FIC: Specialty Brew
Title: Specialty Brew
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Genre: AU, romance
Spoilers: None:
Warnings: Un'beta'd
Word Count: 803
Summary: AU. Dean's never had his coffee any way but black. Castiel decides it's time for a change.
Author's Notes: Posted on my twitter as a too-long twitfic. I figure it's the beginning of a mini 'verse I so aptly named "Coffee 'Verse." Coffee is the lifeblood of grad students and college students and workers everywhere, so why not include it in a nice AU? This coffee site has sparked some inspiration, so I'll write more as soon as I have time ;)
Specialty Brew
“How do you like your coffee?” Cas asks from the kitchen.
Dean shuffles in, rubbing the back of his head. He stops in the doorway when he sees Castiel. Castiel’s back is towards him, but his shoulders are relaxed. His pajama pants are slung low on his hips, his hair still rumpled from the previous night’s activities.
Last night, Dean had wanted nothing more than a cheap date or a fast fuck. The bars in the city seemed perfect for it, and since he didn’t know anyone as of yet, it seemed like an ideal situation. But as the night had worn on, Dean had found his eyes traveling back to the man sitting stiffly at the bar in a trench coat. Dean had seen him before, had known his name was Castiel. It was a rare name, easy to remember for its novelty alone, and Castiel had been one of the few customers Dean had taken care of at Bobby’s garage in the week since he started work. And Castiel had, apparently, known Sam from the university. It seemed only natural to sidle up to the guy, start a conversation, and after that Dean can’t remember much. Nothing beyond blue eyes, warm hands pulling his hips closer, a deep voice speaking words both before and after the bar.
Dean had never had a before and an after. And watching Castiel take a full pot of coffee off the burner of the coffee maker and pour two cups is relaxing, pleasing, and Dean’s just as content to stand there as he was last night when Castiel had leaned in first and pressed his lips hesitantly to the corner of Dean’s mouth.
Dean’s never fallen this hard, this fast, for anyone. In fact, he can’t remember falling before this, period.
“Dean?”
Dean snaps back to himself with a shake of his head. “Yeah?”
Castiel’s looking back over his shoulder, staring at Dean. “How do you take your coffee?” There’s a small smile on his lips.
Dean shrugs, takes the few steps between the doorway and the counter to press his front against Castiel’s back and weave an arm around his waist. Castiel sighs, leaning back into him, and Dean smiles as he presses his nose against Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel smells like cotton and sleep and sex. Dean likes this smell.
“Black,” he mumbles. A shiver goes through Castiel, and Dean lifts his head. “Cas?”
“How can you drink it black?”
And Dean watches as Castiel reaches forward, opens the metal container labeled “sugar” from the back of the counter. Three spoonfuls of sugar are dumped into Castiel’s mug, stirred, and Castiel leans over, breaking their contact momentarily, to open the refrigerator and pull out the milk carton. By the time he’s done with his routine, the coffee in his mug is a brown toffee color.
“You murdered that,” Dean says.
Castiel simply looks over his shoulder, his raised eyebrow prompting.
“I never had time for anything but black,” Dean says. He leaves out the sleepless nights, working through dark until morning for the extra cash the graveyard shift would bring in so Sam could go to school, so their father didn’t bear such a heavy burden. He leaves out the endless miles on the road after nights hustling pool and the crappy gas station coffee just so he didn’t drive off the road.
There’s plenty of time, later, if this thing with Cas lasts. And as Castiel’s eyes flicker around his face, searching and curious and actually giving a shit about Dean’s answer, Dean finds the small hope that it will last expand, blossom out in his chest until his ribs begin to ache with it.
“Okay,” Castiel says. He slips from Dean’s arms, and Dean has a moment of doubt and painful disappointment before Castiel’s fingers are warm around his wrist, tugging. Dean is manhandled into a chair at the kitchen table. A moment later his coffee mug is placed before him. Dean reaches for it, only for Castiel’s hand to smack his fingers away.
“What-”
“Wait,” Castiel instructs. He steps quickly away, and Dean hears the cabinets opening and closing behind him. But before he can turn around Castiel is back at the table. He takes from his arms a few boxes, plastic containers, and a bowl.
“Coffee-mate?” Dean reads from a brown and red labeled plastic thermos looking thing. “French Vanilla?”
Castiel grunts assent. When Castiel’s done shuffling around and making noise, he places the sugar before Dean, along with milk and half-and-half he’s grabbed from the fridge. When he sits down, it’s with the nearly full coffee pot and three empty mugs before him.
“Okay,” Castiel says. “You ready to figure this out?”
Dean nods, but can’t speak as Castiel begins to fill the extra mugs with coffee.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Genre: AU, romance
Spoilers: None:
Warnings: Un'beta'd
Word Count: 803
Summary: AU. Dean's never had his coffee any way but black. Castiel decides it's time for a change.
Author's Notes: Posted on my twitter as a too-long twitfic. I figure it's the beginning of a mini 'verse I so aptly named "Coffee 'Verse." Coffee is the lifeblood of grad students and college students and workers everywhere, so why not include it in a nice AU? This coffee site has sparked some inspiration, so I'll write more as soon as I have time ;)
Specialty Brew
“How do you like your coffee?” Cas asks from the kitchen.
Dean shuffles in, rubbing the back of his head. He stops in the doorway when he sees Castiel. Castiel’s back is towards him, but his shoulders are relaxed. His pajama pants are slung low on his hips, his hair still rumpled from the previous night’s activities.
Last night, Dean had wanted nothing more than a cheap date or a fast fuck. The bars in the city seemed perfect for it, and since he didn’t know anyone as of yet, it seemed like an ideal situation. But as the night had worn on, Dean had found his eyes traveling back to the man sitting stiffly at the bar in a trench coat. Dean had seen him before, had known his name was Castiel. It was a rare name, easy to remember for its novelty alone, and Castiel had been one of the few customers Dean had taken care of at Bobby’s garage in the week since he started work. And Castiel had, apparently, known Sam from the university. It seemed only natural to sidle up to the guy, start a conversation, and after that Dean can’t remember much. Nothing beyond blue eyes, warm hands pulling his hips closer, a deep voice speaking words both before and after the bar.
Dean had never had a before and an after. And watching Castiel take a full pot of coffee off the burner of the coffee maker and pour two cups is relaxing, pleasing, and Dean’s just as content to stand there as he was last night when Castiel had leaned in first and pressed his lips hesitantly to the corner of Dean’s mouth.
Dean’s never fallen this hard, this fast, for anyone. In fact, he can’t remember falling before this, period.
“Dean?”
Dean snaps back to himself with a shake of his head. “Yeah?”
Castiel’s looking back over his shoulder, staring at Dean. “How do you take your coffee?” There’s a small smile on his lips.
Dean shrugs, takes the few steps between the doorway and the counter to press his front against Castiel’s back and weave an arm around his waist. Castiel sighs, leaning back into him, and Dean smiles as he presses his nose against Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel smells like cotton and sleep and sex. Dean likes this smell.
“Black,” he mumbles. A shiver goes through Castiel, and Dean lifts his head. “Cas?”
“How can you drink it black?”
And Dean watches as Castiel reaches forward, opens the metal container labeled “sugar” from the back of the counter. Three spoonfuls of sugar are dumped into Castiel’s mug, stirred, and Castiel leans over, breaking their contact momentarily, to open the refrigerator and pull out the milk carton. By the time he’s done with his routine, the coffee in his mug is a brown toffee color.
“You murdered that,” Dean says.
Castiel simply looks over his shoulder, his raised eyebrow prompting.
“I never had time for anything but black,” Dean says. He leaves out the sleepless nights, working through dark until morning for the extra cash the graveyard shift would bring in so Sam could go to school, so their father didn’t bear such a heavy burden. He leaves out the endless miles on the road after nights hustling pool and the crappy gas station coffee just so he didn’t drive off the road.
There’s plenty of time, later, if this thing with Cas lasts. And as Castiel’s eyes flicker around his face, searching and curious and actually giving a shit about Dean’s answer, Dean finds the small hope that it will last expand, blossom out in his chest until his ribs begin to ache with it.
“Okay,” Castiel says. He slips from Dean’s arms, and Dean has a moment of doubt and painful disappointment before Castiel’s fingers are warm around his wrist, tugging. Dean is manhandled into a chair at the kitchen table. A moment later his coffee mug is placed before him. Dean reaches for it, only for Castiel’s hand to smack his fingers away.
“What-”
“Wait,” Castiel instructs. He steps quickly away, and Dean hears the cabinets opening and closing behind him. But before he can turn around Castiel is back at the table. He takes from his arms a few boxes, plastic containers, and a bowl.
“Coffee-mate?” Dean reads from a brown and red labeled plastic thermos looking thing. “French Vanilla?”
Castiel grunts assent. When Castiel’s done shuffling around and making noise, he places the sugar before Dean, along with milk and half-and-half he’s grabbed from the fridge. When he sits down, it’s with the nearly full coffee pot and three empty mugs before him.
“Okay,” Castiel says. “You ready to figure this out?”
Dean nods, but can’t speak as Castiel begins to fill the extra mugs with coffee.