Actions

Work Header

A Long Time Coming

Work Text:

“Sir, your 3 PM appointment is here.”

Scowling, Dean eyed the clock - it was almost ten after, and he’d been waiting diligently, unable to start any new task lest he be interrupted. He’d already thought this whole Sandover-wide wellness initiative was a bullshit waste of time; he resisted the urge to tell Marv to send whoever had come away, but if he did that, Adler would hear about it, and if Adler heard about it, Dean would get an earful, and he’d already wasted ten minutes, might as well get the benefit to go with it…

“Send them in.”

The door opened a moment later and a man stepped in, appearance so striking that Dean could only blink at him. Usually, Dean didn’t give much of a shit what others looked like. Usually, Dean watched others solely to read their emotions, gauge their negotiating skills, assess if they were bluffing. Usually, even if Dean found someone attractive, he ignored the feeling, because relationships took time and sex was work and he’d rather focus on his career and a good night’s sleep. 

But holy hell was the company-assigned massage therapist hot . There was no excuse for the visceral reaction Dean had to the man’s height, his lean muscularity, his dishevelled bedhead and scruffy cheeks, his piercing gaze...even the faint patchouli smell that wafted in with him couldn’t dampen the unexpected arousal burgeoning in Dean. 

“You’re late.”

“Hey…” The man frowned, lifted a hand, and squinted at his palm. “...Smith? Really?” He dropped his hand, and Dean got a glimpse of sloppy smudged times and letters as it fell to his side. “Your name is really Smith ?”

“...it’s the most common last name in the country. How can this be a surprise?”

The man turned that squinty gaze on Dean, blinked at him, quirked his head to the side, and broke into a slow, appreciative smile. “Fine, Smith. Definitely not a fake name, Mr. Smith. Whatever. I’m Cas Krushnic. Which is not the most common name in Russia, and also isn’t my real name. You ready for your massage?”

Too shocked to reply, Dean could only stare at the man...Krushnic, or whatever is name actually was. Of all the massage therapists in Columbus, this was who the company had picked? What the actual hell???

Well...he seems insane...so that’s a negative...

“Yes or no, Smith? I’m an explicit consent kind of guy.”

...but he’s also insanely hot, and he’s already wasted this much of my time, and he’s asking permission to put his hands all over me...fuck it.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh?” asked Krushnic with a...a smirk? Maybe a leer? Dean didn’t know him well enough yet to be sure, but that could definitely be a leer. “You think I’m here for a quickie?”

“You’re here to give me a massage, Mr. Krushnic,” Dean replied firmly. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Pity…” Krushnic shook his head and walked over. “...not here two whole minutes and already bossman is trying to destroy my belief in happy endings.” Dean’s fancy ergonomic office chair left his back exposed, and Krushnic at least moved professionally, stepping behind him, laying hands on his shoulders, and pressing his palms into Dean’s back in a rolling motion.

Oh...ohhh...even with Dean’s undershirt and button up and jacket in the way, that was good…like, Dean had had his fair share of massages, he wasn’t above some self-pampering when he had the time, and fuck knew he had the money...but with a single rub of hand on stiff back, he already wanted to melt.

Maybe that was why Sandover had hired this guy?

Even if he was a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen?

Krushnic was silent and all business with his hands on Dean’s shoulders, kneading, rotating, pressing, and as he worked and soothing heat trailed through Dean’s body, his thoughts wandered.

Unless he’s saving the dirty talk for me and me alone...and for some reason thinking I won’t report him?

...will I?

Not if he keeps moving like that, I won’t…

“May I shift your clothes off your shoulders?” Krushnic murmured. Dean nodded. “Words, Mr. Smith.”

Right.

Explicit consent.

“Do it,” Dean confirmed. Krushnic put a hand on the side of the chair, wheeled it back from the desk, and stepped to Dean’s front. Dean half-expected to be groped when Krushnic’s fingers found his buttons - half-hoped for it, too, if he was being honest with himself - but Krushnic did only as he’d suggested he would, removing Dean’s jacket, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt, and tugging his shirt and undershirt down to his forearms. Warm skin exposed to the cool office air broke out in goosebumps, and Dean’s revealed nipples scrunched painfully. Fabric yet brushed over his neck and down the center of his chest.

Krushnic hadn’t removed his tie.

Why would he? Not like that was in the way of a shoulder rub...and rub Krushnic did, staying in front of Dean, working over his clavicle, his upper arms, and the taut, shaved flesh of his pecs. An involuntary appreciative sound leaked from Dean as Krushnic shifted to his neck, working up it with sharp jabs and firm twists. Krushnic chuckled softly...and his palm pressed directly against Dean’s throat, cutting off the sound Dean had been making and interrupting his airflow mid-inhale.

Oh, hell.

The tingling warmth already suffusing Dean intensified, and fuck his dumbass blood flow for heading straight south.

How did he know?

“Did you like that?” asked Krushnic.

Seriously, it’s not like I’ve got kinky submissive fuck tattooed on my forehead, yet somehow, guys like him always seem to know! I’m such a goddamn mark!

Dean forced his eyes open and looked up; Krushnic was staring down at him, a wicked twinkle in his eyes...how had Dean not noticed how brilliant blue they were, could the guy get any hotter?...and yeah, that was definitely a leer, and Krusnic’s gaze was pinned on the stirring of Dean’s pants.

No, it’s not that he and those like him can read my mind...he’s been testing the waters since the moment he walked into my office, coming in late, pushing my buttons literally and figuratively, seeing what I’m willing to tolerate...and I’ve made it damn obvious that I’m touch-starved enough to accept his sass, and I didn’t say word one when he took off my layers but not my tie. It’s not rocket science to figure out. It’s not like I’ve been subtle.

Forcing down a swallow that he could hardly get past the continued pressure of Krushnic’s hand on his throat, Dean caught Krushnic’s eye, forced the bastard to look at him , and said, “What do you think?”

“I think...believe it or not, I’m a hopeless romantic,” said Krushnic flippantly, hands still rubbing, and working, and rubbing, and working, along Dean’s shoulders and neck, casually shifting the tie aside as necessary. “And I’ve given enough massages to not read much into an erection. Most guys - especially guys like you - get hard when I give ‘um a good rubbing.”

“Do they?” Dean asked steadily. Nodding, Krushnic hummed agreement and worked his thumb painfully against the hollow spot at the base of Dean’s throat. “And just how good a rubbing do you give most guys ?”

“Aw, cute...common old Smith wants to know if he’s so common after all...should I tell you my secret?” Krushnic teased, circling out of Dean’s view and shifting to working on his upper back again. Dean immediately missed the touch to his throat, missed the hint of danger that stiffened his spine and cock everytime Krushnic’s hands approached his neck. 

“Only if you want to.” Dean attempted to assume an unaffected air, closing his eyes again; Krushnic chuckled, and curled his fingers just close enough to Dean’s throat that anticipation had Dean trembling, just far enough that he had to resist leaning into the touch. So much for being unaffected. Krushnic was one hell of a fucker - mouthy, smart, perceptive, no-nonsense, and way to fucking good with his hands. 

“‘Only if you want to,’” Krushnic mimicked. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you’re behaving fuckin’ weird for a guy who isn’t hoping to get some,” Dean replied steadily. Every flutter of his throat, every inhale, every swallow, every hard syllable caused his throat to brush against Krushnic’s extended fingers, and he craved more touch to his neck, but he’d be damned if he’d give it up as easy as Krushnic seemed to think he would. Krushnic barked a surprised laugh...and moved his hand away.

Son of a bitch !

“I like you, Smith,” Krushnic murmured, and the genuine note in the simple praise sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. Another change in angle - Krushnic was in front of him again, palming at his chest, playing with his tie. “And I do want to answer. No, I don’t do this often...hardly ever...these corporate gigs pay way too well for me to chance losing them just to get my rocks off.” His voice was low, sultry, strangely at odds, strangely in harmony, with the continued rubbing of his hands. Dude could multitask like whoa, and Dean was getting harder by the moment. “It takes a very special kind of person...all the right hints...none of the wrong ones...for me to take this kind of chance. After all, if I misjudge even once, it’ll cost me my career…here, lemme loosen your tie...”

Deft hands grabbed the fabric, tugged it hard enough to dig into the back of his neck...and then slid the knot up , tightening it like a collar.

“Know…” Dean swallowed and silk dug into his Adam’s apple. “...know what you mean…” Fuck, that was hot...fuck, Krushnic was hot...had he really been unhappy about this meeting? Highlight of his goddamn day, even if they didn’t do anything more than they already have.

“Thought you might,” said Krushnic appreciatively. “Director of Sales, it says on the sign...gotta love a good gamble to get into a position like that...one bad deal and poof!” Air gusted over Dean’s face and the tie tightened again. “No more executive office.” With a meager inhale, Dean drew in the clove-scented breath that Krushnic had exhaled, hot and tantalizing as a touch as it filled his lungs. His heart pounded, his cock aching against his trousers. “Same thing’ll happen if we’re caught now, by the way.”

“Don’t I know it…” Dean rasped. The tie dropped, fabric tickling over his sensitive skin, and Krushnic’s hands returned to his shoulders. “...this isn’t a set up, is it? Adler put you up to this?”

“You put me up to this,” replied Krushnic, sliding around to Dean’s back again, sticking so close to him that his belly and crotch rubbed over Dean’s forearm...and fuck, yeah, that was an erection, and this was a lawsuit in the making. 

And Krushnic hadn’t even asked.

Krushnic rubbed at his back, rubbed at his neck, tugging again and again on the tie, forcing Dean’s heart rate up faster and faster as fear of air loss and uncertainty and anticipation left him feverish and out of control.

So much for explicit consent.

Not Dean was complaining...if he didn’t want this, he could open his eyes, say no, move away, remove the tie. Though his shirt pulled down around his arms did bind him mildly, he could escape easily whenever he wanted, and Krushnic could be put in his place with a single sharp no .

And that Dean was absolutely certain that was the case, and that he wanted this anyway, was why he didn’t rebuke the massage therapist. They didn’t know each other. There was no reason to trust the man...hell, he looked and acted irresponsible as fuck, like a pothead hippie dickhead who’d rolled out of bed and sauntered into the Sandover building by accident...but he gave one hell of a good massage...and Dean had been in enough bad one night stands, back in his college days, to know what a good one looked and sounded like.

“But if you let me down, I won’t mind,” Krushnic added when Dean held silent.

That. A good one-off roll in the hay sounded exactly like that.

Maybe even more than a one-off…?

“Wasn’t thinking of you going down…” Dean murmured. Another of those criminal chuckles steamed from Krushnic’s wicked mouth. If Dean could come just from a sound, it’d be that noise, coming out of this man.

“Very well...so, at the risk of both our livelihoods...here’s what I’m thinking, Mr. Smith…”

That’s true...there’s a niggling fear a colleague is setting me up...but he’s got just as much to worry about from me. We’re strangers, and objectively, even as much as we’ve done is already a terrible idea, much less doing more…

“I’m all ears, Mr. Krushnic.”

...but it’s been so long since I’ve indulged, so long since I’ve been touched, so long since I’ve had an hour carved out of my schedule solely for the purpose of indulging...

Krushnic spluttered an incredulous laugh. 

...sure, when this hour was set aside, the powers that be were imagining I’d get a massage and then return to work refreshed…

Cas . Call me fuckin’ Cas!”

...but an hour is an hour, and plenty of time for some fun, and I will definitely return to work refreshed, so...in for a penny, in for a pound?

“Actually, I was thinking of calling you sir ,” Dean admitted.

“Were you now?” Krushnic asked, jocularity evaporating, tie tugging tight around Dean’s throat. He gasped ineffectively, trying to get enough air, and couldn’t, couldn’t...fuck, that was awful, and incredible, and terrifying, and amazing . “Well, Smith...I want to watch you choke on my cock while I keep rubbing those far-too-tense shoulders of yours, and then I want to bend you over this pompous desk and watch you come just from my fucking your tight little hole and yanking on this gorgeous tie. What do you think of that?”

Dean groaned; he regretted it immediately, losing what little air he had left, but he couldn’t hold it back.

Fuck, that sounded perfect .

Why had he told himself he didn’t have time for sex?

Why had he told himself he had to focus solely on his career?

Why had he neglected his needs to such an extent that some dirty talk from a stranger could get him close to coming in his pants?

“Answer me, boy .”

Dean Smith was a fucking idiot.

“Yes, sir,” he gagged out. Bright splotches like ink splattering into water danced across his closed eyelids. “Sounds amazing, sir…please...”

The pressure on the tie released and Dean gasped in a deep breath, collapsing forward against his table. His muscles felt liquid as vertigo swept him ‘round and around.

Hands wrapped around his shoulders, no longer teasing, no longer taunting - gentle, and kind, and strong, and supportive. “This is a lot in a hurry, Smith,” Krushnic murmured in his ear. A shiver wracked Dean from head to toe, and pre-release dampened his boxers. “Tell me now if you don’t actually want to do this.”

“Fuck, Cas, do I want to do this…” he whispered in hoarse reply. “...and if it’s half as mind-blowing as I expect it to be, I’d be up, or down, or whatever euphemism you fucking want, for doing it again, and again, and again...though I guess I should ask...is this a sex worker thing? Cause if it is, that’s cool, and I’m down, and I’d absolutely pay for the privilege of gagging on your dick...and if it’s not, I’m down with that too...just don’t want to make any assumptions, one way or the other.”

“Today is pay-to-play by necessity,” Cas acknowledged. “We are both on the clock, after all, and your head honchos are paying me handsomely, though I can’t imagine they thought I’d fuck the merchandise.”

“...I’m not the merchandise…”

“You are literally the head of merchandise…”

“...fair…”

“...but no, I’m several years past domming professionally. It paid for school but took all the fun out of it…”

“...pity…”

“Not at all,” Cas replied. “Because it means I guarantee...you seem like exactly my flavor of fun...and you know I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t. But I appreciate your sex-worker-positive attitude, yet another sign I’ve still got it.”

“The fuck--” Dean groaned as Cas found a particularly bad knot and kneaded at it. “--the fuck does that mean?”

“Means I can read a sub in a glance, and I had you pegged from the moment I walked in this room, and seeing that I’m right is…” Cas rubbed, and rubbed, and rubbed, at that same spot, until the tension dissipated and the page eased and Dean moaned his appreciation and trembled as the released pressure coursed through him.

“No…” An aftershock trembled through Dean and he shuddered. “...no pegging necessary,” he whispered. “Unless you’re into that…”

He could come from the sound of Cas chuckling.

“Once I’ve got you soft and pliant and oh-so-relaxed, how ‘bout we have a long talk about what you’re into, Smith?”

He could come from Cas pulling on his tie.

“Please…”

He could come from Cas massaging his back.

“...yes?”

He could definitely come from Cas fucking into his body and choking his throat, no touch on his dick needed.

“...sir…”

But there was one thing he needed…

“Talk to me, boy…”

“...call me Dean?” 

“Of course, Dean…”

To his shame...and his pleasure that he was ashamed, a healthy dose of shame had always gotten Dean going, surely part of the reason he was so gone already was that he was sitting in his office, colleagues separated from them by only thin walls, Marv sitting at his desk out front pretending to work while actually playing solitaire, with the risk of exposure at any moment...Dean whimpered to hear that deep, sinful voice say his name.

“...you ready to choke on my cock, Dean?”

So sinful.

So gorgeous.

So tempting.

So exciting.

So... essential.

Fuck if Dean’s bosses hadn’t been right...he really did need to carve out an hour for some harmless self-indulgence…

“I am, sir.”

...and he was going to be a very productive employee for his new-found master.

“Excellent. On your knees.”

And Dean obeyed, never opening his eyes, never trying to escape his shirt.

Firm hands brushed against his shoulders and hard cock brushed against his lips, and Dean dutifully spread his mouth open wide and allowed Cas to thrust in.

Even his cock tasted like patchouli...and rubber...like the bastard had found some bizarre hippie-flavored condom.

And fuck, but it was big, and hard, and long, and Cas didn’t hesitate for a goddamn instant before he pulled back and thrust back in, and Dean gagged. Another thrust, and another thrust, and another, and tears leaked from Dean’s eyes, and pre-release leaked from his dick, and spit leaked from his mouth. He was already shockingly dizzy, amazingly light-headed, stultifyingly hot; within moments of Cas starting, he was gone - a body to be used and abused and nothing more. Floating above himself, choking within himself, Dean went soft and pliant, let Cas’ massaging hands hold him up, let Cas’ thrusting hips smack into his face, let Cas’ thick cock embed deep in his throat. He didn’t try to think, didn’t try to act, didn’t try to help or hinder.

He didn’t have to think.

He didn’t have to act.

He didn’t have to help.

He didn’t have to hinder.

He simply had to be , and it was glorious . He had no idea how long passed, how many times he choked, how many times he spluttered and moaned and gasped. He felt electrified, needy and desperate, but patience was so easy. Cas had told him his intentions, and, drifting within a mess of emotions, Dean knew, knew ...Cas wouldn’t let him down.

As long as Dean didn’t let Cas down.

Dean would never let Cas down.

Maybe...maybe I shouldn’t already be this deep?

Hands grabbed Dean’s shoulder’s bruisingly hard and hauled him up. His lips left Cas’ cock with a pop and slurp, and he moaned at the sudden absence, swooned at the sudden influx of air into his lungs.

Maybe I shouldn’t trust this thoroughly?

Cas was speaking, crisp and sharp, but even his voice couldn’t pierce Dean’s blissed-out mellowness.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this here, shouldn’t be doing this now?

A slap struck his backside, and he gasped, back arching, throat aching as cold air dragged over abused flesh.

Maybe not…

“Answer me, boy!”

...but fuck if it doesn’t feel amazing to want again, to be allowed to want again.

“Yes, sir! Fuck me, sir!” Dean had no idea if that was an answer to Cas’ question - no idea if he was even intelligible, as destroyed and dry as his mouth felt. It seemed to suit, though, because fabric ripped away from his backside, cold air struck his ass…

...and lubricated, spit-coated rubber filled Dean’s hole…

...and the tie tightened around Dean’s throat…

...and Cas pulled out and thrust back in, slapping skin on skin, shoving Dean’s hips into hard wood, causing the desk to slide over the hardwood floor with a tortured grinding noise. Dean tried to get a breath, but he couldn’t - couldn’t - couldn’t - no matter how he strained, how he gagged. He wasn’t a body, even, not any more, only a mess of contradictory emotions, pain and pleasure, fear and bliss, need and satisfaction. Cas was as unrelenting with Dean’s ass as he’d been with Dean’s mouth, pounding in and in and in. One hand played with the tie, tightening and loosening it, pulling it and abrading around with it. The other cupped over Dean’s mouth and noise, blocking more airflow, curtailing the sounds Dean hadn’t been able to hold inside.

“If you give us away, you stupid bastard…” Cas growled in his ear, voice crackling into crystal focus. “...I will punish you within an inch of your life, I swear it.” 

Mental flailing, endless drifting, found an anchor in Cas’ voice, in Cas’ dick, in Cas’ hand; Dean bit into the flesh to ground himself, rocked back into Cas’ thrusts, got one good breath of air before Cas strangled him again…

“...good, better…” Thrust. “...you keep that filthy mouth shut…” Thrust. “...and those filthy legs spread…” Thrust. “...and you show come on my cock like a good little boy…” Thrust. “...and I swear…” Hard pull on the tie. “...Dean…” Thrust. “...I’ll give you everything you need…” Thrust. “...for as long as you need it…” A gulp of air. “...would you like that?” 

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

And Dean answered with his climax, pressure exploding outward through his body, hips bucking back against Cas, cock spitting come onto the plastic mat that protected his office floor from his chair.

“Holy shit ,” Cas groaned, humping into him hard. The hold on the tie disappeared and, gasping in desperate inhales, Dean trembled through a second wave of bliss as Cas fucked into him, and fucked into him, and fucked into him, and then went still.

Dean went boneless against his desk.

“Good...good boy…” whispered Cas, stepping back from him. Lube dribbled hot down Dean’s thigh as Cas’ cock came free and Cas’ hands left him, followed by the wet slippery sound of spent condom being removed. Dean slumped to the floor, breathing hard. He felt like he’d forgotten how; his mind reeled, his chest ached, and his cock went slowly flaccid against his thighs.

Shit, he’d ruined his suit.

Good thing he kept an extra in his office closet...ever since that time he’d lost a deal because he’d spilled coffee on himself, he’d figured, better prepared than fucked...but he’d been wrong...or at least only partially right. Because, even better than that, was prepared and fucked.

“You okay, Dean?” Cas asked, dropping to his knees at Dean’s side.

“I’m...I’m awesome …” he managed with a grin and a thumbs up. Hopefully he had lozenges too, because even a clean suit wasn’t gonna do fuck-all for his voice.

Did he have another meeting that day?

He couldn’t remember...fuck, he was lucky he remembered his own name...and there was no way he could ask Marv now .

“We’ve got about ten minutes left...should we finish the massage?” asked Cas.

Dean had no idea if massage was a euphemism for something.

Dean was so infinitely past caring. 

Asking was pointless. Instead, he slumped and crashed into Cas’ side with a fwump of fabric. Cas was fully clothed, even his dick stowed again, and aside from some blotches of dark wetness around the crotch of his linen pants and a flush on his ruddy cheeks, hardly showed how off the script they’d gone. With a gentle smile, Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders, loosened his tie, and gently smoothed over his abused muscles.

“Were you serious about wanting to mess around again sometime?” asked Cas. He sounded vulnerable, and adorable, and something unexpected and warm and tender unfurled in Dean’s chest.

Ludicrous. That’s just the after-effects of oxygen deprivation, it has to be. But…

“Yeah...yeah, I really do…” Reaching a hand up to fumble over his deck, Dean felt around, felt around...and found his cell phone. His fingers hardly felt capable of lifting the light weight...he dragged it to the edge and caught it on his knee, letting gravity do the hard work. He thumbed through the screens, opened his calendar...phew, he didn’t have another meeting until some cocktail thing at 6, and he could probably bitch out of that by claiming pressing deadlines...and scrolled through to the weekend. 

Cas eyed him uncertainly - really, I was so mediocre that you’re playing with your phone instead of talking to me, Dean thought that look might mean, refusing to consider how he could read so much depth into so slight an expression shift after so brief an acquaintance - and broke into a troubled frown.

“You free Saturday? 8 PM?”

That troubled frown morphed into a smile like fucking sunrise, and screw what Dean knew to be ludicrous, that was definitely affection blossoming inside him.

“I am.”

... and oxygen deprivation...after all, no reason it can’t be both…

“Awesome. My place or yours?”

“...let’s do yours. More comfortable for you there.”

“...and more fun toys for us to use, too…” leered Dean.

“...that is making one hell of an assumption about me, Dean,” said Cas seriously. 

“Gotta make an ass of someone in this relationship, right?” Dean laughed. Cas blinked at him. “...yeah, that sounded better in my head.”

“Don’t worry about asses,” Cas replied, still seriously, though his lips twitched toward a smile. “I will take excellent care of yours. And you can play with mine, too, if you want. I’m pretty easy.”

“Really?” asked Dean dryly, wiggling his hips to set his flaccid, still-exposed cock jiggling. “I never would have guessed.”

“Takes one to know one…”

“...that’s true…” Dean conceded. “And...not gonna lie?...this one…” He pressed a fist to his bared chest. “...is really looking forward to getting to know this one…” He shifted the hand to lay flat over Cas’ heart.

Cas blinked at him...and then went adorably, preciously pink...and then smiled, small and sincere...and oh yeah, Dean was gone, and it wasn’t just subspace, and it wasn’t just some good ol’ erotic asphyxiation fucking with his senses, and it wasn’t just the high of misbehaving at work, and it wasn’t just getting laid for the first time in years, and it wasn’t just anyone thing.

It was Cas.

It was Dean.

It was this weird, perfect synchronicity they’d found in minutes, despite barely knowing each other, despite talking about nothing, despite the insanity of having sex here and now.

It was awesome .

Yet Cas was still silent, and watching him, and looking so wholesome for someone who’d just behaved so filthily, and Dean wondered if he’d showed too much.

Flushing embarrassment, Dean muttered, “I mean...if you want to...but only if you want...I’m down for no strings attached sex, too, if that’s more your gig…”

“What’d I say earlier?” asked Cas, a sharp edge in his voice.

“Uh...all kinds of fucking things?” Dean replied. “You expect me to remember ever innuendo you dropped within two minutes of walking in here? Cause, spoilers, memory games ain’t ever gonna be my kink.”

“I said I wanted to know what you wanted, Dean...and if that’s what you want...like...a relationship...and to spend more time together...and see if this bizarre-ass chemistry we sparked is something real or a flash in the pan...I’d like that, Dean...I’d like that a lot.”

Awesome.

“Who you callin’ bizarre ass?” Dean said with a pout. Cas laughed, beautifully, and painted a kiss on his cheek...and an alarm went off.

“Our hour is done, Mr. Smith,” he said seriously, rising. “But I’ll see you on Saturday, at 8 PM...here’s my card...text me the details?”

“You know I will. Sir.”

Dean grinned up at his new...dom...boyfriend...fuckbuddy...massage therapist??...whatever the fuck Cas was to him.

And Cas grinned down at his new...hell, Dean would be thrilled to be his sub, his bottom, his boytoy, his client, his anything...it was all good, and they could negotiate the details later.

“Bye, Dean.”

And Cas was gone.

But Dean knew...it wouldn’t be for long.

Best. Workday. Ever.