Fic: Hit the Ground Upright 4/6
Title: Hit the Ground Upright 4/6
Author: carmexgirl
Pairing: Dean/Castiel,
Rating: NC-17 overall. This part NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: this chapter 4,154, 15,430 so far
Notes: Hooker!AU. Castiel's stuck in a crappy, pressurized job where he's unappreciated. He employs the services hooker to let off steam. Unlike the rest of his life though, things do not go according to plan.
Dedicated to the awesome Team 1!
Previous Chapters: One Two Three
“Can I tell you something?” Dean says at one of their meetings. It’s been just over two months of weekly rendezvous, not that Castiel is counting. Two months of seeing Dean every Wednesday, of going to the same diner and gradually working their way through the menu, of Castiel listening to Dean with rapt attention as he talks about his life, how family is important to him, and how he often puts Sam’s welfare above his own.
“What?” Says Castiel, moving lettuce around with his fork. He’s gone for the Caesar salad this time, much to Dean’s disgust. Dean looks slightly nervous, and Castiel thinks that the signs aren’t good. As their meetings have gone on, he has the growing feeling that Dean will one day put an end to them, that he’ll move on and leave Castiel exactly where he is with no idea how much his company means to him.
“I really look forward to seeing you. You know, I look forward to coming here and just…hanging out. Hearing you bitch and moan about your job and having someone to bitch and moan to about mine.”
Dean doesn’t talk about his job that much and to be honest, Castiel’s quite glad of that. He does regale him with stories of the occasional asshole client, or some of the weird requests he gets that he just has to turn down. The one last week, “Diaper Guy” as Dean called him, had Castiel spitting his coffee out all over the table while Dean howled with laughter.
It’s funny, because Castiel can completely separate what Dean does with the stories he tells. He can laugh at them without having to think of Dean on the streets, picking up guys and letting them use him however they want for the right price. Dean still has his principles, sure, but Castiel’s not certain he can reconcile the Dean he’s come to know with the hooker he met that night. It’s like they’ve separated themselves in his brain, and that’s what makes it easier to laugh along with Dean’s stupid stories.
Castiel has never laughed so much than when he’s with Dean, and he thanks…whoever that he has this at least. Even if it is only for a couple of hours once a week.
“You know,” Castiel says thoughtfully, carefully, “I do too.”
“Really?” Dean’s eyes are wide and he’s smiling.
“Yes. I like to just be myself here, not have to pretend I’m this professional guy who doesn’t get stressed, doesn’t feel pressurized.”
“I have seen you loosen up a little, Cas,” Dean says, chewing on a chicken wing. “It’s like, I dunno, you’re kinda more relaxed, like you smile a lot more.”
“Do I?” Castiel says, and can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.
Dean’s eyes light up, and he smiles too. “Yeah, just like that. You look so good when you smile, you should do it more often,” he says, before instantly finding something interesting to stare at on his plate.
“Maybe I will,” Castiel replies. “Maybe I have more to smile about these days.”
Castiel doesn’t know when the texting started, just that one day it did and it makes him smile whenever he receives one. It’s nearly the end of Thursday and he’s sitting at work, idly ploughing through an excel spreadsheet that Chuck put together. It’s awful; an utter mess of numbers and formulas that just don’t add up correctly. He should really stick to writing, Castiel thinks, because although he’s mediocre at that, he’s absolutely awful at accounting. He pulls out his phone, and sends a text to Dean which just says:
Having seen his ‘accountancy’ skills, I believe Chuck should stick to writing
His phone beeps immediately. You bitch ;p
Castiel smiles, now knowing what ‘;p’ means thanks to Dean, before putting his phone away in his pocket. Chuck’s not been getting on so great since he started at the company, and Zachariah in his infinite wisdom had decided he needed a mentor, with Castiel being the one to pick up that particular duty. ‘Pick up’ is probably not the right word; what had happened was he was called into Zachariah’s office and practically commanded to take Chuck on, with the caveat being, “If he fucks up, Novak, it’ll be your neck on the chopping block.”
Castiel goes back to looking at the spreadsheet, scrolling thought the numbers until something at the bottom makes him stop.
The totals don’t add up properly. In fact, given the income at the start of the sheet, the tax should be twice as high as Chuck has allowed for, meaning the client has paid too little and could be faced with a hefty fine or even worse. Castiel scrolls through reams and reams of numbers, bile rising in his throat as he does because it’s not just a small mistake, it’s a huge one.
The client’s not one of their biggest, but the Campbells do bring in a fair amount of revenue and their loss would be pretty significant to the company. Not ‘bankruptcy’ kind of a loss, but still a hefty one.
As Castiel scrolls though, he can feel his heart beating faster and faster. He knows what this is, having experienced it before at high school when Raphael Morris had called him a ‘fag’ and threatened to tell his parents. The color seems to drain out of the room gradually, and there’s a ringing in his ears that gets louder, louder.
He can hear Zachariah’s voice echoing around his head, “We all know Shurley’s untouchable, so that just leaves you, Novak.”
He can’t be fired. He needs this job. He doesn’t want to go crawling back to his parents, asking them for help and having to abide by what they say. He can’t do it. He wants to make his own way, even if it’s what his parents had planned for him all along. He doesn’t want to think about what he would do if he was fired. He wouldn’t be able to get another job, wouldn’t be able to keep his apartment, wouldn’t be able to meet up with Dean…
He gets up and practically runs to the bathroom in a stupor. His ears are popping, and he’s finding it difficult to breathe. He dives into a cubicle and sits on the toilet, watching as the gray walls swirl in front of him as he loses consciousness.
He wakes, not 20 seconds later, and immediately turns to throw up into the toilet bowl. He hates it, the aftermath of a panic attack. His hands are shaking and he feels weak, but he pulls himself up and stands there, leaning on the side of the cubicle while he gathers his thoughts. He feels for his phone in his pocket and dials Gabriel’s number. Gabriel will know what to do; Gabriel’s good at this sort of thing.
There’s no answer, and Castiel whines in despair, only to have a knock on the door and a familiar voice say, “Hey man, are you ok in there?”
Chuck, of all people. Castiel opens the door to see Chuck step back in shock. “Wow, you look terrible.”
He wants to hit him. The poor, stupid, oblivious man. He wants to hit him because he’s just ruined his life.
“Did you look through my spreadsheet?”
“Yes,” Castiel replies weakly, the nausea rising again.
“Oh right. Cos I did something pretty stupid. You see I sent you the wrong version. Missouri looked through what I’d done and I’d charged them wrong or something, so I amended it on later versions but didn’t send you it. Sorry about that, man.”
“You never…it was never sent to the client?”
Chuck shakes his head. “No, no. Missouri says I can never send anything out until she’s checked it and you’ve done the final check. Says I could bring down the company and everyone in it or something.” Chuck smiles, completely oblivious to the chaos he causes.
“Oh, God,” Castiel says, the relief washing through him and making his legs shake.
“Castiel are you sure you’re ok?”
“It’s fine, Chuck. Honestly. It’s the end of the day and you should be going home.”
“Really? Wow, time flies in his place, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes it does,” Castiel says. He’s beginning to get tired as the last of the adrenaline drains out of his system. Chuck smiles and turns to go, while Castiel stays, thinking. He absently picks up his phone again to see if Gabriel’s there, but presses the wrong button and instead calling the number of the last text message he received.
Shit, shit he thinks, but before he can hang up Dean’s already answered.
“Cas, man, you ok? You don’t normally call.”
“I’m…ok. I just…” he doesn’t know what to say-‘I’m an idiot and had a panic attack over nothing, then called your number by mistake?’ No, he can’t.
“You sound awful. You’re not sick or anything?”
“No, not really.”
“You sound sick. Look, you gotta take a day off from that place, I’m telling you. It’s not doing you any good.”
“I can’t. I just…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What?”
“I said, don’t worry about it. Speak to you soon.” The phone clicks off, and Castiel stands there, wondering what the hell just happened. He walks over to the sinks and washes his face before returning to his desk, shutting down the offending spreadsheet.
It’s then he feels the tap on his back and when he turns around, Zachariah is staring at him. “Go home,” he says.
“What?”
“HR have called. They’ve spoken to your doctor and we’re well aware of your illness. I don’t want any more of my staff coming down with flu. I don’t want to see you here until Monday, you got that Novak?”
“I..” Castiel is totally confused.
“This is your one and only sick day this quarter, you understand?”
“I, yes, yes I do,”
“Good. Go home.”
Zachariah walks away, pulling out a small tube of hand sanitizer and squirting it liberally over his hands. Castiel can’t believe it. Dean had actually called up and got him a day off.
As if on cue, his phone starts ringing. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. So, guess you got a day to yourself tomorrow?”
“I…yes.”
“Good, you can meet me at the usual place then, 11am. Give me chance to sleep off the night shift.”
“But why?”
Dean sighs audibly. “Because you’re working so hard, you don’t owe them anything, and it’s not good for you. You’re always so stressed and you gotta learn your job isn’t everything, right? So usual place, 11am.”
“But what are we doing?”
“Ah, that’s for me to know, and you to find out. See you tomorrow, Cas.” Then phone clicks off, and as Castiel grabs his coat, he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
He arrives promptly at 11am the next day, to find Dean already waiting for him, standing next to what looks like a large toolbox. He’s wearing some low slung jeans and a faded lack t-shirt with ‘Led Zeppelin’ emblazoned on it. He looks…really good, with his eyes glinting in the sun and Castiel knows it’s going to be an effort for him to keep his hands to himself. Dean spots him and waves, smiling.
“Hey,” he says as Castiel pulls up. “How did it feel to have a lie in this morning?”
“Great.” It’s true; Castiel had slept better than he had in ages knowing he didn’t need to worry about work for once. It was…liberating to say the least.
Dean picks up the toolbox and carries it around to the trunk, while Castiel gets out to unlock it. He eyes the box suspiciously. “What’s in the box?”
“Coupla rods, some bait, coupla chairs…” Dean says nonchalantly, as though the answer should be obvious.
“Fishing?”
Dean’s grin gets wider as he shuts the trunk. “Yeah, most relaxing thing I know. When things were kinda shitty with my dad, I’d always disappear to the nearest river, catch a few fish and sit on the side cooking and eating them. Never failed to make me feel better. Kinda gives you a chance to think, put things into perspective.”
“I see.”
They both get into the car and Castiel starts driving, with Dean directing him. They head out of town and down a pretty dusty track to a lake. It’s not huge, but it’s big enough to contain all sorts of fish Castiel imagines. Castiel parks up and they haul the box out of the trunk, walking out to the jetty and setting up their chairs. Castiel stares out across the water, watching as the surface ripples, glistening under the reflection of the sun. There’s a group of birds chattering in a tree on the other side, and around it he can make out the forms of other fishermen, sitting there quietly, rods dangling in the water as they wait patiently for a bite.
“You like it here?” Dean asks as he puts the rods together and sets them up.
“I do,” Castiel says, “very much. It’s very…calming.”
“Exactly. Just what you need. You gotta learn to relax sometimes.” Castiel is inclined to agree. “Here, I’ll teach you how to cast off.”
Dean hands him a rod, and suddenly his arms are around him, his face resting on his shoulder. Castiel can feel the slight tickle of his lips on his neck and it makes him shudder. Dean’s hands grip his arms, swaying the rod and teaching him to throw the line far into the water. He feels…solid, sure, dependable. It’s wonderful, and Castiel realizes how difficult today’s going to be in terms of keeping his feelings in check. To think he almost threw this away.
“So like this,” Dean says, casting the line far into the water. Castiel watches with fascination as it dips into the water, creating a huge circle of ripples that expand outwards. “Now, sit down, and just wait.” He does, momentarily disappointed that Dean’s arms are no longer around him.
Dean casts his own line out and they sit like that for a couple of hours, just talking about everything and nothing. With every word spoken Castiel finds himself falling harder, faster, and for a moment he can forget who they are, what they do and the pressures they are under. Dean pulls out some premade sandwiches and they sit and eat, rods and thoughts of catching fish long forgotten in the sheer enjoyment of each other’s company. Eventually, after 3 hours of not even a bite, they decide to call it a day and pack up, loading up the box and heaving it into the trunk of the car.
“So, where do you want to go?” Castiel asks as he starts the engine.
“Well, if you could take me to my apartment, that’d be awesome. The box is a bitch to carry.”
“Ok, show me the way,” Castiel says, his heart beating just that little bit faster.
Dean’s apartment is in an ok area of town-not the best, but certainly not the worst. Castiel offers to carry the box upstairs as the elevator is broken, and Dean inevitably invites him in. The apartment is small, rather cramped, but homely. There are pictures of Sam and Dean everywhere, and one of a man he figures must be their father.
“Sammy’s at school,” Dean says as he walks into the small kitchenette. “Coffee?”
“Yes please,” Castiel answers as he sits down on the small couch.
Dean brings the coffee through, sitting next to him, perhaps a little too close for comfort. Yes the couch is small, but Castiel’s not particularly large so there’s room. He doesn’t complain, liking having Dean close to him. Wishes it could be more.
He sips his coffee. Dean echoes his movements and as they put their cups down on the rickety coffee table, their eyes meet.
He’s blinded by his smile, staring straight into his eyes and something inside him just breaks, can’t help it. It seems Dean thinks the same thing because as Castiel moves forward so does he until their lips meet in a crushing kiss. It’s hard, a little frantic and a little bit amazing as their mouths move together, lips parting in tandem as tongues delve inside and push against each other.
Dean’s arms wrap around him, pushing him down onto the couch and the weight on top of him is glorious. He’s hard, and he arches up as Dean continues to kiss him, causing Dean to groan and grind his own hardness into him. The kisses get deeper, more urgent, until Castiel has to break away and breathe for a moment, looking up at Dean’s kiss-swollen lips, red flush creeping down that gorgeous neck.
“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” Dean asks, his voice husky.
Castiel answers with another searing kiss, before he’s pulled up and dragged into Dean’s small bedroom. There are various posters on the wall, a large stack of tapes on a wobbly shelf, and various bits of what Castiel thinks are engine parts scattered here and there. Castiel feels himself pushed onto the bed, Dean still kissing him thoroughly before he breaks away to kiss down his neck while he undoes his shirt.
“So beautiful,” Dean moans as he kisses down to Castiel’s collar bone, pulling his shirt off him to expose his chest. Castiel pulls Dean’s t shirt up, letting him step back to maneuver it over his head before pressing their chests together. Castiel can’t help but groan-Dean’s all hard lines with a softness to his belly, and he looks amazing. Then Dean starts to undo Castiel’s jeans, pulling them down to his knees along with his boxers and exposing his cock, hard and leaking.
“Just as good as I remembered,” Dean says, and Castiel stops for a moment, thinking about what happened the last time, what situation they had been in. He can’t do this…he can’t…it’s…it’s…
But then Dean’s wrapped his lips around him and Castiel finds he can’t think anymore, just wants to thrust up into Dean’s warm and willing mouth, come down his throat. He was right about his blow job skills-his tongue is amazing, and he knows just the right movements to make, just the right pressure to apply and where. When Castiel opens his eyes he can see Dean has a hand down his own pants, stroking himself and moaning in pleasure. They need to stop this, or it’s going to be over before they’ve started.
“Dean,” Castiel says.
“Mmhmmm,” Dean moans around his cock.
“It’s…it’s too good. Please, or I’ll…”
Dean pulls off and Castiel all out whimpers until Dean’s lips are on his again. “You taste so good,” Dean says into his lips, “Could suck on you all evening.”
“Dean,” Castiel moans.
“Not now though. Want you inside me.”
He pulls off, pulling Castiel’s jeans down and off along with his shoes and socks. Then he pulls his own jeans down, exposing his cock into the air. It’s red and flushed, and leaking slightly at the top. Castiel wants to lean over, take him in his mouth but he knows he can’t. He knows Dean has regular check ups and tests, but he doesn’t want to take the risk.
Dean opens a drawer at the side of his bed, pulling out lube and a condom. He then goes back to kissing Castiel hard and long while Castiel takes him in hand and starts jerking him off in long, slow strokes. “Want you,” Dean says as he kisses him. “Want you so badly, Cas.”
Castiel can echo the sentiment. He’s managed to shut off the part of his brain that tells him this is a bad idea, and instead is concentrating on the part that has been sorely neglected; the part that needs company, wants to feel wanted, loved, adored.
Castiel pulls away, spreading lube on his fingers before working his way down the bed so he’s sitting between Dean’s knees. Dean hitches himself up, watching Castiel with rapt fascination as he circles a finger around his hole, teasing him, dipping the pad of his finger inside before pulling out. Castiel looks up at Dean and smiles, knowing that he’s teasing, that he’s making Dean wait. Dean huffs in amused annoyance, understanding exactly what he’s doing before his face suddenly contorts in pleasure as Castiel finally pushes his finger inside.
He’s tight, tighter than expected, but then he’d told Castiel before that most of what he does is blow jobs, so he guesses that’s no surprise. Again Castiel stops when he thinks about it, just for a second, but it’s enough to make Dean notice.
“Cas,” he says, voice hoarse. “You ok?”
“I…yeah. Yes, I’m ok.” He pulls his finger out, pushing two inside and the way Dean moans…he can’t stop it now. He can’t. He’s wanted this for so long, why shouldn’t he have something that he wants just for once?
Dean starts to move, starts to fuck himself on Castiel’s fingers, loosening himself up. Castiel adds a third, pumping them in and out before curling them slightly to rub on his prostate. Dean arches up, moaning loudly. “Cas. God Cas I want you, need you inside me. Please?”
“My God Dean you’re so…so,” he doesn’t have the words to describe what Dean looks like, fucking himself on his fingers and begging him to be inside him. He looks glorious, and a tingle fizzes up Castiel’s spine.
He pulls his fingers out, rolling on the condom quickly and spreading more lube on his hard and aching cock. He goes to turn Dean over, but Dean stops him. “No,” he says, “no. I do it that way when I’m.... I want to see your face. Please?”
Castiel nods, lining himself up with Dean’s entrance. He leans down, kisses Dean as he pushes inside. He’s tight, and it’s been so long since Castiel has done this he has to take a minute to compose himself. He takes a deep breath, and starts thrusting, slowly at first before building up a rhythm that has Dean moaning and panting.
“Yes,” he cries. “Oh god, that’s good.”
“Dean,” Castiel moans. “You’re so…it’s so…you feel so good.”
“Cas, need you. Need more. Please,” Dean moans, and Castiel speeds up, fucking into him as Dean grips the head of the bed and holds on tight. He’s going faster, faster, getting lost in the feel of Dean tight around him. He must hit Dean’s prostate because Dean moans louder, wanting more and moving his body to meet Castiel’s thrusts.
Castiel continues to thrust, faster and faster, hitting Dean’s prostate with every stroke. He looks down, sees where they’re bodies are joined, and is about to reach for Dean’s cock when Dean suddenly arches up. “Fuck!” He moans almost desperately. “Fuck, you’re making me come!”
Dean’s dick spurts, untouched, all over his stomach as he moans and writhes, and the sight knocks Castiel off his rhythm for a while-he has never, ever done this to anyone before, never made them come untouched, didn’t even think it was possible. He starts again, going faster and faster until he can feel himself start to break, feel his orgasm coming as he thrusts one last time, filling the condom as he calls Dean’s name.
They stay, still joined together and panting until Castiel’s arms give way and he collapses on top of Dean, not caring about the mess on his stomach.
“Oh my god, Cas,” Dean says, amazement evident in his voice. “I’ve never…that was amazing.”
Castiel slips out, pulling the condom off and tying the end before walking to the bathroom. He brings back tissue, giving some to Dean as they wipe each other off. Then, Dean pulls the covers off, sliding inside and patting the mattress, indicating for Cas to follow. He does, and lies there, wrapped in Dean’s arms as their heartbeats slow down, making an effort to not think about what happens next.
He knows Dean has to get up soon, has to get dressed, go out and stand on a street corner inviting people to do whatever they want with him. Castiel doesn’t want to think about it, refuses to. He just wants this, now, whatever it is.
He’s just slipping into a light doze, reveling in Dean’s warmth and the feel of his arms around him. His eyes are closed and he can feel soft lips pressing butterfly kisses into his skin. It feels good. He sighs in contentment, moving closer and burrowing his head under the covers and into Dean’s shoulder.
It’s then that he feels Dean kiss the top of his head. “Cas?” he says softly.
“Mmmhmm?” Castiel mumbles sleepily.
“I think…I think I love you.”
Castiel just mumbles again, not entirely certain he’s heard correctly and preferring not to think about anything at all.
Author: carmexgirl
Pairing: Dean/Castiel,
Rating: NC-17 overall. This part NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: this chapter 4,154, 15,430 so far
Notes: Hooker!AU. Castiel's stuck in a crappy, pressurized job where he's unappreciated. He employs the services hooker to let off steam. Unlike the rest of his life though, things do not go according to plan.
Dedicated to the awesome Team 1!
Previous Chapters: One Two Three
“Can I tell you something?” Dean says at one of their meetings. It’s been just over two months of weekly rendezvous, not that Castiel is counting. Two months of seeing Dean every Wednesday, of going to the same diner and gradually working their way through the menu, of Castiel listening to Dean with rapt attention as he talks about his life, how family is important to him, and how he often puts Sam’s welfare above his own.
“What?” Says Castiel, moving lettuce around with his fork. He’s gone for the Caesar salad this time, much to Dean’s disgust. Dean looks slightly nervous, and Castiel thinks that the signs aren’t good. As their meetings have gone on, he has the growing feeling that Dean will one day put an end to them, that he’ll move on and leave Castiel exactly where he is with no idea how much his company means to him.
“I really look forward to seeing you. You know, I look forward to coming here and just…hanging out. Hearing you bitch and moan about your job and having someone to bitch and moan to about mine.”
Dean doesn’t talk about his job that much and to be honest, Castiel’s quite glad of that. He does regale him with stories of the occasional asshole client, or some of the weird requests he gets that he just has to turn down. The one last week, “Diaper Guy” as Dean called him, had Castiel spitting his coffee out all over the table while Dean howled with laughter.
It’s funny, because Castiel can completely separate what Dean does with the stories he tells. He can laugh at them without having to think of Dean on the streets, picking up guys and letting them use him however they want for the right price. Dean still has his principles, sure, but Castiel’s not certain he can reconcile the Dean he’s come to know with the hooker he met that night. It’s like they’ve separated themselves in his brain, and that’s what makes it easier to laugh along with Dean’s stupid stories.
Castiel has never laughed so much than when he’s with Dean, and he thanks…whoever that he has this at least. Even if it is only for a couple of hours once a week.
“You know,” Castiel says thoughtfully, carefully, “I do too.”
“Really?” Dean’s eyes are wide and he’s smiling.
“Yes. I like to just be myself here, not have to pretend I’m this professional guy who doesn’t get stressed, doesn’t feel pressurized.”
“I have seen you loosen up a little, Cas,” Dean says, chewing on a chicken wing. “It’s like, I dunno, you’re kinda more relaxed, like you smile a lot more.”
“Do I?” Castiel says, and can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.
Dean’s eyes light up, and he smiles too. “Yeah, just like that. You look so good when you smile, you should do it more often,” he says, before instantly finding something interesting to stare at on his plate.
“Maybe I will,” Castiel replies. “Maybe I have more to smile about these days.”
Castiel doesn’t know when the texting started, just that one day it did and it makes him smile whenever he receives one. It’s nearly the end of Thursday and he’s sitting at work, idly ploughing through an excel spreadsheet that Chuck put together. It’s awful; an utter mess of numbers and formulas that just don’t add up correctly. He should really stick to writing, Castiel thinks, because although he’s mediocre at that, he’s absolutely awful at accounting. He pulls out his phone, and sends a text to Dean which just says:
Having seen his ‘accountancy’ skills, I believe Chuck should stick to writing
His phone beeps immediately. You bitch ;p
Castiel smiles, now knowing what ‘;p’ means thanks to Dean, before putting his phone away in his pocket. Chuck’s not been getting on so great since he started at the company, and Zachariah in his infinite wisdom had decided he needed a mentor, with Castiel being the one to pick up that particular duty. ‘Pick up’ is probably not the right word; what had happened was he was called into Zachariah’s office and practically commanded to take Chuck on, with the caveat being, “If he fucks up, Novak, it’ll be your neck on the chopping block.”
Castiel goes back to looking at the spreadsheet, scrolling thought the numbers until something at the bottom makes him stop.
The totals don’t add up properly. In fact, given the income at the start of the sheet, the tax should be twice as high as Chuck has allowed for, meaning the client has paid too little and could be faced with a hefty fine or even worse. Castiel scrolls through reams and reams of numbers, bile rising in his throat as he does because it’s not just a small mistake, it’s a huge one.
The client’s not one of their biggest, but the Campbells do bring in a fair amount of revenue and their loss would be pretty significant to the company. Not ‘bankruptcy’ kind of a loss, but still a hefty one.
As Castiel scrolls though, he can feel his heart beating faster and faster. He knows what this is, having experienced it before at high school when Raphael Morris had called him a ‘fag’ and threatened to tell his parents. The color seems to drain out of the room gradually, and there’s a ringing in his ears that gets louder, louder.
He can hear Zachariah’s voice echoing around his head, “We all know Shurley’s untouchable, so that just leaves you, Novak.”
He can’t be fired. He needs this job. He doesn’t want to go crawling back to his parents, asking them for help and having to abide by what they say. He can’t do it. He wants to make his own way, even if it’s what his parents had planned for him all along. He doesn’t want to think about what he would do if he was fired. He wouldn’t be able to get another job, wouldn’t be able to keep his apartment, wouldn’t be able to meet up with Dean…
He gets up and practically runs to the bathroom in a stupor. His ears are popping, and he’s finding it difficult to breathe. He dives into a cubicle and sits on the toilet, watching as the gray walls swirl in front of him as he loses consciousness.
He wakes, not 20 seconds later, and immediately turns to throw up into the toilet bowl. He hates it, the aftermath of a panic attack. His hands are shaking and he feels weak, but he pulls himself up and stands there, leaning on the side of the cubicle while he gathers his thoughts. He feels for his phone in his pocket and dials Gabriel’s number. Gabriel will know what to do; Gabriel’s good at this sort of thing.
There’s no answer, and Castiel whines in despair, only to have a knock on the door and a familiar voice say, “Hey man, are you ok in there?”
Chuck, of all people. Castiel opens the door to see Chuck step back in shock. “Wow, you look terrible.”
He wants to hit him. The poor, stupid, oblivious man. He wants to hit him because he’s just ruined his life.
“Did you look through my spreadsheet?”
“Yes,” Castiel replies weakly, the nausea rising again.
“Oh right. Cos I did something pretty stupid. You see I sent you the wrong version. Missouri looked through what I’d done and I’d charged them wrong or something, so I amended it on later versions but didn’t send you it. Sorry about that, man.”
“You never…it was never sent to the client?”
Chuck shakes his head. “No, no. Missouri says I can never send anything out until she’s checked it and you’ve done the final check. Says I could bring down the company and everyone in it or something.” Chuck smiles, completely oblivious to the chaos he causes.
“Oh, God,” Castiel says, the relief washing through him and making his legs shake.
“Castiel are you sure you’re ok?”
“It’s fine, Chuck. Honestly. It’s the end of the day and you should be going home.”
“Really? Wow, time flies in his place, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes it does,” Castiel says. He’s beginning to get tired as the last of the adrenaline drains out of his system. Chuck smiles and turns to go, while Castiel stays, thinking. He absently picks up his phone again to see if Gabriel’s there, but presses the wrong button and instead calling the number of the last text message he received.
Shit, shit he thinks, but before he can hang up Dean’s already answered.
“Cas, man, you ok? You don’t normally call.”
“I’m…ok. I just…” he doesn’t know what to say-‘I’m an idiot and had a panic attack over nothing, then called your number by mistake?’ No, he can’t.
“You sound awful. You’re not sick or anything?”
“No, not really.”
“You sound sick. Look, you gotta take a day off from that place, I’m telling you. It’s not doing you any good.”
“I can’t. I just…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What?”
“I said, don’t worry about it. Speak to you soon.” The phone clicks off, and Castiel stands there, wondering what the hell just happened. He walks over to the sinks and washes his face before returning to his desk, shutting down the offending spreadsheet.
It’s then he feels the tap on his back and when he turns around, Zachariah is staring at him. “Go home,” he says.
“What?”
“HR have called. They’ve spoken to your doctor and we’re well aware of your illness. I don’t want any more of my staff coming down with flu. I don’t want to see you here until Monday, you got that Novak?”
“I..” Castiel is totally confused.
“This is your one and only sick day this quarter, you understand?”
“I, yes, yes I do,”
“Good. Go home.”
Zachariah walks away, pulling out a small tube of hand sanitizer and squirting it liberally over his hands. Castiel can’t believe it. Dean had actually called up and got him a day off.
As if on cue, his phone starts ringing. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. So, guess you got a day to yourself tomorrow?”
“I…yes.”
“Good, you can meet me at the usual place then, 11am. Give me chance to sleep off the night shift.”
“But why?”
Dean sighs audibly. “Because you’re working so hard, you don’t owe them anything, and it’s not good for you. You’re always so stressed and you gotta learn your job isn’t everything, right? So usual place, 11am.”
“But what are we doing?”
“Ah, that’s for me to know, and you to find out. See you tomorrow, Cas.” Then phone clicks off, and as Castiel grabs his coat, he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
He arrives promptly at 11am the next day, to find Dean already waiting for him, standing next to what looks like a large toolbox. He’s wearing some low slung jeans and a faded lack t-shirt with ‘Led Zeppelin’ emblazoned on it. He looks…really good, with his eyes glinting in the sun and Castiel knows it’s going to be an effort for him to keep his hands to himself. Dean spots him and waves, smiling.
“Hey,” he says as Castiel pulls up. “How did it feel to have a lie in this morning?”
“Great.” It’s true; Castiel had slept better than he had in ages knowing he didn’t need to worry about work for once. It was…liberating to say the least.
Dean picks up the toolbox and carries it around to the trunk, while Castiel gets out to unlock it. He eyes the box suspiciously. “What’s in the box?”
“Coupla rods, some bait, coupla chairs…” Dean says nonchalantly, as though the answer should be obvious.
“Fishing?”
Dean’s grin gets wider as he shuts the trunk. “Yeah, most relaxing thing I know. When things were kinda shitty with my dad, I’d always disappear to the nearest river, catch a few fish and sit on the side cooking and eating them. Never failed to make me feel better. Kinda gives you a chance to think, put things into perspective.”
“I see.”
They both get into the car and Castiel starts driving, with Dean directing him. They head out of town and down a pretty dusty track to a lake. It’s not huge, but it’s big enough to contain all sorts of fish Castiel imagines. Castiel parks up and they haul the box out of the trunk, walking out to the jetty and setting up their chairs. Castiel stares out across the water, watching as the surface ripples, glistening under the reflection of the sun. There’s a group of birds chattering in a tree on the other side, and around it he can make out the forms of other fishermen, sitting there quietly, rods dangling in the water as they wait patiently for a bite.
“You like it here?” Dean asks as he puts the rods together and sets them up.
“I do,” Castiel says, “very much. It’s very…calming.”
“Exactly. Just what you need. You gotta learn to relax sometimes.” Castiel is inclined to agree. “Here, I’ll teach you how to cast off.”
Dean hands him a rod, and suddenly his arms are around him, his face resting on his shoulder. Castiel can feel the slight tickle of his lips on his neck and it makes him shudder. Dean’s hands grip his arms, swaying the rod and teaching him to throw the line far into the water. He feels…solid, sure, dependable. It’s wonderful, and Castiel realizes how difficult today’s going to be in terms of keeping his feelings in check. To think he almost threw this away.
“So like this,” Dean says, casting the line far into the water. Castiel watches with fascination as it dips into the water, creating a huge circle of ripples that expand outwards. “Now, sit down, and just wait.” He does, momentarily disappointed that Dean’s arms are no longer around him.
Dean casts his own line out and they sit like that for a couple of hours, just talking about everything and nothing. With every word spoken Castiel finds himself falling harder, faster, and for a moment he can forget who they are, what they do and the pressures they are under. Dean pulls out some premade sandwiches and they sit and eat, rods and thoughts of catching fish long forgotten in the sheer enjoyment of each other’s company. Eventually, after 3 hours of not even a bite, they decide to call it a day and pack up, loading up the box and heaving it into the trunk of the car.
“So, where do you want to go?” Castiel asks as he starts the engine.
“Well, if you could take me to my apartment, that’d be awesome. The box is a bitch to carry.”
“Ok, show me the way,” Castiel says, his heart beating just that little bit faster.
Dean’s apartment is in an ok area of town-not the best, but certainly not the worst. Castiel offers to carry the box upstairs as the elevator is broken, and Dean inevitably invites him in. The apartment is small, rather cramped, but homely. There are pictures of Sam and Dean everywhere, and one of a man he figures must be their father.
“Sammy’s at school,” Dean says as he walks into the small kitchenette. “Coffee?”
“Yes please,” Castiel answers as he sits down on the small couch.
Dean brings the coffee through, sitting next to him, perhaps a little too close for comfort. Yes the couch is small, but Castiel’s not particularly large so there’s room. He doesn’t complain, liking having Dean close to him. Wishes it could be more.
He sips his coffee. Dean echoes his movements and as they put their cups down on the rickety coffee table, their eyes meet.
He’s blinded by his smile, staring straight into his eyes and something inside him just breaks, can’t help it. It seems Dean thinks the same thing because as Castiel moves forward so does he until their lips meet in a crushing kiss. It’s hard, a little frantic and a little bit amazing as their mouths move together, lips parting in tandem as tongues delve inside and push against each other.
Dean’s arms wrap around him, pushing him down onto the couch and the weight on top of him is glorious. He’s hard, and he arches up as Dean continues to kiss him, causing Dean to groan and grind his own hardness into him. The kisses get deeper, more urgent, until Castiel has to break away and breathe for a moment, looking up at Dean’s kiss-swollen lips, red flush creeping down that gorgeous neck.
“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” Dean asks, his voice husky.
Castiel answers with another searing kiss, before he’s pulled up and dragged into Dean’s small bedroom. There are various posters on the wall, a large stack of tapes on a wobbly shelf, and various bits of what Castiel thinks are engine parts scattered here and there. Castiel feels himself pushed onto the bed, Dean still kissing him thoroughly before he breaks away to kiss down his neck while he undoes his shirt.
“So beautiful,” Dean moans as he kisses down to Castiel’s collar bone, pulling his shirt off him to expose his chest. Castiel pulls Dean’s t shirt up, letting him step back to maneuver it over his head before pressing their chests together. Castiel can’t help but groan-Dean’s all hard lines with a softness to his belly, and he looks amazing. Then Dean starts to undo Castiel’s jeans, pulling them down to his knees along with his boxers and exposing his cock, hard and leaking.
“Just as good as I remembered,” Dean says, and Castiel stops for a moment, thinking about what happened the last time, what situation they had been in. He can’t do this…he can’t…it’s…it’s…
But then Dean’s wrapped his lips around him and Castiel finds he can’t think anymore, just wants to thrust up into Dean’s warm and willing mouth, come down his throat. He was right about his blow job skills-his tongue is amazing, and he knows just the right movements to make, just the right pressure to apply and where. When Castiel opens his eyes he can see Dean has a hand down his own pants, stroking himself and moaning in pleasure. They need to stop this, or it’s going to be over before they’ve started.
“Dean,” Castiel says.
“Mmhmmm,” Dean moans around his cock.
“It’s…it’s too good. Please, or I’ll…”
Dean pulls off and Castiel all out whimpers until Dean’s lips are on his again. “You taste so good,” Dean says into his lips, “Could suck on you all evening.”
“Dean,” Castiel moans.
“Not now though. Want you inside me.”
He pulls off, pulling Castiel’s jeans down and off along with his shoes and socks. Then he pulls his own jeans down, exposing his cock into the air. It’s red and flushed, and leaking slightly at the top. Castiel wants to lean over, take him in his mouth but he knows he can’t. He knows Dean has regular check ups and tests, but he doesn’t want to take the risk.
Dean opens a drawer at the side of his bed, pulling out lube and a condom. He then goes back to kissing Castiel hard and long while Castiel takes him in hand and starts jerking him off in long, slow strokes. “Want you,” Dean says as he kisses him. “Want you so badly, Cas.”
Castiel can echo the sentiment. He’s managed to shut off the part of his brain that tells him this is a bad idea, and instead is concentrating on the part that has been sorely neglected; the part that needs company, wants to feel wanted, loved, adored.
Castiel pulls away, spreading lube on his fingers before working his way down the bed so he’s sitting between Dean’s knees. Dean hitches himself up, watching Castiel with rapt fascination as he circles a finger around his hole, teasing him, dipping the pad of his finger inside before pulling out. Castiel looks up at Dean and smiles, knowing that he’s teasing, that he’s making Dean wait. Dean huffs in amused annoyance, understanding exactly what he’s doing before his face suddenly contorts in pleasure as Castiel finally pushes his finger inside.
He’s tight, tighter than expected, but then he’d told Castiel before that most of what he does is blow jobs, so he guesses that’s no surprise. Again Castiel stops when he thinks about it, just for a second, but it’s enough to make Dean notice.
“Cas,” he says, voice hoarse. “You ok?”
“I…yeah. Yes, I’m ok.” He pulls his finger out, pushing two inside and the way Dean moans…he can’t stop it now. He can’t. He’s wanted this for so long, why shouldn’t he have something that he wants just for once?
Dean starts to move, starts to fuck himself on Castiel’s fingers, loosening himself up. Castiel adds a third, pumping them in and out before curling them slightly to rub on his prostate. Dean arches up, moaning loudly. “Cas. God Cas I want you, need you inside me. Please?”
“My God Dean you’re so…so,” he doesn’t have the words to describe what Dean looks like, fucking himself on his fingers and begging him to be inside him. He looks glorious, and a tingle fizzes up Castiel’s spine.
He pulls his fingers out, rolling on the condom quickly and spreading more lube on his hard and aching cock. He goes to turn Dean over, but Dean stops him. “No,” he says, “no. I do it that way when I’m.... I want to see your face. Please?”
Castiel nods, lining himself up with Dean’s entrance. He leans down, kisses Dean as he pushes inside. He’s tight, and it’s been so long since Castiel has done this he has to take a minute to compose himself. He takes a deep breath, and starts thrusting, slowly at first before building up a rhythm that has Dean moaning and panting.
“Yes,” he cries. “Oh god, that’s good.”
“Dean,” Castiel moans. “You’re so…it’s so…you feel so good.”
“Cas, need you. Need more. Please,” Dean moans, and Castiel speeds up, fucking into him as Dean grips the head of the bed and holds on tight. He’s going faster, faster, getting lost in the feel of Dean tight around him. He must hit Dean’s prostate because Dean moans louder, wanting more and moving his body to meet Castiel’s thrusts.
Castiel continues to thrust, faster and faster, hitting Dean’s prostate with every stroke. He looks down, sees where they’re bodies are joined, and is about to reach for Dean’s cock when Dean suddenly arches up. “Fuck!” He moans almost desperately. “Fuck, you’re making me come!”
Dean’s dick spurts, untouched, all over his stomach as he moans and writhes, and the sight knocks Castiel off his rhythm for a while-he has never, ever done this to anyone before, never made them come untouched, didn’t even think it was possible. He starts again, going faster and faster until he can feel himself start to break, feel his orgasm coming as he thrusts one last time, filling the condom as he calls Dean’s name.
They stay, still joined together and panting until Castiel’s arms give way and he collapses on top of Dean, not caring about the mess on his stomach.
“Oh my god, Cas,” Dean says, amazement evident in his voice. “I’ve never…that was amazing.”
Castiel slips out, pulling the condom off and tying the end before walking to the bathroom. He brings back tissue, giving some to Dean as they wipe each other off. Then, Dean pulls the covers off, sliding inside and patting the mattress, indicating for Cas to follow. He does, and lies there, wrapped in Dean’s arms as their heartbeats slow down, making an effort to not think about what happens next.
He knows Dean has to get up soon, has to get dressed, go out and stand on a street corner inviting people to do whatever they want with him. Castiel doesn’t want to think about it, refuses to. He just wants this, now, whatever it is.
He’s just slipping into a light doze, reveling in Dean’s warmth and the feel of his arms around him. His eyes are closed and he can feel soft lips pressing butterfly kisses into his skin. It feels good. He sighs in contentment, moving closer and burrowing his head under the covers and into Dean’s shoulder.
It’s then that he feels Dean kiss the top of his head. “Cas?” he says softly.
“Mmmhmm?” Castiel mumbles sleepily.
“I think…I think I love you.”
Castiel just mumbles again, not entirely certain he’s heard correctly and preferring not to think about anything at all.