10 years ago
Castiel isn’t sure why he’s always at Sam’s disposal, but he supposes it’s mostly because Sam is his best (and, frankly, only) friend since high school and college would be a lonely experience without him. So, when he calls him up at two in the morning and asks him to please, come to the frat house and take Dean home because he’s way too drunk to drive, Castiel wakes up from his peaceful slumber, puts on some shoes, and forgets the fact that he has a really important test in tomorrow’s Theology class in favor of picking up Sam’s intoxicated brother.
The frat house is loud and Castiel’s glad he’s a long way from it, because he can only imagine what the people in the dorms near them are going through. That is, if they aren’t at the party, which Castiel wouldn’t doubt – it’s insanely full, almost as if half of the campus had decided to show up, and he’s pretty sure everyone there is drunk. He manages not to roll his eyes, however, and waves at Sam as he walks outside with Dean by his side, his older brother yelling something at the top of his lungs that is completely incoherent.
“Thank you so much,” Sam says earnestly, his eyes shining with something caught between embarrassment and annoyance. “I promise I owe you for the rest of my life.”
“You have owed me for the rest of your life approximately five times already,” Castiel reminds him, and Sam manages a sheepish smile as he helps a blubbering Dean into the car. “Pay little mind to it, Sam.”
Sam assures him he will, and gives him directions to Dean’s dorm house. Castiel assures Sam he’ll get Dean there safely, bids him goodnight and drives away from the frat house party.
Castiel throws a wary glance at Dean, who seems to be in between falling asleep and throwing up, two things which will most probably not be a good thing if they happened at the same time. He decides to try talking to Sam’s brother, someone he’s never really talked to that much before anyway, in order to keep him lucid enough to avoid falling asleep and/or vomiting in Castiel’s new car. “I gather you had fun at the party?”
Dean jumps, as if he’d completely forgotten Castiel was next to him, before grinning crookedly. “You fuckin’ know it,” he hiccups, groaning. “I fuckin’ love college, man.”
Yes, Castiel’s sure Dean’s experience in college has been very interesting, to say the least. He’s heard some rumors around campus about the man – he’s gay, as far as everyone knows (and no one cares, really; it’s a liberal arts college, it’s full of democrats and humanitarians and all that good stuff) and he also loves sex. He’s been around the block a couple of times and even though Castiel can see the appeal in broad daylight, Dean is not looking very appealing at all at the moment.
Then again, college is a strange place that makes people do strange, strange things.
“It is different from high school,” Castiel decides on replying, earning him a snort from the older Winchester. For a reason unknown to him, he feels a pang of what could be offense; but that’s ridiculous, because Castiel knows himself well enough to never be offended by people like Dean Winchester.
“You bet your ass it is,” Dean slurs, looking around Castiel’s car. “This car is shitty, dude,” he tells Castiel seriously, and, well, maybe Castiel can be offended by someone like Dean Winchester after all.
“It was a gift,” Castiel snaps, as if that is the only reason necessary to berate Dean. Dean blinks at him slowly, as if trying to process Castiel’s words.
“Shitty gift, then,” Dean grins slyly. Castiel’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, but he says nothing else, staring pointedly straight ahead and hoping they arrive at Dean’s dorm house soon.
They sit in silence for a minute or two, before Dean hisses. “Fuck, dude, I need to take a piss,” he groans, looking around the car. Castiel glances at him, wondering what in the name of God he could be looking for. His question is answered when Dean’s expression brightens and he leans towards the back seat, grabbing a soda cup Gabriel must have left there earlier today.
“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, and Dean looks at him as if he’s the drunk one who is placing a soda cup before his dick.
“What does it look like I’m doing, genius?” Dean snips. “I’m fucking takin’ a piss.” Dean grunts, zipping down his pants and pulling down his underwear to reveal his member, and Castiel jumps and looks straight back at the road, his cheeks turning a mournful red.
“Stop that,” Castiel all but yells, but Dean pays no mind to it. “Dean, I’m being completely serious here. This is a brand new car and if you spill your urine all over it I will never—”
“Jesus, Cas, chill the fuck out,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I do this all the time.” And suddenly Castiel hears urine hitting plastic, and his stomach falls to his knees.
There’s an excruciating minute in which the only sound in the car is that of Dean peeing in the cup (a whole minute, and isn’t that the longest pee Castiel’s ever heard?) and Castiel’s erratic breathing until it’s finally, finally over, and as far as Castiel can tell, no urine has made its way onto the car’s floor.
Dean laughs joyfully, zipping his pants back up and holding the cup before him. “And Dean Winchester does it again,” he slurs. Castiel’s about to tell him to please be quiet and perhaps throw that cup out the window as soon as possible, but before he can process all of this, the urine is all over him.
He’s not sure whether it was on purpose or if he’d hit a bump or what – he doesn’t remember, and frankly he’s not really caring all that much since he has urine on his face.
The smell is horrifying and Dean is only gaping at him when he suddenly stops the car and grinds his teeth together, immediately regretting the action when he tastes something sour in his mouth.
“Get out.” He says menacingly.
“Dude, hey, shit, I’m so—”
“Get out, Dean,” Castiel repeats, not looking at him. “Get out of my car right this instant.”
Castiel can feel Dean’s bewilderment. “It’s, like, twenty blocks to my dorm!” he insists. “And it’s the middle of the fuckin’ night, Cas, let me just—”
Castiel snaps then. “Don’t call me Cas,” he warns him. “Only your brother gets to call me that. Get out of my car right this instant and if you’re so worried about how far your dorm is, then you’d better put your best skills forward and offer someone a blowjob in exchange for a ride because I refuse to be in your presence any longer.”
He almost regrets the jab when he sees the flash of immense hurt cross the older man’s face, but then he suddenly doesn’t when Dean throws the remaining contents of the cup towards him and leaves the car.
Castiel refuses to yell or make a fuss, but his eyes are stinging in unadulterated loathing as he speeds up, ignoring the clear “I hope you fucking crash!” that follows him.
“Balthazar broke up with me.”
That’s the first thing Castiel blurts to Sam on the phone and Sam sighs heavily on the other end.
“Cas, I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. Castiel is sure he does, but that doesn’t make him feel any better.
“He’s going to Italy for the summer,” he tells Sam, looking around his apartment, now filled with empty boxes he’s going to have to fill up with his belongings soon. “He thinks I am boring and wants us to try something new. He left this morning with a simple, ‘I’ll see you around’ and then promptly kicked me out of the apartment.”
There’s a pause. “Shit, are you serious? That asshole has no right—”
“But he does,” Castiel interrupts quietly, ignoring the subtle further breaking of his heart. “The lease is under his name and even if he did let me stay, I cannot afford a place like this, Sam. It’s not within my price range.”
There’s another pause, the only thing Castiel hears is the typing in the background. Sam must be at work, then, and suddenly Castiel feels guilty. “I’m sorry if this is a bad time—”
“Shut up,” Sam grunts. “You know it’s never a bad time. I’ll be over in ten minutes and we’ll figure this out, okay? Just – just hang in there.”
Castiel nods once, but then remembers Sam can’t see him.
“There is no place in the city that can fit all the stuff you own, Cas,” Sam says as he helps him pack half an hour later.
Castiel ignores the jab, still feeling weak with heartbreak and utter despair.
Sam seems to sense this, for he rests a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and forces Castiel to look up at him. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’ll be okay, alright? We’ll find somewhere for you to live until you can get back on your feet.”
“But,” Castiel licks his lips. “Balthazar—”
“Fuck Balthazar!” Sam exclaims, and Castiel refrains from telling him that’s the entire idea. “Dude was fucking boring, okay? He was boring, I’m sorry, I said it. Jess and I could barely stand him when he was with you because you’d only stare at him like he hung the moon when really all he does is talk way too much about himself.” Sam looks at Castiel, who is feeling mildly offended. “He’s not worth it, Cas,” he insists. “You need someone who’s worth it.”
“What if I’m not worth it?” he asks quietly.
“You are,” Sam says offhandedly, picking up one of Castiel’s Vonnegut books. He pauses, and his face clears with sudden realization. “I know someone who needs a roommate, if you’re interested.”
Castiel looks up at Sam. “I am about to become homeless, Sam. My pay at the moment isn’t enough to hold over the rent a suitable apartment would require. I would say I’m interested, yes.”
Sam’s eyes glimmer. “Good.”
“Oh, fuck, no.”
Castiel’s standing before the almighty Dean Winchester (also known in Castiel’s head as The Urinator, but he doesn’t tell anyone that) whom he hasn’t seen since that night ten years ago despite all of Sam’s insistence.
“Fuck no,” Dean repeats, looking back at Sam. “You didn’t say it was him.”
Castiel narrows his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he manages to say, and Dean looks back at him, looking mildly surprised. Perhaps because he didn’t think Castiel would speak up for himself; although that seems a ridiculous notion, seeing as he insulted Dean that night after the incident. “He didn’t tell me about you, either. Otherwise I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”
Dean sneers. “That settles that, then,” he says, about to close the door, before a large hand holds it open. He sees Sam behind Dean, his eyes holding a sort of wary but determined resolve to them, and Castiel suddenly has a very bad feeling about this.
Dean seems to be having the same sort of feeling as well, because he looks at Sam as if he were about to punch his brother square in the jaw. “Come in, Cas,” Sam says, ignoring Dean’s glare and opening the door. For a moment, Dean looks like he’s about to object, but then he grunts and stalks off further inside the apartment, not bothering to spare another glance at Castiel.
Sam looks at Castiel pleadingly, but Castiel returns his gaze with an icy one.
“You are going to be the literal death of me, Sam Winchester.”
By the time Sam finishes the tour of the apartment, Castiel cannot deny he is completely enamored with it. It’s wonderful, spacy, with hardwood floors and a view of New York City he never imagined he’d ever have. It’s expensive, but not as expensive once the rent is split in two, which he can afford comfortably.
Sam explained to Castiel that Dean was living here with their uncle, Bobby, until Bobby passed away six months ago. Castiel knew about this, of course, but he didn’t know Dean was living with the man. He then explained Dean could no longer afford the rent on his own and if he doesn’t pay by the end of the month, he’d be evicted.
So this is how they find themselves sitting awkwardly beside each other on a ragged old couch, Castiel’s expression contorted into one of disgust as the memory of the urine all over him overtakes him and Dean seems to have a similar expression on his own face.
Sam sits before them on the loveseat, staring at both of them pointedly ignoring the other until he finally seems to have had enough, standing. “Okay, enough,” he says, proving Castiel’s theory. “You two are acting like five year olds. You need to forget about what happened in the past, move on, and learn to live with one another.”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Dean says simply, and Castiel nods once in agreement.
Sam’s eyebrows rise. “Oh, it’s not, is it?” he nods, walking towards them and sitting splat in between them. The couch is suddenly extremely claustrophobic, but mostly because Sam’s giant form isn’t designed to fit between normal-people’s form. “Might I remind you both of you are about to become homeless if you don’t find a roommate?” Sam turns to Castiel. “Cas, where are you planning on staying tonight if not here, hmm?” Castiel looks affronted. “Sorry, buddy, but it’s not going to be with me. Jess and I are gonna celebrate our anniversary tonight.”
Castiel blinks, but doesn’t answer.
Sam turns to Dean then. “And Dean,” he says, his brother pointedly staring at a terrible painting of a cat hanging on the wall. “May I remind you that your best applicant at this moment is a fifty-three year old man with an obsession with hunting knives and a belief that his sister was killed by a vampire?”
Dean says nothing.
“Then it’s settled,” he says victoriously. “You two will try this out. At least through the summer.” Sam holds up his hand when he sees Castiel and, presumably, Dean about to object. “Just for the summer. If you both don’t like it until then, then I promise – I promise I will do my best to get you all a place of your own. Deal?”
There’s a long, terrible silence in which Castiel pictures himself as a homeless person living in a cardboard box with a flee-filled dog and long nights digging through the dumpster to find food.
“Deal.” Dean says quietly next to him, and suddenly, the picture in Castiel’s mind is broken.
He nods. “Deal.”
It’s not as bad as Castiel had previously thought, at least.
They don’t talk to each other much and mostly stay out of each other’s way, but if it avoids conflict, then he’s pretty sure he’s okay with that.
Castiel goes to work every morning and Dean goes somewhere too, but he’s not sure where exactly. He asks him one morning and Dean merely says, “Gonna get some writing done,” before leaving the apartment. Castiel doesn’t know why he needs to be in that strange, careless get-up to write (and where in the world he needs to be to write at all, really) but he doesn’t ask after that.
Castiel works at a publishing company and patiently waits for his promotion – he’s sure it’s coming soon, he needs to become the editor in chief as soon as possible, and Zachariah, his boss, is going to retire soon so Castiel assumes he’ll be taking over his position.
But then he gets fired.
“Fired?” he repeats after Zachariah finishes his speech. Zachariah, and old balding man, nods solemnly.
“I’m sorry, Castiel. But, you know, I’m retiring, and I think it’s time for me to shut this puppy down.”
Castiel blinks. “But…your clients…”
“They’ll be fine.”
And that’s that, he supposes. He’s out of a job, and has absolutely no idea where to go from here.
As it turns out, he’s supposed to go to the mechanic’s the very next day, because his car is suddenly acting up.
What he doesn’t expect is to find Dean there, who stares back at him with the same amount of surprise.
Dean clears his throat. “Well?” he asks gruffly, and Castiel jumps out of his trance. “Do you need someone to look at that piece o’ junk or not?”
Castiel ignores the jab at his car and simply nods. “So you work here,” he states, and Dean grunts an affirmative as he opens the car’s trunk. “I thought you were a writer.”
“I am,” Dean says. “Just not a published one.” Dean grins bitterly at Castiel, who shifts guiltily from left to right. Dean then narrows his eyes at him and gives him a once over.
“Isn’t that the shirt you slept in last night?” Dean asks.
How he knows that, Castiel doesn’t want to figure out.
“No.” he says defensively.
“Yes, it is,” Dean says suspiciously. “I saw you this morning, dude. Don’t you change your shirt before going to work or something? That’s fuckin’ disgusting,” he tells him, and Castiel grits his teeth.
“I’ll have you know I went to work in perfectly suitable attire my entire life, thank you very much,” Castiel sounds entirely too snippy, but he finds himself unable to care.
Dean blinks. “You went?”
“Oh.” Dean nods, understanding, suddenly backing down. “Sorry.”
And he doesn’t need pity. Castiel doesn’t need pity from him, from Sam, from Balthazar, from his parents. He just doesn’t need it.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he says, and stalks away from the garage.
He calls Balthazar for the third time this week.
He gets his voicemail, like always.
Castiel’s week begins to look up when he receives the news there is an opening in Little, Brown’s Publishing Company and they would like to interview him. The interview is tomorrow morning, and he’s vigorously preparing his ‘I’m the better choice’ speech when he hears it.
At first he’s sure it’s merely a fluke, but then it gets louder. It’s a moan, he realizes. A very, very sexual moan. It’s deep, too, and he realizes with a heart skip that it’s Dean moaning, and his bed’s shaking very loudly and creaking and what not, and his voice is muffled behind his bedroom wall.
Castiel freezes outside Dean’s door, unsure of what to do. It’s not entirely closed, but it’s not widely open, so he supposes this entire debacle is supposed to be private.
The thing is, he can only hear Dean’s voice. And he won’t admit it (not even to himself) but his dick gives an interested twitch as he hears another one of Dean’s low moans.
And then Dean starts talking.
“You like that?” Dean’s voice is a lot gruffer than usual, more sensual, and Castiel realizes this isdeliberate; he’s deliberately speaking like that his words breathy and his tone low. “Huh? Huh? You like that, you sick bastard?” Another moan, and Castiel is completely confused at this point because no one is answering him. Unless, of course, Dean’s speaking to himself, in which case Castiel thinks Dean has very interesting methods of masturbation.
“Oh, God, yeah, fuck me,” Dean grunts, his bed squeaking louder, faster. “God, you’re so fucking big,” A moan, a pause, a breath. A universal noise of frustration. Castiel pictures Dean fucking himself. “Oh, yeah, yes, please, faster, faster,”
And, well, Castiel’s curious. One can’t blame him for being curious, and besides, Dean’s being loud – he could be having a nightmare (well, dream, because he’s pretty sure even if it was happening in his sleep Dean wouldn’t object to it) or something.
His excuses are weak, he knows, but he opens the door further anyway.
Castiel doesn’t expect for the door to open all the way and to find Dean bouncing on the bed, breathing into his cell phone. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m – I’m – ” he stutters when he sees Castiel standing wide-eyed at the door, his expression bewildered. “I came, thanks for calling, bud, see ya next time.” Dean hangs up quickly, and keeps staring at Castiel.
Well, at least he’s not masturbating.
They’re sitting across from each other, simply staring. Neither of them looks away and Castiel can’t find it in himself to ask, even though he has some sort of idea what’s going on.
Dean finally clears his throat. “Are you gonna ask or?”
Dean groans. “You’re a fucking weirdo, Cas,” he says, using his nickname for the first time since Castiel moved in, and for some reason it doesn’t bother Castiel as much as it should. Then again, maybe it’s because he keeps hearing Dean’s breathy moans in the back of his head and he’s concentrating extremely hard on, well, not getting hard.
Dean stands and walks towards the kitchen, muttering a quiet, “I’m gonna need a drink for this”. Castiel shakes himself off and stands as well, following Dean into the kitchen.
“I don’t understand what I just heard,” he admits.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Phone sex, Cas. That was phone sex.”
Castiel nods. “Okay, but why? Sam said you weren’t seeing anyone so I wouldn’t have to worry about…that.”
Dean looks at Castiel pointedly. “Sam’s right, but that don’t mean you don’t have to worry ‘bout my phone sex,” Dean sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m – I run a phone sex line,” he admits.
Oh, that makes sense.
“Is it yours?” Castiel asks, and Dean seems surprised that Castiel isn’t berating him for what he does. He also looks mildly relieved, but Castiel isn’t looking into that.
“Naw, some company’s,” he admits. “They get charged five bucks a minute and I get about a dollar a minute.”
“That doesn’t sound fair.”
“It’s something,” Dean says, shrugging.
“Yes, but wouldn’t it be much more simple if you started your own line?” Castiel presses, and Dean rolls his eyes.
“Too much fuckin’ work, Cas,” he finally gets his drink, downs it in one.
Castiel shakes his head, grabbing a mug and filling it with water. “No, it’s not,” Castiel counters. “Really, all you need to do is call the phone company, ask for a new number, open a pay pal account…” Castiel thinks of everything he learned in his entrepreneurship class, repeating the ‘How to Start a Healthy Business’ steps in his head.
Suddenly, Dean’s very close behind him, and Castiel’s breath hitches, his grasp on the mug wavering.
“You seem to know a lot about this,” Dean muses, his voice quiet. Castiel forces himself to forget the moans he’d heard earlier.
“I took some classes” is all Castiel says, unable to explain further. Dean nods.
“You should help me.” He says, grinning.
Castiel scoffs. “No, thank you,” he says, and Dean finally backs away.
“Dude, seriously!” he says. “You could help me out! You could get a third of whatever I make, you could – I don’t know, you could run this shit. You’re out of a job, this could help you.”
“I’ll have you know I have an interview tomorrow,” Castiel says indignantly.
Dean deflates. “Whatever,” he rolls his eyes and huffs. “That don’t mean you’re better than me, man,” he raises an eyebrow at Castiel, but for the first time in perhaps forever, it’s simply teasing. “You’re not better than phone sex.”
He retreats to his room to take another call and Castiel simply stares after him.
“I’m better than phone sex.” He tells himself. “I am.”
He doesn’t get the job.
The position was filled that morning and the man at the desk – Uriel – said they would only have another position open within three months. He promised he’d call Castiel once it was open for another interview, then bid him farewell.
He calls Balthazar again, completely on instinct.
Voicemail, once again.
“Okay,” he tells Dean when he gets home. Dean looks up at him from where he sits on the couch, flipping through a magazine. Dean raises an eyebrow.
“I’ll help you with your phone sex business,” Castiel says, and Dean blinks, but a slow grin overtakes his features. “I still want a third of the profits,” Castiel warns. “And I simply charge – I refuse to participate in any of your…your profanities.”
Dean laughs and stands up, hugging Castiel. Castiel doesn’t hug back, but mostly because he’s shocked. “You’re fuckin’ awesome!” he says, and something about those words warm Castiel’s heart. He pulls back to hold up a bag.
“Yours,” Castiel says simply, handing the bag to Dean. Dean reaches inside and pulls out a wireless house phone. He grins.
Things run smoothly for the first month.
They decide to make the number 1-900-GAY-4-A-DAY because Dean had mindlessly said when they were choosing, “I don’t know, man, all I do is help guys who want to be gay for a day get off, I don’t know shit about comin’ up with names,” and that was that.
It’s incredible the amount of success they have right off the bat – some of Dean’s most loyal customers find him again right away, and everyone else, Castiel supposes, is all by word of mouth.
Dean and Castiel have become increasingly comfortable around each other – so much so that Castiel can be looking for job openings on his computer while Dean is pretending to be jacking off beside him. His moans don’t get to him as often as they used to, but sometimes he feels a rush of desire pass through him when Dean catches his eyes in one of his “orgasms”.
They make eighteen thousand dollars in a month, and Dean and Castiel celebrate by going out to eat at a five-star restaurant. They talk easily, almost as if they’ve been friends for years, and find it comfortable when they bring up past flames. They even laugh off the incident now – Castiel never thought a phone sex line could possibly bring about miracles, but it seems as if this one has.
He keeps managing the billing and the costs, and Dean keeps getting guys off by the phone. When they bid each other goodnight, Castiel tries not to think much of it when he angrily jacks off to the memory of Dean’s moans and shouts, his green eyes pictured above him as he comes with a silent shout.
When his parents call to check in on him, he tells them he’s doing great.
He’s not lying. And when they tell him they’re proud of him – something they rarely do – the first person he calls is Dean, Balthazar’s name and number forgotten somewhere in his contacts list.
Three months in, Castiel decides he wants to learn.
He’s tired of jacking off to Dean’s voice and he figures that maybe if he can learn how to come up with his own fantasies, he can stop using Dean as one. Dean looks at him strangely and tells him he doesn’t think he’s ready, but Castiel insists.
So Dean accepts, and Castiel gives him a blinding grin in return.
For a moment, Dean simply stares, and Castiel becomes self-conscious until Dean returns the grin with a soft, almost fond smile of his own.
“You’re a weirdo, Cas,” he says, like he said all that time ago, and Castiel’s heart swells.
It’s frustrating some days – Dean tries to teach him the “proper” ways of saying ‘cock’ and ‘hard’ and ‘filthy’ and all these other words – but Castiel can’t seem to understand why he’s doing it wrong.
“You need to say it with feeling,” Dean tells Cas in his room. “Cock,” Dean breathes, inching closer towards Castiel, and Castiel refuses to swallow the sudden knot in his throat. “Hard,” Dean moans, his lips next to Cas’s ear and brushing it. Castiel’s eyes flutter. “Flithy,” Dean gasps, then moans one last time, as if he’d just had an orgasm.
Castiel is uncomfortably hard and bashful by the end of it, and Dean looks amused.
It takes two weeks, but Castiel finally starts to get the hang of it.
Dean nods. “Okay, let’s try it,” he says, walking towards his bedroom and closing the door. Castiel blinks, confused, before he realizes his phone is ringing and it’s Dean.
Castiel’s heart races. He understands now what Dean is going to do – and he’s not sure how he feels about it. He swallows hard, but closes his eyes and, with a whole new persona, picks up the phone.
“Hello?” Castiel says, his voice an octave lower.
“Tell me what you’re wearing,” Dean breathes over the next line, and if Castiel didn’t know any better (but he does, he should really stop imagining things) he would think Dean was preparing himself for a furious masturbation session.
Castiel thinks back to what Dean had told him before. Let them set up the scenario, he’d said. You just go along with what they like.
“Nothing,” Castiel decides. He swallows hard. “But I’m so painfully hard.”
Not a lie.
Dean’s breath hitches, and Castiel’s erection becomes more painfully obvious. “Yeah?” Dean stutters for a moment. “Would you like me to take care of that for you?”
Oh, yes. Yes, he’d like that very, very much. Because Dean is handsome and kind and everything Castiel didn’t think he was before and he wants Dean’s hands on him, all over him, and he wants him to take care of him tonight – and not over the phone.
Dean’s a good actor, though, Castiel must remind himself of this. This is all fake – it’s all for practice.
“I don’t know,” Castiel says after swallowing. “What are you planning on doing to me?”
Dean moans, and Castiel closes his eyes, imagines Dean lying on his bed, hands on his cock, jacking off to the sound of Castiel. Castiel feels his bulge through his jeans, swallowing thickly as he presses down on it, eyes fluttering for a moment. “Everything,” Dean groans. “Everything, Cas, I want to do everything to you.”
And this isn’t right, Dean’s not supposed to know his name. He’s losing his resolve, he suspects – but Castiel can’t find it in himself to care, not when his nickname sounds so beautiful from Dean’s lips, just like this, aroused and breathy and everything his fantasies ever were. Castiel zips his pants open and moans brokenly when he feels his hand wrap around his own cock, imagining Dean’s strong hand instead of his own. “What’s everything?” Castiel growls, persona and discretion be damned. “What’s everything, Dean? Tell me.”
And the tables have turned by now, because Dean is telling him, when Castiel is the one who’s supposed to be trying to get Dean off. But it doesn’t seem wrong; it seems right, it seems as if this is a give and take arrangement and they’re both so far gone it doesn’t matter. “I want to feel you, Cas,” Dean breathes. In the distance, Castiel can hear wet sounds. “I want to feel all of you. I want your fucking –agh – I want your cock inside me and I want – fuck – I want you, Cas, I want all of you,” This isn’t Dean’s usual bravado. He’s much more visual, much more defined; he’s not as broken as he is right here, right now, but it’s much, much more beautiful.
Castiel moans, slowly pumping himself - up and down, up and down. “Yeah?” he breathes, imagining Dean doing all of this to him. His strong figure above him, his hand carefully handling him as he slides Castiel’s cock into himself. Castiel bites his lip, working faster. “I want you to, Dean,” his voice cracks, his hand pumping faster. Dean riding him. Dean moaning his name. “I want you. God, I’ve wanted you – Dean,” he gasps, pleasure shooting up his spine. “I want to give you everything.”
“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes. “Please,” Dean whimpers, and Castiel is so far gone he can’t be surprised. “Please, Cas, please.”
“Dean,” he breathes once more before he’s coming all over his hand, the pleasure of his orgasm filling every inch of his body, the images of Dean above him shattering at the same time. He’s breathing hard, his eyes are closed, and he’s falling, falling, falling.
Meanwhile, Dean cries out on the other end, Cas’s name falling from his lips, and Castiel suddenly realizes this was real. This was not a practice run, this was not even remotely close to what Dean’s ever said or Castiel practiced – this was all of their forbidden and hidden desires, coming to light in the safety of their own, separate bedrooms.
They’re silent for a very, very long time, but neither of them hangs up. Castiel closes his eyes and listens to Dean’s breaths – still erratic, as if he’s still coming down from his orgasm.
Castiel speaks first.
“How did I do?”
And Dean’s suddenly laughing and laughing, the sound so beautiful Castiel forgets to feel hurt and is completely mesmerized instead.
“Awesome, Cas,” Dean finally manages to say. “You were fucking spectacular.”
They don’t talk about it the next morning, or the next, or the next.
So they don’t bring it up at all, and it’s business as usual.
Uriel never calls and Castiel is resentful for that, but he’s having so much fun with Dean he doesn’t dwell on it much.
The fact of the matter is that when Dean and him aren’t running a phone sex operating line, they’re simply hanging around the apartment, watching different movies or television shows and eating popcorn out of a tub and talking about this or that.
Dean tells him about all his dreams before he dropped out of college to help his Uncle Bobby out, tells him about how proud he is of Sam. Sometimes they close the line completely and sit very close to each other on the couch and share things like this – things they don’t dare share with anyone else. Castiel tells Dean about how his parents love him but cannot see the point in publishing, how Gabriel is his favorite brother because he did what he wanted even if his parents didn’t approve.
Sometimes their hands end up intertwined but they don’t mention it, simply keep talking and sometimes they fall asleep like that, hands gripping each other’s tightly, Castiel’s head on Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s head on Castiel’s and they sleep soundly through the night.
One night, Castiel tells Dean about how he never thought he was worth Balthazar’s affection. Dean bristles, looks down at him. Grabs his face and makes Castiel look at him.
“You’re worth it, Cas,” he tells him firmly. “You’re worth a whole lot of bullshit. You’re worth a whole lot more than you believe.”
Castiel realizes then and there he’s in love with Dean, and there’s no way out of it.
Uriel calls Castiel back a month after he promised he would, and Castiel doesn’t know what to say. Dean grins mischievously and tells him to take the interview, as he has an idea. Castiel blinks, but does as Dean says.
Dean’s plan apparently involves Castiel going over to the building and telling Uriel to shove it up his ass.
Castiel plans on doing it because he can’t say no to Dean.
“You look good,” Dean says, fixing Castiel’s tie. He has a fond smile on his face, but he keeps trying to hide it and Castiel can’t imagine why.
“Thank you,” Castiel replies, and Dean grins.
“Dude, you have to record Uriel’s face when you tell him to shove it, got it?” Dean waits for Castiel to nod, then laughs. “It’s gonna be great.”
“Dean,” Castiel blurts. “I love you.”
Dean pauses and looks up at Castiel. There’s a beat, then Dean nods.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “You should – you should go, you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, before grabbing a beer and walking to his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Castiel feels nauseous.
He takes the job.
He doesn’t mean to, but Uriel puts up a great argument, talking about health benefits and insurance and doesn’t even blink at Castiel’s admittance of running a phone sex line.
Perhaps Dean’s silence to Castiel’s confession had something to do with it too, but whatever it was, Castiel feels way too bad for his own good.
He picks up his phone and wants to call Dean, but he thinks better of it before walking home.
Castiel comes home to a grinning and very much drunk Dean.
“Did you record him?” he slurs, and Castiel shakes his head.
“Dean, I – I took the job, Dean,” he mutters, and Dean stares at him in bewilderment.
“What?” he asks.
“I took it.” Castiel pauses. “I’m sorry. This doesn’t mean we still can’t run the business, I simply won’t be as invested—”
“You fucking prick,” Dean interrupts him, putting down his beer and standing from his seat on the couch. “You fucking liar – you – you said—”
“I know what I said, Dean,” Castiel says. “I meant it then. I did not lie to you.”
Dean stares at him, and Castiel realizes there are tears in Dean’s eyes. “Why the fuck—”
“I told you I loved you this morning, Dean,” Castiel snaps, and Dean bristles. “I confessed to you something I have never confessed to anyone before. I told you that I loved you, risking our friendship, risking everything because I thought – I thought perhaps you felt it too,” Castiel stares at Dean. “And I think you do, Dean. But you are too afraid to say it.”
“You’re wrong,” Dean spits immediately. “I wasn’t too chicken shit for anything.” He steps closer to Castiel, fire in his eyes. “I just don’t fucking love you, you moron.” He laughs bitterly. “You think – you think I could love someone like you? Don’t you fucking remember ten years ago?” he pushes Castiel slightly; as well as he can while intoxicated. “You fucking said to me I was worth nothing. Exchange a fuckin’ blowjob for a ride. I will never forgive you for that Castiel – I don’t care what you thought.”
Castiel’s heart breaks, absolutely shatters – this feels worse than when Balthazar broke it off, absolutely painful and impossible. He believed, for a second, he could have this – could have Dean, all of Dean, but it’s not like that, apparently. Old ghosts cannot be forgotten, he realizes. Not really.
“Oh” is all Castiel can manage.
“I want you out of my apartment,” Dean bites, turning back.
Castiel swallows, nods.
He makes his way to his room, and thinks maybe – maybe this was meant to only last the summer after all.
He stays with Sam and Jess.
Jess cuddles with him as Sam runs his hand through his hair for the millionth time. “I thought – I mean, you two hadn’t killed each other and you were getting along so well I thought – well, that maybe—”
“So did I,” Castiel whispers. Jess hugs him closer. Castiel appreciates the gesture, but feels no warmth.
Sam looks at him. “Dean’s an idiot.” Castiel shrugs. No, he’s not. Dean feels what he feels – Castiel, so long ago, insulted him, and it’s come back to bite him, to truly, truly kill him. “He is,” Sam presses. “He – Cas, the last time I saw you two, he – “ he stops, shakes his head. “He hasn’t called?”
It’s been a week.
Castiel isn’t surprised.
Because Castiel isn’t worth it, after all.
Jess kisses his cheek, and Castiel smiles as shakily as he can when she wipes away his tear.
It’s been two weeks without contact with Dean and Castiel feels sullen.
He goes to work and he does well, he thinks – it’s a better position than the one he had previously and the pay is a lot better, but he doesn’t feel happy, doesn’t think he can.
Balthazar calls on the third week.
Castiel is too shocked to even entertain the idea of not answering. He tells Castiel he’s back from Italy and he’s truly, really missed him – he wants to meet up, he says, has something very important to ask him.
And Castiel knows what he’s going to ask, but he’s not looking forward to it.
He tells Sam while Jess is at work and Sam blinks at him. “Well, you’re not going, are you?”
Castiel doesn’t answer.
Sam shakes his head. “Are you an idiot? Cas, he’s – he broke your heart, he left you for six months and you’re just going to jump right back into his arms?”
Castiel’s not worth more.
“I will settle,” Castiel tells Sam. Sam shakes his head.
“That’s not what you’re supposed to do, Cas,” he says. “You’re supposed to find that one person you can’t live without, not just – not just settle,” Sam seems thoroughly dumbfounded, and Castiel meets his gaze with a cold one of his own.
“Not all of us are lucky in love, Sam Winchester,” he spits. “Some of us have to work to even get someone interested in us long enough to stick around – some of us only get one chance, and we won’t always like it, but we’ll take it,” he stands. “And I am going to take this one.”
After all, Balthazar made him happy while they were together. Or, well, content. He can settle, he can.
Sam swallows. “Cas—”
“You owe me, Sam,” Castiel whispers, and Sam freezes. “I’m calling it in now. I need you to not try to stop me.”
Sam looks conflicted, but in the end, he lets Castiel go.
Castiel thinks about the phone sex line on his way to the restaurant and whether or not it’s still running.
He thinks it is. Dean needs the money – he can figure out the billing himself.
He’s nauseous when he arrives.
“And then I said to them, well, darlings, as much as I would love to have every single one of you, I play for the same team!”
Balthazar has been going on and on and on about his trip to Italy and Castiel has come to an untimely conclusion:
Balthazar is boring.
Castiel isn’t the boring one, Balthazar is. It’s all on him, not on Castiel. He’s been living an exciting life – he was a phone sex operator, for Lord’s sake – he’s not boring.
But Balthazar is. And it’s annoying Castiel far more than it should be, but he’s putting up with it because he must settle, because he won’t have another chance.
“Oh, silly me,” Balthazar says. “I forgot to ask about the new job. How goes it, Cassie?”
“Well,” Castiel replies. “Well, yes.”
“That’s good,” Balthazar says disinterestedly. “Listen, Cassie…” he pauses. “About what I have to ask you; I’ve been thinking, and I’ve realized—”
Castiel jumps at the nickname, but mostly at the gruff voice that envelops it. Balthazar blinks and turns to his right, frowning, and Castiel follows his line of vision. There stands Dean Winchester, red in the face, sweating slightly, breathing rapidly as if he’d been running here.
“Dean?” Castiel asks weakly. Dean walks up to the table.
“Don’t marry this asshole,” Dean blurts, and Balthazar clears his throat.
“Excuse me, said asshole still sits here.”
Dean ignores him. “I love you.”
Castiel’s heart does a flip. “You said—”
“I know what I said, Cas,” he says, kneeling in front of him. “I know, and I’m sorry, and I lied. I love you, Cas, I love you and you were right, I was just scared to admit it because I’ve never – I’ve never loved someone like I love you, Cas.”
“You never called,” Castiel breathes, stunned, unsure of what else to say.
“I’m an idiot,” Dean admits. “I’m a fucking idiot because – because I was scared and I didn’t know what to say and I—”
“You know how to work a phone, Dean,” Castiel snaps. Dean winces.
“Yes,” he says. “But every time I picked it up I thought – I thought about what you might say to me.” He looks at Castiel. “You have every right to hate me and every right not to want to be with me, but Cas – Cas, don’t marry this fucking guy,”
Balthazar grunts. “Who the fuck are you?”
They both ignore him once again.
“Why are you here?” Castiel asks softly, and Dean places a hand on Castiel’s cheek warily.
“Because you’re worth the bullshit, Cas,” he answers. “You’re worth me making a fool out of myself and confessing my big, gay love for you in front of all of these people. You’re worth everything and more, Cas,” he straightens up a bit, enough so that his forehead is resting against Castiel’s. “I want everything,” he breathes quietly to him. “Cas, I want everything with you.”
Castiel swallows. His hand rises and involuntarily grasps the back of Dean’s neck as he nods. “I’ll give you everything, Dean Winchester,” he murmurs, before pulling him closer and finally, finally, pressing their lips together.
The kiss is slow and chaste and nothing compared to everything they’ve witnessed each other say before, but it’s perfect because it’s Dean and his heart’s about to explode; his lips tingle every time Dean pulls away for a breath and he thinks what he hears in the background is something like applause and an outraged cry but all he sees is Dean, Dean, Dean as he pulls him closer and all he breathes is Dean and he’s so, so in love with him.
Dean pulls back finally with a blinding grin. “Is that a yes to coming back to our apartment, then?”
Castiel hums, refusing to let go of Dean.
“Only if you promise not to urinate in my car again.”
Dean laughs, and for that moment, everything’s okay.