Dean Winchester has a crush. A great, big, secret, gay crush. Okay, more like a great, big, secret, bisexual crush, if we’re being technical. Either way though, the relevant word here is secret, because Dean lives in Kansas, which isn’t exactly known for its thriving LGBT community. In fact, he’s pretty sure most of his neighbors don’t actually know what LGBT stands for and he’d be willing to bet that if asked, at least a solid 10% would think it’s a sandwich.
Lettuce-gay-bacon-trans-deliciousness aside, Dean’s fairly certain that born-and-bred Kansan boys aren’t supposed to be crushing on approximately 6 XY feet of lean muscle, stubbled jawline, and the bluest fucking eyes Dean’s ever seen. He’s already a glasses-wearing, straight-A-getting, sports-hating, Hogwarts-House-knowing, Vulcan-salute-giving, card-carrying (literally, in 7th grade he and his best friend actually made cards), all-around geek. The last thing he needs is people finding out that his Star Wars themed shower fantasies feature Han Solo just as often as they do Leia and that gold bikini. So, yeah, nobody knows that Dean’s spent the past six months crushing on Cas Novak, the sexy junior in his Spanish II class, and it’s damn well going to stay that way.
“Hola, Señor Winchester,” murmurs a gravelly voice in Dean’s ear, straight out his dirtiest fantasies and close enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck, as Dean suppresses a shiver. The smirk on the mouth housing that goddamn sinful voice tells him that while he may have resisted the full-body shudder, his red cheeks did not go unnoticed by the boy sliding fluidly into the desk directly behind him.
Nobody knows about Dean’s crush except for Cas, that is. Cas definitely knows.
“No hello for me there, Dean-O?”
Dean sighs. Nobody except for Cas and his obnoxious, ever-fucking-present, Halfling sidekick.
“Hello, Gabe,” he says with an eyeroll as Gabe holds his hand to his heart in mock-offense, a knowing glint in his eye that makes Dean squirm uncomfortably in his seat.
So, yeah, okay, Dean’s crush knows that he’s Dean’s crush. Normally, this would be considered a full-on raise the shields, ready the deflectors, red alert situation, but it’s not so bad really. Aside from the I-know-you-know-I-know-you-want-me smirk the smug bastard throws at him on a daily fucking basis, Cas doesn’t actually do anything to acknowledge Dean’s crush on him. And, since that smirk is without a doubt the sexiest fucking thing Dean’s ever seen (up to and including Leia’s gold bikini, and that’s saying something), he’s made his peace with it.
Sure, he’d been a little worried about Gabriel Fucking Baggins knowing at first, convinced the bouncing blonde Bilbo was gonna shout it all over the goddamn school, but he seems to have kept the information to himself. He’s not exactly sure why, but he suspects the mini-man just likes having something to hold over Dean’s head. It’s not the most comforting of theories, but more believable than Gabriel actually possessing anything resembling a conscience and less horrifying than any of the many other possibilities Dean came up with, most of which involved Gabe waiting to reveal the information at the most potentially embarrassing times for Dean (ranked in order from graduation to in the guy’s locker room following gym class, with somewhere on the side being a scenario in which Dean is standing in front of the entire student body inexplicably naked, something that came out of a literal nightmare).
What Cas gets out of the whole thing is something else Dean isn’t sure about. Despite the constant smirking and the occasional flirtatious wink or lingering look, Cas has never done or said anything to indicate that he returns Dean’s interest. And yes, Dean would take Cas’ smug flirtations, subtle though they may be, as their own sign.. if he hadn’t also seen Cas flirt that way with every girl in the junior class, half the girls in Dean’s own sophomore class, and at least a third of the seniors.
Cas Novak is, to quote Josie Geller (which Dean will never admit to doing, ever), “that one guy, the one who is so perfect in every way. The guy you get up and go to school for in the morning.”* He’s not a jock, or student body president, or even a bad boy. He’s just that one guy who is, for some ineffable reason, effortlessly cool and universally well-liked. Of course, it probably doesn’t hurt that he’s also really fucking hot.
Take today, for example. Cas looks goddamn edible in a sleek black button-up that makes his eyes look an even brighter blue than their usual luminescent hue and jeans that God himself must have molded to that perfect fucking ass. Dean, on the other hand, is wearing his favorite Gryffindor t-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans that have at least 3 holes in them.
Yeah, Cas is that guy who can make every girl (and Dean, apparently) swoon with a single, smoldering look. Dean figures the guy must just enjoy the ego boost and considers himself lucky that Cas doesn’t act like a dick and use Dean’s utterly fucking ridiculous crush against him.
“Winchester,” whispers Cas’ low voice in his ear again and Dean knows the asshole is leaning over his desk to get as close to him as possible, which is entirely unnecessary since class hasn’t really started yet, “do you have last night’s homework? I need your help on number 3.”
Okay, so he’s lucky Cas doesn’t act like more of a dick. Honestly though, helping Cas with his Spanish homework gives Dean an excuse to turn around and look at the desperately sexy asshole every day, so Dean can’t really hold it against him.. especially not when he’s busy picturing all the things he could be holding Cas against (or vice versa, Dean’s not picky).
He manages not to fall out of his desk when he feels Cas’ warm hand squeezing his shoulder from behind, but it’s a near thing. When he turns, Cas flashes him a gummy grin that it would take someone far stronger than 16-year-old Dean to say, “no,” to.
“Um, yeah, hold on,” comes his eloquent response (and really, it’s a shock this guy hasn’t fallen at Dean’s Converse-clad feet and begged for a date by now), as he digs through his bag for the homework.
“Found it,” he announces, holding up his green Spanish binder like a proud puppy who just fetched his first stick and completely ignoring the less than subtle eye roll from the petite redhead in the desk next to his.
So, nobody knows about Dean’s crush except for Cas, Cas’ LeFou, and Dean’s best friend, Charlie.
“So what problem were you having with number 3?” Dean asks, leaning over to look at Cas’ homework and maybe catch a whiff of the other boy’s shampoo while their heads are bent this close together. Pineapple and coconut: not what Dean would have expected, but nice nonetheless.
“You know, it would save time if you just let me copy your answer,” Cas responds with a smirk, knowing well by this point in the year just how that comment will be received.
Dean rolls his eyes as he continues their ongoing (and apparently never-fucking-ending) argument, “If I just give you the answer, you won’t learn.”
Cas rolls his eyes back and gestures to Dean’s shirt, “Whatever you say, Hermione.”
Dean colors. “’m not Hermione,” he grumbles without acknowledging Charlie’s disbelieving snort. He’s totally Hermione.
Pushing on, he adds, “And if you don’t learn, what the fuck are you going to do on the final, write, ‘Whatever Dean Winchester said?’”
“Of course not,” Cas quips. “I’ll write it in Spanish.”
Dean levels Cas with a flat glare, resolutely refusing to look away despite the heat in his cheeks. He loses and drops his eyes though, when the devastatingly attractive son of a bitch winks at him.
As Dean looks through the rest of Cas’ homework, editing his answers and translations where needed, Gabe leans his shaggy head in close enough to be heard only by Dean and Cas.
“Hey, Dungeons and Drag Queens,” he whispers, waggling blonde eyebrows, “what’ll it take for you to do my homework next?”
“Shove it, Samwise,” Dean scoffs without looking up from Cas’ paper.
After a second, he reconsiders, “No, my brother’s name is Sam. That’s too weird. You’re Merry.”
“Mary?” Gabe asks in confusion.
“Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Cas explains to Gabe, who looks no less confused.
Turning to Dean with his ever-present smirk, he adds, “Although for maximum insult value, I would have gone with Pippin.”
“Yeah, but I like Pippin,” Dean retorts with a grin. “You’ve read Tolkein?”
“Maybe,” Cas teases, sliding back in his chair, “or maybe I’ve just seen the movies. They were somewhat popular, you know.”
Rolling his eyes again (it’s really his only defense where Cas is concerned), Dean turns around as Señora Hanscum brings the class to order (hearing Spanish in that Minnesotan accent will never not be weird) and does his best to ignore the feeling of Cas’ eyes on the back of his flushed neck.
Gathering his books at the end of class, he’s about to rise from his seat when he feels a familiar palm pressing down on his shoulder.
Dean stills and this time he would swear he can feel Cas’ goddamn lips against his ear as that deep baritone that has no fucking right coming out of a 17-year-old murmurs, “a man that flies from his fear may find that he has only taken a short cut to meet it.”**
Cas walks out of the room without looking at Dean, but the sophomore’s heart kicks up a notch anyway and he’s so distracted by the fact that his crush just quoted one of his favorite parts of The Children of Húrin to him that he completely forgets to check out Cas’ ass as the other boy makes his exit.
“Maybe he’s just seen the movies,” Dean grumbles, shaking his head with a dopey grin that follows him to his next two classes.
Leaning back, Dean flexes his fingers against Baby’s steering wheel. A gift from his Dad for his 16th birthday, passing on the ’67 Chevy Impala is probably the nicest thing the old man has ever done for him, especially since he split 5 years ago to start a new Winchester franchise with his mistress-turned-second-wife Kate and Dean’s half-brother, Adam.
He’s only had his license for a couple of months and the novelty has far from worn off, so Dean takes every opportunity he can to get behind the wheel. That’s why he’s currently driving with his mom in the passenger seat and his 12-year-old brother and best friend splitting a bag of Skittles in the back. They’ve just left the grocery store and Dean’ll drop Mom and Sam off at home before heading over to Charlie’s to study for tomorrow’s “surprise” Chemistry quiz (Henriksen quizzes them every Friday, so it’s hardly a surprise) and binge watch some Firefly.
Dean’s passing the store’s entrance on his way out of the parking lot when, fuck his life, his goddamn crush walks out of the automatic doors and moves to cross right in front of the Impala. Slowing to a stop, he watches as recognition flashes across the other boy’s face when he spots Dean behind Baby’s wheel. Cas freezes, his mouth falling open slightly before breaking into that blinding smile that melts Dean into a goddamn puddle.
“Who’s that?” breathes his mom beside him, because apparently even middle-aged mothers-of-two aren’t immune to that smile, and although Dean’s not surprised (he’s seen that smile get Cas an extension on more than one Spanish assignment), he’s still a little weirded out.
“That’s Cas,” he mumbles, suddenly wishing his mom was driving so he could sink into the passenger seat and hide his crimson face behind the dash, “he’s in my Spanish class.”
“Oh Dean, he’s cute,” Mom gushes, as Dean sends Cas an embarrassed smile and a small wave. The gorgeous asshole pulls up the collar of his black leather coat (and fuck, did the bastard take lessons in how to hit every last one of Dean Winchester’s buttons?) against the chilly March air and makes his way through the parking lot, toward his beat-up Lincoln Continental. How the boy drives that gold monstrosity of a car and maintains his undeniable cool factor is beyond Dean, but it probably has something to do with the smile that’s still making his insides feel uncomfortably gooey.
He clears his throat and says as casually as he can, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
In the backseat, Sam snorts loudly and, because karma’s a thing, immediately chokes on a Skittle.
So, nobody knows about Dean’s crush except for Cas, his little yellow minion, Charlie, and Dean’s goddamn family.
His family knowing isn’t that big of a deal though. Dean’s never felt the need to hide his preferences from his Mom and Sam, especially not with John out of the picture. His mom had actually been the one to broach the subject when she’d asked 13-year-old Dean if there were any girls he had his eye on that year. He’d done the standard, “Moooom,” groan complete with the patented adolescent-to-parent eye roll and told her that no, he wasn’t interested in any of the girls in his class.
Casually, not missing a beat, Mary had asked, “What about any of the boys?”
After fumbling the remote where he sat, channel surfing on the couch, he’d stared at Mary for several long seconds. Seeing nothing in her eyes but calm, almost-casual interest (and maybe a tiny bit of hope), he’d eventually found himself blushing and admitting that Aaron Bass was, “kinda okay.”
Mom had just smiled and told him that unless, “kind of okay,” was the new slang for, “completely and totally amazing,” he might want to keep looking. And that was it. No long talk about feelings. No, “I’m so proud of you,” speech. Just easy acceptance. Dean had never been so grateful for his mother as he was right then.
In the back of the Impala, a chortling Charlie pats Sam on the back sympathetically, but wisely refrains from commenting until Sam and his mom are safely out of the car and walking into Dean’s house, grocery bags in arms.
“You know, I really don’t understand why you don’t just go for it with Cas,” she says abruptly, because if subtlety were a feather, his best friend would find a way to fashion it into a club and then beat Dean over the head with it.
“Charles,” he sighs, “We’ve been over this. You know my reasons.”
“Yeah,” she counters as she bounces into Mary’s place in the passenger seat, “and your reasons suck.”
Resigned, Dean lists his (completely logical and not sucky) reasons again, “One, I don’t even know if Cas likes guys. He flirts with every goddamn girl in the school, except for you, and that’s probably only because he’s rightly scared you’d skin him alive if he tried.”
“One,” Charlie says mockingly, “bisexuality is a thing, Dean.” Charlie emphasizes his name, as if Dean’s suddenly forgotten his sexuality in the last five goddamn minutes.
“And two, I don’t know if he likes guys, but he definitely likes as least one guy and that guy is you,” she finishes, looking smug.
“And two,” Dean continues, ignoring her counter-arguments, “we live in Kansas.”
His completely supportive and awesome Mom knowing Dean likes guys is one thing. His entire high school finding out.. that’s another story and Dean’s pretty sure that story doesn’t end, “happily ever after.”
Charlie rolls her eyes at this. Having been out as a lesbian since they were 13, she’s not very sympathetic to Dean’s Second Argument.
“Because you don’t know any other queer kids in our entire student body,” she says with raised eyebrows.
“You’re a girl,” Dean argues weakly, “that’s different.”
“That’s sexist,” Charlie answers scathingly.
“Doesn’t make it any less true, though,” says Dean stubbornly.
Sighing, Charlie gives it one last attempt, “Dean, I really don’t think it would be as big a deal as you’re making it out to be in your head. I’m not saying it would be all unicorns and rainbows, but I wouldn’t lie to you if I thought for a minute it was going to be the hell you’re imagining.”
Dean sighs in return. Charlie means well. She really does.
“I know that Charles,” he says softly, “I just..” Dean gives a one-shouldered shrug as he turns into Charlie’s driveway.
“Just think about it okay,” she says with uncharacteristic softness. “I don’t want to push you if you’re really not ready, but.. just don’t let yourself miss out on something good because you’re scared of what might happen. More than that, don’t let yourself miss out on being yourself, because I can tell you from experience, my bestie is a pretty awesome guy.”
She pauses for a moment to let her words sink in as Dean stares at Baby’s steering wheel.
“For now though,” Charlie adds with a gleam and a grin, “it’s time to go fuel your Malcolm Reynolds fantasies and my less-than-pure intentions with one Ms. Summer Glau.”
“She’s married, you know,” Dean points out, just to be an ass.
“Only because she hasn’t met me,” Charlie quips in a sing-song voice as she links arms with Dean and drags him toward her front door.
“Hola, Señor Winchester.”
Every goddamn day. Cas greets Dean the exact same way every day upon his arrival to class, because (if it’s not already abundantly clear), Dean Winchester is a goddamn idiot.
On the first day of classes in late August, Cas had slid into the seat behind Dean as Señora Hanscum introduced herself, “Hola, there amigos! Since this is Spanish II, we’ll be keeping to Spanish as much as we can in our conversations. That means instead of ‘Mrs. Hanscum,’ you can call me ‘Señora,’ and the same goes for one another. Now why don’t we all take a minute to get to know our new neighbors!”
“Hola, Señora,” had said the rough, deep voice that has plagued Dean’s daydreams ever since.
Dean, struck stupid by the intense blue eyes focused on his quickly warming face, hadn’t realized he was speaking until he was halfway through his answering, “Um, ‘Señora’ refers to a married woman. I’d be, ‘Señor.’”
It wasn’t until the slow smirk had spread across Cas’ face and he’d seen Charlie literally face-palming in his periphery that Dean’s brain had caught up to his mouth and he’d realized Cas had been making a joke.
His pink face had deepened to an unhealthy shade of magenta as Cas intoned, “My apologies, Señor ..?”
“Winchester,” Dean squeaked.
“Señor Winchester,” Cas grinned mischievously, “I won’t forget.”
And so, Dean’s spent the past six months listening to Cas’ sly, “Señor Winchester,” every goddamn school day and now he can’t even watch his favorite telenovela with his Uncle Bobby like they used to without risking blushing or popping an incredibly inappropriate boner (and he’s honestly not sure which of those two things would be more embarrassing in front of the crochety old man).
“Hey Dean-a-roonie,” a far less pleasant voice pulls Dean back to the present, “how’s it hangin’?”
Gabriel’s grin turns wicked as he leans into Dean.
“Or is not ‘hangin’ at all right now?” he asks with a pointed look in Cas’ direction.
Attempting to cover his embarrassment with bluster, Dean turns to Cas, “Can’t you control your sidekick?”
Cas only has time to shrug before he’s interrupted by Gabe’s snort.
“Sidekick? Like you’re one to talk Winchester! We all know you’re sidekick to the Red Queen here,” he says with a mock-bow in Charlie’s direction.
“It’s Queen of Moons,” Charlie corrects with an impish grin, “And he’s a handmaiden, not a sidekick.”
“Bite me, Boy Wonder,” Dean scowls at Gabe before pointing at Charlie, “And you, quit helping.”
And fuck, now he’s picturing Cas as Batman and that is just all sorts of not helpful! He forces down fantasies of that voice coming out of Batman’s cowl. Should have stuck with the hobbit references.
“Well if I’m Robin and Cas here is Batman, I guess that makes Red there Harley Quinn and you must be.. Poison Ivy?”
Bouncing his eyebrows, the pint-sized pain-in-the-ass adds, “I guess a few strategically placed ivy leaves could work as your costume. Thoughts, Cassie?”
As Gabe bats innocent eyelashes at his now glowering best friend, Dean interrupts, “Don’t you see the glasses? Clearly, I’m Clark Kent.”
“Ooooh, Superman,” interrupts Lisa Braeden, pretty brown eyes looking up at Dean from beneath carefully mascaraed eyelashes, “Can I be your Lois Lane?”
And is Dean imagining Cas’ eyes narrowing at her?
Before he has time to consider the possibility further, Becky Rosen chimes in from the other side of the room.
“Sorry to burst your bubble Braeden,” Becky says, not sounding sorry in the slightest, “but it’s a well known fact that Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne are engaged in a secret but passionate love affair.”
As the whole room turns wide eyes on her, Becky colors slightly, but stands her ground, “What? You’ve never heard of Superbat?”
And thankfully, Dean’s spared from having to respond to that by Señora Hanscum’s entrance.
“Sorry there, kiddos! The Xerox is down and it’s made my life one big poop storm this morning! Now, who’s got the answer to question one?”
Today when Dean’s packing up, it’s Gabe’s voice that interrupts him.
“So Dean-O, you ever go cruising?” the blonde-haired boy asks. Dean looks up, seeing that Cas has already left the room and Gabe, uncharacteristically since he’s usually attached to the taller boy like he’s Cas’ frickin’ guardian angel, has remained behind.
“Uh, no, not really,” Dean answers dumbly. “Cruising,” is what the popular kids at Dean’s high school do on Friday nights when it’s not football season. As far as Dean knows, considering he’s never had reason nor desire to go, it involves driving around the trendy downtown area in nearby Overland Park, looking for other teenagers to catcall and otherwise flirt obnoxiously with. If you’re lucky, you end up making out with someone in the backseat of a car, while whoever’s driving pretends not to notice. It’s not exactly Dean’s scene.
Schooling his expression to something more serious than Dean’s used to seeing on the tiny trickster’s features, Gabe looks meaningfully to where Cas just exited the classroom before saying, “Maybe you should think about it. Tonight, for example.” With that, he claps a very confused Dean on the back and saunters out of the quickly emptying classroom.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Dean complains almost 12 hours later, as he steers the Impala down Overland Park’s main drag.
“Look, worst case scenario, we end up at Smashburger and you get to share your chocolate Oreo shake with me,” responds Charlie reasonably.
“Your worst case scenarios lack imagination,” he grumbles, but feels relieved 45 minutes later when Charlie’s prediction appears to be coming true as the two of them walk into the familiar fast food chain.
“Fancy meeting you two here,” bellows Gabriel from the counter, looking incredibly pleased, before turning to place his order.
“Winchester. Bradbury,” greets Cas as those clear blue eyes seem to swallow Dean whole.
“Hey guys,” Dean responds, rubbing a nervous hand along the back of his neck.
“’Sup bitches!” Charlie greets cheerfully, flashing a Vulcan salute before sidling up next to Gabe to order she and Dean’s milkshakes. He always gets the chocolate Oreo and she orders the strawberry, the two of them trading halfway through.
As the four wait for their orders, Dean turns as he hears the clearly flustered cashier say apologetically, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I just can’t understand you.”
The woman who was attempting to order a moment ago in halting English breaks off and starts speaking to an older woman behind her in rapid and clearly frustrated Spanish. They’re speaking far too quickly for Dean to make out what they’re saying, but their growing distress is obvious.
The high schoolers grow quiet, trying desperately to look like they’re not observing every bit of the scene unfolding next to them. Dean notices Cas fidgeting, before his attention is drawn back to the trio. The young cashier looks near tears as the first woman gestures between her companion and the menu, before both women appear to give up and turn back toward the doors.
Casting a sheepish glance at Dean, Cas approaches and taps the first woman on the shoulder gently, before addressing her in perfect goddamn Spanish.
Dean watches, dumbfounded, as Cas easily translates the pair’s order, blushing at the effusive thanks from both the women and the now-smiling cashier.
As Cas rejoins their small group, eyes on the tiled floor, Dean glances at Charlie. She looks as stunned and wide-eyed as he feels.
Gabe, however, has a look of glee on his face equal to that of an 8-year-old girl at her first Disney-on-Ice performance (okay, or an 8-year-old Dean. It was awesome and he’s not sorry).
The grinning, golden-haired munchkin bounces on the balls of his feet as he rubs his hands together and says loudly, “So..”
“Maybe we should talk,” Cas announces suddenly, blue eyes finding Dean’s and blessedly cutting off whatever horrendous remark his best friend was about to make.
“Sure,” he answers dazedly, following Cas as he turns and walks out of the restaurant.
Noticing Cas turn toward where Dean can see his gold monstrosity parked in the distance, he cuts him off.
“Dude, no,” he says, gesturing instead at Baby. If Dean’s having this conversation, he’s going to have it on his own fucking turf.
Shrugging, Cas climbs into Baby’s passenger seat as Dean slides behind the wheel, immediately feeling a little more grounded.
“So,” Dean begins, then stops with a sigh as he looks up to see the back of two heads, one blonde and one ginger, seated at the closest fucking table, sipping milkshakes and blatantly not looking at Cas and Dean through the large plate glass window.
He gestures at the nosey-as-fuck duo and says instead, “You maybe wanna have this conversation somewhere more..”
“Private?” Cas asks drily as he nods his agreement.
Cas gives directions as Dean drives and soon they’ve reached a small, poorly lit park that Dean’s never visited, but knows by reputation alone.
“I don’t think people usually come here to talk, Cas,” he says with a pointed raise of his eyebrows.
Cas flushes. “It can serve more than one purpose, Dean,” he answers, annoyance clear in his voice, but Dean’s ears perk up. That might be the first time he’s ever heard Cas say his first name (and the sound of his name in that gravelly voice most definitely does not make other parts of Dean’s anatomy “perk up” as well).
“You come here often?” Dean jokes weakly as he pulls into a parking space.
Cas glances at him and shrugs again, “Not as often as you might think.”
They sit in awkward silence for a moment before Dean starts, “So, you speak Spanish. And not, ‘¿Hola-cómo-estás-dónde-está-la-biblioteca?’ Spanish, but actual, fluent Spanish.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘fluent,’” Cas hedges.
Slouching under Dean’s glare, he amends, “I’m conversational.”
“Conversational,” Dean responds flatly. “What the fuck are you even doing in Spanish II?”
“Colleges require two years of a high school foreign language on an application and the only languages our school offers are Spanish and French.. which I also speak,” he admits with an air of embarrassment.
Dean blinks. “You speak French too?”
Cas’s eyes are on his lap where he’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. The nervous gesture is so out of character it’d be charming if Dean hadn’t just learned that Cas is a giant dick.
“It’s nothing impressive. My dad worked as an interpreter in a couple of US Embassies in European countries when I was younger. We moved around a bit and I’ve always picked up languages easily.”
Dean wants to argue that he and Cas have very different ideas about what the word “impressive” encompasses, but reminds himself that he’s pissed at the guy.
Hardening his expression, he asks instead, “So you’ve spent the last six months pretending to suck at Spanish and making me look like an idiot, lecturing you about proper verb conjugations, because..”
Cas looks up at Dean through his dark lashes and as pretty as the look was on Lisa, she’s got nothing on the breathtaking boy in front of him.
“It seemed like a good excuse to talk to the cute boy who sits in front of me in class?”
The record scratches in Dean’s brain.
Cas just called him cute.
Cas Novak lived in Europe, speaks at least three languages, and thinks that he, Dean Winchester, is cute.
Cas stares at him, chewing on his bottom lip nervously and shit, Dean’s supposed to say something here. He’s sure of it. He just has no idea what.
What comes out is, “So, does that mean you’re bisexual?” Okay, that probably could have been better, but Dean’s honestly curious (and a little excited) to hear the answer. He’s never actually talked to someone else who shares his sexuality before.
Cas hesitates before answering, “I’m.. indifferent.”
Dean mulls that over a minute before asking, “So why didn’t you say anything? You know, before?”
Cas stares at him.
“We live in Kansas,” and okay, point. “I figured there was a 50/50 chance that I’d get a date or get decked.”
And see, that’s an entirely reasonable argument, Charlie.
“Oh,” Dean clears his throat.
After a pause he adds a stilted, “I wouldn’t have, you know. Decked you.”
And Jesus Christ, is there a limit on how much awkward can possibly fit into one conversation? Because they have to be pushing the line here.
Cas’ expression clears though, and he offers Dean a small smile. It might not be his usual smirk, but it still makes Dean go all melty.
“Yeah,” Dean breathes, and then, because his brain and mouth are still operating at different speeds, he blurts, “Wait, if you needed two foreign language credits, couldn’t you have just taken an online class or something.”
Another shrug, “Probably, but it was easier to just sign up for Spanish and take the easy ‘A.’”
Dean’s inner nerd (and his outer nerd, because who is he kidding? They’re one and the same), bristles, “So what, you’re okay with just coasting?”
“Dean,” Cas says, clearly amused, “It’s just high school. Unless you’re one of those people who thinks these are the ‘best years of our lives?’”
He actually does the finger quotes and Dean can’t help but grin at the thought that his super cool crush is secretly such a dork.
“Fuck, I hope not,” he answers with a laugh. “I’m not sure what your high school experience has been like, but I’m sure as hell hoping there’s more to life than this.”
Eyes darting to Dean’s lips, Cas replies shyly, “I can think of one thing that could make it better.”
Pulse ratcheting up, Dean swallows and whispers, already leaning in toward the blue-eyed boy, “Oh yeah?”
They pause there, suspended in time and space, inches and miles separating them. Then, Cas’s eyes flick to Dean’s for a moment and Dean falls into the blue, into Cas, landing softly against dry, pink lips ready to catch him. Cas’ lips press back against Dean’s, parting slightly and drawing him in with small, open-mouthed kisses.
Pausing, Cas gently removes Dean’s glasses, folding them and placing them carefully on Baby’s dash. Then the other boy shifts closer on the bench seat and Dean uses the new angle to deepen their renewed kiss, his tongue tracing the seem of Cas’ slightly chapped lips. Cas opens immediately, his gently probing tongue as eager to taste and explore as Dean’s.
Cataloguing each new sensation, Dean compares this kiss to the girls he’s kissed in the past. Cas’ lips are thinner, his features more angular than Dean’s usual kissing partners, but the feel of Cas’ stubble scraping along his jaw sends a thrill straight down, making Dean’s stomach leap on its way to his groin.
Dean’s trying desperately to remember what one does with one’s hands during a kiss when Cas answers the question for him, scooting forward until their upper bodies are pressed together, resting his hand tentatively on Dean’s upper thigh. Ah, yes, touching. Touching is good.
Dean presses forward, cupping one hand behind Cas’ head, threading his fingers in the short hair at the base of his skull, while the fingers of his other hand trail down Cas’ spine until they come to a rest on the boy’s lower back. Cas shivers and gasps at the feeling, breaking their kiss as his head falls back and Dean immediately seizes the advantage, surging forward and sealing his lips on the pulse point in Cas’ throat. Cas lets out a noise that’s half hum and half groan as Dean trails hot, sucking kisses along his neck and stubbled jaw.
Feeling his cock steadily thickening in his jeans at the feel of Cas’ firm chest pressing against his own where he’s used to soft breasts and the scrape of his teeth along an Adam’s apple where he’s accustomed to yielding skin, Dean pulls away from the other boy, panting. He locks eyes with Cas and sees the boy’s eyes darken further in the dim glow of the streetlights. Licking his lips and not missing the way Cas’ eyes follow the movement of his tongue, Dean glances at the backseat.
Without saying a word, Cas pulls himself over the seat back, leaving Dean to scramble after him. Impatient, as soon as Dean is halfway over the seat, Cas yanks the slightly taller boy the rest of the way, so that Dean lands on top of him. Dean’s dick definitely takes notice of the completely fucking awesome manhandling and he leans down, kissing Cas with a newfound desperation, fingers fumbling with the buttons of the other boy’s shirt. As soon as Cas’ shirt falls open to reveal skin, Dean pulls back enough to run his hands up and down the firm muscles of Cas’ chest and abs, drinking in the sight of the panting boy beneath him. Gazing up at him with lidded eyes, Cas pulls at the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, wasting no time in divesting him of it as soon as Dean leans forward enough for him to do so.
Cas’ hands trace along Dean’s abs, making his stomach curl with arousal, but when they fall to rest on the button of his jeans, Dean inhales sharply and freezes. Noticing the reaction, Cas immediately pulls back, sitting up and moving Dean off him with a gentle smile and gentler hands.
Coughing awkwardly, Dean stutters, “Sorry, I’ve just.. never done this before.. with a guy.”
Dean’s not exactly inexperienced, but the bulk of that experience lies with a sloppy hand job from a girl Dean met at his cousin’s birthday party last year and with Cassie Robinson, the girl Dean dated all last summer. Cassie was Dean’s first real girlfriend and they had spent that summer exploring one another’s bodies with hands and mouths, but they hadn’t gone any further. They almost certainly would have by now, had they still been dating, but Dean hadn’t felt like he could take that final step with someone who didn’t know the full story of his sexuality.
Heart in his throat, Dean had confessed his bisexuality to Cassie, the first and until tonight, only person he’d told outside of his Mom, Sam, and Charlie. She hadn’t recoiled in disgust, like Dean had initially feared, but she had told him she didn’t think she could keep dating him, which was almost worse. Being rejected by Cassie after baring himself to her so fully had been crushing, but being with her while hiding such a big part of himself had felt dishonest. Who it had felt like he was being dishonest to, Cassie or himself, Dean still wasn’t sure.
“I figured as much,” Cas says with an intimate smile that’s more in his eyes than on his lips. “I haven’t either, if that helps,” he adds.
When Dean doesn’t respond right away, he quickly amends, “We can stop though, If you want to.”
Face heating, Dean bites his lip and shakes his head firmly, “No,” he whispers. “I don’t want to stop.”
Meeting Dean’s eyes and moving slowly, giving him plenty of time to back out, Cas leans forward, closing the distance and hovering over Dean as he presses their lips together, his blue button-up falling open around him and grazing Dean’s bare chest. This time, when Cas reaches for Dean’s zipper, Dean leans back to give him more room, lifting his hips as Cas slides his jeans and boxers down to pool below his knees. Sitting there in the backseat of his car, naked to his shins while Cas hovers over him still mostly dressed, legs restrained by the bunched fabric of his pants around his ankles, Dean feels vulnerable in a way he’s never experienced before. His dick leaps in the cool night air, twitching again as Cas’ fingertips trail down his chest and stomach before diverting around Dean’s cock to trace along his balls and on down his thighs. Breath coming faster, Dean moans and his hips give an involuntary thrust, making the other boy chuckle darkly.
Cas’ grip is gentle, exploratory rather than urgent, when he tentatively takes Dean in hand. A look of awe on his face, Cas wraps his hand around Dean’s length, slowly pumping up and down a few times before swiping his thumb around the head in a slow circle, rubbing the digit through the beading pre-come there. Dean’s head falls back against the seat and he lets out a long groan.
“You like that?” Cas asks with a teasing grin.
“Do I like that?” Dean asks incredulously. “Yes, I like that, you fucking asshole.”
Cas’ grin widens and he speeds up the hand on Dean’s dick just enough to drive the other boy fucking crazy, but not enough to actually get him any closer to completion.
“Cas,” Dean gasps out, close to pleading, “Wanna see you. Feel you.”
Sitting up on his knees, Cas releases Dean’s cock while claiming his lips in a hard kiss, before reaching for his own belt buckle. Working quickly, he strips off his own pants and boxer briefs, sitting sideways in the seat to drag and shove the fabric down his legs, attempting to kick off his shoes in the process. He tips to the side as one ankle gets caught in a pants’ leg and Dean snorts a laugh.
“Shut up,” Cas retorts, shoving at Dean’s shoulder. He attempts a glare, but his twitching lips give him away. Needing to feel those lips back on his, Dean reaches for the wild-haired boy, pulling him in by his unbuttoned shirt. Cas comes willingly, straddling Dean’s lap as licks into the younger boy’s mouth. Dean wraps both hands around Cas’ now-bare ass, pulling him forward until Cas’s chest is flush with his own, the two of them groaning in unison as their erections slide against one another.
“Fuck,” Dean sighs as Cas dips his head forward to rest against Dean’s shoulder, both of them breathing unevenly. After a moment, Dean slides his hands around to Cas’ hips, moving the slender boy’s pelvis in slow circles against his own. Cas groans and takes over the movement, grinding and rocking in Dean’s lap, his open shirt hanging loose at his sides and doing its best to shield their naked writhing from the empty parking lot.
“Dean,” Cas pants, hands tightening on Dean’s shoulder, nails digging into the pale flesh there and fuck, Dean hopes they leave a mark. The thought of seeing the leftover impression of Cas fingers against his naked skin drives him even closer to the edge and he groans, his own fingers tightening on Cas’ hips and urging him to increase his pace. Cas complies, his eager movements turning frantic as he gasps and ruts against Dean. The friction of their cocks against their stomachs, against one another, pushes each boy closer and closer to his release, until suddenly Dean stiffens and stills, hands clenching around Cas’ hips as he spills hot come between them. A few manic thrusts later and Cas follows him over the edge, muscular thighs clenching around Dean’s as he comes. He watches Cas’ face, frozen in ecstasy, his sweaty forehead bowed and almost touching Dean’s own, until the spent boy suddenly exhales and slumps forward.
Chuckling, Dean wraps his arms around the other boy’s waist and pulls him close, which makes both of them groan in disgust at the cooling pool of come on their stomachs.
“Please tell me you have some tissues we can clean up with,” Cas mumbles into his neck and Dean smiles.
“There are napkins,” his smile falls and he groans, “in the glovebox.”
Cas’ answering groan is buried in Dean’s shoulder.
Uncertain about what comes next, Dean feels suddenly bereft at the thought that this may have been a one-time thing between them. Needing to savor every moment in case it is, he squeezes Cas again, planting a shy kiss in the crook where the older boy’s neck meets his shoulder.
Feeling Cas’ answering smile pressed into the bare skin of his shoulder, Dean allows himself a relieved sigh. Maybe not a one-time thing after all.
Leaning back, Cas shoots a disgruntled glare at the mess between them before leaning down to swipe up a sock, which he uses to wipe most of the come from his stomach before leaning across the front seat to dig in Dean’s glovebox for the promised napkins.
The view of Cas’ still naked ass makes Dean’s dick give an interested twitch even though he just came 5 minutes ago and he swallows. Definitely not a one-time thing if he has anything to say about it.
Returning, Cas mops at the mess on Dean’s stomach before handing him the rest of the napkins to finish the job himself while he pulls on his underwear, jeans, and shoes.. sans socks, of course. As Dean tugs on his shirt, nose wrinkling at the sticky pull of cotton against the come-stained skin of his stomach, he risks a glance at where Cas sits, doing up his buttons.
“So, what happens now?” he asks softly.
Cas drops his hands, leaving his shirt half-buttoned, and pins Dean with those same blue eyes that’ve held his attention for the past six months.
“I think that’s up to you,” he says seriously, before adding, “I won’t out you, whatever you decide, in case you’re worried about that.”
“I’m not,” Dean assures him quickly and surprisingly enough finds that it’s true. And isn’t that something to think about?
One side of his mouth quirking up in a smile, Cas leans in to press one last kiss to Dean’s lips, blue eyes searching green for a moment before the older boy slips out of the car and climbs back into the front seat.
As Dean follows, he thinks that maybe he’s not the only one worried this will be a one-time thing and that gives him something else to think about.
And Dean does.
He thinks on the silent drive back to Cas’ car. He thinks as Cas plugs his phone number into Dean’s phone and squeezes his hand before climbing out of the Impala with a cool, two fingered salute. He thinks as he drives home to Lawrence, as he lays awake in his bed that night, and as he dodges Charlie’s phone calls and text messages the entire next day.
Dean thinks about Charlie and Malcolm Reynolds. He thinks about Cassie Robinson and honesty; about his mom and Aaron Bass; about John Winchester and secret lives. He thinks about Leia and Han Solo; about stubble and soft breasts and a blue-eyed boy writhing above him in the darkness. Dean thinks about Cas, about Spanish, and about fingers intertwined on the seat between them. He thinks about Tolkien and meeting his fear.
Dean thinks about himself.
Fidgeting nervously in his seat at the beginning of second period, Dean avoids Charlie’s worried eyes, glancing instead between the clock and the door. Despite texting him yesterday, this will be the first time he sees Cas since.. well, since.
Cas finally walks into the room, eyes immediately finding Dean in his usual seat. As he makes his way toward their row, he takes in Dean’s anxiously jiggling leg and smirks, just like he does every goddamn day.
Following his friend across the room, Gabe distracts Dean from his nervous staring with a sly, “Happy Monday, Dean-O! Do anything .. fun this weekend?” The shorter boy pulls the lollipop he’s currently sucking out of his mouth with a suggestive pop, smirking at Dean.
Countering the smirk with one of his own, he ignores the question, “Representing the Lollipop Guild today, Gabe?” He usually avoids making munchkin references out loud, since it gives the other boy such an obvious opening for any number of Wizard of Oz jokes at Dean’s expense, but today..
Gabe barely gets his mouth opened around his gleeful retort when he’s cut short by Cas, sliding into his usual desk behind Dean and leaning forward to drop a kiss on his cheek before greeting him with, “Hello Dean.”
Dean bites his lip and grins down at his lap.
“Fucking, FINALLY!” comes the exasperated shout of resident-stoner, Andy Gallagher, from three rows away.
Dean’s head jerks up to see the entire room staring at him and Cas.
He whips around as Becky actually fucking squeals and calls out, “Who had this weekend in the pool?”
“There’s a pool?!”
Chuck pulls out his battered notebook and begins flipping through the pages, “I’ve got it written down. Let’s see, it’s right here. It’s..”
“Me!” Charlie screeches delightedly, looking only slightly apologetic at Dean’s betrayed glare.
“I tried to tell you,” she points out reasonably, “and I stayed out of the pool for the longest time, but the stakes were getting ridiculous. You just won me 200 bucks, dude!”
Dean and Cas stare at one another, wide-eyed, as Dean gestures around the room helplessly, “You mean you all..”
“What?” Gabe grins wickedly around the stick of his lollipop, “you thought nobody knew?”