It’s nearly two and Dean has to leave. He gets up off the couch, and bids Castiel goodbye. “Before you go, Dean,” Castiel begins, “I need to tell you something.”
Instantly, Dean’s heart is in his mouth, but before he has the chance to wonder when he turned into such a girl over this man, Castiel continues. “I’m away next week, on business. For the whole week. I don’t really want to go but it’s essential. Anyway, I’d quite like to…to keep in touch with you while I’m away so I wondered…do you want my phone number? I have yours I know, but I thought you could have mine and we could ring each other. When it’s convenient, obviously. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to but…”
Dean’s already pulled his phone out of his pocket and is poised and ready to type in the number. “I’d like that, Cas.”
“You called me Cas.” There it is, that little smile on his face that’s so freaking adorable, Dean thinks.
“I…yeah. I like to shorten names. Just something I do. You don’t…you don’t mind do you?”
Castiel looks up at nothing in particular, as if mulling it over. “No, I don’t mind. I like it.”
Castiel gives him his number, then Dean realizes with a pang of regret that it’s really time to go. Castiel walks him to the door and he turns to say goodbye but Castiel’s close, really close, and he smells like he just got out of the shower. Dean can’t help but tilt his head down, moving forwards slowly. Castiel does the same and they’re so close. Thoughts are whirring through Dean’s head like ‘finally!’ and ‘about freaking time!’ and he gears himself up for what he knows will be a mind blowing kiss, when Castiel’s telephone rings loudly and shrilly, making them jump. They both stumble back, Castiel mumbling, “Sorry,” while Dean tells him he’ll speak to him soon.
He steps out of the apartment and walks to the elevator, leaning up against the cool metal wall and breathing heavily. He can’t help smiling though, at the thought that he and Castiel nearly kissed. It just proves it’s only a matter of time, that Castiel is totally into this too, and it doesn’t matter that he’s be way out of Dean’s league because he obviously likes him. They’re going to happen, Dean knows it.
On the way back home Dean plays his music and sings as loud as he can, because he’s happy.
Dean hits upon the idea someway between the flurry of sunny afternoon frappes and nearly closing time espressos. Next Saturday there’s a horror film marathon at the local independent cinema, The Electric. It’s a small 1920s cinema that shows a lot of old films and has its regulars, of which Dean is one. He’s not sure Castiel’s into horror, but he thinks it’ll be a good excuse to sit at the back and have Cas cling to him when things get scary. It’s perfect.
He picks up the tickets on the way home, smiling to himself. He’s too happy to even let Sam’s, “What in the hell do you have to smile about?” jibes get to him.
“Hammer Horror marathon,” he says, waving the tickets around.
“Yeah, and? They have one of those on every week.”
“No they don’t,” Dean says. “Besides, this one’s special.”
“Wouldn’t have something to do with a certain regular customer, right?” Sam says, raising an eyebrow.
Dean ducks his head. “Maybe,” he says, and he knows he’s smiling. He can’t help it.
Saturday goes slowly, really slowly. All Dean wants to do is go and see Castiel, show him the tickets and let him know he has something to look forward too after his week away. He keeps checking the clock and he’s sure it’s stopped, given that time is going so slowly for some reason. There’s always a different sort of custom on a Saturday—less business regulars and more passing trade. It’s not less busy so much as a different kind of busy, the sort that Dean hates. By the time the day has ended, Dean and Sam and the Saturday temp Adam are washing the last of the utensils, wiping down the coffee machine, updating the displays and specials list for the following week.
Finally, Dean can make Castiel’s tea just the way he likes it, shut up shop, and drive to Castiel’s apartment. His heart is thrumming in his chest, and he hasn’t been this excited since…well for a very long time at least. He wonders if he’ll get to kiss Cas tonight, or whether he should just play it cool, give him a hug and wish him a safe journey with the promise of something more when he gets back. He’s far to nervous to think it through, so he decides to just go with the flow and see where it takes him.
He steps out the elevator, and goes to knock on Cas’ door. When there’s no answer, he knocks louder, putting his ear to the door. He can’t hear anything; no sounds of anyone moving inside, no sound of a TV, nothing. He knocks again for good measure but knows it’s fruitless. Cas is obviously better and has gone out, which is totally fine. He walks back to his car crestfallen, taking sips from the tea which he really doesn’t like but can’t stand to waste.
He gets home, and Sam knows not to ask him by the look on his face. He tries to tell himself it’s no big deal and really, it isn‘t. He could easily call him but he won’t, not yet anyway. There’s always tomorrow.
Instead, Sam decides they’re going to the Roadhouse for a drink. It’s Saturday night after all, they’ve worked hard all week and need to let their hair down a little. Dean thinks it’ll be a good opportunity to tell Ellen her carrot cake is a hit, and that he’ll be putting in a regular order for it. They change their clothes, and head out.
It’s good, spending time with Sam. Dean barely sees him when he’s studying, so having him around is awesome. They joke and mess around as much as they’ve always done, and Dean can’t wait for the day Sam gets a job like he’s planned, and then they’ll see each other all the time. They shoot some pool and it’s a close run thing until Dean plays an awesome shot on the deciding match and snatches victory.
It gets to 11.30pm and they’re both beat, too much beer and not enough sleep, so they decide to head home. Sam’s drunk, and Dean can’t help laughing hysterically as he tries desperately to find a pocket in his pants to put his wallet in. After a few attempts he settles on holding it in his hand while Dean helps him out of the bar, waving goodbye to Ellen who tells him next time he should bring someone who can actually handle their liquor. Sam flips her the bird and she laughs hysterically as they stumble out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.
Dean’s struggling to put on his coat because it’s gone a little chilly outside, and he chances a glance across the street to the theater. A performance has obviously just finished because there’s people spilling out onto the street, all dressed up in their finery. Dean can’t help but scowl as some of them look over in apparent disgust at the state he and Sam are in, when suddenly sees them.
Castiel’s in a black suit and tie with a while shirt looking, well, looking amazing. Beside him, and this is where Dean wants to choke, is Balthazar, equally dressed up. Balthazar has a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, helping him down the stairs of the theater and when they get to the bottom, Castiel turns, smiling, to embrace him. Suddenly, it’s as though Dean’s suffocating, as if all of the wind has been knocked out of him. They look…cozy. Too cozy, like a long term relationship sort of cozy and suddenly Dean feels sick, the alcohol swirling unpleasantly in his stomach and burning up his gullet.
He knew it was too good to be true, after all. Castiel, with his highly paid job, his fancy apartment and even fancier clothes…Castiel who probably sees him as a humble barista and nothing more. Sure, Dean goes the extra mile but the poor coffee shop owner obviously can’t see the different between actual attraction and a cordial business arrangement.
Dean wants to kick himself for being so stupid. Of course Castiel and Balthazar are lovers. Of course they are. They work the same job, at the same level, wear the same designer clothing, go out to oh so expensive restaurants and spend frivolous Saturday evenings at the ballet with their equally well-off friends. Why the hell did Dean even think Castiel would be into such low rent entertainment as Hammer Horror movie night at a ratty old cinema?
Dean turns away, motioning Sam quickly down the street and doesn’t look back, doesn’t want to see them hug, or kiss, or whatever.
He’s an idiot, a total idiot. He should learn to know his limits. It’s not like he’s ever had a lot, so why the hell should he expect for once that he could catch a break, that he could fall in love with a rich, important, hot guy who would love him back? It’s stupid.
He manages to get Sam back to the apartment and into bed. Sam’s a cuddler when he’s drunk and most of the times it’s funny but right now, Dean just wants to be left alone. He spies the tickets, mocking him from their place on the coffee table. It’s all he can do to not grab them and rip them up in frustration. He can’t though—can’t let good money go to waste and besides, he’s sure Sam would enjoy it despite his protests. He goes to bed, lying on top of the covers in his clothes. It takes him a while to fall asleep, but he finds he’s past caring at this point.
He doesn’t ring Castiel. There’s no point. Why prolong the agony? Besides, he’s sure he’s having enough conversations with Balthazar judging by the smirk on the bastard’s face every time he enters the coffee shop. It’s all Dean can do to remain cordial at this point, and even then he only does it because Balthazar’s a good customer and hey, Dean needs the money.
Dean spends the week putting on a fake smile and gritting his teeth. It’s stupid; he’s been through break ups before and hasn’t been this bad, and he and Cas weren’t even together in the first place for god’s sake. He’s really gotta pull himself out of it, given that Cas will be back soon and he’ll go back to seeing him every freaking day at the coffee shop anyway.
Whenever he sees Balthazar, he avoids any talk about Castiel. Dean makes a point of saying as little as possible to him until Thursday rolls around, and Balthazar has to say something. “So, I spoke to Cassie last night. He’s stuck in some awful hole in Boston you know.”
“Really,” Dean says flatly, gritting his teeth and trying not to drop the tray he’s piling mugs onto.
“Yes, apparently he’s very lonely. He was expecting there to be a little more…night life but alas, he remains disappointed.”
“Well I’m sure he’ll have enough to occupy him once he gets back,” Dean says.
“One would have hoped so,” Balthazar says nonchalantly. “One would have hoped so.”
Dean wipes his table and leaves, confused. Why does he insist on rubbing his nose in it? Ok fine, he has Castiel, great. Just shut up about it.
Thursday afternoon passes in a semi-rage which ends in Dean dropping a tray full of glass hot chocolate mugs.
“Dude!” Sam says, exasperated. “Get a grip! What the hell is wrong with you!?”
Dean hasn’t told him about what he saw on Saturday. There’s no point when he can just be irrational and pissy until he feels a little better. Instead, he’ll just tell him that Cas can’t make it to the horror night so he needs to take someone else. No biggie.
By Friday, Dean’s more philosophical about it. Yeah, he was playing way out of his league and so bound to be disappointed. He’s just gotta stick to what he knows best, then he won’t be let down. These ‘delusions of granduer’ as Sam has told him in the past do him no good at all.
On Saturday they close early, herding Joshua the old guy who’s permanently asleep in the far corner of the coffee shop out of the door. It’s satisfying, Dean thinks, to know he’s done a hard day’s work and now gets to hang out with Sam watching some trashy horror movies. It’s the perfect Saturday, date or no date.
The Electric cinema is pretty crowded. Lots of horror geeks are queuing up outside and Dean and Sam delight in taking the piss out of them. The line shuffles slowly forward until finally they get into the cinema. The Electric only has two screens, but it’s recently been refurbished so there’s a bar and some comfy seats at the back of the main screen. They always fill up first, so after Dean and Sam get their beers and nachos, they end up sitting a little further towards the front than Dean would have liked, but still, decent seats. Dean even has a spare seat beside him, after giving everyone the evil eye so they wouldn’t dare squash themselves next to him.
Dean’s just getting comfortable when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around to hear a familiar voice say, “Excuse me, is this seat…” and is confronted with a familiar set of blue eyes. “Dean?” Castiel gasps in surprise.
Dean can’t believe it. What in the hell is Castiel doing here, of all places? He turns to Sam, thinking he must have had something to do with it, but Sam just shrugs his shoulders in a ‘beats me’ kind of gesture. Clearly the cosmic joker is laughing his ass off right now.
“There’s no other seat,” Castiel continues. “I wondered if I could sit here but if you’re here with your brother then that’s fine. I’ll see if there’s...”
“You like horror movies?” Dean blurts.
Castiel pauses. “Why, yes. Yes I love them. Always have. Why?”
“I just…never thought you were the type, is all. I mean you’re not…” he gestures to the people in the rest of the theater, “…you’re not like these,” he finishes lamely.
Castiel rolls his eyes and sits down. “Looks can be deceiving. Just because I have a good job, and sometimes like the finer things in life, doesn’t mean to say I don’t like other things too, like lemon muffins and trashy horror movies. I like being here, sitting in amongst these people, eating, drinking, watching the big screen. You don’t think I should be restricted to liking ballet, fine wines and foreign films, do you?”
“Guess not,” Dean says. He looks behind Castiel, and is confused when he doesn’t see Balthazar with him. “Are you here with anyone?”
“No, should I be?” Castiel says, looking a little confused.
“S’pose not. Just thought maybe you’d bring your boyfriend or something though.” He has to practically spit the words out, because he can’t say them any other way. To think Castiel likes horror movies, likes being here and the bastard can’t be bothered to come with him, to let him indulge in one simple pleasure. Dean is pulled out of his thoughts in mid flow when Castiel speaks.
“I suppose if I had a boyfriend, I would.”
Dean’s kinda shocked. “I…what? You don’t have a boyfriend?”
Castiel shakes his head, looking perturbed. “No. Why would I?”
Castiel looks confused. “Balthazar is a friend. A very good friend. He’s not a boyfriend, and never will be. I just don’t like him that way, at all.”
“But I saw you at the ballet. Last Saturday, you were coming out of the theatre and he was holding you and…”
Castiel flicks his eyes up towards the ceiling, thinking. “Oh. How embarrassing,” he says. “I tripped. I tripped coming down the stairs so he held me and helped me down. I’d had a little bit too much to drink, and was being a bit silly. I find the ballet really boring but Balthazar had been stood up so he asked me to go with him. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Is all Dean can say. He’s fucked everything up monumentally and he knows it.
A flash of understanding crosses Castiel’s features. “You thought we were dating,” he says flatly.
“Well, yeah. I guess I kinda assumed he was your boyfriend cos you spend a lot of time together and...”
“No. No he’s not.” There’s a pause, then Castiel continues. “Although…I have been looking.”
“And I thought I’d found someone with good potential, but he never called.”
Dean looks up at Castiel, and inside he’s kicking himself. He’s probably messed up maybe the best thing that could have happened to him, all because he jumped to conclusions and was too stubborn to do anything else. Castiel’s face softens a little when he sees the pain in Dean’s face. “But,” he says, “I think I’m starting to understand why, and…”
Before Castiel can continue, Dean cuts him off with a kiss. The lights go out as soon as their lips touch, and he can feel Castiel stiffen at first, before softening and wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist as their kiss deepens. Then, the music starts and they part, pulling away and smiling. “We’d um, better watch the films,” Dean says, even though he’s seen them hundreds of times before. He’s not sure the people behind would like to have two guys making out in front of them when they’re trying to watch the film. He sinks down into his seat, and can’t help the smile that’s plastered across his face. Castiel’s hand is resting on the arm rest, and Dean covers it with his own, entwining their fingers. In the darkness he can see Castiel turn to him, smiling.
As the film marathon continues, he finds Cas to be really jumpy. Even though he’s probably seen the films before and knows what’s coming, he still jumps out of his seat at every scary moment. It doesn’t matter though, because he clings to Dean every time, and the clinging turns to hugging, which turns to stolen kisses at opportune moments and Dean feels like such a teenager, making out in a movie theater but he really doesn’t care because he feels like he’s invincible right now.
Six hours and much kissing later, the marathon ends and Dean’s suitably full of beer, soda and nachos. Sam leaves them to it, with a smile and a whisper of, “Don’t mess it up this time,” and promising to see him in the morning. Dean looks confused at first, before Castiel grabs his arm and pulls him into a waiting taxi. They’re kissing as the guy drives the few blocks to Castiel’s apartment, where they practically run to the elevator. “I’d ask you,” Castiel says in between frantic kisses, “if you wanted to come up for coffee.”
“Urr hrrr,” Dean mumbles.
“But you know full well I don’t have any coffee.”
Dean’s imagined this for months now, what Castiel would look like naked, lying spread out on the bed, panting for him. He never in his wildest dreams thought it would look, and feel, as good as this. Castiel is all sinewy muscle, a mass expanse of pale, almost flawless skin pulled tight over his hips. Dean’s glad to see he was right, Cas’ happy trail does indeed expand into a mass of soft, dark curls, framing his cock which is hard, flushed and red, aching. He’s staring as Dean removes the last of his clothing, and Dean turns, kicking his boxers across the floor.
Castiel stares at Dean, his cheeks, neck and upper torso flushed pink. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes.
Dean lies down on the bed, straddling Castiel and moving in for a kiss. “So are you,” he says, before claiming his mouth in a passionate kiss. They’re grinding against each other, hard cocks rubbing together and making them both groan in unison. Castiel reaches into a drawer at the side of him, fumbling around before pulling out a condom and giving it to Dean. Another fumble, and a brand new bottle of lube is placed on the bed. “Oh,” Dean says, “Someone hoping to get lucky?” He cocks an eyebrow, and Castiel smiles.
“You have no idea.”
Dean leans in for another kiss, grinding into Castiel and making him moan loudly. He picks up the bottle of lube and uncaps it with one hand, squeezing the liquid onto his hand to warm. He starts licking and sucking at Castiel’s nipples making him arch while Dean’s hand snakes down below his balls, teasing his hole before pushing a finger inside.
Seeing Castiel arch up and moan has to be one of Dean’s all time top ten favorite moments. They guy is normally so restrained, so to see him undone like this is incredible. “Oh, that’s good,” Castiel moans, moving back and forth on Dean’s finger. “Another, please.”
Dean pulls out, pushing two fingers inside, stretching him while his other hand curls around his cock and pulls. “God Cas,” Dean breathes, “You’re so hot like this. So hot.”
“Please, Dean. Fuck me. I’m ready. Please.”
And Dean can’t refuse. He tears the packet of the condom open, and rolls it quickly onto his cock which is by now painfully hard. He lubes himself up before lining himself up with Cas’ entrance. Cas lifts his legs up, resting them on Dean’s shoulders and displaying himself wantonly. “Now Dean. Fuck me. Now.”
Dean pushes in, feeling his cock enveloped in Castiel’s tight heat and it feels so good, not just because he hasn’t been laid in a while, but because he’s with the man he’s wanted for months now. Castiel’s staring at him with a look akin to awe. “Wanted this,” he says, “Wanted this for so long Dean, you have no idea…”
“Me too, Cas,” Dean says as he starts to thrust shallowly, “me too.” He begins to speed up, ass clenching with the effort of trying to keep a steady rhythm. He can feel Cas tensing around him, begging for more so he gives him more, starts thrusting in earnest as Castiel moans.
“Cas. Cas, you feel so good. So good.” Dean’s speeding up his thrusts, getting harder and harder as Castiel’s moans get louder and louder. He takes hold of Castiel’s cock and strokes him once, twice, three times, before Castiel’s moaning and coming all over his hand, face screwed up into the most adorable expression Dean’s ever seen and yes, he knows, he’s totally turning into a girl.
He continues to thrust, feeling Castiel clench around him, before Castiel suddenly puts his legs down onto the bed and flips them. He’s riding Dean’s cock now, harder, faster while Dean grips his hips, thrusting up into Castiel’s tight head. He’s close, so close and when Castiel gives his cock another squeeze, he’s gone, coming inside Castiel as Cas moans again, smiling before pulling off and collapsing at Dean’s side.
It’s probably the best sex he’s ever had, and no, he’s not just thinking that because of everything that’s happened; it really is. Something about the anticipation, the slow build up and the eventual release.
A little while later, when they’ve cleaned themselves up, Cas is lying on his back and Dean’s lazily tracing patterns on his chest with his finger tips. “So,” Dean begins, “what else do you like, apart from lemon muffins and trashy horror movies?”
Castiel shifts and smiles, his eyes half closed. “Mmmm...well I like beer, but I like shots more.”
“And greasy diner food.”
“Really?” Dean raises an eyebrow.
Castiel smiles. “Oh yes, I can’t get enough of it. And I like fast food, and Krispy Kreme donuts.”
“And you, Dean. I like you.”
“Good to know,” Dean says, placing small kisses up his neck. “I like you too.”
One year later…
Wednesday, and it’s the usual rush of people wanting to get their hump day coffee. Lunch time’s busier than usual, and there’s an actual scrabble for seating. Dean’s working the counter, calling out the drinks to help out Sam and Adam (who’s taken on more days and become a permanent member of staff, thank god). Once he’s dealt with the queue, he takes a breather in the back room, thinking how awesome it will be to actually get a vacation this year. Things have been going really well at the coffee shop—another big accountants has moved into town, bringing with it a denizen of caffeine junkies all wanting their daily fix. All this means Dean’s profits are up and, because he’s taken on extra staff, he can actually get away somewhere, spend some time just for himself. Well, himself and the particularly handsome guy who’s just managed to find a seat while his colleague gets the drinks in.
Dean saunters over, his stomach doing a little flip when he sees Cas’ eyes light up when he catches sight of him. It’s been a year and yeah, so they see each other every day and wake up with each other every morning, it still doesn’t quell the little flush of love Dean still gets when he sees him.
His smile broadens, a pair of tickets practically burning a hole in his back pocket as he walks over to him.
“What are you so happy about?” Castiel asks, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.
“What?” Dean says innocently.
“He’s up to something Cassy. I can tell by his eyes,” Balthazar says as he puts a full tray down onto the table and sits down. Dean looks at him and smiles. One thing he’s found out is despite his first impression, Balthazar isn’t that bad. He’s a good friend to Castiel, has a wicked sense of humor, and had actually been trying to get them to together in the first place, what with all their trips to the coffee shop. He’s a pretty good guy, all told.
Dean sits himself down on Castiel’s lap, smiling as Castiel instinctively wraps his arms around him. “Would I be up to something?”
“Having known you for just over 18 months, and intimately for a year, I would say yes, you are.”
Dean pulls the tickets out of his back pocket, and hands them to Castiel.
“What are these?” Castiel asks, eyes widening when he reads them. “Are they...?”
“Yup. We’re going to the premier of The Woman in Black. In London.”
“Oh yeah.” Castiel’s face goes red with excitement, and Dean can feel that enthusiasm spark something in him too.
“But how could you…”
“Shh, don’t ask. Just enjoy. You need a vacation, so do I, so I thought this would be the best thing.”
Castiel pulls him into a long, sloppy kiss. Dean’s discovered during their time together than the man can do wonderful things with that tongue of his, and likes to use it as often as possible. The kiss becomes a little more heated, until Balthazar grunts. “As much as I’m enjoying the show, gentlemen, it’s a little early in the day. You’re putting people off their granola bars.”
Dean pulls away. “Sorry,” he says, before looking back at Castiel. “One condition though,” he whispers in Castiel’s ear and he can feel him shudder.
“We gotta keep it in our pants until after the movie. Remember a couple of months back?”
“Mmm,” Castiel closes his eyes. “I certainly do.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a good job Herb at The Electric likes his blueberry muffins and caramel hot chocolates. Not sure the guys in Leicester Square will be that easily bought.”
Castiel nods, smiling. “I suppose it can wait until we get back to the hotel,” he says, mock-somberly and Dean laughs, kissing up his neck.
“I’d better get back to serving,” Dean says, “Sam looks like he’s going to blow a fuse over there.”
“Very well. I’ll see you tonight, then.” Castiel says, drawing him in for one more deep kiss.
“Tonight,” Dean says, shifting off Castiel’s lap. He lets out a laugh as he walks over to where Sam’s hitting the coffee machine, glancing over to Castiel and finding his happiness has returned.
He’s got to admit it; after a rather shaky start, his life has turned out rather awesome.