Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8017447.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Castiel_(Supernatural), Dean_Winchester, background_family_members
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_The_Sound_of_Music_Fusion, only_less_singing_and_no
      nazis, Flirting, First_Kiss, Late_Night_Conversations, Poet_Dean, Rich
      Boy_Cas, Delivery_boy_Dean, Insecure_Castiel, Insecure_Dean_Winchester,
      Forbidden_Love, Secret_Relationship, Sneaking_Around, Kissing_in_the
      Rain, sex_in_the_rain, only_not_gross_or_outdoors, Literal_Sleeping
      Together, Mutual_Pining, Hand_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-09-12 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 10626
****** Going on Seventeen ******
by fem_castielnovak
Summary
      
     From a distance, Castiel can see him:
     Dean sits on a wide flat swing facing out towards the expansive
     grounds.
     Castiel stills; lets the excitement build as he watches the miniscule
     sway of his friend’s silhouette. The moonlight filters through the
     leaves and leaves a halo around him.
     Castiel wants to be a part of it.
     He’s only a few yards away when an unseen pinecone cracks under his
     foot. Dean twists around at a breakneck speed. Castiel catches the
     flash of panic on his friend’s features but it’s replaced by a bright
     and wide smile when Dean realizes that he isn’t about to be caught by
     the butler or groundskeeper.
     “Heya, Cas.”
     He says it like the phrase is his favorite thing in the world.
     Castiel pretends that it might be.
Notes
     Chapter 1 has a solid ending and Chapter 2 is the only explicit
     portion, in case you're not into that
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Lamplight *****
 
 
For the Novaks, dinner is as ritualistic and certain as church attendance every
Sunday. So when something unusual or interesting occurs, it is very unusual or
interesting. Tonight happens to be both.
They’ve just said grace when Raphael walks in carrying a small package, and a
note. Castiel looks immediately from the bundle in the butler’s hand, to the
window as if what he seeks would be in plain sight. The what, or rather the who
which he looks for is nowhere near that stupid.
Castiel swallows around the question in his throat. He feigns carelessness,
taking a sip of water before setting the words free; “Raphael, who delivered
it?” He goes back to eating when he catches scrutiny in Raphael’s expression.
“That young boy- Dean, of course.”
Of course.
Castiel hesitates, hoping that by leaving a pause, the motives of his eminent
actions will be nonsuspect. He throws a glance to his father as the man opens
and reads the letter. Another question wells behind the food Castiel is trying
to consume. But Captain Michael Novak is highly unapproachable.
Uriel elbows him covertly but painfully in his ribs, and Castiel realizes that
he’d completely frozen all motions in his hesitation. His napkin is halfway to
his mouth but he drops his hands to his lap innocently. Lord, it must look like
the name had paralyzed him. Thankfully, it seems Father hasn’t noticed. As
usual.
Castiel waits for someone to say something else – to further create a break in
the stream of thought or anything that could be misconstrued as clear
correlation between the delivery boy’s name and Castiel. But as their father
reads, no one is speaking up and he doesn’t want to leave Dean waiting. He
clears his throat.
“Father?”
He doesn’t look up, but Castiel didn’t expect him to.
“May I be excused?”
The confidence in his voice has won him nothing, apparently; the Captain grunts
negatively.  Castiel’s chest tightens. He bites his tongue and looks away from
the head of the table.
Minor setback, then.
Castiel catches the new governess, Ms. Rebecca (“Call me Becky”) shooting him a
pitying glance. He turns away, not out of embarrassment, but to sort out a
means of escape.
His father hands the package, unopened, to Raphael, “Put these with my bags.”
He tucks the note back into its envelope and directs his attention to the other
members of the table. “Children, in the morning, I shall be going to
Havenscourt.”
“Oh, no, Father!” whines Hester.
“Not again, Father,” and really, Rachel should be more capable of behaving with
the small maturity of her thirteen years than sounding like a duplicate of
seven-year-old Hester.
“How long will you be gone this time, Father?” asks Alfie from the end of the
table in his high, baby voice.
“I’m not sure, Alfie. I’m not sure.”
“To visit Baroness Schraeder, again?” suggests Anna. At ten, she was more
spirited and outspoken than even Castiel himself had been.
“Mind your own business,” chides Uriel.
The Captain chooses to ignore his son, “As a matter of fact, yes, Anna.”
“Why can’t we ever get to see the Baroness?” asks Hester.
Balthazar scoffs, “Why would she want to see you?”
 
   Baroness Naomi Schraeder is beautiful, intelligent, and more than obviously
the object of the Captain’s pursuits. She is of European breeding (thus, the
title) but in her life, she’d become quite the American socialite. Not to
mention, she’s immensely rich.
Castiel could care less about what his father does in Havenscourt. Could, but
doesn’t. He has to care a little bit; it’s his job to look out for his
siblings, and he can’t bring himself to trust the Baroness in full.
And he can see the benefit to his father pursuing a relationship with her. As
he’d overheard Uncle Gabriel say, the goal was to “keep all that lovely money
in the family.”
Family, of course, being Gabriel’s nearest and dearest acquaintances – those
who kept him fed, housed, and entertained.
  But tonight, Castiel’s opinion will have no sway on his father. It seems he’s
already decided and packed to travel. So Castiel, too will take his leave.
Now.
 
The Captain dabs at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Hester, you are
going to see the Baroness. I’m bringing her back with me to visit us all.”
With effortful innocence that no one takes note of, Castiel stands to get a
glass of water from the pitcher on the bureau at the head of the room. That is,
the bureau which happens to sit between two entryways … outside of his father’s
line of vision. His siblings’ chorus of “Good!” distracts from his actions.
“And …” the Captain continues, “… Uncle Gabe.” Castiel can hear the eyeroll in
his voice. The din of his siblings’ elated cheering disguises the click of his
glass meeting the marble top of the bureau. The noise provides the opportunity
that Castiel needs to slip out. He catches the eye of Ms. “Call me Becky” at
the last minute, but something about her says that she won’t betray his
withdrawal.
 
☙⋯❧
 
From a distance, Castiel can see him:
Dean sits on a wide flat swing facing out towards the expansive grounds.
Castiel stills; lets the excitement build as he watches the miniscule sway of
his friend’s silhouette. The moonlight filters through the leaves and leaves a
halo around him.
Castiel wants to be a part of it.
He’s only a few yards away when an unseen pinecone cracks under his foot. Dean
twists around at a breakneck speed. Castiel catches the flash of panic on his
friend’s features but it’s replaced by a bright and wide smile when Dean
realizes that he isn’t about to be caught by the butler or groundskeeper.
“Heya, Cas.”
He says it like the phrase is his favorite thing in the world. Castiel pretends
that it might be.
“Hi, Dean,” Cas responds with a soft smile. His voice sounds low in the still
night – it’s the calm before the storm. Everything is sweet with the scent of
pre-rain on the air. Cas holds the rope as he rounds the empty end to sit in
the narrow, vacant space beside Dean.
“I’m glad to see you,” he says, savoring the maintained eye contact.
“I missed you,” Dean reveals earnestly.
A delighted and surprised smile brightens Cas’s face as a rosy flush covers
Dean’s. He had probably intended to say something like ‘me too’ but he hadn’t
and it warms Castiel. So Cas says it instead.
“Me too.”
Even when Dean ducks his head, Cas’s eyes remain tied to his friend’s face.
A smirk burrows into the corner of Dean’s mouth as he fiddles with the cap in
his hands, “Seriously, Cas, how have you guys not gotten any mail in a week and
a half? You need to shop like other rich people. Order more packages, or
something.”
“And what would I buy?” Cas asks convivially.
“You could buy me a gift,” Dean suggests without missing a beat.
Cas snickers, “And what would I get you?”
Dean shakes his head and turns away, “Nope. Half the fun of getting a gift is
that the other person picked it out for you.”
“What if I don’t know what to get you?”
“Aw, Cas, you know me well enough to buy me a present. ‘Sides, anything you get
me I’d like.”
“But I don’t want you to just like it, I want you to love it.” Somehow they’ve
escaped the theoretical. “Tell me something I could give you.”
Dean meets his eyes, and he looks like he might be about to ask for something.
A roll of thunder jerks them out of attention to one another. Cas holds his
palm out to feel for raindrops just as one hits the tip of Dean’s nose. The two
of them look around as the clatter of droplets slowly increases on the leaves
of the surrounding trees. With a hand to Castiel’s leg, Dean points out to the
yard where a rolling wall of rain approaches. Cas stands, pointing to his
right; “The gazebo!”  And within the span of a heartbeat, Dean has taken his
hand and set off in a sprint. They race to get to the glass-walled structure
before the rain can overtake either it or them.
A roll of thunder and a flare of lightning overlap the moment that they cross
the threshold. They come to a halt, panting a little and Dean tightens his grip
in a squeeze, causing Cas to realize they’re still clasping hands. He’s the one
to initiate release when he bends forward, to prop himself on his knees. Dean,
being more athletic from his job, remains upright, arms akimbo as he looks Cas
over.
Outside the gazebo there’s a lamppost a-ways off. It casts a frothy, lunar sort
of luminescence that hooks on the curves and edges of the glass; fills up the
space around them. In better light they watch each other. It only takes a
moment for Cas to become self-conscious.
Within the Novak household, there is still a requirement to dress for dinner.
Dean has seen him like this before, in fact it’s how Dean sees him most of the
time. But tonight Cas feels it as his friend’s eyes linger on his attire. His
waistcoat and pants are fitted, and Castiel thinks that the white of his shirt
looks duller for the lamplight. Standing before Dean who wears his casual
forest-green work uniform, it feels like Cas is wearing a costume.
And in that regard, the light illuminates in more than one way. Sure, they both
look unkempt and damp; they hadn’t escaped the weather totally unscathed. But
that’s essentially where the similarities end. Castiel is fit, but it’s because
his father is a military man who won’t stand for out-of-shape children. Dean is
toned for labor – his bike messenger duties occupy him on most weekdays but his
weekends and some weeknights are consumed with physically demanding tasks.
Those are the only jobs Dean talks about with any sort of satisfaction and
they’re the ones he does for his uncle. Dean’s posture is tired, but Cas is
doubled over from a quick sprint because he didn’t start off properly. The
rough, low grade cloth of Dean’s shirt is wrinkled from a long day of wear, but
Cas’s clothing is fresh and bright.
Cas tells himself that he doesn’t mind the socioeconomic gap between them. But
he can tell that Dean does mind, and that upsets Cas a little. Cas growing up
rich and Dean having to work are the only reasons they met or get to see each
other. It’s something neither of them bring up, partially out of politeness,
partially because it’s not anything that should actually matter. And it
doesn’t. It’s simply the state they exist in; a fact they’re both aware of.
Though, truly, Cas hates that any gap exists between the two of them at all.
Cas wonders if there’s any overlap between the thoughts occupying both of them.
He hopes there isn’t. As if he can will away any such similar notions in his
friend’s train of thought, Cas grips onto the first idea that isn’t their
outward differences. It leaves him thinking of how nicely the uniform shirt
matches Dean’s eyes. Which, granted, isn’t very much better for Castiel’s own
mental health than his previous topic of thought.
There’s a rosiness to Dean’s face at the moment, and Cas considers whether or
not it’s likely to be something other than exertion. He searches Dean’s eyes
for an indication and finds them met with his own.
Cas breaks away first, not out of embarrassment, but to look over Dean’s
shoulder.
He walks somewhat absently to a glass-paned wall. He only makes it halfway
before he loses interest in his direction.
“My father is going to propose.”
“…To Baroness Schraeder?”
Castiel is glad for Dean’s ability to latch onto every one of Castiel’s
thoughts as if he were swinging easily between vines in the forest of Cas’s
mind.
Cas nods.
“Did he tell you all? Or –“
“He didn’t have to. But he’s going to visit her tomorrow morning and he’s
bringing her back to visit us. They’ve been getting around to this for months.
Uncle Gabe set them up even before they personally knew each other.” He shrugs
his shoulders and shakes his head a little. “I don’t mind, I just wish she
liked us. At least the little ones.”
This wasn’t what Cas came out here to talk with Dean about. Dean was his refuge
– his escape from the immaculate thirty-piece puzzle of his life.
And, he chastens himself, Dean is also his best friend, which means that
Castiel was going to either talk out his own dilemmas, or listen to Dean’s,
depending on who needed it more.
“You don’t think she does?”
Dean doesn’t want to offer advice when Cas isn’t asking for it and Cas can’t
begrudge him that. His nose wrinkles thoughtfully, “She doesn’t act like it.
And I hate to say it but I’m certain that I’ve heard mention of boarding school
in the past …”
Dean’s footsteps clap into existence as he approaches where Cas stands in the
center of the glass chamber.
“Your dad would really let her send you away?” There’s concern in his tone, but
more than Cas expected.
“Who’s to say what the Captain would be inclined to do?” Cas watches the
raindrops chase each other down the outside of the gazebo. “It will likely
coordinate with the Baroness’s wishes in some fashion, but there’s really no
telling …”
Deans feet shift against the smooth stone floor but he doesn’t say anything.
“Knowing her by reputation alone, I’d say that Baroness Schraeder will present
us with a slew of obligations and social events to attend.” Cas doesn’t mind
that part as much as he minds the motives; “And at all of them, for the next
year or so at least, she’ll have another reason to be the center of attention.
First the wedding, and then her acquired family.” Cas bobs his head as he lists
his theorized inevitabilities. “She’ll use us to her advantage for as long as
she has to keep us around so I’m not sure whether staying would be worse than
going.”
Cas knows the result of that wholly internal debate; staying is indubitably the
better option. Dean isn’t at boarding school.
Cas scoffs, “At least a wedding means more packages being delivered here.” He
ducks his head and turns it to the side a fraction, sure that his smile will be
visible to Dean even as he stands out of Cas’s periphery. “Cheque-envelopes,
monetary parcels, decoration samples, engagement gifts, weddinggifts …”
“And I will be grateful to every last one of those rich bastards for their
bestowments, and the multiple trips it will take to bring them all here.”
Cas turns to back to face him, “Because you get to see me?” he asks with a
grin, sure of the affirmative answer he will get.
“No, because it means I get more tips.” Dean says with an equally wide grin.
Cas shoves at him, “Ass.”
“Not just an ass – a smartass; I’ll be sure to only deliver one package per
day.”
Cas hums in assent, “Good thinking. We’ve got to milk this opportunity for all
we can.”
“Oh, we do, do we? Will you also be helping to bike back and forth all the way
out here for all of those days?”
“You know what I mean.” Cas rolls his eyes, “But if it helps, I’ll make sure
there are snacks waiting for you if you come during the daytime.” He waves his
hand absently, “Cookies, or lemonade and tartes or whatever.”
“Mmmm,” Dean hums as if he can already taste the treats.
“Though seeing me should be its own reward,” Cas remarks. It’s the little
things like that which show how much Dean’s rubbed off on him. “Besides, I’ll
need you here to help me cope. Once a day visits might not be enough.”
“No?”
“No. I’ll need an escape from everything I’m inevitably going to be roped
into.” Cas resists the impulse to wrinkle his nose. “All of us will have to be
involved with the Baroness in a larger capacity – appearances, and all. I’ll be
given charge of my siblings, be tasked with small wedding preparations to
involve me, and I’ll get taken to parties, and introduced to ‘lovely young
ladies.’ Which I wouldn’t mind half so much if I knew what I was supposed to
with them once we were introduced.”
Dean gets a glint in his eye and Cas sighs in exasperation, “Don’t look at me
like that. I know a multitude of things which I could do. I just … don’t think
I very much want to.” Cas bites his lip, “At least not with them.” He shrugs,
rolling his shoulders and ridding himself of that line of thought. “Besides,
I’d rather not disgrace my family. Not in such a predictable, adolescent way.”
“Oh, because you’re so much more than adolescent,” Dean scoffs.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, just that you may be sophisticated but you’re still …”
“Still what?” Cas asks with eyes narrowed.
Dean laughs a little, “Still kind of a baby.”
“I am not!” is his first, instinctive response. Which, of course, makes him
sound exactly like a baby. “I’m sixteen,” he adds, trying for more composure,
“What’s such a baby about that?”
“Yeah, you’re only sixteen.”
“Well that’s not much younger than you.”
“Cas, I’ve got a whole year on you right now and I’ll be eighteen before you
know it.”
“May I remind you that you only just turned seventeen a few months ago? And
that I’m going to be seventeen in September?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “But you’re all crystal
cups and iron-wrought fences. You still need someone to protect you.”
Cas whirls on him with a half amused, half offended expression. “Protect me?”
he asks with accusation in his voice.
Dean’s eyebrows pinch together as he smiles close-mouthed, like Cas has
questioned the most obvious of facts, “Sure. Someone’s got to.”
Cas’s eyes widen in shock and he cocks his head at this new piece of
information about himself.
“And not in the sheltered way,” Dean adds, “because you’ve got that now. I’m
talking about in the helps-you-explore-the-world way. The kind where you’re out
and about but you’ve got backup when you need it.” Dean rolls his shoulders. “I
don’t know that I’m the best person for the job,” he concedes, “but I’m here,
and I’m willing, and I know you pretty well. You’ve gotta get your start
somewhere.”
“But you think I need protecting…” Cas looks at him appraisingly, as if trying
to suss out what Dean’s frankness implies.
“Like I said, I know you pretty well,” he shrugs and his posture is open but
Cas doesn’t quite know how to read what he’s seeing on the other boy’s face.
“And what exactly is it about me makes you think I’m so vulnerable that I need
protecting?”
“It’s not an insult, but … look at you. With your sheltered youth – life stuck
behind garden walls. You’re brainy but you’re inexperienced. That plus your big
mouth and trusting nature is gonna get you in a lot of trouble.” Dean smiles
teasingly. “You’re totally spoiled. But not ruined – you’ve just got the luxury
of opportunity and ability. That kind of spoiled. Which works great with the
whole wide-eyed innocence thing going for you … Should I stop?” he asks, taking
note of the heated glare Cas is giving him.
“No, no, by all means, keep going,” Cas tells him sardonically. He crosses his
arms and hopes that it keeps him from looking pouty as he turns away.
“Even with your deep-ass voice and scruffy looks, you just seem so boyish. And
bookish too. You’ve got your crisp clothing and soft hands …” Dean drifts off
thoughtfully and Cas feels it as his friend watches him.
Cas wanders towards the walls of structure again, puts a hand out to touch the
chilled glass. His fingers smear the condensation that’s gathered from the
humidity. He drops his hand to his side, looking out at the gardens.
“It’s like- … like you’re untamed.”
Castiel zeroes in on that word. Sinks his teeth into it; even as it bites back.
He steps up onto one of benches that ring the edges of the enclosure and turns
to face Dean again.
Dean edges nearer to him, shyly but coercively; “You’ve got those rosy cheeks
and barely chapped lips. Not the wind-worn, blue-collar style, but the way that
it is when someone licks their lips because they’re reading something and
thinking about it really hard.” He spouts this all so casually. “Like you’ve
spent your entire life in a sunny corner of a library.” Dean pauses to smile
softly at him, “You’re an intellectual. Brilliant, even.” His cheeks take on a
pink glow, but he doesn’t look away from Cas, “You’ve got soft hair, and pretty
eyes. Beautiful eyes. And damn it if you don’t always smell like pears.” He
cocks his head, “I know I said the thing about garden walls and the library,
but maybe it’s more a combination of the two. Maybe you just popped out of a
fairytale meadow to see what the mortals are like.” Dean smiles his most
charming smile at him. “Even if you aren’t, you sure make me want to follow you
back to wherever it is you came from.”
Stunning.
What does one do with this thing? With such words?
Cas wants to tell him how beautiful that was, how beautiful it makes him feel;
that the tone Dean used makes it seem like he’s worth the poetry the other boy
accidentally composed for him. Cas can hardly find it within himself to be
upset with Dean for trying to use it to support the claim of Cas’s innocence.
But Cas’s infatuation is outweighed by his need to prove himself.
He clears his throat glancing towards the window, “A riveting argument, truly.”
His words are absolutely saturated with sarcasm. “I must say that most of it
took me by surprise. You forgot though, to mention how little of the world I’ve
seen, and thus how utterly unprepared I am for it. And how timid and shy and
scared I must be all the time about everything. But other than that …”
Cas looks up, without intending to finish his sentence. But the distance
between them has shortened and the change feels vast. Dean’s eyes are glued to
him as he approaches Cas. He looks like a firefly following the glow of the
moon.
“… it was beautiful.”
“Yeah?”
He stands close, directly before Castiel.
Cas nods but he can’t help leaning in to rest his forearms on Dean’s shoulders.
He fixes Dean with serious and direct eye contact.
“But what do I know?” He joins his hands at the base of Dean’s neck and runs
his thumb through the short hairs there, letting his brow remain furrowed.
“Here I am in my glass gazebo, being told for the first time of the outside
world. I’m naïve and willing to believe anything that anyone tells me.”
A dreamy, out-of-it sort of look falls over Dean’s face as Cas begins to run
his hands up from the base of his skull up through Dean’s hair and twine his
fingers in what he can of the short strands. He feels Dean shiver at the
sensation and realizes they’re both leaning into the touch.
“Just a poor little rich boy. Innocent as a rose,” he sing-songs, finally
letting a wolfish grin creep onto his face as his fingers curl close to Dean’s
scalp.
Dean’s mouth falls into the cutest little “o”-shape at that; a slack replica of
a pucker. Dean gives another full-body shiver as Cas drags his fingers back and
down Dean’s neck. His palms land on sharp clavicles. A moment is allowed before
he pushes off suddenly to stand upright again.
“This is the part where you apologize,” Castiel tells him assuredly in a curbed
but flinty tone.
Dean blinks several times and a blush overtakes his features. The round of his
mouth flutters purposelessly around nothing. He doesn’t seem to know how to
respond, even though Castiel has just told him what it should be.
Cas’s hands fall into grip behind his own back, “That’s alright, you can tell
me later.”
Dean’s mouth finally closes but the blushing gets darker on the apples of his
cheeks. Cas had expected him to look away by now, but he’s still gazing upward,
open to read. So Cas looks away instead.
“You are right about one thing though,” he says and glances up to reassure
himself with Dean’s curious expression. His eyes find the window again, “You do
have more world experience than me. Or at least, a different and more
applicable kind.” He turns to walk to the end of the bench.
“You’ve got independence, and a job – multiple, real jobs.”
Cas doesn’t like talking this much.
He likes that he’s being heard, and he likes that it’s so obvious that he has
Dean’s complete and total attention (he’s growing used to this), but it’s
unnerving. It puts him on display and makes him aware of how infrequently he
feels the need to fill silences. He’s rarely felt the push to. It just doesn’t
register on his radar. But as the object within the narrowed scope of Dean’s
focus, he wants Dean to feel like he’s getting his money’s worth.
“You’re making your way in the world and making it beautifully. You’ve got
friends other than me, you’re charming and attractive. You know how to handle
yourself in just about every situation. Even ones that you make up yourself.
And how is it that you can get into so much trouble all on your own but still
be more adult than me?” Cas cocks his head and looks over his shoulder with
narrowed eyes. He pivots to face Dean from his end of the bench.
Dean clears his throat, “Uh, you said it. Charming I guess.” He offers a
lopsided smile.
“Oh, come now,” Castiel says patronizingly, “You aren’t even going to defend
yourself?”
Dean shrugs and shifts between his feet, “What’s to defend?”
Castiel tilts his head, expression patient.
Dean clutches his cap in one fist, “You didn’t try to defend yourself.”
Castiel wonders if it’s the compliments that are making him shy. “Haven’t you
ever heard anyone say that sarcasm is the most common defense mechanism?”
Dean’s mouth slants sideways in dissatisfaction, “I don’t think that counts as
a real defense. It’s a pretty lame excuse for one, anyways.”
Cas hums thoughtfully. “In any case, I still don’t hear you offering one at
all.”
Dean rolls his eyes.
“So you concede? My assertions are accurate?”
He scoffs, and quirks his lips. “Nah, man. You only think all that because I
have interesting stories to tell you at the end of the day whenever we see each
other.” Eyes downcast, he shuffles to Castiel’s end of the bench. “I mean,
that’s why I come so late. That, and so I can spend as much time with you as I
want. But if you spent more time with me or saw me more often you’d realize I’m
ninety percent BS. The stories are it, buddy.” He says it jokingly but Cas is
worried that Dean thinks there’s some truth lying within the words. Or worse,
that Cas would buy into any of what Dean’s just told him.
Dean talks like he thinks Cas is so much more sophisticated and smarter than
him. Cas wonders if the self-depreciation means that Dean is never going to
make a move. More importantly, he wonders if the class difference means he has
to be the one to make the first move. And isn’t that a startling thing to be
contemplating so suddenly?
“I’m offended,” he states as if Dean had asked him something and he were
explaining himself. “Not at that last part. That you’d think-,” he shakes his
head dismissively, “Tell me then, what we are, if not friends.” Before, Castiel
had allowed and avoided Dean’s downturned gaze to give him a sense of space and
non-judgement. But this has suddenly gotten rather confrontational. “Because I
was under the impression that I knew you and liked you and that that made us
friends. You’re saying that you aren’t really someone I know, and that I can’t
tell the bullshit from what’s genuine. Is that true?”
“Cas-“ Dean sounds unsure of himself. As if Castiel has just put him up to a
dare and Dean thinks it’s more dangerous than amusing.
“I don’t think it’s true. I very, very much hope that it isn’t true.” Castiel
shakes his head and his brow tightens, “No, I don’t think I believe it.” He
wants to call Dean out on his self-reduction, threaten not to believe him if he
says it again, but that wouldn’t be right. Not here. There’s an element of
trust that needs protecting.  
“You know I don’t make friends easily,” Cas hears exactly how accusing he
sounds.
“Yeah, I know, Cas,” his voice is so soft and sincere. “I- It means … I really
like that I’m someone you want to be friends with.”
“Then I’d appreciate it if you could take a compliment when I offered one. I
know it isn’t exactly in your nature to do that, but you can’t … drop a speech
on me and expect me not to reciprocate. Especially when I’m merely stating
facts.” Cas holds back on further critique, but he’s willing to build on the
current comparison. “You say things so easily. You’re good with words.”
Dean scoffs.
Cas shakes his head, “I’m too blunt.”
“Read a million books but can’t compose a poem?”
“Not for the life of me.”
“I don’t believe it,” Dean says with a grin. As if he genuinely has faith in
Castiel’s ability to learn from Dickinson or Shakespeare by absorption.
“Do you genuinely have faith in my ability to learn by absorption?” Dean has a
knack for making him confident enough to voice his own thoughts. “Think I could
wax poetic for you on command?”
“You should give it a try,” Dean teases.
“Oh yes, I could spend my days indoors, attempting to elucidate just how good
looking and funny and stimulating and generally attractive I find you.” It
sounds like he’s mocking the suggestion. That’s good for now.
“If you put your mind to it, maybe sat down for a really long time, I’m sure
you’d come up with something.”
“No, that’s ridiculous. If I stay in one spot, or even in the house all day,
they’ll catch me and busy me with things that they think are important, but
which I’ll absolutely hate.”
And they’re back to his family turmoil.
“With everything going on, won’t they be distracted by the Baroness?”
“That will be the worst part – the icing on top of my cake of distress.” Cas
can hear the levity evaporating but there’s no stopping it. “If I can’t escape
the house before they find me, I’ll get roped into whatever task they see fit
for me to take on.” He has the urge to walk to the other end of the bench
again, but resists.
“So while you’re out doing your big boy job I hope that you think only of me,
miserable and stuck inside listening to people swindle away my father’s money
by selling him overpriced goods, or foist upon him ideas for life after the
wedding, or coo over my siblings, and tell me how much of a handsome young man
I’m becoming, and don’t I just look exactly like my father when he was my age.”
His breath catches in his throat. “Which is fitting, I suppose. He is what I’m
meant to become after all.” It sounds like he’s attempting to correct himself.
Cas isn’t actually sure what he’s aiming for. He hopes Dean catches on anyways.
“I really should be getting used to these situations. They happen often enough
these days.” Something takes a seat in his belly that makes Cas feel uneasy.
“I’m being groomed.” He digs his toe at a line in the floor. “As the oldest
male, …” he sighs out the word. The thought doesn’t warrant finishing. It has
no place in their rendezvous. These nights are meant to be a means of escape
for the both of them, and Castiel is on the verge of spoiling it.
The silence sits. Dean waits for him to make the next move, so Castiel
backtracks.
“The longest conversation I’ve ever had with one- with a socialite girl – was
about taffeta, of all things. I had no idea what I was talking about and I’m
certain the poor girl hated the conversation even more than I did. But we were
the only two people at the party who under the age of thirty.” Cas wants to
laugh at the memory but it weighs more like a fact than an anecdote. “I- … the
people I meet … I don’t know how to just talk with them. It’s like we’ve both
been trained for the same thing, and it’s become a competition. Our
performances will be judged, and will determine our future. We’re all nervous,
because we aren’t sure of what we’re doing or how bad the fallout will be if
and when we mess up.”
“Fallout … yeah …” Dean sounds like- … like he knows something. Cas watches him
collect himself. Dean scoffs, “Flirting- even just getting to know people seems
like it keeps getting weirder.” Dean’s face scrunches up, “It’s way harder than
everyone makes it sound. It all happens fast, and you can never tell–  Everyone
seems like they’re on a different page. Not to mention the stuff you don’t get
prepared for. You try and learn how to talk to girls from- from stories and
other people, and then the game changes.”
It feels like there’s something Dean isn’t letting onto, and then he
articulates;
“Nobody even teaches you how to talk to boys.”
The moment Dean’s words have died in the air, Cas watches and feels it as
realization hits them both. Dean looks shocked and mortified that he’d said
those words; what he’s implied. But he doesn’t try to correct himself – only
blunders on. “I- I mean, yeah, that’s the same sort of boat right? Only none of
the socialite shit. It seems like it, at least.” He looks so flustered and
shaken that it’s obvious he’s admitted something, and it’s far more than he’d
meant to reveal here, or now. And Cas’s heart stutters in his chest because now
there’s hope.
The uneasy feeling in his stomach is dethroned, and usurped by anticipation.
Cas supposes he must very much look childlike at the moment.
Dean looks ready to swallow his tongue, so Cas nods, letting the air warm to
their words. He hops off the bench, then glances up and speaks like they’re on
the same tangent, “Do you think it’ll get easier as we get older?”
His calm seems to help Dean relax because he’s still residually red-faced, but
he shrugs, “I think it gets easier with experience.”
Cas grimaces. Experience is earned, not bought or won.
“I’d like to know how I’m supposed to manage that when I’m barely let out of
the house unsupervised.”
“Oh, you’ll manage. Like I said, I’ll be there to protect you,” Dean jokes. A
blush still tints his cheeks and he swallows hard and obviously. Cas only has
to lift his arm a little to shove at his shoulder and he’s rewarded with a
toothy smile.
 
The near-silence is interrupted gently in the next moment. Across the yard and
through the quiet patter of rain, music_drifts_freely. It makes Cas look up and
out, taking a moment to inhale the rain-sweet air billowing in.
Their property is too large for them to have close neighbors, but sometimes
late at night, Cas will hear music coming from the groundskeeper’s cottage.
Karen, the groundskeeper’s wife, likes to play records. Cas thinks that
sometimes she does it to get her husband to dance with her. It makes him happy
to see the warm little light of their window as the songs gush forth from the
brassy Victrola.
And tonight, this one’s a familiar number. One of her favorites, he thinks.
They’d failed to close the gazebo door when they’d rushed in and the wind
carries every note of “Night and Day” in to them. It fills him up. He feels
excited as he watches the weather.
“The rain makes me want to dance.”
No sooner have the words left his mouth than Cas bursts out laughing, “That
might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever said.”
“Nah,” Dean shakes his head, “I’ve heard you say dumber.”
Cas hunches his shoulders in the guise of a shrug. The rain seems to pick up a
little more as he watches out through the door. It allows him another moment to
avoid his mild but embarrassing outburst.
He doesn’t turn to look, but he hears Dean shuffle over and can tell when he’s
standing next to him, looking out on the same vista. The instrumentals match
the view spectacularly.
“We could if you want.”
“What?” Cas asks in a high voice of soft curiosity.
“Dance.”
Cas looks over and finds himself breathless at Dean’s genuine expression. No
teasing or sarcasm. Cas’s tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously. He feels
Dean start to lean away.
“We-“
“Alright.”
When he turns his head to gauge Dean’s reaction, his friend mostly just looks
like he’s been interrupted and is trying to get his bearings. He blinks twice,
successively and Cas waits.
“Yeah?”
Cas nods at him, turns to face him bodily, takes a step back more towards the
center of the space. Dean follows easily. Cas has the vague and delightful
thought that they’ve already fallen into rhythm.
Dean gets a hand on the middle of his back just as a clarinet cuts out and a
violin picks up the slack. Cas’s and finds a similar spot on Dean which leaves
both of them in a position to lead. But Dean only smiles in what might be an
attempt at reassurance.
Reassurance is dirt-cheap when neither of them can even pretend to know how to
follow. It’s a foxtrot, which should be simple enough.
“Everyone and their dog knows how to foxtrot,” Dean remarks.
“Then why are you doing it wrong, Dean?”
From there, it becomes a gliding sort of tug-o-war. A series of attempts at
trying to force each other into mimicking the reverse steps and backwards
positions. It can, of course, only result in a lot of near-falls and laughter.
“Could swear I seen you barefoot before, Cas. How come I never noticed your
extra left foot?”
“Maybe it’s the same reason you keep stepping on my toes with your big, dumb
feet.”
One of said big, dumb feet lands predictably on the tips of Cas’s shoes, where
he’s failed to move quickly enough.
“Ow!”
“C’mon, Cas. Lemme lead.”
“Not on your life.”
Another misstep.
“Dean! Are you doing that on purpose?”
“Is it working?”
Cas’s gaze narrows and he gives a full body yank, that has Dean lurching
forward and gives Cas the upper hand for a moment. Dean laughs as he regains
his balance.
“Alright, so we alternate,” he concedes with a show of teeth through a lopsided
smile. Cas grins back at him and allows him the first go at leading, just as
Fred Astaire starts in.
It’s nice that there’s words. Having someone’s voice to accompany the tune
means they don’t have to fill the silence themselves. It’s awkward enough as it
is. An enjoyable awkwardness, but awkward nonetheless. Castiel attempts to
think of it as merely the sort of sensation you get when trying something new
for the first time and that’s part of it, but this has the weight of
opportunity.
They continue to stumble along, but more gracefully, now. With a bit of
shuffling, and some lagging paces, they manage to swap and drift through turns
of leading. Muted laughter and snorts play their part, but for the most part
they keep the silence with grins as loud as thunder. They get comfortable
enough to each daringly attempt a spin with the other to little success. Cas
has to catch Dean to keep him from falling on his butt. With that, they fall
victim to incapacitating laughter as the song closes.
From where he is, Cas can’t see much shadow movement on the interior of the
groundskeeper’s cottage, but nonetheless, he wonders if they’re dancing as
well. It’s only a moment before another_record_gets_put_on. This one’s slower.
No words. He’s probably heard it before, but he can’t quite place it.
Cas turns away from where he’d been staring out at the house to find Dean
watching him. He offers a close-lipped smile. It seems to prompt Dean into
extending his hand. When Cas takes it, they drift into position against each
other – body to body. Cas knows this is how people dance, but it sends
lightning bugs rocketing through his stomach and veins every time he does it
himself.
His childhood dance instructor had been scandalized by the modern trends. “An
extended embrace,” he’d criticized with derision and without prompting. Cas
would blush, but continue to obediently and politely waltz with one of his
sisters or the other students. There had only been formal techniques exhibited
in the Novak ballroom. But Cas watches movies, and when you go to as many
social events as his family requires him to attend, it’s really unavoidable to
learn the new styles.
He still feels wholly unprepared for the current circumstances.
Dean moves like he actually wants to be this close to Cas. Their familiarity
seems to have a place here as well. Cas still can’t tell if either of them are
leading or not, but he can feel how heavily they’re both leaning into each
other.
The moonlight has gone dim but a break in the settled clouds casts a blue-white
shine over the lawn. The light streams into the gazebo and becomes part of the
glow that encompasses Dean Winchester. It catches in his eyes and on the rise
of the outline of his cheeks. Cas wonders if it does anything for his own face.
There’s a headiness to this. Cas is reminded of the few times he’s been allowed
to have champagne. Though few and far between, the instances all have an airy
sweetness in his memory. He’s sure he’s heard someone else make a similar
comparison before. Is there really such a universally significant correlation
between intoxication and dancing?
Dean turns his head, lowers his eyes, and tilts his face forward close enough
that it’s natural for Cas to mirror the gesture and they end up pressed cheek
to cheek.
“What’s this song?” he mumbles.
“Moonlight Serenade,” Dean responds in kind.
Cas huffs a breath of laughter, “Apt.”
He feels Dean nod against him.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” Cas murmurs. His head dips in the slightest
and he has to rein in a full body shiver at the sensation of barely-there
stubble rasping over soft skin.
“What’d you think I was doing at dance halls whenever I went?” Dean asks softly
in a tone that’s meant to be light.
“Not this.”
Their stubbles catch again and Cas can feel it when Dean swallows hard. They
can’t hear the click of the record ending from here, but before the silence
brings them to separate, the needle gets placed back at the beginning and the
song starts again.
“… Wasn’t exactly doing much of this until now.” His voice is still hushed. Cas
likes this quieted atmosphere that they’ve unexpectedly settled into.
“I find it hard to believe you’re such a natural without any practice.”
“Aw, Cas,” he wheedles, “You know how good I am at imitatin’ the Cassanovas of
the silver screen.”
The implied romance of this particular situation has Cas tightening the grip of
his arm across Dean’s shoulder blade. His fist curls with nervousness at the
base of Dean’s neck, even as Cas tucks himself closer.
“A real Valentino you are,” Cas mumbles for show. It earns a snort, then a
contented sigh that catches three times before it’s out all the way. Cas bites
his lip to contain himself.
Thunder rolls. Cas can’t tell if it’s more distant than the last time or not.
He’s too caught up in the way they’re gently steering each other. He can smell
rain-wet cotton over sweat-damp skin, the faint sharpness of hair pomade,
something that might be cologne.
It will be hard to pull away when the song ends again.
Dean’s hand flinches on his back. Cas ignores it and continues to sway.
This time, Cas anticipates the song’s end, but he lets it peter out.
Sway-step. Sway-step.
Cas leans back and away just as the record clicks emptily, sure that a tune
won’t pick up again. Dean seems like he hadn’t been expecting the movement -
reluctant to let Cas separate them if the unyielding press of hands against his
shoulders and spine is anything to go by. His eyes are searching, locked and
waiting on him.
Cas kisses Dean.
They both jerk back, startled by the gesture.
They stare at each other - wide eyed in the moonlight and deaf to the rain, for
fear of missing the sound of the other's breath.
“I-“ Cas swallows, “I’m sorry,” he says, even as his eyes fall to Dean’s lips.
Thunder rumbles softly. This time, the preceding lightning reaches in and
paints stark shadows over them. Dean steps forward, hat clutched in front of
him. Cas looks like a frightened doe and Dean isn't much better off, but he
reaches out a hand towards his friend. Castiel glances to the offered appendage
and watches it tremor before his gaze jerks back to Dean’s face. Dean swallows
hard as he waits.
It's the tremor that tells him something.
He dives in like a swan.
His arms fly up to loop around Dean’s neck, and Dean catches him with two hands
against him. Dean’s small moan of approval is muffled by the pressure of their
contact. The hand he’d extended feels nice over Cas’s ribs.
Their mouths slide until they settle together. Cas has his eyes squeezed shut
and he’s trying not to think too hard about the kiss (first kiss, it’s his
first kiss and he’s kissingDean), trying not to ruin it. Dean inhales deeply
through his nose – the noise sounds surprised and Cas becomes aware how close
he’s pushing; his nose is digging into Dean’s cheek. He tries to let up a
little, but he only gets enough room for a gasp of breath before Dean’s chasing
after his mouth and pulling them flush again. Dean guides the contact and Cas
will let him here, he’s eager to feel it all so he can learn and reciprocate.
Breaking apart only makes heat flare in Cas’s stomach. His own cheeks are warm
but Dean’s bright pink blush is back and now hooded eyes sit heavy over
speckled cheekbones. They sway into each other to steal brief pressure before
Cas lets himself kiss over Dean’s features and down to his neck. The way that
the slope of Dean’s skin fits against his mouth makes him want to suck and
bite.  
“Cas,” Dean pants. Cas licks a wet line up a tendon making Dean gasp and throw
his head back.
He laps at the pearls of rain welled in his clavicle.
“Where the fuck did you learn to play so dirty?”
“I didn’t,” Cas huffs eagerly, “I just- wanted to. So I did.” His breathing is
shallow, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this,” he says into the ridge
of Dean’s jaw.
“Christ,” Dean shivers. “You just gonna tell me everything upfront?”
“If it means getting what I want then yes,” Cas murmurs along the shell of
Dean’s ear as he slides his hands down to grip Dean’s ass. His actions are a
lot braver than he feels. He’s not sure he’d ever dare this with anyone else
without prompting. But being sure of Dean is part of what’s making this so
good; so easy.
He moves to mouth along Dean’s neck and feels his throat bob in a swallow.
“What is it you want?”
Swallowing did nothing to compose Dean’s voice; it’s low and tentative.
Cas backs off to give them space and eye contact. He almost says, ‘anything you
want’ but this seems like an opportunity too good to pass up. And part of Cas
is hoping that Dean is letting Cas take the lead for a specific reason. Maybe
he wants Cas to pick.
“I want to take you up to my room and have my way with you.” Cas has never had
much tact. His voice cracks on the ‘and’ but Dean seems enthralled with the
idea; his breathing quickens and his mouth won’t stay closed. Lightning cracks
again and gleams on the whites of his teeth. The rain picks up suddenly. Dean
grins and takes Cas’s hand.
 
 
***** Highlight *****
 
 
They sprint out into the downpour, grinning like fools. Lightning floods the
lawn in the space between the lampposts. But Cas’s arm jerks when Dean stops
suddenly.
“Wait, wait-“ he pants.
Cas turns back, not worried but-
Certainly not expecting to be pulled into a warm kiss.
It all feels new with Dean, but this kiss is deeper than the others. Perhaps
it’s because Dean is in control and knows what he’s doing. Cas’s hands crawl up
to curl at the base of Dean’s neck as Dean’s settle above his hip and jaw,
respectively. Cas shivers and opens up when Dean licks at his bottom lip. After
a moment, it isn’t so hard to match his gentle, delicious movements. The rain
drumming on their heads and shoulders is a black hole and white noise - the
solid background deterring any distraction. Cas can’t tell anymore if it’s Dean
or the rainwater running down his neck that has him shivering so hard.
They startle away from each other at a distant roll of thunder. Cas blinks to
focus himself as they catch their breaths.
“I’ve always wanted to do that –“ Dean huffs.
At Cas’s questioning look, Dean blushes but his smile matches its warmth.
“Kiss in the rain.”
Cas grins and bites his lip, unsure of what there is to be said, but not ready
to look away from Dean yet. Dean’s smile slowly grows larger, the longer they
stand there watching each other. And it’s beautiful.
A much louder boom has them jumping towards each other. They clasp hands again
and take off with a “Come on!” from Cas.
They run through the rain, carefully guarding their path with fencing and
shrubbery once they get close to the house. They round the corner and stifle
their breathing as they edge towards the wall, wary even of the closed windows.
Cas scampers up the trellis beneath his (prudently unlocked) window, used to
the climb. Dean follows, having to stop to find his footing more than once. Cas
gives the frame a good shove and levers himself up over the threshold then
turns to peer down at Dean. When he’s within arm’s reach, Cas hauls him up over
the windowsill and bodily into himself. Rain spills into the room, dripping off
of their clothes and blowing through the open window. But Cas is grasping at
Dean, steadying him, finding his chin and pulling him close – searching with
his lips until he’s frantically kissing all over Dean’s face and jaw. Their
balance is thrown and they nearly fall to the floor.
Then Dean slides in a step backwards and they go down on the wet wood panels,
Cas following all too easily with Dean’s hands at his back again.
Dean grunts when he lands but Cas is at his mouth, providing distraction,
immediately after. Cas can’t keep close enough. He scoots forward where he’s on
his knees between Dean’s thighs until he’s shoving into femur bones. Dean’s
hanging on to keep upright so that he’s stuck in a crunch. But his clawing
fingers scrabble down to Castiel’s ass where they do absolutely no good and
leave the two of them careening flat into the building puddle.
Cas crouches over him, palms sliding forward until his fingers feel out sloppy
bangs. The cap must’ve fallen off at some point. He scritches at the scalp
before twining his fingers tightly through the strands of hair. Dean follows
the tug with a very pleased sort of moan. This is much more satisfying than it
was earlier.
Dean bucks his hips up against Cas’s and tugs at them for good measure. He
falls to his forearms and breaks from kissing Dean to gasp as their crotches
rub together. He has to suck in breaths through his teeth before he’s composed
enough to focus on the boy beneath him.
 Water gusts in over them. Cas can feel it trickling down his face, watches it
drip down onto Dean’s cheeks, and blinks to keep it out of his own eyes. Dean
looks beautiful with the droplets caught in his fair lashes.
With the space between them, Cas has the sense of mind to loose one of his
hands and reach down to fit it over Dean’s crotch. The round gasp that squeezes
out seems to come from both of them. Cas carefully narrows his grip and fits
itself over the hard line of Dean’s prick. A hand flies up to fist into the
back of Cas’s shirt as Dean wrenches the fabric and holds on for dear life. Cas
gives a gentle squeeze that has Dean inhaling shakily.
"I've never touched another person like this before," he says.
Dean gives a violent shiver and keeps his head tucked up against Cas's neck.
Cas presses his hand more firmly against the thickening member and Dean moans.
"I can feel it growing," Cas says in near-awe.
Dean gasps when Cas gives it another squeeze.
"No shit," Dean whispers.
Cas backs up and Dean takes a sharp inhale at the separation. But Cas has only
leaned away a fraction so he can get a good look at his hands as they unfasten
the button of Dean's pants then pull down the zipper and dip inside. Dean's
underwear feels so thin. His cock twitches as Cas gently curls his fingers and
thumb around it. He rubs at the shape a few times before he can work himself up
to getting any further. Dean’s muscles twitch, and his dick strains to mimic
them. Banishing diffidence, he takes the waistband of the underwear between two
fingers and his thumb and tugs it down so that the lovely body below him is
bare from the tops of his thighs up to his midriff. He goes to reach for Dean
again.
“Wait, wait, Cas-“ Dean’s hand fits around his wrist, stilling it, “You too.
C’mon,” his hand flits forwards and scrambles at the buckle of his pants. Cas’s
hips jerk forward at the contact. Dean works the slacks open with absolutely no
help whatsoever from Castiel. Dean tangles their fingers together in a loose
curl.
He knows it’s going to be different than anything he’s familiar with, he knows,
and he braces himself-
A choked moan catches in his throat as Dean wraps their hands in a tight circle
around their dicks.
His forehead drops to rest against Dean’s and tries very hard not to come. Deep
breath in. Dean gives their fingers (and their dicks) a gentle squeeze that has
Cas jolting forward. But he takes it to mean that Dean wants a little effort
from him. So with a great amount of self-control and only a mild sense of
unpracticed form, he begins to stroke them.
“Dean,” he moans, drawing out the vowels.
“Yeah, Cas,” he encourages.
Dean’s body rolls up into Cas and his grip stutters. The friction feels nice.
He rolls his wrist a second time, more sharply.
“Again, again,” Dean demands, his voice like a sigh.
Cas acquiesces, and gives a sweet pull before he speeds up. Dean uses a hand to
press against Cas’s neck and get their mouths together before a noise that’s
too loud can escape either or both of them. He lets his thumb run over their
cockheads on the upstrokes. Cas adds more pressure and lets himself lose rhythm
to increase the sensation and keep them going. He wants to say something; make
the words right. But he really doesn’t know how much longer he can hang on,
much less manage to put his emotions into full sentences.
The rain had dwindled somewhat, but he thinks it might be coming down harder
and faster now. His nerves ping at the increasingly chilled sensation. Their
clothes were soaked through before they’d even begun to sweat.
“Not- not gonna last,” Dean grits out.
Cas’s breath clicks in his throat and he tries to swallow. “I was about to t-“
he groans, “-tell you the same thing.”
“Good,” Dean intones. His back and neck arch beautifully and Cas dives down to
suck at his lower lip.
Dean starts humping forcefully into their combined grip. Cas’s free upper arm
trembles, where he’s still braced on his forearm against the floorboards.
“C’mon Cas, ‘s too good,” Dean is borderline whining. “Been dreamin’ so long
about this. Let me have it. Let go for me.”
“Dean- Dean!” Cas thrusts erratically.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” Dean pleas.
Cas pours out between them, with his face planted firmly in the crook of Dean’s
neck. How could he have resisted?
His friend is short to follow, with a bitten-off whine. Together they manage to
keep stroking through the aftershocks until they’re left shaking in the
downpour, panting and sensitive. Cas’s head won’t stop spinning.
Shakily, Cas pushes himself up onto his hands in a crouch again. Dean has his
head tilted to the side. He licks his lips and stares almost blankly at the
wall. Cas tries to catch his eyes but there’s no having it, so he crawls
backwards. With his orgasm fading, he’s becoming slowly aware of how
embarrassed, unsure, and really drowsy he is. He gets up shyly, now actively
avoiding eye contact. In his periphery, Dean wobbles to his feet by himself.
Unhappily enough, there’s a silence that puts distance between them. The only
noise to muffle it is the splat of the rain and their breathing. This is not
how Cas expected anything between them to end.
“Heh.”
Cas looks up. Dean’s staring at the rather large and steadily increasing puddle
of water they’d been lying in.
“Now that’s what I call a wet spot.”
Cas glances between Dean and the puddle and bursts out laughing. Dean grins and
snickers, but Cas can’t keep from doubling over. He hears Dean whisper through
his own laughter something about siblings and needing to be quiet, but he can’t
manage to stop until Dean’s pulling him up and pressing their mouths together.
Cas’s laughter dissolves into a muted groan. Dean leans into him and the
fireflies in Cas’s veins pick up again. He feels lit up from the inside. The
hand he’d brought up to Dean’s jaw slips down to play at the collar of his
uniform.
“Are you going to stay the night?” Cas whispers tentatively, his thumb playing
at the corner of the cloth. Dean’s hands tighten around his hips.
“If you want me to, I can.”
Cas swallows around his next sentence. “You don’t have to. It’s-“
“I-“ Dean cuts him off, fingers digging into him, “I’d like to. Actually.”
Cas bites his lip to stifle a too-big smile. He glances over at the dark
fireplace, lamenting that it’s summer and there’s no wood to dry either them or
their clothes out. He shivers as more rain blows in over Dean’s shoulders. He
steps away, kicking off his shoes as he goes to shut the window, and thinks
that from the sounds behind him Dean must be doing the same. He strips his
shirt off as he crosses the room again to make sure his door is locked. When he
turns around, Dean’s got his fingers partway through unbuttoning his shirt and
staring at him. Cas raises his eyebrows in the hopes of disguising his blush.
Dean looks down at himself then offers a sheepish grin.
Cas shamelessly shucks the rest of his clothes. When he looks at Dean again,
he’s bright red all the way down his chest and the base of his neck. He’s bent
over scooping up his clothes. Cas’s mouth goes dry, even as he moves towards
him to take the bundle. He drops the combined pile in the waterlogged spot on
the floor.
Their skin is still damp but there’s not much to be done about it except get
under the covers. Cas takes Dean’s hand and steers them towards the bed.
They’re both blushing hotly as Cas pulls back his sheets and crawls in first.
Hands still gripped together, Cas pulls Dean in after him. Their bodies bump
and slide as they settle. So much new skin to feel as they curl up around each
other. Their hands stay tangled between their chests. Cas sighs contently as
their foreheads roll together on the shared pillow. He leans closer to press a
kiss to Dean’s cheek, which earns him a pleased little hum.
Cas can tell that the other boy is drifting off but Dean still yawns and adds
in a sleepy murmur, "You're gonna ruin me for anyone else."
 
☙⋯❧
 
In the morning, Cas will wake up to the sight of Dean and his beautiful,
freckled face in the early sunlight on Cas's pillow. Dean will open his eyes,
smile, and be grateful that he doesn’t have to rush off to work today, and can
just spend a few minutes enjoying Cas.
Cas will loan him some clothes and together, they’ll climb back down the
trellis. They will sneak around the front of the house to fetch Dean’s bike and
Dean will shove his wet laundry into the now empty messenger bag, even though
Cas will have offered to launder them for him. They will quietly creep back
around the house to the lowest garden wall, and together manage to carefully
heave Dean’s bike over it.
Dean will turn and rub the back of his neck nervously as he tries to cobble
together a goodbye. Castiel will pull him in for a kiss to stop his babbling
and to keep from doing any himself. They won’t pull apart until a flock of
birds takes flight above them and startles them into awareness. Dean will agree
that he needs to leave before anyone comes by and finds them together. And then
he will make his escape by vaulting over the garden wall.
The both of them will pull themselves up on tip toes so they’re able to stretch
tall enough across the barrier to trade a series of quick kisses.
And on his way back to the house, Cas will receive a soggy cap and a knowing
look from Bobby, the groundskeeper.
But breakfast will seem especially good, and the sun especially bright after he
sets the cap on top of his dresser. Because even without the cap or mail as an
excuse, Dean will be back to see him this evening.
 
 
End Notes
     I've been working on this on and off for months, and honestly it was
     so unnecessary.
     Exits are to your left, your right, and your rear, restrooms are to
     the front, Kudos and comments are found below, and as always, very
     appreciated. Thank you for flying Air fem-castielnovak.
      
     If you liked this story you may also like:
     meteora by wincechesters_(madefrommemories)
     Acceptance by fanfic814
     Like,_Romantically by Filmsterr
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!