Lazarus Coming (fic) 2/3

[olympia_m]

Half an hour later, Chuck realises that Dean isn’t leaving, even though he’s as clean as he can be under the circumstances and he’s dressed already. “What are you waiting for?”

Dean shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that.”

He looks up for just a moment, and Chuck sighs and reaches for the bottle. “I already did you a favor,” he says.

“I know. Thanks, man. Look, I just wanna talk to Jimmy. I can wait. Why don’t you give me the keys and I’ll lock up?”

“Maybe Jimmy doesn’t want to talk to you,” Jimmy says from the top of the stairs.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Which isn’t an answer, as far as Dean’s concerned. He glances at Chuck, who looks busy drinking and pretending not to look at them, and shakes his head. When Jimmy’s finally down, Dean tries again. “I… look, I screwed up before.”

“Again, you mean,” Jimmy tells him.

“So did you. You adlibbed most of your lines.”

Jimmy’s tiny smirk is charming. “As if it matters. Chuck lets me deviate from the script all the time.”

“That’s why no one else works with you,” Dean grins.

“Hey, hey, I could work with anyone I want. But I work with Chuck because…” Jimmy stops, and shrugs. “I like Chuck’s work.”

“Yeah, because he’s a regular Orson Welles.”

Chuck looks so offended and hurt by his remark, Dean grimaces. This is worse than kicking puppies.

Jimmy glares at him. “Chuck’s work is real. I’m a big fan of his work.”

“I’m right here, you guys,” Chuck mutters.

“I know,” Jimmy says soothingly. “We were leaving, right Chuck?”

Dean shrugs. “But… Let me buy you a beer at least. As an apology.”

“Enabler,” Jimmy whispers, and then grins. “See you around, Dean.”

His hand moves before he can make a decision. He stops right before he can touch Jimmy. “Please?”

Jimmy glances down and then stares at him. It’s funny how time slows down when Jimmy does that. It’s funny how Dean can’t look away. He doesn’t know what Jimmy sees in him, but what he sees is a half-broken man, who’s still going strong. He wants to fix him, before he crashes. He wants…

“Know what?” Chuck breaks the spell. “I could use a beer.”

Dean looks away first, hopeful and grateful.

Jimmy makes a face. “Traitor,” he whispers.

“Just a beer,” Dean promises and, as he walks towards his car, realisation hits him. He’s flirting with a co-worker. He wants to have sex with a co-worker. Off-camera. Not during work. Not as work. Did Cassie know? Was that why she really left him?

&*&*

Chuck chooses the place, so Dean chooses where they sit. What he wants is to tell Chuck to leave them alone, and then pull Jimmy towards one of the tables at the back of the bar, where there’s not much light, and all the people are couples. What he does is pick up a place near the pool table, where there are several people in groups, plenty of light and he doesn’t let a hint of disappointment show when Chuck and Jimmy sit on the side of the table facing him.

“So,” he says as they wait for their order to come.

“So,” Jimmy smirks.

Chuck stays uncharacteristically silent, studying the grain of wood with unwarranted interest.

It’s up to him, then. “I’m sorry. I messed up my lines real bad there.” He glances at Chuck, who doesn’t look either annoyed or interested. “I’m usually better at this,” he starts again.

“What? Saying you’re sorry? Or messing up your lines?”

Even though Jimmy doesn’t sound like he’s joking, Dean laughs. “Saying I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I told you, Chuck lets me mess up my lines all the time. “

“It adds to the realism of the scenes,” Chuck says defensively. “Makes them more believable.”

“Really?”

Chuck nods, and Dean suspects he must look very incredulous indeed for Jimmy to be staring at him so sternly. Jimmy suddenly reminds him of Ms Jones, his math teacher when he was fifteen. Man. She was hot, but once you made a mistake, she could look down at you until you went on your knees and begged for mercy. Dean’s only regret was that they left town before he could make her scream for mercy - or maybe, ‘more, harder, more.’

“Life isn’t scripted,” Chuck says seriously. “And it has no soundtrack.”

“So, when we fuck up things on set, you let it slide for the sake of your artistic integrity? Chuck, if you had told me you were making Neorealist Porn, I would have started working with you sooner.” He’s not even lying much; he likes the liberty that Chuck seems to allow on set. No matter that he suspects it’s because Chuck has no leadership skills and he’s lazy, rather than it being the result of artistic agenda.

Chuck looks so proud, and Jimmy so happy for Chuck’s sake, that Dean’s trying to think of more flattering things to say about Chuck’s work.

“Speaking of which,” Chuck starts.

“Neo-realism? There’s ‘Bicycle Thief’ and ‘Rome, Open City’ playing this weekend downtown. Would you like to go?” He turns towards Jimmy, trying to make it clear that Chuck is not invited.

“I… I’ve seen them already,” Jimmy answers after a moment’s hesitation and a brief glance at Chuck.

Chuck looks almost as disappointed as Dean, so Dean doesn’t say a word. “No, I was thinking. I have this friend of mine who does arty gay films. Things with softer lighting, better sets, proper storylines.”

“I’m not working for him,” Jimmy says hastily, almost panicked.

“No, no, no,” Chuck reassures him, reaches to touch him soothingly and pulls away before he can touch Jimmy’s arm. “But, what if I made something like that. Would you like to be involved? You two make a great team.”

Dean nods, delighted. Someone else who sees that there’s chemistry between him and Jimmy. “I’d do it.”

“I thought you’re gay-for-pay,” Jimmy reminds him coldly.

“Yes, but, it’s all for a good cause, right? To help Chuck pursue his vision, and make something better than average porn.”

“Yeah, Gay Pirates XXX.”

“No, it wouldn’t be like that,” Chuck protests. “It would be like, eh, House of Usher.”

“DeCoteau’s? Those guys couldn’t act.”

“The script was shit.”

“I’ve seen porn films with better soundtrack.”

Chuck raises his hand under their attack. “No, not, well, a bit like that, only better. I mean, you’ll be in it.”

Jimmy glances at Dean as he snorts, and then looks away just as quickly, but it’s enough to make Dean feel optimistic.

“You could help with the script,” Chuck goes on. “The production. Everything. It’s going to be fantastic. Maybe something supernatural? You know what’s really popular these days? Forget wizards and vampires. It’s angels. So, maybe it could be something about angels. Wait, I got it, I got it. An angel falling in love with a human.”

“What? City of Angels style?”

“Wings of Desire was better,” Jimmy mutters.

“No, no,” Chuck shakes his head emphatically. The only reason he keeps quiet is because their waitress is there, placing their drinks on the table. When she’s gone, he starts again, visibly shaking with excitement. “No, it will be darker, edgier. So, this human? You,” he points at Dean, “will be a loud-mouth, swearing … ah, I got it, you’ll be a hunter of supernatural creatures.”

“A hunter?”

“Yeah, think Robert De Niro in The Deer Hunter. Focused, on a mission, deeply compassionate. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside. And the angel is jaded, but deep down, he’s curious. He wants to feel what makes humans different.”

Jimmy snorts. “All this is great, but I’m not interested.”

“You’re not interested? You were…” Chuck shuts up under Jimmy’s fierce and forbidding glare. “But,” he says in a small voice a few moments later, “it’s a good story.”

Jimmy picks up his bottle and gulps his beer down like he hasn’t drunk anything in days. It’s scary, but even scarier is how Dean fixates on the way his throat works. Dean wants to touch his Adam’s apple, feel it move under his fingers. “It is, but I’m not interested.” He puts down his beer. “There, you said one beer, I had one beer. See you later, Chuck.” Dean isn’t worthy of a glance as Jimmy moves away.

“He really doesn’t like me,” Dean whispers, more to himself than Chuck, but Chuck is there, and he answers.

“No, no.”

“You’re a good friend, Chuck. Thanks, for everything. But you don’t have to lie about this.”

Chuck shrugs. “If you’d rather not do any films with Jimmy after this, I’d understand.”

No more films with Jimmy? As if that is an option any more. “Are you kidding me? Of course I’d love to make more films with him. It’s like… Hell, you’ve seen us together,” and Chuck blushes deeply in embarrassment, having one of those moments, “there’s chemistry between us. You can’t deny it.”

“I can’t,” Chuck agrees grudgingly. “But I don’t want to see either of you get hurt. Dean, I’m gonna be honest with you. I can see that you like Jimmy, and not just as a co-worker.”

Dean looks away, because it’s one thing knowing something like that, another having others recognise it.

“And believe me when I tell you, Jimmy likes you. He’s the one who approached me and asked if he could work with you. He said, and I quote, ‘he looks very honest when he works.’ Trust me, Jimmy likes that in a person. But…”

“But?”

“I want Jimmy to get out of his shell, but I don’t want you to go after him just because you’re on the rebound. What, you think I didn’t hear how you broke up with your girlfriend?”

“But what if wanting Jimmy was the cause, and not the effect, of my breakup?”

“TMI, Dean,” Chuck says with a shiver that makes Dean smile, and reminds him so much of his baby brother, than he has to hide behind his drink.

“It’s the truth, Chuck. Cassie broke up with me because she found out about Jimmy. Please, Chuck, will you help me?”

“What? Help you go after my friend?”

“Yes. No. Whatever. I just want to see him again. Even if he doesn’t like me.”

“He does.”

“Then?” The thing with Chuck is, if you whine long enough, and throw puppy eyes at him, then, eventually, Chuck will cave in.

As he does now, taking courage from his drink first. “Oh, alright. I’ll let you know when there’s work to be done.”

“Thanks, man.”

That night, as he jerks himself off before going to bed, he realises that he forgot to ask Chuck to send him a copy of their latest film. He can ask for it in the morning.

&*&*

Chuck is as good as gold, and when he calls with news of a new film, Dean almost quits the set where he was filming. After Cassie left him, he threw himself in his work, but only when he’s with Jimmy in the same room he stops feeling so hollow. He changes rehearsing lines in his head. Wanna get a beer after this? No, he doesn’t want to get Jimmy drunk. I saw a diner on the way here, it looked like they have good burgers. No, it’s too much like asking Jimmy on a date, and he’s scared Jimmy will freak out if he senses that. They’re showing some independent Japanese films. But surely Jimmy must like other things apart from movies. What if he invites him to go to that sculpture exhibition that got rave reviews in the Sunday paper? He doesn’t know why, but he has this feeling that Jimmy’s not the guy to invite to a baseball game. He keeps thinking Jimmy and coming up with art.

“If you keep spacing out, maybe you should go home and call it a day.”

Jimmy sounds almost concerned, and Dean smiles at him. “I have a lot on my mind.” Like, how do I get you to smile at me after the shoot, and wake up with you in the morning? He’s turning into such a girl.

“I can see that. Chuck said we should get into position.”

“Hm. Chuck, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“What is it now?”

“This script. I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Chuck looks at him knowingly. He’s probably written the thing with Dean in mind, poor bastard.

“I don’t want to fuck Jimmy today, I want…”

“What?” Jimmy studies him like a strange bird again.

“I want to suck you. It’s not fair that you do all the work all the time.” And he’s curious, so very curious to see if he can make Jimmy beg. Make it for real, and not just because the script says so.

Chuck raises his hands up in the air. “You know what? I quit. You two do whatever you want. It’s what you’ll do anyway. That does it. I’m out of here. Figuratively, not literally.”

“Chuck,” Jimmy starts.

“No, I’m done. You,” he shouts at the crew, and then stops. “No, forget it, I’m staying. This is my job, and I’ve never quit from a job in my life. I won’t start now. Why don’t you two do what comes naturally?”

Jimmy’s eyes widen so much, it’s almost comical. “The whole point of porn is artificiality. A segment of life overblown, so out of proportion, it stops being natural. Even the most realistic porn film is bound by this constraint and cannot help....”

“I think not,” Dean disagrees. “Porn emphasises how sex is natural and beautiful. It brings us in touch with our bodies, and shows how, no matter how sophisticated and civilised, we’re still bound by our basic, animal nature, if you like. But that’s good, because that’s how we’re wired. Our brains still work like that.”

“Porn focuses on sex. Life does not.”

“Are you sure?”

Jimmy’s pretty even when he grimaces in disgust. “I’m positive.”

“Freud would disagree.”

“Freud is overrated.”

“Gah,” Chuck shrieks. “Will you shut up and take your places? Damn it, why did I ever listen to you? Whatever made me think this was a good idea?” He mutters something that Dean can’t catch.

As Chuck starts drinking, frustrated, he takes his place. “Are we following the script or what?”

Jimmy shrugs. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

“Dunno. You?”

Jimmy shrugs again.

“What if I do what comes naturally in this situation, and you follow my lead, and do what comes naturally to you?”

“Okay,” Jimmy agrees hesitantly.

This is weird without a script. The script was that Dean is a plumber, who ends up fixing Jimmy’s pipes rather than the sink’s, but that’s just ridiculous. He strides into the kitchen, where Jimmy clearly looks lost, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and what comes naturally is to hug him. Put one hand at the back of Jimmy’s waist, another at the back of his neck and pull him close. When Jimmy’s pressed against him, he tightens his hold. “I missed you, babe,” he whispers. “I had to leave work early because I missed you so much.”

Jimmy makes a tiny noise and Dean thinks that, yes, if there was a Jimmy waiting for him back at their house, he’d miss him terribly all the time. He’d never get any work done, because he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything but Jimmy. His beautiful, scared Jimmy, who’d be all lonely without him. He doesn’t want to stop holding Jimmy, but how else can he raise his face and look into these wide, blue eyes of his? “Hey. Did you miss me too?”

Jimmy still looks lost as he nods a little.

It takes all his willpower not to kiss him when he looks so vulnerable. It takes all his strength to stay upright when he realises that he doesn’t want to kiss Jimmy like he kisses other people. Not at that moment, at least. He simply wants to press his lips against Jimmy’s and tell him it’s all right. Everything will be fine. There’s no need to be afraid any more. Instead, he smiles, and nuzzles him. “I couldn’t help it. What you do to me. What you make me feel.”

“What?”

“Everything. Too much at once. I can’t describe it.” Ruby’s probably making gagging notions, but all he notices is how Jimmy relaxes in his arms, how his eyes smile even though his mouth stays still. He pushes Jimmy against the counter, because this is not an arty gay flick, it’s still porn, and slowly slides down. The floor is cold, and his knees will complain when it’s all done, but all he sees is Jimmy, slender and tall and beautiful. He wants to worship at the feet of this young god. His hands shake again as he unbuttons Jimmy’s jeans, and Jimmy takes a deep breath when his fingers touch flesh.

“Dean,” he whispers, letting his hands rest gently on Dean’s shoulders.

Dean knows what this means, knows how this will go. Jimmy’s probably one of those people who won’t press their partner into giving more than they’re ready to. He won’t push his head violently forward, or keep his head in place, making him gag and fight for breath. Jimmy will be kind and gentle and grateful, and it breaks his heart a little that Jimmy doesn’t know how to take, even when something is given to him.

So, if Jimmy won’t take, Dean will give. Jimmy’s cock springs free, already aroused. He has a beautiful dick, not thick, not small, not thin. It’s actually difficult to describe in words other than ‘beautiful’ or ‘gorgeous’, so Dean smiles, stares up and kisses it. It’s easier to show his appreciation with deeds than words, anyway. Jimmy sighs happily and Dean proceeds.

He puts his hands on Jimmy’s hipbones, sharp and lean and making him think of wild creatures - gazelles, perhaps, with ridiculously long and fragile limbs or, fuck, Chuck is right; Jimmy would make a perfect angel, a creature untamed and wild and far too precious for this world. He’d be a little vulnerable, and quite strong, and when Dean would touch him, and explore the way his bones jutted, and hid beneath frail, silken flesh, he’d shiver. When Dean would take his dick into his mouth, and taste flesh, warm and salty, and sweet precum, he’d shudder, and let out breathy moans that would dissolve before they reached the barrier of his teeth.

Exactly the way Jimmy does while Dean sucks him. And, like an angel, used in servitude and giving, Jimmy dares not move his hands away from Dean’s shoulders. It is a challenge; Dean wants to make him break, and want, and desire, so he takes him further down his throat, and, what would you know? It’s not that big of a nuisance as when he does it with others. If Jimmy’s made for him, then so is he, made for Jimmy.

His own rhythm overwhelms him. It becomes as natural as breathing, or his heartbeat, taking Jimmy further and further into his body, licking that pulsing, hot, silky-hard flesh that still feels timid. Jimmy holds back, and Dean can’t have it.

He moves back, looks up, and, well, he’s not that sure of what he wants in general, but at that moment, he wants Jimmy. He wants this man to take him, he wants Jimmy to admit his desire, he wants. God, how he wants. He kisses and sucks and licks, and wants, because he might not get another chance, Jimmy being so flighty and, despite Chuck’s words, Jimmy probably hates him, but Dean wants him. Right there, with everyone watching, he swears with his actions how much he wants him.

And then, oh, yes, while Dean’s doing his best to devour Jimmy, and he’s probably doing this without any finesse, with just a great hunger that consumes him and doesn’t abate no matter how much he rolls his tongue around Jimmy’s dick, no matter how much he takes him in, Jimmy’s fingers flex and the tips bite into his shoulders. Jimmy’s holding on to him for dear life, that’s what it feels like, and Dean’s hunger grows. It’s like a fire, and the only thing that will douse it is Jimmy’s cum, god, how he wants to taste him, eat, him, fuck him, so much, so much it hurts. It physically hurts more than Jimmy’s desperate grasp on his body.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” he hears over the roar of blood and need that burns through his veins. “Dean, I’m going to, Dean, Dean, Dean,” and yes, that’s the miracle Chuck’s story was about, this crazy, heartless being that suddenly discovers it has a heart, and responds to a mere human’s desire. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” he moans brokenly and then he stops, his fingers clench and Jimmy folds in two, trying to cover him with his body as he cums. Dean looks up, sees how his eyes, darkened to fine black gems with desire, widen impossibly and hold his gaze. His sperm is hot and salty and vaguely sweet at the same time, and his eyes are finally soft, his expression sweet and relaxed, his whole body slack and he would have crumpled, if it were not for Dean.

Dean can’t stop kissing him, that soft, warm flesh that twitches slightly in his hold, like a fragile, little bird that’s nested in his hand. It’s a girly thought, but it’s strangely fitting. The whole of Jimmy is like that, bird-like, fragile-like, and Dean wants nothing but to see him calm and sated in his arms.

“What do you want, Dean?” Jimmy rasps.

He gives him one last kiss at the top, and tucks him gently in. “Nothing. I wanted to make you feel good. Was that good for you?”

Jimmy swallows. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Then, that’s enough for me.” He gets up, and his knees are killing him, his legs have fallen asleep, but Jimmy looks so surprised, so moved, that he doesn’t care.

And when Jimmy kisses him, not with the sweetness Dean had wanted moments ago, not with the practiced hunger of a porn star doing his job, but with curiosity and gratitude, Dean doesn’t care about the pins and needles in his legs, or the kinks in his knees. Jimmy’s shy, his tongue doesn’t chase Dean’s, doesn’t map the contours of his mouth, and is slow when it comes across semen. But it’s there, and it’s the gentlest thing that’s ever happened to him. This is what kissing an angel must be like.

“You’re still hard,” Jimmy murmurs, mouth to mouth, lips to lips, breath to breath.

“I don’t care.”

Jimmy sighs, and holds him. The next thing Dean knows, Jimmy has turned them around, and Dean is pushed against the counter. It’s cold and hard, and he’ll have a bruised back to match his pained knees, but then Jimmy slides his hand between them, and manages to slip it beneath Dean’s clothes. These plumber’s pants are wider than he thought.

This makes for a bad film, he thinks for a moment, but then, these clever, warm fingers move down his body, and when they’re wrapped around his dick, he doesn’t give a damn about Chuck, the cameras, the crew, anyone. This feels natural. Jimmy kisses him again, and his kisses now are growing bolder, in time with his strokes. This time, he notices the alcohol that lingers in Jimmy’s mouth. His angel is broken, hurt, not coping well, and so he’s not forceful, trying to reassure him. His angel responds well to that, and he tries to thank Dean the only way possible at the situation, increasing his speed, tightening his hold and it’s Dean’s time to hold on to Jimmy, to put his hands around that slender waist, rub his thumbs on these sharp hipbones where they peek from beneath the jeans, and let himself go. Lights sparkle beneath his eyelids, fireworks burn their way across his veins, and all that pressure that had been building up, is finally released.

“I haven’t come in my pants since I was thirteen,” he laughs at the side of Jimmy’s mouth.

And Jimmy almost giggles.

From somewhere faraway Chuck says ‘cut’, but somewhere near, Dean knows this is the beginning.

&*&*

“Would you like to get some coffee?” he asks Jimmy when he’s all clean and dressed.

Jimmy looks at Chuck for help, or confirmation, or whatever.

“Oh, no, don’t look at me like that. I’m not getting involved. Leave me alone.” Chuck grabs his bottle and runs away from them as quickly as possible. It’s probably his way of helping. “Go away.”

“Just coffee,” Dean says with his most sincere smile. “Come on, what do you say?”

“Beer one day, coffee the other,” Jimmy almost smiles back. “Where will this end?”

“Does it have to end?”

Jimmy studies him. As usual, he sees something in Dean that Dean can’t imagine. “Alright,” he sighs, lowering his head. “Just a coffee.”

Yes, yes, yes. Victory is his.

&*&*

Throughout the drive, he sings along to Led Zeppelin and feels freer than ever. This is like going on his first date with Cassie, full of anticipation. And at the same time, it is not, because back then he knew Cassie was interested. Jimmy, he’s not so sure. But it only adds to his excitement.

Since he doesn’t want to make this look like a date-date, he goes to the Roadhouse. It’s a small diner that looks like something out of the fifties, not exactly a place for couples, and he hopes that this will put Jimmy’s mind at rest. But, the coffee is good and the pie is phenomenal. If Jimmy can’t appreciate that, then maybe he’s not worth pursuing.

This time, when he pulls over and parks, he notices Jimmy study his car. Jimmy’s car is a small, practical hybrid, perfect for the city. Boring. He almost caresses his baby. “You like?”

“It’s… impressive.”

“Just that?”

“It’s a nice car, Dean. I’m surprised you find space to park it, though.” Jimmy smirks.

“What?”

“If I hadn’t seen you, I’d say you were compensating for something.”

“Don’t listen to him, baby,” he tells his car. “We have no issues whatsoever. You’re not a very nice person, are you?”

Jimmy looks innocently. “Me? I’m an angel.”

Something makes him laugh so hard that Dean can’t help himself. He pulls Jimmy by the arm, brings him close and ruffles his hair for a moment. He lets him go, as he would have done anyway, not just because Jimmy froze. “Come on, angel. Time for coffee.”

“So, what kind of a car is it?” Jimmy asks the moment they sit down.

“My car? A ’67 Chevrolet Impala. The only thing my dad left me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“If your father left you the car, then,” Jimmy makes a vague gesture. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“It was a long time ago. I’m over it.”

“Hm.”

“It’s true. You ready to order?” He smiles at Jo. “Hey, Jo. Where’s your mom?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want her catching me if I do this,” he says as he stands up and kisses her on the cheek.

“Will you cut that out?” Jo pushes him down. “God, just because I had the tiniest crush on you when I was five.”

“Last year,” Dean muttered under his breath. “And you followed me around for a month.”

“Well, whatever. I’m not interested any more.” She blushes in such a way that makes Dean think that’s she’s still not over him, but he’s not interested in her. Never was, never will be. She’s Ellen’s daughter, and Ellen’s like a mother to him - talk about awkward. “So, what are you having?” Jo says, trying to sound professional. “The usual?”

“Yeah, and, Jimmy?”

“Just coffee.”

Dean and Jo share a look. “And some apple pie,” Dean adds. “Classics are classics for a reason.” When Jo leaves, he grins at Jimmy. “Trust me. Pie is good.”

“I’m not sure if…”

“Sure you want some. Everyone wants pie. Unless you have some allergy or something. Do you?”

“No. But I’m vegetarian.”

Dean’s expression is unguarded for a moment and Jimmy smiles. “I have nothing against vegetarians, but why would God give us teeth to tear and chew meat, if he didn’t want us to eat it?”

“You believe God made us?” Jimmy either makes a joke or he has an ability to miss the point. Dean doesn’t know which at the moment, but he hopes that he’ll get to know Jimmy well enough to tell the difference.

“Frankly, I don’t care. It was just an expression.”

“Ah.”

“I can check about the pie if you want. Ah, Jo.”

“What now?” She glares at him a little as she pours the coffee.

“What kind of butter do you use in the pie? Jimmy’s vegetarian.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I think I can handle butter.”

Dean wants to say something like ‘atta boy,’ but then has that image from Last Tango in Paris flash in his head. Well, Jimmy’s nothing like what’s-her-name, but he’d never thought people could use butter for sex before seeing that, and now he can’t get the idea of fucking Jimmy with nothing but warmed butter, or maybe olive oil. He can totally see it, Jimmy lying on the floor, waiting eagerly for him as he dips his fingers in the smooth, silky substance. Jimmy’s body, so pale, so delicate against the wooden floorboards, would be so welcoming when Dean slid a finger inside him.

Jo snorts. “Earth to Dean. Hello.”

“What? What?”

“Nothing.” She leaves, giggling and shaking her head.

“She likes you,” Jimmy says quietly.

“I know.”

“But you don’t.”

“Nope.”

“Hm.” Jimmy wraps his hands around the mug, as if to get warm.

“Hm,” Dean says back. Now what? Jimmy stares at him, and Dean suddenly misses Chuck. Chuck would have talked about this or that or… “How long have you known Chuck?”

“Some time now.”

“Ah. I met him through a mutual friend a few years ago. I think it must have been two years ago. Man, time flies.”

Jimmy nods a little.

“Sometimes, I think that maybe I should do what Chuck does. Move into directing films, or find something else to do. I’m not getting any younger.”

Jimmy frowns.

Shit. Jimmy’s older than him, isn’t he? “I mean, I could end up like Ron Jeremy, but I’m not sure if I want that.”

“What do you want?”

“Something else. Cassie, my girlfriend, well, ex, that is, she didn’t really like my job and now I’m beginning to understand her a little.” It wasn’t that obvious before, but lately? Even though he can get it up, other people just don’t do it for him. Well, they do, but he doesn’t want them any more. He used to think that he had the opportunity to get paid for something other men begged to have, and he had his choice of gorgeous women, but lately? If his partner’s not Jimmy, he’s not that happy.

“Maybe you should quit, then.”

But if he did, how would he see Jimmy? Oh, fuck, he’s interested. He’s really interested. “I’m not ready to make that decision. And you?”

“Haven’t thought about it much.”

“Really?”

Another tiny shrug.

Okay, so Jimmy doesn’t want to talk about it. “Oh, which reminds me. The other day, when I called you ‘Cass’. I wasn’t…. Cassie and I had just broken up and…”

“You fantasised fucking her while doing me. I understand completely.”

If Jimmy had sounded bitter or annoyed, or amused, Dean would have understood. But Jimmy had looked indifferent, as if they were discussing the weather in fact, and that makes him feel weird. “Yeah, well, sorry for that,” he says lamely.

“It’s okay. It could have been worse.”

“How?”

Their pies arrive at that moment, sweet and fragrant and so delicious, that Dean has to take a bite immediately. “Mmm, man, that’s good. Gotta try it.” He mangles the words as he eats and chews, but, really, this has to be the best pie in the city. And when he slides the bit that’s dangling precariously from his fork into the ice-cream, and eats that, he makes noises that are probably illegal. But who cares. This is good.

It always surprises him how quickly he can eat it, but it’s that good. All caramel-crunchy on the outside, with sugar crystals dotted on its golden surface, and then, just a touch of sour combined with utter sweetness, wholesome apple flavour spiced up with cinnamon and something else he still can’t identify. Delicious. One bite follows the next, and suddenly there is no pie left, except for flaky crust remains and some thick, almost syrupy trails of filling.

Jimmy pushes his plate towards Dean. It’s untouched.

“No, man, you must eat it.” He is tempted, who wouldn’t be, but Jimmy has to try the pie, or else.

Jimmy simply stares at him. His expression changes from ‘I don’t have much of an appetite’ to ‘I wouldn’t enjoy it as much’, and settles on ‘You have it,’ obstinate, fierce, giving. The dude must really be an angel, to be able to resist such temptation and offer Dean his slice at the same time.

“Only if you have half.”

Jimmy’s almost-smiles are beautiful. He really looks like a statue when he does that, something cold and serene, and it’s such a waste he’s been doing adult films. Jimmy probably has talent, and is clever; he deserved something better in life. He’s not like Dean, who got into it because he really liked having sex, and didn’t mind getting paid for it. Not because he thinks that porn is good and helpful, makes lonely people sleep peacefully at night, and couples explore and try something new. Jimmy drinks too much to have chosen this.

“You should definitely have it,” Jimmy tells him carefully. “You don’t look well.” He takes out a flask from his pocket. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.”

Next comes a small plastic bottle. Dean refuses to make out the letters on the label. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“It helps.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“As you wish.” Jimmy puts that away too. “What were you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

Jimmy studies him some more, and then, finally reaches with his fork and cuts off the tiniest piece of pie that Dean’s ever seen. The ice-cream’s already half-melted, and when Jimmy lifts his fork, a single, fat, creamy drop balances on the edge. Before it can fall, Jimmy eats, and it ends up on his lower lip, a white, shiny stain that looks far too much like cum. Jimmy is completely oblivious, frowning as he chews carefully and slowly, like he’s never tried pie before.

“It is good,” he announces and pushes the plate closer to Dean.

He’s really trying Dean’s patience, staring at him like Dean should obey him, and with a white, little drop on his lips that make Dean remember how that mouth had felt around his dick. How good it had been. How warm and tight and just perfect.

“Dean?” Puzzled and confused, and ready to fly away.

“You got some cream there.” He waves vaguely, but Jimmy frowns and Dean can’t help it. He brushes the drop with his thumb, even though it makes Jimmy still. Then he licks it off, and Jimmy goes even quieter. Dean swears Jimmy’s not even breathing for a few moments, and when he takes another bite, it’s out of shock, not hunger or gluttony.

But that makes Dean feel okay about eating some more of this delicious pie. When his fork chinks against Jimmy’s, he looks up, smiling. Jimmy returns his stare, if not his smile. That’s a good sign, right? So, he looks down again, not wanting to scare Jimmy off completely.

“When you called me ‘Cass’ then, I didn’t mind,” Jimmy says very, very quietly.

“Because you didn’t care,” Dean mutters.

“I was surprised.”

“Because I fucked up,” he laughs, trying to decide if he should cut a piece from the edge or the middle.

“My name is like that. Well, if anyone had ever shortened it,” Jimmy whispers and he sounds wistful and sad. He looks like he’d wished before that someone had cared enough to give him a nickname, but it hadn’t happened and when it did, it was too much.

“What? What is it?”

“Castiel.” Jimmy’s smile is all broken and twisted. “After the angel. Isn’t that ironic?”

“I think it suits you,” he says without hesitation. “Jimmy, that felt wrong. James too.”

Jimmy, no, Castiel, frowns again. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Castiel’s hands are balled into fists, and his knuckles have turned white. Of course this is important.

“What?” he grins, because if he doesn’t joke about it, he’ll walk up, crowd Castiel and hug him tightly. “That you have a weird-ass name? Your secret’s safe with me.” Castiel’s expression is the most relieved thing Dean’s ever seen. “Finish your pie,” Dean says gruffly, fighting an even stronger urge to go by Castiel’s side, hug and kiss him senseless.

“I’m full.”

Dean smirks.

“You like it more.” Castiel is earnest, thankful and happy, even though he’s not smiling.

Dean takes a sip from his coffee. It’s gone cold, but this saves him from attacking the rest of the pie. He still wants Castiel to have it.

“You want to fuck me?” Castiel asks all calm and innocent-looking.

And if all the coffee that was in Dean’s mouth ends up in spray form between them, before landing ungracefully on the table? It’s all Castiel’s fault. “Eh?”

“Do you?” Castiel even cranes his head a little to the right, like Dean must have the answer to this particular question.

“Man.” He rakes his hand through his hair, stalling, but Castiel still watches him, quiet and expectant and, “Hell, yeah. Who wouldn’t?”

“Fine.” Castiel stands up, leaving enough money on the table to cover everything and then some. He looks a little tense, his shoulders still, his head held a little too proudly up.

Fuck; that’s not all Dean wants. The moment Castiel is out, he grabs him by the shoulder. “Yes,” he says, “and no.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I want to fuck you, yes. But only when you want to fuck me. And right now, you don’t. Hell,” he laughs, “I have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours, but I can tell you one thing. I’m not sleeping with you because you feel grateful, or whatever. I won’t sleep with you until you’re ready.” Because he doesn’t just want to fuck Castiel. He wants to sleep with him, and wake up with him, and have breakfast with him, and, god, he’s turning into a girl, but he respects Castiel too much to be able to treat him like a piece of meat.

Castiel’s eyes widen again, but there’s nothing funny about it. Castiel looks awed and scared and devastated, and it’s all his fault that Dean finally gives in and hugs him. “Dean,” Castiel whispers from near Dean’s heart.

Dean lifts Castiel’s head up with a tenderness that surprises him, but the kiss that follows doesn’t stay tender or chaste for more than a second. Castiel may not exactly want him yet, but he definitely wants to have him. He’s pushy and covetous and his tongue doesn’t leave an inch of Dean’s mouth untouched. It’s almost funny, how intense it is. Like one of those open-mouth kisses he practices with his partners, full of saliva and porn noises. And it reinforces Dean’s belief that he did the right thing; he won’t sleep with Castiel until Cas is ready for it.

When he pushes Castiel away, he smiles sweetly at him. “Go home, Cas. We’ll meet again.”

Castiel blinks, shocked, wondering if Dean means that or if he’s trying to reject him nicely.

“I mean it, Castiel. You look tired.” It’s the polite way of saying that the dark circles under Castiel’s eyes are finally showing. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing.”

“Wanna see a film? Or maybe go to the park? Or the museum? Or, somewhere?”

Castiel smiles very slowly. “I’d like that.”

Dean grins, and when Castiel passes by him to get to his small, sensible car, he pats his ass. What? It’s a firm, nice ass. Just because he won’t fuck the guy, doesn’t mean he won’t touch him. And Cas gives him such a shy, pleased smile, that he knows he made the right decision. Yes.

&*&*

Thursday morning Chuck calls him with news of another job. Friday noon he’s at the ugliest motel room he’s ever seen. The wallpaper, a dark brown thing with square patterns, has seen better days. The furniture reminds him of Z-movies from the sixties, and he’d rather not think too much about the weird darks stains at the corner. “What’s the idea, Chuck?”

“Couple meeting for a tryst.”

He snorts. “Here? And then they break up, I guess. Would you bring your illicit lover here?”

“Course not.”

“There.”

Chuch glares at him. “Does it matter? I’ll only take a couple of general shots, and then it’s just you and Jimmy on the bed, getting it on.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so Dean stays quiet. Castiel is just as unimpressed by the room, but doesn’t protest. Probably because he’s too busy staring at Dean. It makes Dean think of baby duckies, and how they imprint on the first thing they see. Castiel looks at him like that, fixated and fixed. Dean likes it.

“Ready?” He asks Castiel when he’s all prepared.

Castiel nods once, and then the cameras are rolling. The first couple of scenes are stupid, ‘Hello, how are you?’, ‘I missed you’, and stuff like that, and for the first time, Castiel acts like a porn actor. That is, terribly. Dean tries not to laugh as he delivers his ridiculous lines. And then they’re naked.

Castiel straddles him and gives him a series of open-mouthed, loud kisses. Proper porn kisses, that move lower and lower. Dean’s not complaining. He has his hands full of Castiel’s ass, and can’t stop massaging and digging his fingers into this warm, firm flesh. He wants to bruise and mark Castiel before he fucks him, so that when he looks at that ass, he will see his fingerprints all over his pale skin, and know Castiel is his.

And maybe Castiel wants to mark him too. His hands grip too tightly on his shoulders, and when they slide down his arms, Castiel grabs on Dean’s biceps, and bites Dean’s nipple before he drags his teeth across that tiny, sensitised bit of flesh. It hurts and burns, and it’s too delicious.

Chuck must really hate them, because Dean knows he’s close, and Castiel’s cock, trapped between them, is hot and pulsing and leaving wet trails of precum on Dean’s stomach. This is really unprofessional, even though they both moan like the seasoned actors that they are. Because the truth is, he can’t wait to bury himself inside Cas, and the moment he gets there, he will cum. He’s certain.

He slides a finger inside Castiel, and finds him already slick and ready for him. His surprise must show, and Castiel almost laughs. “Fuck me, Dean,” he says in a rough whisper, his voice silk and gravel together. “Now.”

How can Dean not obey his command? How can he not comply when Castiel raises his hips and then, all practiced-ease, grabs Dean’s cock with too-warm fingers, and guides it towards him? Castiel’s ready, but he still feels wonderfully tight around him, blessedly hot, excruciatingly perfect. Dean’s hands perch easily on Castiel’s slim hips, and then he slams Castiel down on his dick.

The small gasp of joy Castiel lets out, he seals with his mouth, but can’t stop it from growing into deep, guttural moans of pleasure. He doesn’t want to stop it. He wants to make these moans last longer, and then break off when Castiel shatters into his orgasm. And so he tries his best, holding Castiel still as he drives into his body, piston-fast, and Castiel holds onto his arms, and shivers, laying kisses wherever his mouth lands on Dean.

But that’s not enough. He wants more, he wants to go deeper. He stands up, not breaking his connection with Castiel, throws him on the bed, slips out of him for a moment, and then, almost blindly, instinctively, finds him again. It is an afterthought to raise Castiel’s legs up on his shoulders, but that means that he can grip Castiel’s thighs and use that as leverage. It means he can thrust faster, if not deeper and that’s all he needs. It means he can watch Castiel as he strokes himself, hurriedly and without any finesse. It means Castiel can stare at him as he pants “Dean, Dean, Dean,” and he can stare back as he says, “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for a week. Fuck, yeah, you feel so good. Fuck, fuck, yeah. You gonna cum now? You gonna cum for me? Gonna show me how much you want me?” He stops Castiel from jerking himself off and holds his hand in his. “I want you to cum from my dick up your ass. Gonna cum for me like that? That’s me inside you. You feel that?”

Castiel goes wild as Dean speaks. He jerks up, falls down, and his fingers tighten in Dean’s hold. As his stomach flexes, Dean wants to trace the muscles there. But he doesn’t want to lose his grip on him. He likes feeling like he’s pinning him down, likes knowing that Castiel can’t move anywhere but in his hands, on his dick. Likes seeing Castiel lick his lips helplessly, how his Adam’s apple works as he tries to speak, but all he can do is gasp and struggle to find words that are not ‘Dean.’ And then, there it is, that ‘Dean’ that never makes it to the end, one long syllable that stays suspended as Castiel throws his head back, closes his eyes and his body clenches impossibly tight around him, his body arching so impossibly high that Dean almost falls back and slips out, so violently Castiel cums, his cum pearly precious on his stomach.

Dean pulls out then and, taking both his and Castiel’s dick in his palm, strokes them both until Castiel finishes and lays exhausted on that ugly bed, and he cums all over Castiel’s skin, wanting nothing but to fall on Castiel, but maybe later, after he cums, after he finishes, because, god, that feels so good, his dick next to Castiel’s, both pulsing and shuddering, it’s just so good. So good.

And when Castiel traces lazy patterns on his skin, using their cum as paint, Dean’s dick twitches in his hand. But Chuck, damn him, says ‘That’s a wrap’ and he has to move back, and sit on the side of the bed, feeling stupid while Castiel is still high. Until Castiel touches his back with his slick, wet fingers and, when Dean looks back, Castiel smiles content.

‘We’re still on for tomorrow?’ Castiel asks with his eyes.

“You bet.”

&*&*

It takes him a while to get his hands clean and grab his phone, but only a moment to shout angrily “What?” as he picks it up. Damn Sammy and his awful timing.

“Dean?”

Damn. “Hey, Castiel. Sorry about that.”

“We had an appointment.” Castiel sounds bland. “Have you changed your mind?” And now he sounds lost, or maybe confused.

“No, no, man. It’s just. My baby wouldn’t start this morning. I…” He checks his watch. “I lost track of time checking her. Sorry.”

“I see,” Castiel says after a few moments. “You…Do you…”

Castiel’s hesitation makes him smile. “No, Cas, I don’t want to cancel our meeting. But…” Shit, how can he say he wants to postpone it and make sure that Castiel believes him? But he has no idea what’s wrong with his baby, or how long it will take him to have her fixed.

“Where are you, Dean?” Castiel asks with the certainty of someone who’s made a decision and is sticking with it.

Castiel asks, and it’s almost like an order, so Dean gives him his address immediately. Only afterwards he remembers to say, “But I’ve no idea when I’ll finish.”

Too late. Castiel hangs up. Crazy bastard. He shakes his hand, smiling and goes back to his beloved baby. She couldn’t be jealous, could she?

Time passes quickly as he continues checking beneath the hood of his car. It’s probably nothing, but he won’t rest until he does a thorough job. When he smells apple pie, he thinks he’s been there for too long.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean hits the back of his head against the hood. “What the hell?”

“Guess again,” Castiel tells him with the faintest of smiles. He’s holding a box, from where the delicious smell comes.

“You brought pie. You really are heaven-sent.” He wipes his hands on his shirt and stands up straight. “And there I thought you were joking when you asked for my address.”

“Why would I joke about that?”

“Dunno.”

Castiel stares at him like he’s the most interesting thing under the sun. It’s hard not to grin. “So, what’s wrong with your car?”

“I don’t know. Hell, I’m half-convinced she’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” Castiel frowns, but doesn’t say what’s on his mind. It’s just an object. It’s just a car, how can it be jealous?

Dean shrugs, because he can’t give Castiel an honest answer either. That he thinks his car is jealous because now there’s another person Dean cares about. His baby hadn’t liked Cassie either, and she always refused to ride with him, perhaps sensing his baby’s hatred. She claimed it was because the car was unsafe, of course, but Dean… Well, when he was younger, he’d seen some things. Strange things. That his car might have a mind of its own is not that surprising for him.

“Hm.” Castiel puts down the box and stares inside the hood. “I don’t understand anything about how cars work,” he says, “but this looks beautiful. Well-kept.” He stops for a while, looking hesitant. “Loved,” he adds quietly.

Dean blushes unwillingly. “She’s the lady of my life,” he mutters.

Castiel nods seriously.

“My dad. He taught me all he knew about cars. He taught me how to drive in this car. He…”

“It’s special. Your car.”

“It is. She is. Shit. The pie. It’s a crime to leave pie go cold, dude.”

Castiel stares again. “It can be reheated. I asked.”

“Yeah, but…. Look, one slice and we’re out of here, what do you say?”

“Alright.” Without any hesitation, or confusion. This is definitely the beginning of their relationship, one eager to please the other. Sweet.

A moment later he realises what that means. Showing Castiel his apartment. Which he cleaned last week. He hopes that Castiel won’t mind. “Er, the place is a little untidy,” he starts. “And the elevator’s not working.”

“Alright.”

Even after climbing five floors, Castiel looks he doesn’t mind. Clearly, nothing fazes him. Dean likes that - unless it’s because Castiel’s already taken something. He really hates that, and he doesn’t want to think about it much.

Inside Dean’s apartment, Castiel stays quiet. His eyes are the only thing restless about him, and Dean feels that Castiel’s checking and analyzing everything from his vantage point by the entrance. “You’ll have a slice, right?” Dean says as he moves into the kitchen.

“Hm? Yes, please. Thank you.”

Ever so polite. He puts the pie in the oven, takes out the ice-cream and waits. God, he’s such a coward, isn’t he? It’s not like he’s never been on a date before. Taking a deep breath, he goes back to the living room, and Castiel puts down a picture and looks at him like Dean caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Relax.”

It’s when he sees the picture Castiel was holding that he tenses again. And watching Castiel pick up on that and freeze makes him relax. “It’s alright,” he says as he hands Castiel the picture. “That’s me with my dad and mom and that there? That’s my brother Sammy.” Sammy was so little; how he became a Sasquatch is beyond Dean.

Castiel studies it carefully and then gives it back. “I’m really sorry for your loss,” he says, quiet and earnest and just a bit too understanding for Dean’s liking.

“What loss?”

“Of your family.” When Dean stares, he ducks his head for a moment. “It’s the only picture of them in your apartment. I’m sorry. I assumed…”

“Next time, don’t.” Castiel flinches at his tone, and Dean feels like he’s kicked a puppy. Those eyes; it’s all because of these stupid, wide eyes. “Look, I… I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Alright.”

Castiel still looks like he’s not sure what Dean will do next. No, Dean has to be honest with himself. Castiel looks like he’s scared Dean will hit him next, having taken a step back and holding himself a little too stiffly.

“Sammy’s fine,” he says instead of the apology he owes. “It’s just… My mom died in a fire when I was four. My dad died trying to find the man who killed her. It’s not something I want to talk about.”

“Of course, Dean. I understand.”

The really weird thing is that Castiel looks no longer afraid suddenly. Like he understands what Dean means. Like it’s okay that Dean doesn’t want to talk about his personal shit, or that he was rude, and probably frightening in his anger. It’s not fair. “All our family pictures got burned in that fire. And then, my dad? He wasn’t the same after mom died. He wasn’t a bad father, but he wasn’t there a lot.” He smiles. “I practically raised that kid,” he says, and his finger can’t move away from Sammy’s baby face in the picture.

“You were a wonderful care-taker, a great big brother,” Castiel whispers, and his voice breaks. “Best big brother in the world. I’m certain your brother feels that way.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” His grin is mocking, but Castiel reacts like Dean insulted him, so he shakes his head. “Sammy and me? We live in two different worlds now.”

“But that kind of behavior? That kind of love? You don’t forget that.” Castiel nods a little and stares. “I’m certain of that. I know that.”

“Okay, okay. I believe ya.” God, Castiel is scary like that, all intense and focused. “I’ll go check on that pie, alright?”

&*&*