Supernatural Fic: "Caffeine is Addictive"
Title: Caffeine is Addictive
Author: outlawradio
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Ash, Ellen, Sam, Zeddmore, reference to Bobby
WC: 2499
Warnings: sex, legal jargon
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I don’t own big corporate coffee shops either.
A/N: unbetaed; all mistakes are mine. Written for the (long-finished) AU/Fusion Challenge at deancastiel, for AU Prompt #41: “Barista!Dean (imagine him scowling at his costumers and yelling ‘GRANDE SKINNY CHAI LATTE NO FOAM WITH SOY!!’) and Corporate Lawyer! Cas ! KYAH!” Lyrics quoted throughout are from “Here it Goes Again” by OK Go, written by Damian Kulash Jr. (Nope, don’t own that either.)
MONDAY
“Just when you think
You’re in control
Just when you think
You’ve got a hold
Just when you get on a roll….”
Dean slides the volume up on his iPod, rocking his head up and down. It’s the morning ritual. Gotta be pumped to work the open. Gotta be sharp. He mouths the words. “Oh here it goes again, I should have known, should have known, should have known again….” Shit. He checks the time - five to six. Eight blocks to go. Shit. He books, barely looking down the cross-streets; no traffic at this hour anyway.
Makes it with two minutes to go, even slowing down to stroll down the last block. “Hey boss.” Ellen doesn’t look up from her clipboard, which is a damn shame, cause he’s rocking his crisply ironed company polo like nobody’s business. She nods, “Morning Dean,” her dark blonde ponytail bobbing under her company ballcap. When he’s past her, shoving open the curtain to the break room, he hears her again, saying his name like a mission: “Dean. Register.” Awesome. “Customer service it is,” he calls to her over his shoulder. Unhooking his earbuds, he swaps the iPod for the neatly folded apron in his bag.
7:50 AM
“It starts out easy, something simple, something sleazy, something inching past the edge of reserve….” Stuck in his head again. He’d stop playing it before morning shifts, but it helps his rhythm with the orders. “GRANDE SKINNY CHAI, NO WATER, EXTRA FOAM!” Dang, that geeky Zeddmore kid’s working the bar today, he better not fuck up Dean’s orders. Mostly regulars in the line, heading upstairs to the law firm. Punch punch punch, kaching. Plaster on the smile. “Have a nice day, miss. Can I help the next customer?”
It’s… not a regular. Hmm. Kind of slight guy, smaller than Dean anyway. Trenchcoat, suit, briefcase, rolled up paper. Shock of black hair. Jaw a touch slack. Looks kind of weary. Must not be a morning person. Doesn’t seem to know what he wants. Looking at Dean, not at the menu. Really intense-looking, big, dark blue eyes. Huh.
Focus, Dean. “Hi? Can I… can I help you?” The man cocks his head, pauses a moment, his lips parted, still but about to speak. “Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, dry, with an extra shot.”
Shit, there’s no way Zeddmore gets this one right. “Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, dry, extra shot, for?” “Cas.” Dean feels the crinkle at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He had the guy dead red wrong. He knew exactly what he wanted. Anyway, much as Dean loves to bark orders out he knows he has to mark the cup instead, or the guy’s gonna end up with a tepid tall latte and he’s never coming in here again.
“Cas? C-A-S?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. Anything else?”
“No.” Cas hasn’t moved the whole time, and his expression hasn’t changed, he’s just looking at Dean, who’s never stopped moving, writing carefully on the cup; handing it to Zed, who whimpers; catching Ellen’s eye. The register rings as Ellen’s voice, ministering to Zed, wafts towards Dean. “Here’s your change, Sir. Have a nice day.”
“Thank you.”
Cas moves smoothly over to the espresso machine, turning to face Zed and Ellen. And Dean. Dean glances up between exchanges with the next guy in line. Cas is still looking at him, brow slightly furrowed. With Ellen working the drink with Zed, Dean should be relaxed enough to flash a company smile at Cas. But he’s not.
Dean hears Zed call Cas’ drink, his voice trembling. Dean’s in the middle of taking an order, and when he looks up he sees the tails of Cas’ trench coat disappear through the door that leads upstairs. Lawyer, huh. Must be new. Hopefully he’ll be back. Always good to have regulars.
TUESDAY
“It starts out easy, something simple, something sleazy,
Something inching past the edge of reserve.
Now through the lines of cheap Venetian blinds
Your car is pulling off of the curb…”
3:05 PM
Afternoon rush. Dean downed a double espresso on break so he’s working efficiently. Ellen’s got him expediting for the afternoon shift, which is fine since Ash is on today; he’s ruthlessly efficient at the bar. Almost too good. If it weren’t for his issues with customers he’d be serious competition for that assistant manager gig.
Working the line. Lots of new people, first-year lawyers adjusting to lack of sleep after slack summers. Tall kid, broad-shouldered, coming in from outside. With that Cas guy. Man listen to that tall kid go, what a motormouth. Left his hair a little long, guess he didn’t get the memo that Immanuel and Michaels is a business firm. Dean shakes his head. Someone’ll drop the hint and he’ll come in one day, pale, hair shorn. Or he won’t come in at all.
Tall kid’s chattering on at Cas. They’re moving up closer in the line, so Dean can hear, not that he can understand, snatches between orders. “Stock sale… save face for the company… make the most of the shareholder dispute.” Cas listens, impassive. He’s looking at Dean, but then, they’re almost…. “Have you thought about 338(h)(10)?” It’s Cas, eyes, still locked on Dean. The tall kid sputters. “Three-thirty… what?” “Call Bobby in tax when we get back upstairs, before you go any further on the structure.” “Uh, yeah, okay….”
Dean meets Cas’ eyes and Cas is standing there, staring, saying, “Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, dry, with an extra shot, and… Sam?”
“Ugh… um, tall… mocha. Decaf.”
WEDNESDAY
“I guess there’s gotta be a break in the monotony
But Jesus when it rains how it pours.”
11:20 AM
Boy is it dead.
Half of everybody’s called in sick today and it doesn’t even matter, because BOY is nobody in here.
I mean, what’s going on? Wednesday morning’s not exactly peak time, but there are usually one or two people trickling in. This is ridiculous. It’s just so…
“DEAN.”
Aaah! Cas! How does he know… oh right, nametag. Get it together Dean. Breathe. Smile. “Yes? How can I help you?”
“Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, extra shot.” Still, always, staring.
“Dry?”
Cas nods.
Dean glances backward at the breakroom curtain, and from where he’s standing, he can see Ash in the breakroom, leaning back in his chair and… snoring. Right. Well it’s dead enough that Dean can man the register and make Cas’ drink. He rings the drink up and reaches his hand to Cas for payment. Breaking eye contact he sees Cas’ hands, long and elegant, reaching into a wallet for a bill.
When he hands Cas his change their fingers touch and it’s electric.
Shit. Did they touch before? It feels like they’ve touched before.
Wow.
Dean clears his throat. “I’ll be right with you with your drink, Sir.”
“Cas.”
“Cas.” Dean smiles, gathering himself. “Right with you.”
OK. Dean pulls the three shots, then pours out the whole milk for steaming. Lots of aeration to make it dry. He’s flushing; must be the steam the hot milk is throwing off. Cas is still watching him, head cocked, lips parted. Dean pours the shots into the cup and then carefully, precisely, pours and spoons the foamy steamed milk on top. He caps it, wipes the one drip down the side with a towel, sleeves it, and slides the drink across the counter to Cas. Cas looks down at it as if he’s waiting for something.
“Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, dry, with an extra shot.” “Thank you.” Cas’ voice is low and eyes are on Dean again. God, they’re beautiful. The way he looks makes Dean feel like Cas can see what he’s thinking. Makes Dean want to change the subject.
“You, uh… you work upstairs?” Dammit. As the words leave his mouth Dean hears the outside door open and a dozen high school-aged girls and two teachers come pouring in. School tour. “ASH. Customers.”
“Hunh!” Ash’s body jolts, he wipes the drool off the corner of his mouth and runs to smear Purell on his hands before he covers the bar. Out of the corner of Dean’s eye he sees Cas’ trenchcoat flutter as he drops a bill in the tip jar and heads upstairs.
THURSDAY
“Throw on your clothes
The second side of Surfer Rosa
And you leave me with my jaw on the floor…”
7:55 PM
Dean locks the front door and turns to wipe down the bar. Technically they’re open for five more minutes but he’s closing alone tonight, and nobody ever comes in after 7:30 anyway. Good to get an early start on the weekend. He’s off tomorrow, so blowing off steam all night and sleeping all day sounds fucking awesome right about now.
Underneath the piped-in music that he hasn’t switched off yet, there’s a rustle, right behind him. He hasn’t locked the upstairs door. Dean stands listening even though he knows, pictures the cocked head, parted lips. “Can I help you, Sir?” he says, not turning. There’s a yank on his apron. Rustling - the coat, the curtain - and he’s dizzy, flopped on a pile of boxes in the break room, his dick about to burst through his pants at the sight of Cas leaning over him, his eyes burning wide, fiercely whispering, “It’s. Cas.” as his hand grips Dean’s shoulder. Dean feels each word rush out of Cas, the air flowing hot into Dean’s own mouth.
A second ago Dean was going to try to break away and lock that upstairs door, but right now he’s going absolutely nowhere. With his other hand Cas knocks back Dean’s ballcap, lacing his hair and kissing him, and the stubble burns too. Dean’s hungry; his tongue presses against the full lips and beyond, but he pulls back, startled, as a cool hand slips under his apron, deftly undoing his jeans. Dean reaches back behind him to untie the knot, get the damn apron out of the way. His jeans and briefs are sliding down his hips as Dean reaches up to claim another kiss, and that cool hand’s warming up as it slides up and down, looping and twisting over the head of Dean’s cock.
“Wait.” Dean’s voice sounds strange to him, a grunt almost, as he fights to gather himself. Scrambling to stand, he pushes Cas back a few feet until he’s flat against the opposite wall of the narrow space. It’s Dean’s turn to undo Cas’ pants, slipping open the metal clip, easing the zipper down, sliding his hands under the whisper-thin fabric of his boxers to the hot hard cock inside. If customer service has given him anything, it’s the gift of anticipation.
Dean takes his time, watching Cas’ pupils go wider, hearing the soft sharp intake of breath. Dropping to his knees Dean takes Cas deeply into his mouth. He can hear Cas moaning as he strokes his tongue along his shaft, as he grips Cas’ slender hips with both hands. Cas is twisting his hips, fighting it, until he can’t anymore, he’s thrusting at Dean’s mouth, his back arching, his head thrown back as he cries out, wordless, coming as Dean devours him. When there’s nothing left Dean pulls back, letting Cas slide to the ground beside him. The deep blue eyes are sadly closed for the moment. Dean lets the tousled dark head rest on his chest.
Sitting there on the floor, Dean’s body is still but he’s throbbing, his pulse racing away from him, while he feels Cas’ slowing. He’s wondering if the guy’s gonna fall asleep on him when he hears… no feels, through his chest, Cas growling, “We’re not finished.” Cas pushes himself off Dean’s chest, looks him in the eyes. His expression is life-or-death serious as he says, “When do you get off?”
Good question. It’s all Dean can do to keep his poker face, look straight back into those greedy blue eyes and say, “Closing takes about thirty minutes. Cas.”
Never looking away, Cas hands Dean a slip of paper. “Meet me here in thirty five.” Good, Dean thinks as Cas stands up and straightens his clothes. He’ll… “Dean. I won’t need a cappuccino tonight. But you might.” Dean watches the blue eyes, swears they’re laughing at him now, as Cas turns and sweeps through the upstairs door.
Dean has never closed up so fast in his life. Then he double checks everything so Ellen doesn’t call his cell at 6AM fuming. What if she does, it’s not like he’s gonna pick up. Dean clicks the ringer off on his phone. He locks the door and starts running the eight blocks to Cas’ address.
MONDAY
“It could be ten
But then again I can’t remember
Half an hour since a quarter to four…”
10:18 AM
Finally, some alone time with the espresso machine. Really the ultimate test of a barista - how good are your drinks? Not that there’s anything for Dean to make yet, which is good. He gets some extra time zoning out.
Thinking about Thursday night. Cas answering the door, wordless. Grabbing Dean pulling him inside, slamming the door and pressing Dean against it. Breathing “My turn,” into Dean’s lips, and tearing Dean’s coat off. The dizzy, urgent, helpless feeling in Dean as they slid to the floor, tangled up, trying to twist Cas out of his clothes.
And Saturday, after the text message. Cas’ long slender hands running over Deans back, down to the edge of his jeans. They made it to the bed on Saturday, that huge bed with the soft tan sheets that were wound around Dean’s hand as he moaned, pressing back into Cas.
They were up past four, and then Dean woke up to the biggest Sunday morning breakfast-in-bed he’s ever had. Does Cas even sleep? The clock next to the bed read eight-thirty when Cas came in with the tray. He moved almost silently, barefoot, wearing only dark pants that hung from his hips. Those slim hands effortlessly holding the tray, groaning with food, like it was nothing at all.
“Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, with an extra shot!” Zeddmore squeaks from the register. “Huh?” Dean’s jolted back. OK, stay cool. Yes, the blue eyes are back before he knows it, and there’s a quirk at the corner of Cas’ full mouth this time. “Dry?”
“No.” “Alright.” Dean feels Cas watching his arms as he pulls the three shots, watches the steam hissing through his hands. Dean doesn’t let himself look back at Cas until he puts the finished drink up on the bar. Cas’ eyes are hungry, sharp. “When.” It’s not a question.
Dean smiles, working the crinkled eye charm. “We close at eight tonight, Sir.”
“Okay.” The urgency fades a bit, but it’s still there under Cas’ gaze. He leans closer to Dean, separated only by inches. “It’s Cas,” he whispers. “Please.” Dean’s smile broadens despite him. Cas is addicted.
And if Dean’s not fooling himself, he’s hooked too.
Author: outlawradio
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Ash, Ellen, Sam, Zeddmore, reference to Bobby
WC: 2499
Warnings: sex, legal jargon
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I don’t own big corporate coffee shops either.
A/N: unbetaed; all mistakes are mine. Written for the (long-finished) AU/Fusion Challenge at deancastiel, for AU Prompt #41: “Barista!Dean (imagine him scowling at his costumers and yelling ‘GRANDE SKINNY CHAI LATTE NO FOAM WITH SOY!!’) and Corporate Lawyer! Cas ! KYAH!” Lyrics quoted throughout are from “Here it Goes Again” by OK Go, written by Damian Kulash Jr. (Nope, don’t own that either.)
MONDAY
“Just when you think
You’re in control
Just when you think
You’ve got a hold
Just when you get on a roll….”
Dean slides the volume up on his iPod, rocking his head up and down. It’s the morning ritual. Gotta be pumped to work the open. Gotta be sharp. He mouths the words. “Oh here it goes again, I should have known, should have known, should have known again….” Shit. He checks the time - five to six. Eight blocks to go. Shit. He books, barely looking down the cross-streets; no traffic at this hour anyway.
Makes it with two minutes to go, even slowing down to stroll down the last block. “Hey boss.” Ellen doesn’t look up from her clipboard, which is a damn shame, cause he’s rocking his crisply ironed company polo like nobody’s business. She nods, “Morning Dean,” her dark blonde ponytail bobbing under her company ballcap. When he’s past her, shoving open the curtain to the break room, he hears her again, saying his name like a mission: “Dean. Register.” Awesome. “Customer service it is,” he calls to her over his shoulder. Unhooking his earbuds, he swaps the iPod for the neatly folded apron in his bag.
7:50 AM
“It starts out easy, something simple, something sleazy, something inching past the edge of reserve….” Stuck in his head again. He’d stop playing it before morning shifts, but it helps his rhythm with the orders. “GRANDE SKINNY CHAI, NO WATER, EXTRA FOAM!” Dang, that geeky Zeddmore kid’s working the bar today, he better not fuck up Dean’s orders. Mostly regulars in the line, heading upstairs to the law firm. Punch punch punch, kaching. Plaster on the smile. “Have a nice day, miss. Can I help the next customer?”
It’s… not a regular. Hmm. Kind of slight guy, smaller than Dean anyway. Trenchcoat, suit, briefcase, rolled up paper. Shock of black hair. Jaw a touch slack. Looks kind of weary. Must not be a morning person. Doesn’t seem to know what he wants. Looking at Dean, not at the menu. Really intense-looking, big, dark blue eyes. Huh.
Focus, Dean. “Hi? Can I… can I help you?” The man cocks his head, pauses a moment, his lips parted, still but about to speak. “Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, dry, with an extra shot.”
Shit, there’s no way Zeddmore gets this one right. “Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, dry, extra shot, for?” “Cas.” Dean feels the crinkle at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He had the guy dead red wrong. He knew exactly what he wanted. Anyway, much as Dean loves to bark orders out he knows he has to mark the cup instead, or the guy’s gonna end up with a tepid tall latte and he’s never coming in here again.
“Cas? C-A-S?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. Anything else?”
“No.” Cas hasn’t moved the whole time, and his expression hasn’t changed, he’s just looking at Dean, who’s never stopped moving, writing carefully on the cup; handing it to Zed, who whimpers; catching Ellen’s eye. The register rings as Ellen’s voice, ministering to Zed, wafts towards Dean. “Here’s your change, Sir. Have a nice day.”
“Thank you.”
Cas moves smoothly over to the espresso machine, turning to face Zed and Ellen. And Dean. Dean glances up between exchanges with the next guy in line. Cas is still looking at him, brow slightly furrowed. With Ellen working the drink with Zed, Dean should be relaxed enough to flash a company smile at Cas. But he’s not.
Dean hears Zed call Cas’ drink, his voice trembling. Dean’s in the middle of taking an order, and when he looks up he sees the tails of Cas’ trench coat disappear through the door that leads upstairs. Lawyer, huh. Must be new. Hopefully he’ll be back. Always good to have regulars.
TUESDAY
“It starts out easy, something simple, something sleazy,
Something inching past the edge of reserve.
Now through the lines of cheap Venetian blinds
Your car is pulling off of the curb…”
3:05 PM
Afternoon rush. Dean downed a double espresso on break so he’s working efficiently. Ellen’s got him expediting for the afternoon shift, which is fine since Ash is on today; he’s ruthlessly efficient at the bar. Almost too good. If it weren’t for his issues with customers he’d be serious competition for that assistant manager gig.
Working the line. Lots of new people, first-year lawyers adjusting to lack of sleep after slack summers. Tall kid, broad-shouldered, coming in from outside. With that Cas guy. Man listen to that tall kid go, what a motormouth. Left his hair a little long, guess he didn’t get the memo that Immanuel and Michaels is a business firm. Dean shakes his head. Someone’ll drop the hint and he’ll come in one day, pale, hair shorn. Or he won’t come in at all.
Tall kid’s chattering on at Cas. They’re moving up closer in the line, so Dean can hear, not that he can understand, snatches between orders. “Stock sale… save face for the company… make the most of the shareholder dispute.” Cas listens, impassive. He’s looking at Dean, but then, they’re almost…. “Have you thought about 338(h)(10)?” It’s Cas, eyes, still locked on Dean. The tall kid sputters. “Three-thirty… what?” “Call Bobby in tax when we get back upstairs, before you go any further on the structure.” “Uh, yeah, okay….”
Dean meets Cas’ eyes and Cas is standing there, staring, saying, “Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, dry, with an extra shot, and… Sam?”
“Ugh… um, tall… mocha. Decaf.”
WEDNESDAY
“I guess there’s gotta be a break in the monotony
But Jesus when it rains how it pours.”
11:20 AM
Boy is it dead.
Half of everybody’s called in sick today and it doesn’t even matter, because BOY is nobody in here.
I mean, what’s going on? Wednesday morning’s not exactly peak time, but there are usually one or two people trickling in. This is ridiculous. It’s just so…
“DEAN.”
Aaah! Cas! How does he know… oh right, nametag. Get it together Dean. Breathe. Smile. “Yes? How can I help you?”
“Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, extra shot.” Still, always, staring.
“Dry?”
Cas nods.
Dean glances backward at the breakroom curtain, and from where he’s standing, he can see Ash in the breakroom, leaning back in his chair and… snoring. Right. Well it’s dead enough that Dean can man the register and make Cas’ drink. He rings the drink up and reaches his hand to Cas for payment. Breaking eye contact he sees Cas’ hands, long and elegant, reaching into a wallet for a bill.
When he hands Cas his change their fingers touch and it’s electric.
Shit. Did they touch before? It feels like they’ve touched before.
Wow.
Dean clears his throat. “I’ll be right with you with your drink, Sir.”
“Cas.”
“Cas.” Dean smiles, gathering himself. “Right with you.”
OK. Dean pulls the three shots, then pours out the whole milk for steaming. Lots of aeration to make it dry. He’s flushing; must be the steam the hot milk is throwing off. Cas is still watching him, head cocked, lips parted. Dean pours the shots into the cup and then carefully, precisely, pours and spoons the foamy steamed milk on top. He caps it, wipes the one drip down the side with a towel, sleeves it, and slides the drink across the counter to Cas. Cas looks down at it as if he’s waiting for something.
“Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, dry, with an extra shot.” “Thank you.” Cas’ voice is low and eyes are on Dean again. God, they’re beautiful. The way he looks makes Dean feel like Cas can see what he’s thinking. Makes Dean want to change the subject.
“You, uh… you work upstairs?” Dammit. As the words leave his mouth Dean hears the outside door open and a dozen high school-aged girls and two teachers come pouring in. School tour. “ASH. Customers.”
“Hunh!” Ash’s body jolts, he wipes the drool off the corner of his mouth and runs to smear Purell on his hands before he covers the bar. Out of the corner of Dean’s eye he sees Cas’ trenchcoat flutter as he drops a bill in the tip jar and heads upstairs.
THURSDAY
“Throw on your clothes
The second side of Surfer Rosa
And you leave me with my jaw on the floor…”
7:55 PM
Dean locks the front door and turns to wipe down the bar. Technically they’re open for five more minutes but he’s closing alone tonight, and nobody ever comes in after 7:30 anyway. Good to get an early start on the weekend. He’s off tomorrow, so blowing off steam all night and sleeping all day sounds fucking awesome right about now.
Underneath the piped-in music that he hasn’t switched off yet, there’s a rustle, right behind him. He hasn’t locked the upstairs door. Dean stands listening even though he knows, pictures the cocked head, parted lips. “Can I help you, Sir?” he says, not turning. There’s a yank on his apron. Rustling - the coat, the curtain - and he’s dizzy, flopped on a pile of boxes in the break room, his dick about to burst through his pants at the sight of Cas leaning over him, his eyes burning wide, fiercely whispering, “It’s. Cas.” as his hand grips Dean’s shoulder. Dean feels each word rush out of Cas, the air flowing hot into Dean’s own mouth.
A second ago Dean was going to try to break away and lock that upstairs door, but right now he’s going absolutely nowhere. With his other hand Cas knocks back Dean’s ballcap, lacing his hair and kissing him, and the stubble burns too. Dean’s hungry; his tongue presses against the full lips and beyond, but he pulls back, startled, as a cool hand slips under his apron, deftly undoing his jeans. Dean reaches back behind him to untie the knot, get the damn apron out of the way. His jeans and briefs are sliding down his hips as Dean reaches up to claim another kiss, and that cool hand’s warming up as it slides up and down, looping and twisting over the head of Dean’s cock.
“Wait.” Dean’s voice sounds strange to him, a grunt almost, as he fights to gather himself. Scrambling to stand, he pushes Cas back a few feet until he’s flat against the opposite wall of the narrow space. It’s Dean’s turn to undo Cas’ pants, slipping open the metal clip, easing the zipper down, sliding his hands under the whisper-thin fabric of his boxers to the hot hard cock inside. If customer service has given him anything, it’s the gift of anticipation.
Dean takes his time, watching Cas’ pupils go wider, hearing the soft sharp intake of breath. Dropping to his knees Dean takes Cas deeply into his mouth. He can hear Cas moaning as he strokes his tongue along his shaft, as he grips Cas’ slender hips with both hands. Cas is twisting his hips, fighting it, until he can’t anymore, he’s thrusting at Dean’s mouth, his back arching, his head thrown back as he cries out, wordless, coming as Dean devours him. When there’s nothing left Dean pulls back, letting Cas slide to the ground beside him. The deep blue eyes are sadly closed for the moment. Dean lets the tousled dark head rest on his chest.
Sitting there on the floor, Dean’s body is still but he’s throbbing, his pulse racing away from him, while he feels Cas’ slowing. He’s wondering if the guy’s gonna fall asleep on him when he hears… no feels, through his chest, Cas growling, “We’re not finished.” Cas pushes himself off Dean’s chest, looks him in the eyes. His expression is life-or-death serious as he says, “When do you get off?”
Good question. It’s all Dean can do to keep his poker face, look straight back into those greedy blue eyes and say, “Closing takes about thirty minutes. Cas.”
Never looking away, Cas hands Dean a slip of paper. “Meet me here in thirty five.” Good, Dean thinks as Cas stands up and straightens his clothes. He’ll… “Dean. I won’t need a cappuccino tonight. But you might.” Dean watches the blue eyes, swears they’re laughing at him now, as Cas turns and sweeps through the upstairs door.
Dean has never closed up so fast in his life. Then he double checks everything so Ellen doesn’t call his cell at 6AM fuming. What if she does, it’s not like he’s gonna pick up. Dean clicks the ringer off on his phone. He locks the door and starts running the eight blocks to Cas’ address.
MONDAY
“It could be ten
But then again I can’t remember
Half an hour since a quarter to four…”
10:18 AM
Finally, some alone time with the espresso machine. Really the ultimate test of a barista - how good are your drinks? Not that there’s anything for Dean to make yet, which is good. He gets some extra time zoning out.
Thinking about Thursday night. Cas answering the door, wordless. Grabbing Dean pulling him inside, slamming the door and pressing Dean against it. Breathing “My turn,” into Dean’s lips, and tearing Dean’s coat off. The dizzy, urgent, helpless feeling in Dean as they slid to the floor, tangled up, trying to twist Cas out of his clothes.
And Saturday, after the text message. Cas’ long slender hands running over Deans back, down to the edge of his jeans. They made it to the bed on Saturday, that huge bed with the soft tan sheets that were wound around Dean’s hand as he moaned, pressing back into Cas.
They were up past four, and then Dean woke up to the biggest Sunday morning breakfast-in-bed he’s ever had. Does Cas even sleep? The clock next to the bed read eight-thirty when Cas came in with the tray. He moved almost silently, barefoot, wearing only dark pants that hung from his hips. Those slim hands effortlessly holding the tray, groaning with food, like it was nothing at all.
“Grande whole milk extra hot cappuccino, with an extra shot!” Zeddmore squeaks from the register. “Huh?” Dean’s jolted back. OK, stay cool. Yes, the blue eyes are back before he knows it, and there’s a quirk at the corner of Cas’ full mouth this time. “Dry?”
“No.” “Alright.” Dean feels Cas watching his arms as he pulls the three shots, watches the steam hissing through his hands. Dean doesn’t let himself look back at Cas until he puts the finished drink up on the bar. Cas’ eyes are hungry, sharp. “When.” It’s not a question.
Dean smiles, working the crinkled eye charm. “We close at eight tonight, Sir.”
“Okay.” The urgency fades a bit, but it’s still there under Cas’ gaze. He leans closer to Dean, separated only by inches. “It’s Cas,” he whispers. “Please.” Dean’s smile broadens despite him. Cas is addicted.
And if Dean’s not fooling himself, he’s hooked too.