Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean: Hey man, so sorry but can we take a rain check?

Cas frowns down at his phone. He has been looking forward to this all week. Over the last month they’ve moved from exchanging messages on the dating app, to texting, to setting up an actual date.

Or that was what was supposed to happen tonight, anyway.

He feels as if he’s five years old and one of his older brothers has just snatched his birthday present out of his hands.

Just with considerably more jerking off to the same three pictures he had from the app. And then the new ones Dean sent him a few days ago. Different ones. Ones just for him.

His knuckles are turning white from clutching the phone too hard. He takes a deep breath and decides to reply like an adult. Without anything snarky about the ‘hey man’ and without spilling his disappointment down the line.

Dean writes again before he gets the chance to even turn on the display that has gone black.

Dean: Just got off work and it’s gonna take ages to get home and change

Dean: Tomorrow maybe?

Dean: Sorry, stupid suggestion. Know you have that work thing

Dean is still typing so Cas writes fast to intercept him before they’re suddenly gonna be deep into comparing calenders.

Cas: Or you can just come as you are?

Dean: Tonight?

Cas: Yes.

Dean: I’m really dirty, Cas

Cas: I don’t mind.

The three dots appear and disappear several times before Dean appears to have made up his mind.

Dean: Okay, see you in ten

Cas: I’m looking forward to it.

Dean: Me too!

It’s lucky he’s the last one in the office because his PA would definitely comment on it if she saw the stupid smile he’s wearing as he shuts off his computer and puts on his coat.

They’ve picked a bar close to Cas’ office, since Dean had refused to supply information on what his preferences were.

Cas parks his car and spends five minutes standing awkwardly outside of the bar. He tries to read some of the work emails that have ticked in between texting Dean and now, but it’s a lost cause seeing as he’s severely preoccupied. So he pockets his phone and contends to watch the laughing couples walking past. There’s a man in a suit like his, passing in a fast clip while checking his wristwatch with a grimace.

Cas recognizes Dean’s car right away. He knows next to nothing about vehicles but even if Dean hadn’t been leaning against the hood in one of his pictures, he’d recognize it from all of Dean’s fawning. It’s a ‘67 Chevy Impala. Dean has restored it himself. And it’s probably Dean’s most prized possession.

It’s also incredibly loud and impractically large.

The first actual glance he gets of Dean is when Dean rolls down his window to flip off the guy who just stole his parking spot.

It probably shouldn’t be charming.

It stops being charming and starts being hot when Dean effortlessly maneuvers his car into another spot. The angle is weird and the car is too big, but you wouldn’t know it from the fluid navigation on Dean’s part.

When Dean exits the car Cas is still trying to regain control over the unfortunate expression he’s no doubt wearing and the even more unfortunate heat that’s gathering in his abdomen.

The whole thing is already more than enough and it gets worse when Dean spots him and waves. Dean’s face splits in a wide grin.

Cas doesn’t dare to guess what his own face is doing. His wave back is definitely weak.

Dean is more beautiful in person. It shouldn’t be possible.

He’s in boots, jeans and a leather jacket that’s been dragged over some kind of gray shirt.

As Dean steps up to him there’s the situation with his green eyes and freckles to contend with as well.

“I would hug you, but…” Dean gestures down himself. His brown hair is slightly damp, as if he’s been either sweating or attempting to wash up. Maybe both. There’s something black at his hairline next to one cheekbone. It’s mirrored in a smudged line of black running down his neck.

“Hello, Dean.”

All of the places Cas’ eyes just danced over turn pink. From cheekbone to where the collar of his shirt keeps Cas from following the blush further down.

“Oh, yeah. Should’ve probably led with that,” Dean says with a crooked smile, “Hi, Cas.”

A smile is growing on Cas’ face in response. He can feel the pull of it all the way to the corners of his eyes. “I’m happy you could make it.”

“I’m really sorry to be turning up like this. One of our regulars came in with a fried Mercedes ten minutes before closing. So I kinda had to put everything on hold.”

“I know the feeling,” Cas says, “Happens to me almost daily. I’m coming straight from work, too.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean rolls his eyes, “Difference is that your work get-up looks like you’ve stepped right out of Mad Men.”

“Thank you. I think?”

Dean blushes again. It’s so damn pretty. Below his breast bone a white line of salt streaks the gray shirt, confirming that he has been sweating under the coveralls he wears for work. The line of salt disappears behind the leather of his jacket.

“Do you want to head inside?” Cas asks.

Dean blinks confused at their surroundings as if he has forgotten the press of people passing by, the darkening sky and the warm light coming through the windows of the bar next to them.

In all fairness, so has Cas. Mostly.

“Sure.”

Dean hesitates before stepping through the door Cas holds open for him. It’s toasty inside. Matching the golden glow of dimmed lighting. There’s a buzz of conversation from the myriad of full tables. A woman in a burgundy cocktail dress weaves past them, followed by a man dragging a dark suit jacket on.

Cas puts a hand on the small of Dean’s back to anchor them together.

Dean starts and cranes his head to look over his shoulder, “Uh, wow. Okay.”

“Sorry,” Cas mumbles and reluctantly drops the touch.

“Wasn’t a no,” Dean grabs his retreating hand and presses it back where it was.

Warmth spreads all the way from the point of contact, up Cas’ arm and into his chest. As well as other areas.

He nearly misses it when Dean adds, “Just not really used to all of this.”

Dean is waving vaguely in the air. It doesn’t seem like it’s aimed at Cas in particular. Probably not the gay thing, then. Tentatively he asks, “Not used to what? Dating?”

The sound Dean makes is strange. Maybe a stifled laugh. Or more like a snort. “Not like this at least.”

Cas is steering them toward the bar. It’s louder here and he leans closer to make sure Dean can hear him, “A friend recommended it. I rarely drink. We can go somewhere else if you’d like.”

“No, that’s…” Dean swallows, “I’m good.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Cas waits for Dean’s nod before looking for a free seat. He scans along the bar. A man further down nudges his companion and they both grab their drinks and vacate their seats, freeing them for the two of them to settle in.

The bartender wipes the rings of condensation from the lacquered wood of the bar, erasing the last signs of the previous occupants.

Cas looks at Dean and asks, “What would you like to drink?”

“Uh,” Dean scans over the bottles sitting neatly on the glass shelves of the wall display. They’re reflected in the mirrors lining the wall and surrounded by dark wooden accents. It’s all tinted gold by the warm back light. “Whiskey?”

Cas orders one for each of them. He’s holding his card up to the terminal when Dean makes a choked-back sound next to him.

“Oh, do you not like that brand? I can-”

“Don’t know it,” Dean slips off his leather jacket and puts it on top of the bar, “But I’m choosing to trust your judgment.”

Cas’ cheeks turn hot, “You told me you like a mix of honey and oak so I thought you might enjoy this one.”

Dean is staring at him.

Cas fiddles with the end of his tie, “I, eh, I looked it up.”

“You… Looked it up?” Dean’s eyes are huge. Trained on Cas’ face.

“Yes. Sorry,” Cas grimaces, “I’m not very good at this.”

Dean nods slowly. His fingers land on the lapel of Cas’ trench coat. He tugs lightly, “Are you gonna keep this on?”

“No,” Cas bites his tongue on another apology. He’s not usually like this. It’s an effort to make his motions casual as he peels off the coat. They should probably have hung them up when they walked in. At the time he just decidedly had his attention elsewhere.

Their drinks land in front of them. The smile Dean gives the bartender is different from the ones he’s giving Cas. Still friendly. Still bright. But different.

Dean clinks their glasses together and without any kind of swirling or sniffing, he brings the glass to his lips.

Cas isn’t moving his at all. He’s just staring. He quickly looks away.

“This is awesome,” Dean indicates his glass and bumps their knees together, “You know how people ask what you’d pick if you could drink just a single thing for the rest of your life?”

“Yes?”

“This would be mine.”

“Probably ill-advised. Not very good from a hydration standpoint.”

Dean nearly spits out the mouthful he has just taken. He wipes the back of his wrist over his mouth, poorly muffling a laugh.

Without the jacket Dean is in just the tight, gray shirt. It has short sleeves and Cas doesn’t know if the swell of muscle comes from being a mechanic or working out. He can’t very well ask. It’s gonna sound like a bad pickup line. Probably shouldn’t stare like this either.

When he redirects his attention, Dean is swirling the remaining whiskey in his glass. Dean’s gaze sweeps over the room and he laughs uneasily, “Shit, people are really staring.”

Cas tilts his head, “You must be used to it.”

“No, I’m-” Dean breaks off and laughs. This time it’s a real one that lights up his eyes, “Okay, that was smooth.”

“I…” Cas starts. Smooth is probably the last thing anyone would describe him as, “What did you mean?”

“That I look like shit,” Dean replies, “Don’t fit in. Well, I hope they’re enjoying the show at least.” He tips the rest of his whiskey into his mouth. His throat moves as he swallows.

“You don’t look like shit,” Cas’ voice is inappropriately rough, “You look…”

Dean leans closer. His voice is low and inviting, “I look…?”

Cas squeezes his eyes closed, “You look nice.”

“Uh-huh,” leather creaks and Cas opens his eyes to watch Dean wrench his jacket from the bar, “That’s about all I can take. Bring your coat, we’re not gonna be needing these seats.”

It feels like he has been stabbed. Everything drops out of the bottom of his stomach. He fumbles with his coat, trying to catch up to Dean who’s already moving. He’s halfway through some sort of stammered apology that Dean likely can’t hear over the lounge music and murmur of conversation.

He bumps into a chair and is forced to pay proper attention to their surroundings. He raises his voice, “Dean, this is the way to the bathroom.”

Dean twists half around to look at him as if he’s stupid, “That was the general idea, yeah.”

“Oh.”

The door to the bathroom is clearly heavier than Dean is expecting. He pushes at the rich wood once, before realizing that it’s an actual door. He pushes again and holds it open for Cas to pass into a bathroom filled with yellow light, dark wood and marble tiles.

It has only just shut behind them when Dean shoves him up against the wall and brings their mouths together.

He does it rough and inelegant. Pushing against Cas with his entire body. He moans softly when Cas grips his waist and kisses back.

Dean is warm and firm under his hands. He’s soft and wet against his tongue.

And Cas is embarrassingly hard. The line of it pushes unmistakably into Dean’s hip. He’s attempting to shift away when Dean grinds against him.

“Jesus, Dean,” he gasps into Dean’s mouth that’s taking the shape of a feline grin. “I… A stall? Should we-”

Dean shakes his head. He tugs at Cas’ bottom lip with his teeth and Cas forgets that they’re in an open area and anyone could walk in at any point. If anything, the thought vaguely registers that he wouldn’t mind anyone watching him get to have Dean like this.

He buries a hand in Dean’s hair and Dean whimpers into his mouth. It’s so pretty.

He nudges at Dean and Dean blindly lets himself get walked backwards to the marble slab that’s home to a line of sinks. Without letting go of Cas’ mouth, Dean pushes himself up on the counter. Dean sinks his hands into Cas’ hair and keeps kissing him. Cas forgets what he was doing.

His hands are on Dean’s thighs. He doesn’t know where their coats are. Probably on the floor somewhere. He doesn’t particularly care.

Dean is moaning into his mouth. Twining around him. Ineffectively grinding against Cas’ stomach.

Cas pushes a hand between them and squeezes Dean through the denim.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breaks the kiss to breathe harshly into Cas’ air. He gasps when Cas does it again. He rolls his hips, rutting against Cas’ hand as he pants, “You don’t know what this last week has been like for me.”

“Torture?” Cas guesses. Projects. He trials a line of open-mouthed kisses along Dean’s jaw.

Dean exhales shakily, “That picture you sent-” He breaks off.

Probably because Cas drags teeth down the column of his throat. Absently Cas asks, “Picture?”

Dean tips his head, allowing Cas easier access, “The one with the book.”

Cas stops with his lips hovering over Dean’s skin, “Camus? Why would-”

Dean laughs breathlessly. He tugs at Cas’ tie until they’re face to face again. “French existentialism doesn’t really do it for me. Meant your hand. You were holding it.”

“My…”

Dean fits his own hand to the one Cas has on him. Callouses to the bumps of Cas’ knuckles. Dean bucks into the hold with a rough moan, “Yeah. Your hand.”

When Dean lets go, Cas keeps his touch where it is, running his fingers over the bulge while Dean moves to tug the button-down from his trousers.

Dean shoves under the hem of the shirt, groaning when his palms land on the skin of Cas’ stomach. With his mouth right against Cas’ temple, he mumbles, “You smell so fucking good.”

He yelps when Cas tugs him down from the counter and twists him around. Dean braces against the marble with his hands. His eyes are big in the mirrors lining the wall over the sinks. There’s a flush of arousal high on his cheeks. His mouth is swollen.

Cas fits his front to Dean’s back and Dean instantly grinds his ass against Cas’ hard dick that’s pushing against him.

Cas buries his groan into Dean’s neck. Dean rolls his hips, dragging his ass along him again and Cas trails messy kisses along sensitive skin, navigating through the hitching sounds Dean makes. He tastes salty. There’s a bitter tang of oil.

“I like that you came like this,” Cas mumbles into Dean’s hair. His hand slips under the hem of Dean’s thin shirt, gliding up the pane of his stomach. He strokes a finger over a nipple. It pebbles under his touch. Dean gasps. Cas wants him in his bed. Naked and spread out.

“Wasn’t planning to. I wanted to look nice for you,” Dean is clutching hard at the edge of the marble. His hair is a mess from Cas’ hands. In the mirror his eyes are dark, roving over the reflection of the two of them, “Spent the last three days picking out an outfit.”

Cas groans at the thought. He rolls Dean’s nipple between his fingers. With the other hand he works Dean’s pants open. He pushes past the elastic band of Dean’s boxers without pulling anything down. His fist closes around Dean’s cock. It’s like silk in his palm.

He drags Dean’s earlobe into his mouth. Dean is squirming against him, panting with his dick twitching in Cas’ hold.

Without pulling away from Dean’s ear, Cas tells him, “I don’t usually smell like this. Picked it for you.”

Dean grapples for Cas’ thigh, tearing at the side of his trousers to push them tighter together. He’s arching to reach.

The door opens.

“Shit, sorr-”

It’s not followed by the sound of the door swinging closed again and Cas regretfully peels his mouth from Dean’s skin to look. He doesn’t remove his hand from Dean’s pants, but he angles his body slightly to shield Dean, even if it doesn’t remotely obscure what they’re doing.

The man is still standing there. He shuffles his feet, “Mr. Novak. I’m so sorry to disturb you, Sir, but I’m representing Paradise Industries and – just now that I have you – would you be willing to consider taking a meeting or-”

“-I’m busy,” Cas bites with every bit of patience he can scrounge up, “Call my secretary next week.”

Under him, Dean mutters, “What?” under his breath.

“I have, but-”

“-Get out.”

“Yes. Right. Sorry.”

The door closes softly.

Dean meets Cas’ eyes in the mirror, “What the hell was that?”

“Annoying person,” Cas grumbles. Might have just cost him his chance to get to do this. His hand flexes on Dean’s chest.

Dean’s breath hitches.

“I’m sorry,” Cas presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, reveling in the way they’re pressed tightly together. Making the most of it before he might have to peel himself off, “People always want to talk to me. It’s exhausting.”

Dean’s laugh is breathless. He drags his ass down Cas’ front. Slow and deliberate, “Guess they’re gonna be talking about you now.”

“Don’t care,” Cas gasps. Then he pulls it together, “Unless you-”

“-As long as you’re gonna actually fuck me, people can say whatever the hell they want.”

He’s relatively sure Dean feels the way his cock twitches. Even through several layers of clothing. “Maybe not here.”

“Maybe not,” Dean laughs. He turns in Cas’ hold, slowly so Cas can give him room to do it. Dean ghosts their lips together as if he’s going to kiss him, “Your place?”

----

They take a cab because none of them are in any condition to drive. Dean gets Cas’ shirt halfway unbuttoned in the backseat and Cas tips the driver more aggressively than he usually would.

It continues up the stairs to Cas’ front door, with Dean all over him, tearing at his clothes, whimpering at Cas’ every touch.

And then they stumble through the door and it all stops. Dean pulls back and flicks his gaze all over Cas’ entryway. He laughs uncertainly and rakes his fingers through his hair, “I should probably shower.”

“If you want,” Cas rubs circles in Dean’s hips with his thumbs, “Not on my account.”

Dean lets himself be pulled back in, “Impatient?”

“Very,” he confesses, “But I meant what I said. I like having you like this. When you’re just like you were in the picture you sent from the garage this morning.”

A weak sound spills from Dean into Cas’ mouth where Dean is kissing him hard enough to send him staggering back against the staircase.

They make it into bed. Where Cas fits his own hands over Dean’s calloused and oil-stained ones while fucking him into the mattress.

Dean is incoherent. Gasping into Cas’ sheets and whimpering when Cas sucks hard enough at a patch of skin that it leaves a mark.

“Wait, wait,” Dean gasps when Cas is right at the edge, “On me.”

Cas pulls out and gets rid of the condom before streaking come over skin that’s already sticky from Dean’s own climax.

After they’ve cleaned up, Dean lets Cas gather him against his chest. It’s less than a minute before he softly asks, “Should I leave?”

It’s the middle of the night and Cas doesn’t like the idea on any level. The arm he has around Dean tightens, “Not unless you want to.”

There’s an uncertain edge to Dean’s voice, “You don’t need to… I already know you have work tomorrow.”

He being given an obvious out. To toss Dean out of bed like that’s something he for some unfathomable reason would like to do.

“It’s a Saturday tomorrow,” Cas says. He has already considered canceling more than once. Sure, it would be rude. Which is the main reason he hasn’t. But for Dean he would. International expansion of financial interests doesn’t appeal to him all that much right now. “It’s just a stupid dinner.”

Dean melts against him, seemingly deciding that he isn’t about to get thrown out. There’s a laugh sitting audibly in his throat, “With stupid, delicious food and stupid, free drinks?”

“And stupid, boring conversations with stupid, boring people,” Cas grumbles. Truthfully it’s not all that bad. It’s just gonna be a very steep decline in quality from tonight.

Dean pushes at his side with a laugh, “I’m having a hard time feeling sorry for you.”

Cas raises an eyebrow, “You’d like to go, I take it?”

He’s relatively sure he manages to make it clear that he’s joking just as much as Dean is.

But Dean blushes.

Oh.

“I’d love it if you did,” Cas flips them and Dean blinks disoriented up at him, “As my date. Eat some of the food. Save me from some of the conversation.”

“I…” Dean attempts to look away, but when Cas cups his jaw, he pushes into it, “Might need to borrow some clothes.”

“You can wear whatever you want.”

“If you’re imagining me showing up in my coveralls, you’re gonna have to put a pin in that fantasy.”

He definitely will. Now that Dean has brought it up. It flicks through his mind. Along with everything else he’d like to do.

Images of bending him over the hood of one of the cars Cas owns but doesn’t use, with his gasping breaths fogging up the shiny surface and coveralls pooled around his boots.

Of taking him when he gets back from work, right in the kitchen, before he can even get the chance to take off his leather jacket. Doing it again, nice and slow, while their dinner gets charred and they end up having to order in. Tearing a suit jacket off him after they get back from an event, drunk on whiskey and each other.

“You can borrow anything you’d like, Dean,” Cas says, “Do you still want that shower?”

Dean strums his fingers along Cas’ naked chest, “Depends on whether I’m gonna have company.”

In the shower Cas sinks to his knees and takes Dean in his mouth. Dean’s ragged moans are loud even over the spray of the water, reverberating against the tiles and it’s probably for the best that they’re alone for this. Because Cas doesn’t want to share.

If he was gonna pick just a single thing to taste for the rest of his life, it would be Dean.