Fic: Try-Something Tuesday - [I » part 1]
Title: Try-Something Tuesday
Author: almaasi
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, background Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17
Genre: AU. Fluff, romance, porn.
Word Count: 48,400 words
Warnings: Explicit sex. References to childhood abuse.
Summary: Human AU. Dean Winchester teaches a third-grade class. He's new to this whole ‘bisexual’ thing - but by pure happenstance, he meets Castiel: a particularly dapper male librarian who moonlights as a substitute teacher. Dean's curious and Castiel is willing, so why the hell not?
Except, fate never intended it to be one-time-only...
☆★☆
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, kiddo,” Dean said, lurching forward to grab the little terror who was currently trying to run through a glass door. “Keep it together, man. This is a library.”
The kid didn’t say anything, but allowed Dean to hold him back as the door opened by itself. His name was Shayne, if Dean remembered correctly. God, he was terrible. He’d been teaching these children for the best part of eight months now, and could barely remember who they all were.
Dean sighed and straightened up as the door closed behind him, hoping the rest of his party hadn’t run off already. Ten kids to one adult was the limit, legally, but it sure as heck felt like ten kids too many.
There were coloured backpacks scattered across the entrance hallway, and he could see figures moving about behind bookshelves, chattering loudly.
“All right, everyone get back here, pronto,” Dean drawled, sighing as he rolled his head back. The ceiling was high and layered with pipes, which was odd for a library, but it had this whole modern, clean feel to it, and that was nice enough. The pipes turned away halfway down the ceiling, and from there descended a slope of glass, which dropped at an angle down to the far side of the building, where normal vertical windows met it like a wall. The greyness of the day made the area gloomy, but it was bright enough that it was almost like being under the open sky.
“Mr. Winchester?” a girl in pink ventured, sidling out from behind a bookcase.
“Mm?” Dean replied, glad that heads were popping back into his vision. One-two-three-four... Six, eight, ten. Perfect.
“When are we going home?” the girl asked.
Dean screwed his face up, running a hand down his cheek. They’d been out twenty minutes since lunch break ended, and this was definitely the last time he’d be arranging for class trips after the kids had gotten all hyped up on sugar.
“Three-thirty,” Dean answered, as he’d said about five times previously. “We’re walking back and your parents are picking you up as usual, remember?”
The girl - Sandy? - nodded, and Dean clapped his hands once to get the other kids’ attention again.
“Listen up, I’m only saying this once,” he started, doing another head count quickly, mouthing the numbers, just in case he missed one. “We’re here for two hours, and in that time I want you all to have picked out at least one book, okay?”
“Yes, Mr. Winchester,” the kids chanted. Dean smiled. If anything, this was about as cool as being in charge of a teeny-tiny army.
“And don’t go for your usual cra- uh, stuff, pick something new. If you read books about horses, try something about pigs for once.”
Sandy pouted, and Dean couldn’t help but wink at her.
“If you read books about monster trucks - Damien, sit down - then I’d like to see something else in your hands by the time we get to check-out. All got that?”
“Yes, Mr. Winchester,” came the chorus of a reply.
“Today’s Tuesday. And what is Tuesday?”
There was a pause, before the muddled answer, “Try-Somethin’ Tuesday.”
Dean nodded. “That’s right. Now, go get. Go on. Don’t wander off too far - hey, Nellie, Nellie, stay where I can see you!”
The children dispersed like cockroaches from a spark, and Dean could only mutter, “Goddammit,” before not a single child was in his view. He stuck his hands on his hips and blew a raspberry, glad no other responsible adults could judge him right now, seeing as this front part of the library was deserted.
“New to this, I assume,” came a rough male voice.
Dean turned around to see a man about his own age, warming his hands around a mug of what smelled like microwaved coffee. He had a knowing smile on his face, and Dean returned the smile with a lot less gusto.
“This class? A few months.” Dean shrugged his shoulders and turned his face away to stare at the spring sunshine, watching the new leaves tap against the far windows. “I’m used to teaching pre-teens, not... jumped-up eight-year-olds.”
“They’re not so bad once you get used to them,” the man replied, tilting his head as Dean looked across at him again.
The man’s eyes were a pure, rich blue, and his jawline was about as sharply cut as his waistcoat. Dean gave an easy smile back this time, because there was something very welcoming about this man. He kind of smelled like Christmas.
“You got kids?” Dean asked, tugging his plaid shirt down. He’d not ironed the shirt, but hey, who did these days? It was rugged. But right now he just felt scrappy, compared to this other dude.
The man actually laughed at Dean’s question, his eyes closing as his chin tipped down an inch. He shook his head as he walked past Dean, going towards a black leather couch. Dean followed him, figuring he might as well make conversation while he waited for something to go wrong.
“I moonlight as a substitute teacher,” the man said, hooking one ankle up over his knee as he creaked back into the couch. “But most days, I work here. We get children a-plenty through here, but no. None of my own.”
There was a twinkle in his eye, and Dean stared at the twinkle as he sat to the man’s right, mirroring the position of his legs. “Right,” Dean said.
“My name’s Castiel,” the man said, freeing one hand from his mug so he could offer it to Dean.
“Castiel,” Dean repeated, enunciating as he shook. He was surprised; he’d expected something like ‘Jeffrey’, or ‘Jimmy’. ‘Castiel’ was a bit out-there, for a... A what? “You’re a librarian?”
Castiel nodded, then took a sip of his coffee. He stared into its steaming depths for a moment, then lifted his eyes back to Dean’s. “Books are my children, if you want to look at it like that.”
Dean laughed, because no, he wouldn’t have seen it like that at all.
“What’s your name?” Castiel asked, his deep voice turning softer as he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”
“Oh, I’m - I’m the one who called in last week, about the trip today?”
Castiel inclined his head. “Yes, we spoke on the phone. It’s nice to put a face to the voice, but... alas, I’m not spectacular with names, when the name doesn’t belong to a fictional character.”
Dean blinked, then found he was grinning. “Same. Uh, Dean. I’m Dean. Winchester.” He offered his hand.
Castiel stared down at the handshake Dean was offering. Then he took the hand, shaking it.
“We already did this,” Dean realised, just as Castiel pulled away. “Crap, I’m such a dweeb, I’m sorry.”
Castiel chuckled, his laughter echoing into his coffee mug as he took another sip. “All is forgiven, believe me.”
Dean turned his eyes away, relieved to see a swish of movement that was most definitely a child heading into the reference section. So long as he knew where they were, they could do whatever the fuck they liked, as far as Dean was concerned.
“Would you like some coffee while you wait?” Castiel asked, and Dean turned to meet his eye.
Castiel had such steadiness in his eye contact. It was equally reassuring and off-putting, but Dean got the impression that Castiel had no intention of scaring him off. Because really, who offers coffee to people they don’t want to talk to?
“Is it the instant microwaved shit?” Dean inquired, glancing to the mug that wobbled in Castiel’s hand as he tipped it.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t carry my entire star-barista-quality coffee machine into work this morning, so yes.” The damn eye-twinkle came back, and Dean realised he kinda liked it. It was mesmerising.
“Then sure,” Dean nodded. “Crap coffee. Home sweet home. Like hell I could afford anything else, right?”
Castiel sighed in agreement as he stood, unfolding his long legs. “I have the same problem, more often than not. Teachers ought to be paid more for the work they do.”
“Amen,” Dean sang.
Castiel straightened his rolled-up shirtsleeves, still holding tightly onto his mug. “I will be back shortly. Unless disaster strikes, I don’t recommend you go anywhere. Technically I’m not allowed coffee outside of the back room, and if I have to carry it to you - well...”
“Not a word,” Dean said, winking. Castiel smiled, and was still smiling as he moved on past the couch.
Dean sighed and slumped back against the couch, hearing the leather making fart noises under him. He amused himself with that for about thirty seconds, before wondering if he was actually just a giant eight-year-old himself.
“Mr. Winchester?”
Dean’s eyes snapped open and he looked up at Marvin, firstly wondering where he got chocolate from, then wondering why it was all over his face. After a few years in teaching, it honestly shouldn’t surprise him any more. Kids pulled sticky stuff out from thin air.
“What can I do for you, little man?” Dean asked, tiredly.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
Dean sighed and stood up, hoping his three-foot height advantage over Marvin would help him locate signposts.
“Over that way,” Dean said, pointing. He wasn’t meant to go in there with the kids, but he waved for Elroy as he waddled past, instructed them to stick together, and sent them on their way. “And if anyone tries to talk to you, what do you do?”
“Don’t talk, walk away, come and tell you,” Marvin chanted, off the top of his head.
“That’s right. Stay safe,” Dean added, keeping his eye on the boys until they headed around the corner and through the door to the bathroom.
“Ugh,” he muttered under his breath, flopping back down.
Dean’s baby brother Sammy had never been this much work when he was younger - and even then, Dean had only been eight years old himself. Back then, there weren’t a million Stranger Danger issues, but Dean knew first-hand that it wasn’t so much that there hadn’t been a problem, just that there was less awareness.
If anything, even if it was harder to work around now, it was better for the kids. Dean could appreciate that.
“Everything okay?” Castiel’s voice called.
Dean’s head perked up from the back of the couch, his neck unsticking from its surface with a scritchy sound. “Peachy. Thanks man,” he muttered, taking the steaming mug from Castiel’s fair-skinned, careful hand.
Dean purred at the back of his throat as he inhaled the tendrils of steam, loving the aroma. The mug made the coffee smell different than he was used to - a different washing soap brand, most likely - but the flat, milky fumes were enough to drag him right back to his days of teacher training courses and paperwork. A boring time, but there was a whole sense of gaining a future about it that made him feel good.
He took his first sip, sighing as it scalded his tongue. Delightfully awful.
Castiel made the other side of the couch creak again as he wriggled back into it, and Dean watched him pull his legs up, boots and all, until he was cross-legged, swallowing down another sip of his fresh beverage.
“Cowboy boots?” Dean asked, feeling a wide smile crawl across his face. He’d seen the design cut into the leather of Castiel’s shoes, and his stomach gave a floaty little flip.
Castiel looked down at his shoes like he’d only just noticed he was wearing them. “Oh. Yes, I quite like them. They remind me of, a, uh - a character.”
Dean met Castiel’s fluttering gaze, aware that his own eyes were probably twinkling right about now. “A book character?” Dean asked, slyly.
Castiel’s eyelids batted as he stared down into his coffee. “Of course, what else?”
Dean beamed. “Oh, I dunno,” he said, lightly. “But I don’t recall seeing Doctor Sexy in any books, do you?”
Castiel’s breath caught, and his eyes flashed to meet Dean’s. “Oh.”
Dean grinned at him, aware that his eyeline was dropping to Castiel’s mouth instead of lingering on his eyes. “Dr. Sexy’s the best thing on TV, man,” he said, forcing himself to look away from Castiel’s lined, pink lips. He looked into his coffee instead as he continued, “Don’t ever tell my brother I said that, though. He laughs every time he finds it recorded on my TiVo. Well - that and Project Runway, but... Heh.”
Castiel looked intrigued, leaning over his crossed legs, more facing Dean than he was facing the library now.
Dean licked his lips, conscious of the fact that Castiel hadn’t replied, and wondered if he was being judged. He’d got it right, hadn’t he? Cowboy boots?
Feeling awkward, Dean sank back against the couch cushion and tipped back his coffee, eyeing the dark rings as they layered all the way down the inside of the mug as he drank.
By the time he’d counted a total of six of his kids in this area, he’d mostly forgotten about his self-enforced silence, and his eyes drifted over to watch Castiel drinking from his own blue mug. It matched his eyes, Dean thought.
Castiel’s dark hair was disarrayed, but just combed enough to be smart - maybe it was intentionally tousled, but Dean could barely tell. There was a close-cut stubble across the librarian’s jaw, and a muscle in the side of his face that jumped every time he swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
Try as he might, Dean couldn’t stop staring. The rebounding sunlight caressed the front of Castiel’s face, making his straight nose stand out, a stark profile against the dark shadows of the other side of the library. He breathed steadily, still hunched over his crossed legs.
He was relaxed, and Dean thought he looked quite elegant.
Dean’s gaze sank from Castiel’s face to his arms, eyeing the neat point and curve of his wrists and fingers. His fingernails were short and rounded, the nails paler than the almost-tanned skin of the rest of him.
“Had no idea librarians had it in them to work out,” Dean murmured, smiling when Castiel glanced over at him. “You, what, got a jungle gym in the back room?”
A frown descended over Castiel’s face, pulling a line between his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Dean mouthed a cautious ‘o’.
“Uh.” He gulped. “You have nice arms.”
Lame.
Castiel looked down at his forearms in exactly the same way he’d looked at his shoes, as if he was surprised they were attached to him. “Oh. Thank you.”
Of course Dean had used the ‘you work out?’ line. Of all things, it had to be that.
“No, but really,” he added, huffing a slightly embarrassed breath. “What is it you’re doing? Because man,” Dean leaned back and patted his belly with a hand, “no matter what I do, jumping around all day with the kids, all I end up doing is packing on the tummy fat.”
Castiel glanced down Dean’s figure, and Dean got the distinct sense that he was being checked out. Like a library book. (Laaaaame.)
“You aren’t fat,” Castiel said, blandly enough that Dean blinked in surprise. “Perhaps not toned, but you are...”
Castiel met Dean’s eye. Then he cleared his throat, eyes dipping back to his coffee.
“What?” Dean prompted, grinning as he leaned a few inches closer. “Come on, don’t leave your poor sentence hangin’ like that.”
Castiel smiled into his mug as he downed another gulp. “I think ‘slender’ is the right word for it.”
Dean smirked. He wasn’t one to fish for compliments - no, really - but that one had been worth chasing. There was something about the way Castiel spoke that lifted Dean’s tired heart, just the smallest amount.
“Heh. Thanks,” Dean said, quietly.
He swished what remained of his coffee around the bottom of his mug, collecting up the dark rings of powder, and the sludge at the bottom.
Less than a minute after he was done with his coffee, he was called away by Travis, and Dean went to deal with his issues for him. He was glad to see Marvin and Elroy both back in the history section, but took a moment to stop them hurling spitballs at Lydia’s head.
By the time Dean got back to Castiel, with two full headcounts of all ten kids successfully completed, he was actually really glad to see the librarian was still cross-legged on the couch.
“Miss me?” Dean asked, cracking a smile as Castiel looked up from the magazine he’d been flipping through.
“I was going to send out a search party.” Castiel slipped the magazine back to the tottering pile by his side, then put his empty coffee mug on the floor beside it. “Seems there’s no longer a need, however.”
Dean spread his arms out over the back of the cushions, feeling the stretch in his shoulders do wonders for the headache that had slowly been building up.
He looked over to Castiel, unsure what he would say to him, but really just wanting to talk some more. There was a leisure between them, in a way that wasn’t quite banter, nor Dean’s usual boyish back-slapping, but it was pleasant. Calm, and elegant, just the same as Castiel’s whole manner.
Castiel was staring out of the far window again, eyes moving like he was reading a story in the way the trees swayed.
Dean’s gaze slid down Castiel’s figure once more, taking in the smart detail of his cowboy boots, of the actual pocket-watch chain that was dangling between his waistcoat buttons and his pocket. His hands resting on his knees.
Dean’s head tilted as he saw a dash of colour that stood out on the inside of Castiel’s forearm. A long, thin rectangle, separated into six small squares of colour: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. The whole shape was about an inch in length, its colours appearing faded by simply being on Castiel’s skin.
“Is that a tattoo, or were you just messing around with your new highlighters?” Dean asked, gesturing at the shape. He smiled, because again, Castiel blinked in surprise at that fact Dean had noticed.
But Castiel smiled as well, looking back to Dean. “Tattoo.”
Dean grinned. “It’s nice. Does it, uh, does it mean somethin’, or is it just there to make your arm look good?”
Castiel’s left hand went to trace over the ink, his fingertips rasping delicately over his soft skin. Dean saw the skin give even under such a light touch, and wondered if it was really as tender as it looked.
“It’s for... gay pride,” Castiel said, quietly. When he looked to Dean and caught his eye, he was smiling shyly.
Dean fiddled with his shirt collar, rubbing its material under his thumb. “All right. So you’re... uh?”
Castiel’s smile widened, as he exhaled through his nose as he glanced away. “You don’t have to be queer to be in support of human equality, Mr. Winchester.”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, I know that. I just. Um.”
Castiel’s eye-twinkle was back. “But, yes, I am,” he said. He nodded to Dean, then his eyeline swam across Dean’s shoulders, where Dean was still fiddling with his shirt.
Dean nodded slowly, letting out a breath. “You know, I’ve got some ink of my own,” he offered, glancing around in case any children were in the vicinity. When he determined the coast was clear, he leaned closer to Castiel with his hand in the collar of his grey t-shirt, and pulled it down past his clavicle.
Castiel’s eyes dropped to see what Dean was showing him: a pentagram encircled by sun-rays, tattooed over his heart; blue-black ink.
Dean smirked, then leaned back and let his t-shirt go.
Castiel squinted at him, tiny wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. “A devil’s... symbol?”
Dean sniggered, then couldn’t help the sudden but short guffaw that ripped from his throat. “Oh, hell no. C’mon, man, it’s a protection symbol. Me ‘n my little brother have got matching ones.”
“I see,” Castiel said, looking fairly relieved. “What’s your brother’s name?”
“Sammy,” Dean replied, smiling as he said the name. “Well, it’s Sam. He’s four years younger.”
Castiel nodded, appreciative. “I have six siblings, all older.”
Dean blanched. “Six? Holy crap.”
Castiel eyes crinkled up again as he smiled. “We are all adopted.”
“Right.” Dean huffed on a smile, distracted for a moment as he saw Sandy running past, and he called out after her, “Hey, kid, this is a library, no running.”
Dean sat back down, heaving a sigh that was less stressed than it had been earlier.
Castiel pointed out, calmly, “Sir, this is a library, and I would appreciate no shouting.”
“Sorry, man.” Dean pursed his lips, reaching to scratch his nose. He’d have used Castiel’s name right then, but he’d barely remembered it until the last second, and if he’d gone through with using it, it would’ve come out as just ‘Cas’. He smiled at the thought, though, because even if ‘Castiel’ was a tricky name, it was a good sound, and hey, he’d remembered it.
After a moment of companionable silence listening to the distant mutters of engaged children, Dean prodded, “So you don’t have any other work to get back to, huh?”
Castiel glanced at him, then chuckled. “I do. I have about five hours’ worth of shelving to do, since my co-worker called in sick today. There’s a bug going around, I think.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “There was meant to be a sub with me today, but I guess she’s spending the day with chicken soup instead. Just so long as I don’t come down with something, the kids are bearable enough.”
“You do find it rewarding, don’t you?” Castiel said, hooking an elbow over the back of the couch, angling himself even more towards Dean than he already was. “Teaching the children, I mean.”
“Yeah, totally. It’s fun, as well. Exhausting, like you wouldn't believe―”
“Oh, I do know; I moonlight as a substitute myself, remember?”
“―But yeah. Yeah, it’s great.” Dean nodded, his face aching a little from his smile.
This guy in front of him was dragging up smiles that Dean usually reserved for the kids, and like Sammy always told him, it was his best smile. As Dean was realising, Castiel was making it effortless. His scent still tasted like - what was that... myrrh? - mingled with crap coffee, and all as one, it made Dean warm from head to toe. It was a scent that reminded him of winter at Uncle Bobby’s house, that one time they finally got the tree up, and had real presents.
The fact that Castiel was dapper as fuck wasn’t really helping the tiny crush Dean may or may not have the beginnings of, somewhere deep inside him.
Dean mulled over random thoughts for a while, his eyes flitting in and out of Castiel’s gaze. Dean really liked when their gazes locked, and they would both smile together. It was freaky, especially given that they were strangers, but Dean honestly enjoyed it.
“Cas... Can I ask you a really, really terrible question?”
Castiel raised his eyebrows at the moniker - Dean silently kicked himself - but nodded.
Dean gulped. “Okay, well. I wouldn’t usually ask this to anyone, ‘cause like I said, it’s a dumb question. But you’re... Uh.”
He ran his hand over his lips, feeling his own stubble prickle his palm. “Just don’t think bad thoughts in my direction after this, okay?”
Castiel’s mouth quirked upward at the sides. “I’m sure your tattoo will protect you.”
“Sure,” Dean huffed. God, he shouldn’t be nervous, Cas was cool.
But still, Dean should probably have just Googled this. Castiel wasn’t Google. And yet...
Try-Something Tuesday.
Here goes.
“What― What’s it like? Kissing a guy?”
Castiel was most definitely surprised by that. “You’re right, that is a terrible question.”
Dean laughed against his hand, wishing he’d at least phrased it differently. “I mean, like... is it good?” He looked Castiel in the eye, hoping furiously that the bird-like head-tilting was a positive thing.
“Why are you asking?” Castiel said, voice free of any real inflection.
Dean shrugged bodily, shoulders touching his earlobes. “Curious. I never exactly...” He waved his hand between his chest and Castiel’s, then dropped it back to his thigh. “Experimented, or explored, or anything.” He shrugged again, setting his pale hand across his eyes. His stomach was clenched tight with self-judgement, because seriously, of all the fuck-tastic things he could’ve used this discussion for, this was the way he turned it.
“Well,” Castiel said - and boy, was Dean relieved to hear a smile in his voice, “usually, there tends to be lips involved. And wet noises, and wandering hands.”
Dean stared at the fuzziness behind his closed eyelids, just listening to the low tone of Castiel’s voice.
“Tongue, more often than not.”
“Yeah, but―” Dean cleared his throat, placing his hands together between his parted knees. “But that’s just kissing in general.” He gulped, and looked to his left to see Castiel peering back, his face impassive. “What’s different about kissing a guy than kissing a girl?”
Castiel’s blank face broke into a warm smile, and his head dipped down as he wheezed out a deep rumble of a laugh.
Dean wasn’t sure what he was laughing about, but he managed a soft, edgy echo in reaction.
Castiel finally raised his head, the look on his face seeming to express a sort of adoration of Dean’s oafishness. “How am I to know the difference, if I’ve never had the experience of kissing a girl?”
“Oh,” Dean said.
He licked his lips, eyes darting to quickly check on Marvin as he trundled past. Dean stayed quiet until the area was child-free once more, then he asked, “How do you know you’re not straight, or bi, or whatever, if you’ve never tried it with a girl?”
Castiel stared back. Okay, that was definitely a ‘Dean is dumb’ expression. Dean lowered his gaze apologetically.
With his voice as flat as roadkill, Castiel said, “If I really had to ask such questions of myself, then how do you know that you like men, if you’ve never kissed one?”
Dean gaped at Castiel’s cowboy boots. “Touché.”
There was a silence that took up several seconds, and Dean only noticed halfway through it that he was staring at Castiel. Throughout the second half of the moment, he noticed that Castiel was staring back. Smiling.
“How about,” Castiel said, his eyes flicking away, then back, “I show you.”
Dean’s jaw actually fell open. “Wh― What, you mean, uh...”
“Kissing.”
Dean’s insides curled and twisted, and hell yes―
“You’re serious?” he breathed, blinking across at the blue-eyed beauty who was beaming back at him. “Like, you’re actually, legit, for-real offering to make out with me?” His voice dropped to less than a decibel as he whispered the words, eyes again scanning nervously for eight-year-olds.
Castiel shrugged a shoulder, a hand nudging his fingertips against the side of his own lips. He nodded as he slipped the hand back to his lap, twining all ten fingers together. “I don’t see any reason why not.”
Dean’s mouth was still hanging open, and he consciously closed it, swiping his thick tongue over his lower lip as he did. Okay. Awesome.
Fucking hell.
“But not right now,” Castiel said, all of a sudden, raising a hand to Dean’s shoulder - in case he got any ideas. “After the library closes tonight.”
Dean nodded, and kept nodding as he muttered, “Yeah, yeah, of course. Yeah.”
Castiel flicked him another smile, this one not quite flirtatious, but Dean saw it for the first time as being legitimately interested. Interested in him.
“Now,” Castiel started, unfolding his legs and putting his boots flat on the carpet, “as I said earlier, I have about five hours’ worth of work to do.”
Dean sat halfway out of his seat before Castiel wandered away. He was still suspended in a weird state of shock, because attractive man, and lips, and kissing...
“Hey, Cas?” he called, keeping his voice down.
Castiel turned back, nudging the tower of magazines up a little straighter. “Yes, Mr. Winchester?”
Dean grinned. “See you when?”
“Eight,” Castiel nodded.
Their eyes connected, and Dean breathed in slowly, trying to savour this. There was a fluttery elation in him, something he’d never felt in quite this way before.
Castiel’s lips twitched, and he turned away.
Dean watched the librarian’s backside as he floated off, and caught the tiniest glimpse of his colourful tattoo as he held up both empty coffee mugs.
Castiel went to stand behind the check-out desk twenty feet behind the couch, and Dean sighed and turned back to the window, figuring he shouldn’t stare at the other man while he worked, no matter how enticing he was when he moved.
There was still an air of myrrh and coffee left in his wake, and Dean smirked, subtly taking in a breath.
Christ, this had not gone the way he expected. But then again, when did things ever?
It was the work of minutes before Dean was swept up once again in a tide of desperate, confused eight-year-olds, some of whom had decided to save Castiel work and put all the books back where they figured was best. Dean rolled his eyes and very quickly learned how the Dewey Decimal System functioned.
masterpost | part 2 »
☆★☆
Author: almaasi
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, background Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17
Genre: AU. Fluff, romance, porn.
Word Count: 48,400 words
Warnings: Explicit sex. References to childhood abuse.
Summary: Human AU. Dean Winchester teaches a third-grade class. He's new to this whole ‘bisexual’ thing - but by pure happenstance, he meets Castiel: a particularly dapper male librarian who moonlights as a substitute teacher. Dean's curious and Castiel is willing, so why the hell not?
Except, fate never intended it to be one-time-only...
☆★☆
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, kiddo,” Dean said, lurching forward to grab the little terror who was currently trying to run through a glass door. “Keep it together, man. This is a library.”
The kid didn’t say anything, but allowed Dean to hold him back as the door opened by itself. His name was Shayne, if Dean remembered correctly. God, he was terrible. He’d been teaching these children for the best part of eight months now, and could barely remember who they all were.
Dean sighed and straightened up as the door closed behind him, hoping the rest of his party hadn’t run off already. Ten kids to one adult was the limit, legally, but it sure as heck felt like ten kids too many.
There were coloured backpacks scattered across the entrance hallway, and he could see figures moving about behind bookshelves, chattering loudly.
“All right, everyone get back here, pronto,” Dean drawled, sighing as he rolled his head back. The ceiling was high and layered with pipes, which was odd for a library, but it had this whole modern, clean feel to it, and that was nice enough. The pipes turned away halfway down the ceiling, and from there descended a slope of glass, which dropped at an angle down to the far side of the building, where normal vertical windows met it like a wall. The greyness of the day made the area gloomy, but it was bright enough that it was almost like being under the open sky.
“Mr. Winchester?” a girl in pink ventured, sidling out from behind a bookcase.
“Mm?” Dean replied, glad that heads were popping back into his vision. One-two-three-four... Six, eight, ten. Perfect.
“When are we going home?” the girl asked.
Dean screwed his face up, running a hand down his cheek. They’d been out twenty minutes since lunch break ended, and this was definitely the last time he’d be arranging for class trips after the kids had gotten all hyped up on sugar.
“Three-thirty,” Dean answered, as he’d said about five times previously. “We’re walking back and your parents are picking you up as usual, remember?”
The girl - Sandy? - nodded, and Dean clapped his hands once to get the other kids’ attention again.
“Listen up, I’m only saying this once,” he started, doing another head count quickly, mouthing the numbers, just in case he missed one. “We’re here for two hours, and in that time I want you all to have picked out at least one book, okay?”
“Yes, Mr. Winchester,” the kids chanted. Dean smiled. If anything, this was about as cool as being in charge of a teeny-tiny army.
“And don’t go for your usual cra- uh, stuff, pick something new. If you read books about horses, try something about pigs for once.”
Sandy pouted, and Dean couldn’t help but wink at her.
“If you read books about monster trucks - Damien, sit down - then I’d like to see something else in your hands by the time we get to check-out. All got that?”
“Yes, Mr. Winchester,” came the chorus of a reply.
“Today’s Tuesday. And what is Tuesday?”
There was a pause, before the muddled answer, “Try-Somethin’ Tuesday.”
Dean nodded. “That’s right. Now, go get. Go on. Don’t wander off too far - hey, Nellie, Nellie, stay where I can see you!”
The children dispersed like cockroaches from a spark, and Dean could only mutter, “Goddammit,” before not a single child was in his view. He stuck his hands on his hips and blew a raspberry, glad no other responsible adults could judge him right now, seeing as this front part of the library was deserted.
“New to this, I assume,” came a rough male voice.
Dean turned around to see a man about his own age, warming his hands around a mug of what smelled like microwaved coffee. He had a knowing smile on his face, and Dean returned the smile with a lot less gusto.
“This class? A few months.” Dean shrugged his shoulders and turned his face away to stare at the spring sunshine, watching the new leaves tap against the far windows. “I’m used to teaching pre-teens, not... jumped-up eight-year-olds.”
“They’re not so bad once you get used to them,” the man replied, tilting his head as Dean looked across at him again.
The man’s eyes were a pure, rich blue, and his jawline was about as sharply cut as his waistcoat. Dean gave an easy smile back this time, because there was something very welcoming about this man. He kind of smelled like Christmas.
“You got kids?” Dean asked, tugging his plaid shirt down. He’d not ironed the shirt, but hey, who did these days? It was rugged. But right now he just felt scrappy, compared to this other dude.
The man actually laughed at Dean’s question, his eyes closing as his chin tipped down an inch. He shook his head as he walked past Dean, going towards a black leather couch. Dean followed him, figuring he might as well make conversation while he waited for something to go wrong.
“I moonlight as a substitute teacher,” the man said, hooking one ankle up over his knee as he creaked back into the couch. “But most days, I work here. We get children a-plenty through here, but no. None of my own.”
There was a twinkle in his eye, and Dean stared at the twinkle as he sat to the man’s right, mirroring the position of his legs. “Right,” Dean said.
“My name’s Castiel,” the man said, freeing one hand from his mug so he could offer it to Dean.
“Castiel,” Dean repeated, enunciating as he shook. He was surprised; he’d expected something like ‘Jeffrey’, or ‘Jimmy’. ‘Castiel’ was a bit out-there, for a... A what? “You’re a librarian?”
Castiel nodded, then took a sip of his coffee. He stared into its steaming depths for a moment, then lifted his eyes back to Dean’s. “Books are my children, if you want to look at it like that.”
Dean laughed, because no, he wouldn’t have seen it like that at all.
“What’s your name?” Castiel asked, his deep voice turning softer as he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”
“Oh, I’m - I’m the one who called in last week, about the trip today?”
Castiel inclined his head. “Yes, we spoke on the phone. It’s nice to put a face to the voice, but... alas, I’m not spectacular with names, when the name doesn’t belong to a fictional character.”
Dean blinked, then found he was grinning. “Same. Uh, Dean. I’m Dean. Winchester.” He offered his hand.
Castiel stared down at the handshake Dean was offering. Then he took the hand, shaking it.
“We already did this,” Dean realised, just as Castiel pulled away. “Crap, I’m such a dweeb, I’m sorry.”
Castiel chuckled, his laughter echoing into his coffee mug as he took another sip. “All is forgiven, believe me.”
Dean turned his eyes away, relieved to see a swish of movement that was most definitely a child heading into the reference section. So long as he knew where they were, they could do whatever the fuck they liked, as far as Dean was concerned.
“Would you like some coffee while you wait?” Castiel asked, and Dean turned to meet his eye.
Castiel had such steadiness in his eye contact. It was equally reassuring and off-putting, but Dean got the impression that Castiel had no intention of scaring him off. Because really, who offers coffee to people they don’t want to talk to?
“Is it the instant microwaved shit?” Dean inquired, glancing to the mug that wobbled in Castiel’s hand as he tipped it.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t carry my entire star-barista-quality coffee machine into work this morning, so yes.” The damn eye-twinkle came back, and Dean realised he kinda liked it. It was mesmerising.
“Then sure,” Dean nodded. “Crap coffee. Home sweet home. Like hell I could afford anything else, right?”
Castiel sighed in agreement as he stood, unfolding his long legs. “I have the same problem, more often than not. Teachers ought to be paid more for the work they do.”
“Amen,” Dean sang.
Castiel straightened his rolled-up shirtsleeves, still holding tightly onto his mug. “I will be back shortly. Unless disaster strikes, I don’t recommend you go anywhere. Technically I’m not allowed coffee outside of the back room, and if I have to carry it to you - well...”
“Not a word,” Dean said, winking. Castiel smiled, and was still smiling as he moved on past the couch.
Dean sighed and slumped back against the couch, hearing the leather making fart noises under him. He amused himself with that for about thirty seconds, before wondering if he was actually just a giant eight-year-old himself.
“Mr. Winchester?”
Dean’s eyes snapped open and he looked up at Marvin, firstly wondering where he got chocolate from, then wondering why it was all over his face. After a few years in teaching, it honestly shouldn’t surprise him any more. Kids pulled sticky stuff out from thin air.
“What can I do for you, little man?” Dean asked, tiredly.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
Dean sighed and stood up, hoping his three-foot height advantage over Marvin would help him locate signposts.
“Over that way,” Dean said, pointing. He wasn’t meant to go in there with the kids, but he waved for Elroy as he waddled past, instructed them to stick together, and sent them on their way. “And if anyone tries to talk to you, what do you do?”
“Don’t talk, walk away, come and tell you,” Marvin chanted, off the top of his head.
“That’s right. Stay safe,” Dean added, keeping his eye on the boys until they headed around the corner and through the door to the bathroom.
“Ugh,” he muttered under his breath, flopping back down.
Dean’s baby brother Sammy had never been this much work when he was younger - and even then, Dean had only been eight years old himself. Back then, there weren’t a million Stranger Danger issues, but Dean knew first-hand that it wasn’t so much that there hadn’t been a problem, just that there was less awareness.
If anything, even if it was harder to work around now, it was better for the kids. Dean could appreciate that.
“Everything okay?” Castiel’s voice called.
Dean’s head perked up from the back of the couch, his neck unsticking from its surface with a scritchy sound. “Peachy. Thanks man,” he muttered, taking the steaming mug from Castiel’s fair-skinned, careful hand.
Dean purred at the back of his throat as he inhaled the tendrils of steam, loving the aroma. The mug made the coffee smell different than he was used to - a different washing soap brand, most likely - but the flat, milky fumes were enough to drag him right back to his days of teacher training courses and paperwork. A boring time, but there was a whole sense of gaining a future about it that made him feel good.
He took his first sip, sighing as it scalded his tongue. Delightfully awful.
Castiel made the other side of the couch creak again as he wriggled back into it, and Dean watched him pull his legs up, boots and all, until he was cross-legged, swallowing down another sip of his fresh beverage.
“Cowboy boots?” Dean asked, feeling a wide smile crawl across his face. He’d seen the design cut into the leather of Castiel’s shoes, and his stomach gave a floaty little flip.
Castiel looked down at his shoes like he’d only just noticed he was wearing them. “Oh. Yes, I quite like them. They remind me of, a, uh - a character.”
Dean met Castiel’s fluttering gaze, aware that his own eyes were probably twinkling right about now. “A book character?” Dean asked, slyly.
Castiel’s eyelids batted as he stared down into his coffee. “Of course, what else?”
Dean beamed. “Oh, I dunno,” he said, lightly. “But I don’t recall seeing Doctor Sexy in any books, do you?”
Castiel’s breath caught, and his eyes flashed to meet Dean’s. “Oh.”
Dean grinned at him, aware that his eyeline was dropping to Castiel’s mouth instead of lingering on his eyes. “Dr. Sexy’s the best thing on TV, man,” he said, forcing himself to look away from Castiel’s lined, pink lips. He looked into his coffee instead as he continued, “Don’t ever tell my brother I said that, though. He laughs every time he finds it recorded on my TiVo. Well - that and Project Runway, but... Heh.”
Castiel looked intrigued, leaning over his crossed legs, more facing Dean than he was facing the library now.
Dean licked his lips, conscious of the fact that Castiel hadn’t replied, and wondered if he was being judged. He’d got it right, hadn’t he? Cowboy boots?
Feeling awkward, Dean sank back against the couch cushion and tipped back his coffee, eyeing the dark rings as they layered all the way down the inside of the mug as he drank.
By the time he’d counted a total of six of his kids in this area, he’d mostly forgotten about his self-enforced silence, and his eyes drifted over to watch Castiel drinking from his own blue mug. It matched his eyes, Dean thought.
Castiel’s dark hair was disarrayed, but just combed enough to be smart - maybe it was intentionally tousled, but Dean could barely tell. There was a close-cut stubble across the librarian’s jaw, and a muscle in the side of his face that jumped every time he swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
Try as he might, Dean couldn’t stop staring. The rebounding sunlight caressed the front of Castiel’s face, making his straight nose stand out, a stark profile against the dark shadows of the other side of the library. He breathed steadily, still hunched over his crossed legs.
He was relaxed, and Dean thought he looked quite elegant.
Dean’s gaze sank from Castiel’s face to his arms, eyeing the neat point and curve of his wrists and fingers. His fingernails were short and rounded, the nails paler than the almost-tanned skin of the rest of him.
“Had no idea librarians had it in them to work out,” Dean murmured, smiling when Castiel glanced over at him. “You, what, got a jungle gym in the back room?”
A frown descended over Castiel’s face, pulling a line between his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Dean mouthed a cautious ‘o’.
“Uh.” He gulped. “You have nice arms.”
Lame.
Castiel looked down at his forearms in exactly the same way he’d looked at his shoes, as if he was surprised they were attached to him. “Oh. Thank you.”
Of course Dean had used the ‘you work out?’ line. Of all things, it had to be that.
“No, but really,” he added, huffing a slightly embarrassed breath. “What is it you’re doing? Because man,” Dean leaned back and patted his belly with a hand, “no matter what I do, jumping around all day with the kids, all I end up doing is packing on the tummy fat.”
Castiel glanced down Dean’s figure, and Dean got the distinct sense that he was being checked out. Like a library book. (Laaaaame.)
“You aren’t fat,” Castiel said, blandly enough that Dean blinked in surprise. “Perhaps not toned, but you are...”
Castiel met Dean’s eye. Then he cleared his throat, eyes dipping back to his coffee.
“What?” Dean prompted, grinning as he leaned a few inches closer. “Come on, don’t leave your poor sentence hangin’ like that.”
Castiel smiled into his mug as he downed another gulp. “I think ‘slender’ is the right word for it.”
Dean smirked. He wasn’t one to fish for compliments - no, really - but that one had been worth chasing. There was something about the way Castiel spoke that lifted Dean’s tired heart, just the smallest amount.
“Heh. Thanks,” Dean said, quietly.
He swished what remained of his coffee around the bottom of his mug, collecting up the dark rings of powder, and the sludge at the bottom.
Less than a minute after he was done with his coffee, he was called away by Travis, and Dean went to deal with his issues for him. He was glad to see Marvin and Elroy both back in the history section, but took a moment to stop them hurling spitballs at Lydia’s head.
By the time Dean got back to Castiel, with two full headcounts of all ten kids successfully completed, he was actually really glad to see the librarian was still cross-legged on the couch.
“Miss me?” Dean asked, cracking a smile as Castiel looked up from the magazine he’d been flipping through.
“I was going to send out a search party.” Castiel slipped the magazine back to the tottering pile by his side, then put his empty coffee mug on the floor beside it. “Seems there’s no longer a need, however.”
Dean spread his arms out over the back of the cushions, feeling the stretch in his shoulders do wonders for the headache that had slowly been building up.
He looked over to Castiel, unsure what he would say to him, but really just wanting to talk some more. There was a leisure between them, in a way that wasn’t quite banter, nor Dean’s usual boyish back-slapping, but it was pleasant. Calm, and elegant, just the same as Castiel’s whole manner.
Castiel was staring out of the far window again, eyes moving like he was reading a story in the way the trees swayed.
Dean’s gaze slid down Castiel’s figure once more, taking in the smart detail of his cowboy boots, of the actual pocket-watch chain that was dangling between his waistcoat buttons and his pocket. His hands resting on his knees.
Dean’s head tilted as he saw a dash of colour that stood out on the inside of Castiel’s forearm. A long, thin rectangle, separated into six small squares of colour: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. The whole shape was about an inch in length, its colours appearing faded by simply being on Castiel’s skin.
“Is that a tattoo, or were you just messing around with your new highlighters?” Dean asked, gesturing at the shape. He smiled, because again, Castiel blinked in surprise at that fact Dean had noticed.
But Castiel smiled as well, looking back to Dean. “Tattoo.”
Dean grinned. “It’s nice. Does it, uh, does it mean somethin’, or is it just there to make your arm look good?”
Castiel’s left hand went to trace over the ink, his fingertips rasping delicately over his soft skin. Dean saw the skin give even under such a light touch, and wondered if it was really as tender as it looked.
“It’s for... gay pride,” Castiel said, quietly. When he looked to Dean and caught his eye, he was smiling shyly.
Dean fiddled with his shirt collar, rubbing its material under his thumb. “All right. So you’re... uh?”
Castiel’s smile widened, as he exhaled through his nose as he glanced away. “You don’t have to be queer to be in support of human equality, Mr. Winchester.”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, I know that. I just. Um.”
Castiel’s eye-twinkle was back. “But, yes, I am,” he said. He nodded to Dean, then his eyeline swam across Dean’s shoulders, where Dean was still fiddling with his shirt.
Dean nodded slowly, letting out a breath. “You know, I’ve got some ink of my own,” he offered, glancing around in case any children were in the vicinity. When he determined the coast was clear, he leaned closer to Castiel with his hand in the collar of his grey t-shirt, and pulled it down past his clavicle.
Castiel’s eyes dropped to see what Dean was showing him: a pentagram encircled by sun-rays, tattooed over his heart; blue-black ink.
Dean smirked, then leaned back and let his t-shirt go.
Castiel squinted at him, tiny wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. “A devil’s... symbol?”
Dean sniggered, then couldn’t help the sudden but short guffaw that ripped from his throat. “Oh, hell no. C’mon, man, it’s a protection symbol. Me ‘n my little brother have got matching ones.”
“I see,” Castiel said, looking fairly relieved. “What’s your brother’s name?”
“Sammy,” Dean replied, smiling as he said the name. “Well, it’s Sam. He’s four years younger.”
Castiel nodded, appreciative. “I have six siblings, all older.”
Dean blanched. “Six? Holy crap.”
Castiel eyes crinkled up again as he smiled. “We are all adopted.”
“Right.” Dean huffed on a smile, distracted for a moment as he saw Sandy running past, and he called out after her, “Hey, kid, this is a library, no running.”
Dean sat back down, heaving a sigh that was less stressed than it had been earlier.
Castiel pointed out, calmly, “Sir, this is a library, and I would appreciate no shouting.”
“Sorry, man.” Dean pursed his lips, reaching to scratch his nose. He’d have used Castiel’s name right then, but he’d barely remembered it until the last second, and if he’d gone through with using it, it would’ve come out as just ‘Cas’. He smiled at the thought, though, because even if ‘Castiel’ was a tricky name, it was a good sound, and hey, he’d remembered it.
After a moment of companionable silence listening to the distant mutters of engaged children, Dean prodded, “So you don’t have any other work to get back to, huh?”
Castiel glanced at him, then chuckled. “I do. I have about five hours’ worth of shelving to do, since my co-worker called in sick today. There’s a bug going around, I think.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “There was meant to be a sub with me today, but I guess she’s spending the day with chicken soup instead. Just so long as I don’t come down with something, the kids are bearable enough.”
“You do find it rewarding, don’t you?” Castiel said, hooking an elbow over the back of the couch, angling himself even more towards Dean than he already was. “Teaching the children, I mean.”
“Yeah, totally. It’s fun, as well. Exhausting, like you wouldn't believe―”
“Oh, I do know; I moonlight as a substitute myself, remember?”
“―But yeah. Yeah, it’s great.” Dean nodded, his face aching a little from his smile.
This guy in front of him was dragging up smiles that Dean usually reserved for the kids, and like Sammy always told him, it was his best smile. As Dean was realising, Castiel was making it effortless. His scent still tasted like - what was that... myrrh? - mingled with crap coffee, and all as one, it made Dean warm from head to toe. It was a scent that reminded him of winter at Uncle Bobby’s house, that one time they finally got the tree up, and had real presents.
The fact that Castiel was dapper as fuck wasn’t really helping the tiny crush Dean may or may not have the beginnings of, somewhere deep inside him.
Dean mulled over random thoughts for a while, his eyes flitting in and out of Castiel’s gaze. Dean really liked when their gazes locked, and they would both smile together. It was freaky, especially given that they were strangers, but Dean honestly enjoyed it.
“Cas... Can I ask you a really, really terrible question?”
Castiel raised his eyebrows at the moniker - Dean silently kicked himself - but nodded.
Dean gulped. “Okay, well. I wouldn’t usually ask this to anyone, ‘cause like I said, it’s a dumb question. But you’re... Uh.”
He ran his hand over his lips, feeling his own stubble prickle his palm. “Just don’t think bad thoughts in my direction after this, okay?”
Castiel’s mouth quirked upward at the sides. “I’m sure your tattoo will protect you.”
“Sure,” Dean huffed. God, he shouldn’t be nervous, Cas was cool.
But still, Dean should probably have just Googled this. Castiel wasn’t Google. And yet...
Try-Something Tuesday.
Here goes.
“What― What’s it like? Kissing a guy?”
Castiel was most definitely surprised by that. “You’re right, that is a terrible question.”
Dean laughed against his hand, wishing he’d at least phrased it differently. “I mean, like... is it good?” He looked Castiel in the eye, hoping furiously that the bird-like head-tilting was a positive thing.
“Why are you asking?” Castiel said, voice free of any real inflection.
Dean shrugged bodily, shoulders touching his earlobes. “Curious. I never exactly...” He waved his hand between his chest and Castiel’s, then dropped it back to his thigh. “Experimented, or explored, or anything.” He shrugged again, setting his pale hand across his eyes. His stomach was clenched tight with self-judgement, because seriously, of all the fuck-tastic things he could’ve used this discussion for, this was the way he turned it.
“Well,” Castiel said - and boy, was Dean relieved to hear a smile in his voice, “usually, there tends to be lips involved. And wet noises, and wandering hands.”
Dean stared at the fuzziness behind his closed eyelids, just listening to the low tone of Castiel’s voice.
“Tongue, more often than not.”
“Yeah, but―” Dean cleared his throat, placing his hands together between his parted knees. “But that’s just kissing in general.” He gulped, and looked to his left to see Castiel peering back, his face impassive. “What’s different about kissing a guy than kissing a girl?”
Castiel’s blank face broke into a warm smile, and his head dipped down as he wheezed out a deep rumble of a laugh.
Dean wasn’t sure what he was laughing about, but he managed a soft, edgy echo in reaction.
Castiel finally raised his head, the look on his face seeming to express a sort of adoration of Dean’s oafishness. “How am I to know the difference, if I’ve never had the experience of kissing a girl?”
“Oh,” Dean said.
He licked his lips, eyes darting to quickly check on Marvin as he trundled past. Dean stayed quiet until the area was child-free once more, then he asked, “How do you know you’re not straight, or bi, or whatever, if you’ve never tried it with a girl?”
Castiel stared back. Okay, that was definitely a ‘Dean is dumb’ expression. Dean lowered his gaze apologetically.
With his voice as flat as roadkill, Castiel said, “If I really had to ask such questions of myself, then how do you know that you like men, if you’ve never kissed one?”
Dean gaped at Castiel’s cowboy boots. “Touché.”
There was a silence that took up several seconds, and Dean only noticed halfway through it that he was staring at Castiel. Throughout the second half of the moment, he noticed that Castiel was staring back. Smiling.
“How about,” Castiel said, his eyes flicking away, then back, “I show you.”
Dean’s jaw actually fell open. “Wh― What, you mean, uh...”
“Kissing.”
Dean’s insides curled and twisted, and hell yes―
“You’re serious?” he breathed, blinking across at the blue-eyed beauty who was beaming back at him. “Like, you’re actually, legit, for-real offering to make out with me?” His voice dropped to less than a decibel as he whispered the words, eyes again scanning nervously for eight-year-olds.
Castiel shrugged a shoulder, a hand nudging his fingertips against the side of his own lips. He nodded as he slipped the hand back to his lap, twining all ten fingers together. “I don’t see any reason why not.”
Dean’s mouth was still hanging open, and he consciously closed it, swiping his thick tongue over his lower lip as he did. Okay. Awesome.
Fucking hell.
“But not right now,” Castiel said, all of a sudden, raising a hand to Dean’s shoulder - in case he got any ideas. “After the library closes tonight.”
Dean nodded, and kept nodding as he muttered, “Yeah, yeah, of course. Yeah.”
Castiel flicked him another smile, this one not quite flirtatious, but Dean saw it for the first time as being legitimately interested. Interested in him.
“Now,” Castiel started, unfolding his legs and putting his boots flat on the carpet, “as I said earlier, I have about five hours’ worth of work to do.”
Dean sat halfway out of his seat before Castiel wandered away. He was still suspended in a weird state of shock, because attractive man, and lips, and kissing...
“Hey, Cas?” he called, keeping his voice down.
Castiel turned back, nudging the tower of magazines up a little straighter. “Yes, Mr. Winchester?”
Dean grinned. “See you when?”
“Eight,” Castiel nodded.
Their eyes connected, and Dean breathed in slowly, trying to savour this. There was a fluttery elation in him, something he’d never felt in quite this way before.
Castiel’s lips twitched, and he turned away.
Dean watched the librarian’s backside as he floated off, and caught the tiniest glimpse of his colourful tattoo as he held up both empty coffee mugs.
Castiel went to stand behind the check-out desk twenty feet behind the couch, and Dean sighed and turned back to the window, figuring he shouldn’t stare at the other man while he worked, no matter how enticing he was when he moved.
There was still an air of myrrh and coffee left in his wake, and Dean smirked, subtly taking in a breath.
Christ, this had not gone the way he expected. But then again, when did things ever?
It was the work of minutes before Dean was swept up once again in a tide of desperate, confused eight-year-olds, some of whom had decided to save Castiel work and put all the books back where they figured was best. Dean rolled his eyes and very quickly learned how the Dewey Decimal System functioned.
masterpost | part 2 »
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