Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t like Meg. He didn’t like how loud and shrill her laugh was, how it filled the entire room and forced everyone to look at her. He didn’t like how she practically ignored his presence every time she arrived in their doorway to pick up Castiel. He didn’t like that she was always texting Castiel, and he definitely didn’t like the way Castiel would grin and text back right away. According to Castiel, Meg was just a friend, but Dean was pretty certain she wanted to change that.

Meg cackled across the room, and Dean stared daggers at her. They were in one of the side spaces off the student union, festooned in streamers and balloons that Dean had spent his entire afternoon putting up, and she was hanging onto Castiel’s arm like they were a package deal or something. Meanwhile, Dean was standing by the snack table—which he’d also put together all on his own—and nursing a ginger ale. And a grudge.

“Hey, Dean.” Charlie arrived at his side, reached for another slice of square-cut pizza. “What’s up? You look tense.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh. Well, I’m convinced.” Charlie matched his gaze and chuckled. “Look at Meg. She’s having a great time.”

“Good for her.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Easy to have a great time when you swoop in and monopolize the birthday boy.”

Dean did an about-face and scrutinized the tray of supermarket brownies like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Charlie didn’t say anything right away, but Dean could practically hear the gears turning in her brain over the blaring of Avril Lavigne’s “Girlfriend” from the room’s sound system.

He’d even made an iTunes playlist of the crappy pop music Castiel liked, just for this party. Spent his Sunday morning doing it while his roommate was at one of his hours-long brunches with Meg. Sure, Meg had suggested a track or two when they’d returned from the dining hall and Castiel left to brush his teeth, but he’d still done almost all the work. Dean just knew that she was taking credit for the entire thing right now.

Dean pounded the rest of his ginger ale like it was Natty Light and reached for a brownie, wishing he’d had the balls to sneak edibles into the student union. He needed to be drunk or high or both.

“Meg’s not so bad,” Charlie was saying. “She’s just assertive.”

“Aggressive,” Dean said sullenly.

“So? Not every woman has to be a shrinking violet.”

Dean sighed. Charlie was a computer science major and a gender and sexuality studies minor. She was always saying stuff like that.

“Why does she bother you so much, anyway?”

“She doesn’t bother me.”

Charlie started to turn away, clearly fed up with his sulking. It was only three weeks into fall semester and Dean had been a bummer to be around for most of it. He knew that.

It was all Meg’s fault. Well, not all of it, but she definitely didn’t help.

“Okay, she bothers me. I don’t like her.”

“Hey, we’re getting somewhere! Let’s see if we can build on this sudden candor.”

Charlie took Dean by the arm and walked them to two armchairs in the corner. Unfortunately, there was a perfect line of sight from here to where Castiel and Meg were standing on the speaker’s dais, mingling with the other guests like a king and queen holding court, and Dean scowled. It was practically a Pavlovian reaction at this point.

“Okay,” Charlie said, once they were settled. “Go.”

“Where do I start?” Dean grumbled. “She and Cass have nothing in common. I mean, Cass is all about social consciousness and stuff, but it’s like she tries to be as offensive and attention-seeking as possible. Like, her Beirut name is Eva Braun, and I don’t find that very funny.”

Charlie pursed her lips. “I’ve heard worse.”

“She calls into The Roadhouse and requests stupid stuff like The Fray. And I know Cass isn’t with her when she’s doing it, because he has his Mysticism in Islam seminar then. He’s not putting her up to it.”

The Roadhouse was Dean’s classic rock show on the campus radio station, Tuesdays and Thursdays from 2-4 p.m. He’d sucked up and fought hard to get his own show as a sophomore; he spent hours every week getting his playlist of real vinyl together and researching music history for the interesting tidbits he led into each track with. And Meg was making light of all that work by tying up the station’s phone line with her annoying spam calls. Admittedly, not that many people called in other than her, but it was about the principle.

“Maybe she just likes you,” Charlie said.

“If she liked me, she’d be sitting where you are instead of falling all over Cass.”

“Oh yeah?” There was a glint in Charlie’s eye that Dean didn’t like one bit. “Dean, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re coming off a little jealous.”

“What?” Dean sputtered. “I’m in the middle of telling you how much I don’t like her. I wasn’t done, by the way.”

“Uh-huh. Not that that really proves anything. Besides, I wasn’t referring to Meg.”

Dean furrowed his brow. If she hadn’t been referring to Meg, that only left one other possibility.

But that didn’t make any sense. It didn’t make any sense at all.

“Come on, Dean. It’s completely natural.”

Dean swallowed. “What?”

“Your roomie’s spending all his time with someone else. The two of you were thick as thieves last year; you couldn’t wait to ditch your freshman roommate and move in with him. You’ve literally brought him up in every conversation we’ve had since I met you—”

“Bullshit.” Dean fluttered his lips.

“And then Meg comes along and cuts into the bromance.” Charlie gestured to the dais, where Meg was whooping like a hyena at Castiel’s attempt to dance to “Hips Don’t Lie.”

“I’m not jealous,” Dean said. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Castiel dipped into a stiff bow under the spotlights, apparently finished with his brief performance. On the upswing, he and Dean made eye contact across the room, and Castiel smiled. Dean sat up and beamed back.

“Not jealous,” Charlie agreed, her voice studiously neutral.

Castiel said something to Meg, then hopped down from the dais and started across the room. Dean’s breath caught. He fidgeted in his seat, debating whether to get up, but Castiel reached him before he could make up his mind.

“Dean.” Castiel squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks again for putting all this together. It was really sweet of you.”

Dean rubbed his nape. He could feel his cheeks and neck getting hot, and he blamed it on the amount of people who’d packed into the room by now.

“It’s no big deal, Cass. What kind of worthless roommate would I be if I didn’t throw you a little shindig?”

“You did such a good job of hiding the surprise, too. I really had no idea what was coming when Meg brought me here.”

The smile instantly fell from Dean’s face. Of course he had to mention her. Even when she wasn’t there, she was there.

“Yeah, well.” Dean cleared his throat. “I’m just glad you’re having fun, buddy.”

Something shifted in Castiel’s eyes then, and he withdrew his hand from Dean’s shoulder. After a beat, he glanced at the snack table.

“I think I’ll go investigate the crudités. Either of you want anything?”

“No thanks,” Charlie said. Dean shook his head glumly.

Once Castiel was gone, Charlie gave Dean a pitying look. Dean crossed his arms and pretended not to notice.

“Look, Dean, you want my advice—”

“I don’t.”

“You need to sort out whatever…rivalry? Hairpulling contest? You’ve got going on with Meg. Because pretty soon, it’s going to affect your relationship with Cass, if it hasn’t already. You don’t want to fall out with your roommate right at the start of the year.”

“Maybe she should just slink back into whatever pit she crawled out of,” Dean muttered.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, alright. Fine.” Dean huffed when the bare minimum failed to mollify her. “I’ll try, okay?”

“‘Do or do not. There is no try.’”

Dean rolled his eyes. He watched Meg on the dais, swaying with Solo cup in hand to “Say It Right.” He’d never really had a serious conversation with Meg before—not like the ones he’d had with Castiel all through freshman year, when they’d hung out on Castiel’s deluxe futon and shot the shit all night long over Triscuits and a bottle of wine. But she’d promised to help him clean the room up once the party was over, so he guessed they’d have the chance to talk then, for better or worse.

Dean was pretty sure it was for worse.

“Here you go, loverboy.”

Dean whirled around. Meg was holding out his iPod, standing and smiling in that way she always did that made her look like she was posing for an imaginary audience.

“Did you just call me loverboy?”

Meg peered around the deserted room, craned her neck towards the hallway.

“I don’t see anyone else around here. Do you?”

Dean glared. He grabbed his iPod, thrust it into his jeans pocket, and returned his attention to consolidating all the leftover food onto one platter. He hadn’t asked Meg to unplug his iPod from the room’s sound system, and he didn’t particularly appreciate her touching his stuff.

“Sue me for doing you a favor.”

“I was going to get it later.” Dean knew how ridiculous it was to pick a fight over this, and yet he found himself unable to stop. “How about you just finish taking down the streamers so we can get out of here?”

Meg returned to the task without any further talk, and Dean observed her from the corner of his eye. He knew he had to broach the topic of Castiel, but how to even do that? Hey, I’m not sure if you’re screwing my roommate or not, but could you stop? I’d kind of like my friend back.

“Hey, um. Thanks for helping clean up. And for keeping Cass occupied while I got this place ready.”

You’re really good at that, Dean’s brain added, with vicious spite.

“No big deal, Winchester.” Meg reached for a streamer, adjusting her footing on the stepladder once she had it in hand. “We don’t make too bad a team.”

Dean tossed the empty containers into the plastic recycling bin. Team? Yeah right. More like she was trying to break up the band.

“You, uh—you get Cass anything for his birthday?”

“Yeah, I gave it to him before we came over. Poetry word magnets? You’ll see them on the fridge when you get back.”

“Oh. Neat.” It wasn’t a bad gift, but Dean allowed himself a smug smile as he folded up the table. His present was definitely better, though he’d already told Castiel that he couldn’t give it to him until the weekend.

“Can we switch?” Meg clambered down, streamers in hand. “I’m not tall enough to reach the rest.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean handed her the table to put away and headed for the ladder.

They worked in silence for a little while. There wasn’t much left to do, and Dean still hadn’t settled on the best tack, so he decided to just bite the bullet and come out with it.

“Look, Meg.” Dean gazed up at the streamers for dear life. “I know there’s been some…friction between us.”

“You don’t say.”

“Cass is just my best friend, and—and I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“Hurt?” For once, Meg sounded more confused than cocksure.

“He’s not—he’s not going to want anything casual. That’s not the kind of guy he is. He’s deeper than that. And the two of you don’t really have much in common, so I assume that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Did you just call me a slut?” Meg scoffed. “Pot, meet kettle. How many times did you sexile Victor last year? Bela and I hosted him on our couch every week, practically.”

Victor, Dean’s freshman roommate, was a psychology major who wanted to go into criminal profiling. Dean had found him hypercritical and humorless and had sought refuge from him in Castiel’s room way more times than he’d hung a sock on the door to ward him off. And he definitely hadn’t done the latter every week.

“So, I sampled what was out there last year. Big deal. That’s what first year’s for.”

“And you’re so beyond that now,” Meg said, dripping with disdain.

“Well, maybe I’m not,” Dean snapped. “But Cass definitely is.”

He put so much force behind his statement that the stepladder wobbled. Meg reached out to steady it.

“Thanks,” Dean said grudgingly.

“Look, Dean. Your concern is cute—if a little possessive—but I think you’re mixed up about a few things. About me. Maybe about yourself? Definitely about Cass.”

“Save it.” Dean snatched the last streamer from the ceiling. “I know Cass way better than you do.”

Meg sighed. She let go of the ladder and made her way to the door.

“You need any more help, or can I head out?”

“No, I’m good. I think we’re done here.”

Dean still wasn’t looking down, but he was absolutely sure that Meg was rolling her eyes in the silence that followed.

“Just…just talk to Cass. It’s him you need to talk to, not me.”

Dean grunted his acknowledgement. He waited for Meg’s footsteps to fade down the stairs to the atrium before he descended from the ladder and tossed the streamers in the recycling bin.

Talk to Cass. Sure, he’d love to. Maybe if she weren’t hogging him all the time.

After a double check of the room, Dean grabbed the rest of the balloons in one hand, the tray of leftovers in the other, and headed back to his and Castiel’s dorm.

Usually, the walk from the student union back to Bunker Hall would take less than five minutes—across the quad, past the amphitheater, up the path between the former fraternity houses. Today, though, Dean had to balance the wobbly plastic food tray while keeping hold of a half-dozen balloons, and he hardly moved faster than a crawl. At least it was late and he only had to pass a couple people while looking like a hired clown.

Someone out for a smoke scanned and held the hall’s front door open for him. Dean tottered to the second floor, reached the third door on the left, and tried to lift the handle. The tray teetered dangerously.

“Cass?” Dean said to the whiteboard. “Can you get the door for me?”

There was a scrape and stumble within, then the whooshing of the door. Castiel took a moment to beam at him before taking in Dean’s load and reaching out to help.

“Feel like some munchies?” Dean handed him the food. “I brought all your balloons, too.”

“I can see that. Dean, I wish you’d let me stay and help you guys.”

“Don’t be silly, Cass. The birthday boy doesn’t clean up his own party.”

Dean let the door shut behind him and toed off his shoes. Their room was lit cozily by the vintage brass tree lamps that Castiel had set up on either side of the futon and the gooseneck light on Castiel’s desk. One of the windows was cracked open to the September breeze, and cool air licked at the perspiration Dean had worked up on the way home. The covers on the top bunk were thrown back and adorned with a prostrate book, suggesting that Castiel had been reading in bed when Dean arrived. A soft yé-yé tune warbled up from the iPod dock on their coffee table.

Their room. Their coffee table. It all felt so nice, so right, that Dean relaxed his hold on the balloons, loosing them all over the ceiling. Castiel smiled up in pure delight, though he at least managed to maintain his grip on the crudités platter.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get back.” Castiel lay the tray on the coffee table and strode to his closet. “I have something for just the two of us.”

“Really?” Dean collapsed on the futon. “You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Well, I hope you’re not disappointed.” Castiel produced a bottle of wine from the depths of his closet. “It’s just our normal tradition.”

Disappointed was the opposite of what Dean felt. He and Castiel had only had a late-night chat over wine one time since returning to campus, and that had been on their first night back. Dean watched each of Castiel’s actions—the inspection of the wine glasses for spotlessness, the uncorking, the tasting, the pouring—with an irrepressible grin.

“What?” Castiel tilted his head as he handed Dean his glass. “What’s so funny?”

“No, nothing. I’m just glad we’re doing this.”

“Well, so am I.” Castiel joined him on the futon, held up his glass. “To you, Dean. For a lovely little get-together.”

“No way. To you, Cass. Happy 20^th Birthday.”

Castiel acquiesced to that, and they clinked glasses. Dean sniffed inside the rim, let the wine linger on his tongue, considered the finish. Castiel studied his face all the while.

“What do you think?” he said finally.

“It’s nice. Not too spicy. Pretty fresh and light for a red. A little grassy, almost. Is it one of Gabe’s?”

Gabe was one of Castiel’s older brothers. He owned a boutique winery outside Sonoma, about 40 minutes north of where Castiel’s parents lived in Marin County, and was the chief reason Castiel always had a few bottles stashed away in his luggage. Most of the time when the two of them plumbed the depths of the universe over a good red, it was one of Gabe’s.

“It is indeed.” Castiel turned the bottle on the table, squinted at the label. “2005. 60% Cabernet Sauvignon, 28% Merlot, 7% Cabernet Franc, 5% Malbec.”

“I really taste the Merlot.”

“I agree. It’s so expressive.” Castiel unbuttoned the top of the food platter. “I think brownies will be the perfect accompaniment.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. A note of high fructose corn syrup will round out this blend perfectly.”

Castiel shoved a brownie between his lips and winked. Dean copied him, snorting at his irreverence. Of course Castiel would combine one of his brother’s $75 wines—Dean had looked the place up last year, his jaw dropping when he realized what Castiel had been treating him to for months—with crappy brownies from Hannaford. It was just the kind of thing the dude did.

Castiel swirled his glass, examined the tears in the lamplight. In spite of the late hour, his deep blue eyes looked as astute and discerning as ever.

“So, how does it feel, man?” Dean brought his legs onto the futon, turning to fully face Castiel. “No longer being a teenager?”

“I feel old. Then again, I’ve always felt old here.”

Castiel had taken a gap year after high school and traveled the world, which was why he was turning 20 now instead of 19. Apparently, taking a year off to fuck around was something rich kids like Castiel got to do if they felt like it. His misadventures in Europe and Japan, Australia and New Zealand, had filled up most of the hours of their first conversations last fall. Dean, who didn’t even have a passport and who’d never been on a plane before flying to Burlington for orientation last August, had soaked it all up like a sponge. Maybe he was easily impressed, but the fact that Castiel was older than him and had been to all these far-flung places made him feel a little bit starstruck.

“Yeah.” Dean stuck out his tongue. “Wasn’t going to say anything, but I think I see a few lines forming on your forehead.”

Castiel glowered. “That’s from the stress of being woken up by your grisly alarm every morning, actually.”

Dean laughed. He liked the poeticism of waking up to “Enter Sandman” on his phone alarm, though he occasionally switched it up to “Heat of the Moment.” Either way, he couldn’t help but indulge in several snoozes before finally tumbling out of bed, a habit which had introduced him to Castiel’s extensive and colorful lexicon of profanity.

“Didn’t know what you were getting into when you decided to bunk with me, huh?”

“No,” Castiel said gravely. He refilled both their glasses. “I would’ve run a mile.”

“I’ll get you loving classic rock eventually, Cass. You’re a hard one to crack, but I think I can convert you.”

Castiel licked his lips and swallowed. He averted his eyes to his glass, giving it a whirl that was uncharacteristically jerky and hesitant.

“I wish you’d listen to The Roadhouse,” Dean continued, unsure of what he’d said to bother him.

“I have a couple times,” Castiel said, his voice quiet.

“I mean, you don’t have to.”

There was a subtle yet definite change in Castiel’s mood, and Dean scratched his head. He hadn’t thought that Castiel cared this much about music. He’d teased him before about his taste for trashy pop hits and old foreign stuff, and Castiel had never seemed to mind much.

“What’s this we’re listening to?” Dean said, gesturing to the iPod dock. “It’s kind of nice.”

“‘Only Friends,’ by Françoise Hardy.” Castiel sipped his wine. “Apropos.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Apropos?”

Castiel crossed his legs and shrugged. He seemed determined to not elaborate.

“What, like you and Meg?”

Castiel glanced at him briefly. “Sure.”

“Doesn’t seem that way sometimes.”

Dean meant for that to come out casual as could be, all jocular ribbing. Instead, there was a brittle, bitter tone to the remark that turned the aftertaste of his wine sour. Castiel just shrugged again.

“I mean, you’ve been spending all your time with her. Barely see you anymore.”

“That’s not true. We see each other every day.”

“In passing, though. It’s not quality time, like we used to have.” Dean looked down at the futon. “Like this.”

“Well, we live together. We don’t have to make a formal plan to hang out.”

There was an edge to Castiel’s voice; he overemphasized “formal.” Dean decided to back off a little.

“Yeah, fair point. You know, Meg and I had a little chat while cleaning up the event room.”

Castiel drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Huh.”

“Yeah, we talked about you.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Am I that interesting?”

“I was just seeing what she’s all about. She kind of just…appeared out of nowhere. I know you guys hung out a few times last year, but it’s like you’re joined at the hip all of a sudden.”

“Dean.”

“I’m just doing my solemn duty as your friend and roommate, Cass. You’d do the same for me.”

“Yeah.” Castiel’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, I’d do the same for you.”

Dean drank his wine, faster now. The vibe between them felt taut and strained and Dean had no idea why. Sure, he was meddling a little, but that was just normal best friend behavior. Really, the entire thing was Meg’s fault for not trying to get to know him. The girlfriends of a few of his buddies in high school had tried icing out the rest of their group, and that was always a warning sign. Those girls were trouble.

“We really are only friends,” Castiel mumbled. He finally met Dean’s eyes again. “Meg and I.”

“Hey man, it’s cool.” Dean forced a smile; he still didn’t like Meg, but he wasn’t about to make Castiel’s life miserable over her. “I’m just doing the mother hen thing I do. You ever want me to clear out, give you some privacy for a few hours, just say the word.”

Castiel sighed. He didn’t seem pleased by that at all.

“Or—or not. I’m not pushing you or anything.”

“I’m going to brush my teeth.” Castiel poured the rest of his wine down his throat, stood up, and recorked the bottle. “Have more if you like.”

“No, I’ll—we could drink the rest tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, with zero conviction. He made his way to the door, paused, turned back.

“Thank you for the nice birthday,” he said.

“Hey, it’s not over. You’ve still got your gift on Saturday, remember? Just you and me and a little drive.”

For the first time in a while, a genuine smile lit up Castiel’s face. He looked up at the balloons dotting the ceiling.

“Right.” His voice was dreamy, probably owing to the two glasses of wine or the late hour or both. “I can’t wait.”

Dean nodded as Castiel slipped into the corridor. At least he’d managed to lighten Castiel’s mood in the end. This whole Meg thing was really weighing him down. Maybe he was actually serious about her. Like, future marriage partner serious. Why else would he have shut down so much when Dean brought her up?

Dean lay his wine on the coffee table, stretched his hands to the ceiling. When he retrieved his glass, he clicked back a few times on Castiel’s iPod until he found “Only Friends” again. Castiel’s frilly French music usually set his teeth on edge, but he’d actually kind of liked that song.

Maybe there’d been some awkwardness over Meg, but Dean was just happy that he and Castiel had finally gotten some quality time together. Just the two of them. Like things used to be.

And they’d have the whole day to themselves on Saturday.

Dean eased back into the futon and tipped his wine past his lips. He stared up at the balloons, floating with them on a cloud of anticipation.

Chapter Text

Castiel really hadn’t thought through this whole rooming with Dean thing. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d thought it through, but he’d been thinking with his dick.

He should’ve listened to Meg. She’d warned him against living with his straight best friend whom he’d had a crush on since orientation week. She said he’d only be torturing himself and that he needed to maintain space in the relationship if he ever wanted to get over Dean. He and Meg hadn’t been much more than acquaintances for most of first year, but they’d grown closer towards the end, when Castiel broke down one night and came out to her. He’d just really needed someone to talk to about Dean.

So far, she was the only person at Edlund who knew he was gay.

Looking back on it, there wasn’t any one particular reason he’d told Meg before anyone else. With her leather biker jackets and polychromatic hair and messenger bag pins with slogans like “No War for Oil” and “Love Is Love,” she just exuded a free-spirited, iconoclastic vibe that made Castiel think she wouldn’t care that he was gay. She was from Chattanooga and constantly bashed the “dumb as rocks” bigots she’d grown up around who picketed same-sex commitment ceremonies with Adam & Steve signs. Based on what she’d told him, some of the worst of those people were in her own family.

At least Castiel didn’t have to worry about that. He’d already told his brother Gabe, who, in typical Gabe fashion, had replied that he’d taken a few trips down to the Castro himself in his twenties. After a couple years of “opening himself up to everything life had to offer”—Castiel didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t want to know—he’d concluded that he definitely liked girls more, but only by a little.

Gabe was the one member of his family he’d told, though he was pretty sure his mother knew. She’d dropped hints all through high school that she’d “accept him no matter what” and “couldn’t wait to see the kind of person he married,” with heavy emphasis. She spoke wistfully of her “hag days” on the other side of the Golden Gate and got way too into helping Castiel dress up in drag that one Halloween. Meg joked to him that she was the reason he’d turned out gay.

As for Castiel’s other brothers…well, they’d never taken much interest in him, so he didn’t see why they’d care about whom he felt like sleeping with. Either way, it didn’t really matter. Gabe was the only one he was close with.

That just left Dad. Dr. Charles Shurley was…hard to talk to at the best of times, but Castiel was pretty sure he wasn’t homophobic. As a physician in San Francisco, he’d worked on the front lines of the AIDS epidemic from the beginning, and he and Mom donated to all the big gay rights groups every year. Plus, Mom definitely wore the pants in their relationship. Even if Dad had any misgivings about one of his own sons being gay, she’d force him to keep it to himself.

Even if he wasn’t out out, it had been pretty easy to feel comfortable in his own skin in the Bay Area—to the extent that that was possible for him, in any case. Sure, there’d been the standard jokes and taunts at school, but gay culture was ubiquitous back home. And with such a diversity of people there, Castiel had never felt like he stuck out much.

Edlund College was a completely different story. On the surface, it was a liberal oasis; it was a college campus in Vermont, after all. But with a total enrollment of less than 2000, everyone knew everyone else’s business, and most of the student body came from the wealthy, staid, and frankly conformist suburbs of Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New York. Back home, Castiel was just a boring upper-middle class kid from upper-middle class Tiburon in upper-middle class Marin County, which everyone knew was the least interesting part of Northern California. Here, he felt more out of place than he had when backpacking through Europe.

“Hey.” Meg slapped the table. “At least try to look like you’re listening.”

Castiel blinked. He and Meg were in the back corner of the dining hall, sharing the secluded alcove they preferred for their weekend brunches. He’d zoned out while thinking of Dean and tangented off from there. Again.

“Sorry.” Castiel sat up a little in the booth. “Food coma.”

“You’ve hardly eaten anything.”

Castiel looked down at his untouched Belgian waffle with whipped cream and strawberries, spinach and mushroom omelette, and potato wedges. It all looked appetizing, but his stomach was churning too much for him to dig into any of it.

“Let me guess.” Meg sat back with her coffee mug. “Loverboy?”

“I told you to stop calling him that.” Castiel speared a potato wedge and chewed.

“You’ve really got it bad. Hate to say ‘I told you so—’”

“You love saying ‘I told you so.’”

“You’re right, I do. But I still feel bad for you. If you’d just listened to me about not rooming with the guy you’re head over heels in love with, this whole little pickle could’ve been avoided.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Meg was kind and sensitive and empathetic. Other times, she was like this.

“And you’re not even trying to get over him. You’re going on some day trip today, just the two of you?”

“It’s his birthday gift to me. What am I supposed to do, turn him down?”

“Please, sweetie. As if you’d ever be able to turn him down.”

Castiel sliced into his waffle. He still wasn’t hungry, but maybe if he finished what was on his tray quickly, he’d be able to get out of here and away from Meg’s withering gaze sooner rather than later.

“So, where’s he taking you?”

“Don’t know,” Castiel said. “It’s some sort of surprise. But he said it’s scenic. And that maybe we could get something to eat in Burlington after.”

Meg snorted. “You’re sure he’s straight? This sounds like a cheesy date if I’ve ever heard of one.”

“Yes, Meg.” Castiel glared at her. “He’s straight.”

It always irritated him when she asked that question, like she was raising false hope after spending months telling him he needed distance from Dean. Everyone in their year knew Dean was a massive womanizer. Even those who didn’t keep an ear to the ground had learned this fact last November in spectacular fashion when Cassie, Carmen, and Lisa, the girls in the triple room two doors down from Castiel, confronted Dean on the staircase of Bunker Dining Hall. He’d been sleeping with all three and apparently telling all three what they wanted to hear. That particular brouhaha had been a favorite topic on the anonymous online message board Edlund Confidential for weeks.

“He’s straight,” Castiel repeated. “He spends every weekend panting after girls, he drives a car that practically blares ‘I bang chicks,’ he wears loose flannels and ill-fitting blue jeans, he likes Midwestern dad rock, he calls my music gay—”

“To be fair, your music is kind of gay. You literally texted me ‘It’s Britney, bitch’ at 3 a.m. last night.”

“I like that song ironically.”

“No you don’t, sweetie.”

“Anyway.” Castiel cleared his throat. “The point is that Dean is possibly the straightest dudebro on the planet, and I’ve accepted that nothing’s ever going to happen between us. So, you can stop badgering me about him.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

Castiel readied an indignant reply, but his pocket vibrated before he had the chance to spit it out.

Hey. 😀 We should get going soon. Meet you at the room in half an hour?

Yeah, be right there!

“Now, who could that be who’s making you smile from ear to ear?” Meg stretched lazily on her side of the booth. “As if I have to guess.”

“Enough, Meg.” Castiel returned his phone to his pocket. “I need to finish eating and then meet Dean.”

“Alright.” Meg checked the clock above their heads and slid her tray to the edge of the table. “Well, give my regards to loverboy.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Oh, I’ve got a hot date too. Granted, it’s with a cubicle at the art library, but I guess I’m just not as good at attracting weirdly clingy straight men as you are.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Castiel swallowed a bite of omelette. “I’ll tell you everything at brunch tomorrow.”

Meg sauntered away, and Castiel polished off his meal a few minutes later. He scaled the steps up to his and Dean’s floor two at a time. One of the good things about his living situation this year was the fact that Bunker was home to one of the three dining halls on campus—and, in his opinion, the best one. That would be a boon come winter, especially. He was still getting used to winter in Vermont.

The other good thing, of course, was that he lived with Dean. In fact, it’d been Dean’s fourth pick lottery number that got them their plum spot, a spacious second-floor double overlooking the maple-shaded lawn of Fraternity Row. Castiel hadn’t been surprised in the least by Dean’s luck. After everything he’d overcome in his life to end up here, it seemed like the universe owed him a few turns of good fortune.

Dean wasn’t in their room when Castiel arrived. Castiel brushed his teeth and fussed with his hair in the bathroom, picked at his outfit and checked his posture in his closet mirror, and finally plopped down on the futon. Right when he hit the cushion, their door swung open.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean kicked the door shut behind him. He was fresh from the shower, clad only in a loose white towel slung low around his hips. He pawed through his dresser, tossed a pair of novelty cartoon boxer briefs at his bunk, followed that with one of his ever-present black T-shirts. He yawned and stretched luxuriantly in front of his mirror, the muscles of his back glistening in the midmorning light.

Castiel hated these moments.

He turned to face the opposite direction, flailed for any book within reach, and hunched over it.

“Whatcha reading, Cass?”

“Um.” Castiel discreetly checked the cover; he actually had no idea. “The Myth of the Eternal Return, by Mircea Eliade.”

He’d already read the assigned chapter for next week, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to avoid looking at the wet dream behind him at all costs.

“Oh yeah?” By the sound of Dean’s hopping, Castiel guessed that he was pulling his underwear on. “What’s it about?”

“Um…it’s about the distinction between linear history and mythical, cyclic time, where the sacred resides. And…other stuff.”

Dean chuckled. “Man, I swear you read the most profound stuff. I can’t wait for you to meet Sammy. He’s the same way.”

“He’s interested in comparative religion?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. He’s big into God and mythology and folklore and all of that.” There was the clinking of a belt, the smoothing-down of jeans. “I’m trying to get Dad to let him come visit this year, but who knows.”

“Hmm.” Castiel gathered that it was safe to look now, so he closed the book and got up from the couch. Mercifully, Dean was no longer nude from the waist down, though his hair was still damp and messy from being toweled off. That was more than enough to set Castiel’s heart off on another frenzied gallop.

“You have brunch with Meg?” Dean said, the lilt all but gone from his voice.

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Dean said. The muscles in his shoulders stiffened just in time for him to slide his black T-shirt down over them.

“You could join us,” Castiel hazarded. “It’s not like we’re excluding you.”

“I have plenty of people I could go to brunch with,” Dean said. He looked surprised that he’d said those words aloud.

“Okay.”

“I didn’t mean that. I’m just saying….” Dean finished pulling on his denim shirt. “Can we just not talk about Meg today?”

“You’re the one who brought her up.”

“I know. It’s because I’m a dumbass.” Dean sat on his bed and reached for his boots. “I just want this to be a good day.”

“Well, we’re going on an adventure together. I’d say that’s a pretty good start.”

Dean beamed up at him. His eyes were such a beautiful green, like the leaves of a coast redwood with the sun falling through them. And those full, pink lips, always slightly parted, hanging on Castiel’s every word. And the light dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and how Castiel dreaded to wonder where else he had freckles, and the sorts of secret patterns they formed, waiting to be mapped—

Castiel abruptly turned away.

“Cass?”

“Oh, would you look at that.” Castiel took an exaggerated gander at his watch. “We were supposed to meet back here five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I’m always running late.” Dean finished lacing his second boot, leapt up, and clapped Castiel’s back. “Guess I’ll have to be a bad boy and break the speed limit.”

They walked down to the parking lot behind the chapel. Castiel’s car was at the end of the first row, and he started drifting towards it out of habit.

“Where’re you going?” Dean called.

Castiel returned to Dean’s side with a grunt of embarrassment. Freshman year, he’d been the only one who had a car, so he was used to taking Dean places. Over the summer, Dean had prevailed on his father to let him drive their family’s 1967 Chevrolet Impala back to school, and he informed Castiel their first week back that this made him “scientifically 1000% more bangable.” That hadn’t helped at all in Castiel’s futile quest to stop thinking about him in that way.

When they got to the parking space, Dean took a couple minutes to inspect the paint job, the bumpers, the tires, doing it all with ardent concentration. Castiel glanced at him quizzically once he finally slid into the driver’s seat and donned a pair of aviator sunglasses.

“Just making sure no dumb college kids scratched my Baby,” he said.

“Ah.” Castiel buckled his seat belt. “This car’s in great shape for being 40 years old.”

“Oh, yeah. Dad took great care of her. Better than he did for me and Sam, actually.”

Castiel chuckled along with him, though he knew from Dean’s stories of his childhood that he wasn’t really joking. He’d long wanted to probe Dean’s real feelings about his upbringing, but that was one of the very few things Dean didn’t like talking to him about.

Once they were on Route 7, northward bound and a cassette tape of Led Zeppelin II on the radio, Castiel tried asking him where they were going.

“It’s a surprise.” Dean cracked his window, and his hair fluttered in the draft that came through. “Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you what it was.”

“How about a hint?”

Dean seemed to consider this before rejecting it. “Nah. How about you be patient?”

“‘Be patient.’ You sound like my dad.”

“Stop thinking about what’s ahead. Enjoy the moment.” Dean grinned at him across the front seat. “Out there, you’ve got the open road, a beautiful fall day; in here, you’ve got great tunes and your very own dashingly handsome driver.”

Castiel scoffed. “Right.”

Dean ignored Castiel’s skepticism like water off a duck’s back. He brought both hands to the steering wheel and started belting out “Whole Lotta Love.”

Dean…well, he wasn’t a good singer. But that didn’t matter, of course. Castiel smiled like a fool the entire way to the Burlington waterfront, where Dean glided the Impala into one of the spaces at the end with extra room.

“We’re here.” Castiel peered around once they got out of the car, his hands on his hips. “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing now?”

“Come with me,” Dean said. He only rolled his eyes a little.

Dean led the way down one of the piers. He nodded at the green-hulled, wooden-rigged sailboat at the end.

“Charlie’s brother does cruises on Lake Champlain Monday through Friday. We’re always busy with classes and…other stuff during the week, so I figured I’d pull some strings and get him to take us out today. Plus, this way we have the entire boat to ourselves.”

Castiel stopped and stared at the vessel, then Dean. “What, really?”

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his cheek. “Usually, they take a whole group of folks out there, but Charlie got us a private charter. I told you it’d just be you and me today, didn’t I?”

Castiel glanced at the ship again. The captain and mate were watching them now, and Castiel waved to them gingerly.

“Dean, this is….” Castiel shook his head. “This is an incredible gift. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. I don’t know what to say.”

He really didn’t. A private sailboat ride on Lake Champlain—one that’d been kept a surprise, to boot—seemed pretty much the epitome of a “cheesy date,” to use Meg’s term.

But that was ridiculous. He’d just got done rattling off to Meg all the reasons Dean was straight. And even if he somehow wasn’t, Castiel hadn’t come out to him, so as far as he knew, Castiel was straight. Not to mention that he seemed obstinately convinced that Castiel and Meg were an item. Given those apparent facts, why would Dean have planned something this romantic?

Or maybe the entire thing wasn’t romantic at all. Maybe it was a platonic, “best bros” gesture, and Castiel’s overactive imagination, addled with lustful fantasies about his roommate, was twisting it into something it wasn’t. Dean was one of the only close male friends he’d had in his life, so he didn’t have much to compare him to.

This would all be easier to navigate if Castiel had had more experience with dating. He’d only been on a few—all of them with women—and none since coming to Edlund. Oh well. He’d just have to rely on Meg’s expertise when he told her the story later.

“Speechless, huh?” Dean said. “Wow, you’re really speechless. I’m honored.”

“I—” Castiel blushed and looked down at the pier. “Thank you. I’m glad to have you for a friend.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, same here, Cass. Let’s get aboard before Captain Dan sets off without us.”

They climbed onto the sloop, which Charlie’s brother informed them was named Lazarus, and set sail. The mate, Garth, sat on the little bench by the rudder, while Dan stood beside the mast. He leaned into the breeze and regaled them with geological minutiae about the Adirondacks, the “secret history” of Burlington, and a meandering tale of the time he and Charlie had sighted Champ as children. Castiel and Dean sat on one side of the sloop, rocked gently by the wind and waves. For the entirety of the two hours on the water, Castiel couldn’t stop thinking about how close they were despite having the entire ship to spread out in. By the voyage’s halfway point, Dean had moved in enough to press his thigh against Castiel’s. By the last half hour, he’d slung his arm behind Castiel’s shoulders, nudging him with it and winking when Castiel shot him a look of panic.

Castiel’s head was a wreck by the time the Lazarus returned to shore. While Dean laughed and chatted with Dan and Garth, Castiel scurried off to a separate boat landing to send a clandestine text to Meg.

The gift was a private cruise on Lake Champlain.

He put his arm around me??

…

Okay, we need to talk.

Something isn’t adding up.

We’re still in Burlington, I don’t

“Whatcha doing?”

Castiel started. Dean was standing a couple feet away, his face lightly shadowed by the mast of one of the pier’s schooners.

“I—I was. Um.”

Dean glanced at the phone in Castiel’s hand. The radiant smile he’d had for the entire boat tour vanished.

“Meg?”

“Uh.” Castiel shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah.”

“Bored of me already, huh?” Dean turned around and jogged up the steps of the boat landing. “That’s okay.”

“No, Dean.” Castiel chased after him. “Wait.”

“It’s fine,” Dean muttered. “I’ll take you back to campus now. She’s probably waiting.”

“Dean, no.” Castiel caught up to him where the pier met the shore. He pulled gently at his denim shirt. “Stop, please.”

Dean took a deep breath but didn’t turn around. After a beat, he yanked off his aviators and dragged his sleeve across his face, one angry swipe.

“I loved my gift,” Castiel said. “And I don’t want to go back yet.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not. Dean, I’d choose the day I’m having with you over Meg in a heartbeat.”

Dean whirled around, his eyes wide. “Really?”

“Over and over again. This day is perfect.” Castiel laughed, then lied. “She was just complaining to me that she has to go to the dining hall alone tonight.”

Dean threw his shoulders back, clearly pleased by that. “Well, too bad. She doesn’t get to have you every waking second.”

“No,” Castiel agreed. “I need my roomie bonding time too.”

Dean blushed. He rubbed his nape and looked down at the weathered wooden planks of the pier.

“I’m glad you liked it. It took me a long time to come up with something special.”

“It was awesome. Best birthday gift ever.” And, because he felt he needed a final grace note, he added: “You totally blew Meg’s poetry magnets out of the water.”

Dean licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. He put his hands on his hips, raised his chin, and gazed a challenge at no one in particular, like a peacock displaying all his iridescent feathers. Dean practically glowed anytime Castiel compared him favorably to Meg, which was…well, Castiel wasn’t sure how to interpret that, but what he was sure of was that he loved seeing Dean glow. And Meg wouldn’t mind. She knew the score, after all.

“Are you hungry?” Castiel said. “You mentioned something about food.”

“Oh! Yeah, I was thinking we could check out the farmer’s market. Maybe pick up a few things there and make something together for dinner tonight. Ditch the dining hall.”

Dean was a good cook—better than Castiel, in any case. He’d done most of the cooking in his household growing up and had an impressive talent for extemporizing something delicious out of a small number of humble ingredients. Given the time investment required, they’d only cooked together on a few occasions last year, but Castiel had loved the fruits of their labor every time.

“Or, if you’re hungry right now, we could go out to eat. My treat.”

“No, cooking sounds perfect, Dean. It’s been too long since we did that.” Castiel smiled. “I have a nice bottle of wine to go with dinner, too.”

Dean returned his smile, and they walked along the road up from the waterfront until they reached the Saturday farmer’s market. The stalls were starting to close up now that it was mid-afternoon, but they managed to snag a pound of heirloom white shelling beans, a couple onions with the dirt still clinging to their roots, a bulb of garlic with pink veins, a huge bunch of rainbow chard, a wedge of local hard cheese, and a crusty round of sourdough. Dean picked everything out, and Castiel carried.

“So,” Castiel ambled behind Dean, shopping bags in hand, as they made their way back to the Impala. “How does all this go together, anyway?”

Dean flashed him a devious smile in the hot, golden sunlight.

“Is this where you tell me to be patient again?”

“Some things, they’re just better when you discover them by doing. I’ve always thought cooking’s that way.” A smirk colored Dean’s cheeks, and he reached down to unlock the trunk. “Other stuff, too.”

“Other stuff?” Castiel wiped his forehead once he put the groceries down.

“Other stuff.” Dean shot him a wink.

“Oh.” Castiel swallowed. “Oh.”

Dean watched him for a moment before slamming the trunk shut. Castiel nearly jumped from the sudden noise.

“Hop in, Cass. Pick a tape from the box in the glove compartment. Whatever you want.”

It was nearly five when they got back to campus, and Castiel was worried that the shared kitchen on the dormitory’s first floor would already be in use. Fortunately, it was deserted, and he and Dean spread out their haul from the farmer’s market across the counters.

“Alright. You pop the beans from their shells, I’ll get to chopping.”

They worked in quiet for a while, aside from the brazen falsetto of “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” from the room across the hall. Castiel rolled his neck once he finished with the beans.

“Wish we could have a glass of wine while we cook.”

“Me too.” Dean looked over his shoulder, hiding from the onions for a moment. “Better not, though. Security’s always on a rampage on Saturday nights.”

“We should go out in Canada one of these weekends,” Castiel said. He broke off a corner of the cheese and tasted it. “Would be nice to just hang out in a bar like the rest of the world.”

Dean snorted. “As long as it’s not like that one night of yours in Budapest.”

“No,” Castiel said somberly. He almost regretted telling Dean that story. “I don’t think I’ll be making that mistake ever again.”

“Well, you’ve got me to look out for you now.” Dean scraped the onions and garlic into a gently sizzling saucepan.

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to make me feel better or worse.”

“Better, obviously.” Dean bent down to peruse the refrigerator. “You know I’m a good boy.”

Castiel’s mouth felt suddenly dry. He averted his eyes, resisting the tantalizing view of Dean’s butt in dark jeans.

“What are you looking for?” he said, mostly to fill the gap in the conversation that was stretching on and on.

“Soy sauce. Oh, here.” Dean shut the refrigerator and nudged Castiel away from the stove. “I’m sure whoever this belongs to won’t mind.”

Castiel tilted his head.

“And if they do, I guess I’ll just ask for forgiveness. Give them a little of the pouty lip action. Hand through my hair, maybe. A few well-placed blinks.”

“Cute,” Castiel said. He was fidgeting in place a little now.

“I know. I’m adorable.”

Castiel took a sharp breath. He all but stumbled to the doorway.

“Cass?”

“Bathroom,” he said, before running into the corridor.

There was a single restroom a few doors down from the kitchen, which Castiel was infinitely grateful for. He locked the door behind him, returned his reflection’s thousand-yard stare, and splashed his face with cold water. After drying off, he texted Meg.

Sorry about earlier, Dean distracted me.

I bet he did. 😏

No.

Just stop, okay?

Oh no, what’s wrong?

I don’t know.

Dean’s being really sweet and…flirty?

God, this is so confusing.

Okay, two options.

One, shut it down. Stop playing along, and he’ll get the hint.

Flirts feed off the energy they get from others.

What’s option two?

Two, go along with it. See how far it goes.

Test his boundaries. He started it, after all.

Just don’t do anything you can’t take back.

Castiel blinked at his phone. He didn’t really like option one, because that would involve hurting Dean. He’d have to be cold to him, and Dean hated that.

But option two would, in all likelihood, involve hurting himself.

Castiel sighed. Option two it was. He’d rather hurt himself than Dean any day.

Okay, thanks.

Be careful, sweetie.

When Castiel returned to the kitchen, Dean was shaving the hard cheese over the top of the saucepan with a cheese grater. The scent in the kitchen had completely changed, all of the individual ingredients melting into one rich, umami-packed aroma that had Castiel’s mouth instantly watering.

“Hey, just in time.” Dean hefted the saucepan. “Mind grabbing the bread?”

Back in the room, Castiel poured them wine while Dean plated the food. The sunset was fiery in the cirrus-streaked sky, and Castiel paused to admire it on his way back to the futon.

“Pretty,” Dean said, joining his side.

“Yes.” Castiel handed him his glass. “To an amazing day, courtesy of my amazing roommate.”

Their glasses tinkled in the evening quiet. Castiel was so absorbed in watching Dean’s reaction to the wine, so captivated by the way his eyes looked in the fading sun, that he almost forgot to drink his own.

“Mmm.” Dean emitted a low purr of approval. “Love it. Chocolaty. Smoky. Seductive. Nice, full body.”

Castiel licked his lips. God, he was going to run out of chapstick every week at this rate.

“You ready to eat?” Dean said.

“Eat?” Castiel glanced at the coffee table. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, this looks incredible.”

They sat down on the futon; Dean handed him his plate. He showed Castiel how to scoop up the sauce at the bottom of the dish and combine that in his mouth with the white beans and chard.

“Good, right?”

“It’s perfect,” Castiel said. You’re perfect, he thought.

“Sometimes I had to get a little creative with food, growing up. Sometimes all me and Sam had was a can of white beans from the food bank and some greens I stole from the community garden.”

Castiel looked down at his plate. “You’ve been through so much.”

“More than some people.” Dean shrugged. “Less than plenty of others.”

“The things I complain about must sound so stupid to you.”

“Nah.” Dean elbowed him. “Well, except when you’re whining about your astronaut phone.”

Castiel snorted. Dean had been referring to his iPhone as an “astronaut phone” ever since he’d returned from summer vacation with one.

“Do you think it’d be a culture shock for me?” Castiel said, once he’d taken another bite. “Lawrence?”

“Lawrence, probably not. It’s a college town. Maybe if I took you out to my granddad’s property in Lebanon, out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.”

“Huh.” Castiel tore off another hunk of bread. “Well, if you ever want to visit the Bay Area, I’d love to have you.”

“Now that’d be a culture shock,” Dean chuckled.

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Dean poked at his food, avoiding Castiel’s gaze. “Stereotypes, I guess.”

Castiel wiped his mouth with a napkin. He had some inkling of what Dean might mean, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to force him to verbalize it.

“Would I have to start saying ‘hella’ before everything?” Dean grinned up at him. “Just need to know if I should start practicing now to fit in.”

“Shut up.” Castiel rolled his eyes. He’d only slipped up and said that a couple times when they first met, but Dean had turned the word into one of his favorite vectors for teasing.

“Is this hella good?” Dean indicated their food. “Are you hella enjoying it?”

Castiel poured them more wine instead of taking the bait. If Dean had his glass between his lips, at least he wasn’t talking. Plus, he was a mellow, sweet, affectionate drunk, one who abandoned his needling jokes in favor of pensive observations about existence and the universe.

They finished their dinner; Castiel poured out the rest of the bottle while Dean turned on the tree lamps and hooked his iPod into the dock. He queued up a classic rock playlist entitled “Dean’s Soft Side Summer 2007.”

“I made it so I’d have some background music.” Dean eased back into the futon, and Castiel handed him his glass. “While I’m studying. Or while we’re having one of our talks.”

“I appreciate that.” Castiel swooshed his wine glass. “How’s The Roadhouse going?”

“Fine, I guess. My producer says the first semester of a new show’s always the hardest. Takes a while for a new thing to catch on.”

“That makes sense.”

“Meg calls in sometimes.”

“Does she?” Castiel tilted his head. “Huh. I didn’t think she liked classic rock.”

Dean made a face, clearly uninterested in elaborating.

“Well, I would listen more, but you know it conflicts with my seminar.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed and sipped his wine. “How about you?”

“How about me, what?”

“How’s German Club, how’s the Bicycle Touring Society, how’s that…lunch meeting where everyone yells at each other—”

Castiel laughed. Dean was referring to the weekly interfaith lunch hour, sponsored by the Religious Studies department. Castiel was the co-facilitator of that this year, as well as treasurer of the German Club and vice president of the Edlund Bicycle Touring Society.

“They only yell at each other sometimes. You just had the bad luck of coming to one where they did.”

“Never again, Cass.” Dean drank more of his wine and wiggled closer on the futon. “I don’t know how you deal with thinking about that God stuff all the time.”

“Sometimes, I don’t know either.” Castiel peered at the shadows blanketing his closet door. “Regardless, I’m perfectly content with thinking about God enough for both of us.”

“That’s why we make a good team,” Dean said softly.

Castiel looked at him. His eyes were far-off, doubting, like he was seeing another place and time.

“I told my dad about you over the summer,” he said, after a while.

“Oh.” Castiel didn’t know how to react to that.

“Yeah, my talented, crazy smart roommate from California. I told him you’re a Religious Studies and German double major, because that’s basically the coolest, most ‘I don’t give a fuck’ combination of majors ever.”

Castiel snorted. “What’d he say to that?”

Dean didn’t respond right away. He drained the rest of his wine, plinked his glass on the table. He stretched out and yawned and moved closer once he brought his limbs in again.

“The same crap he said the previous summer, once he knew I wasn’t changing my mind. Useless degrees, waste of money, real men get their hands dirty, stuff like that.”

“Don’t listen to him.”

“I try not to. But….”

“But he’s your dad.”

Dean nodded. He looked down at his hands, then at the thin space left between him and Castiel on the futon.

“I think he just didn’t want to be left alone. Alone to run the business. Alone with Sam.”

“That’s not your problem,” Castiel said. He could already feel his hackles rising. He didn’t understand how a man like Dean’s father had produced a son like him.

“Anyway.” Dean shrugged. “That’s all a long-winded way of saying that he already doesn’t like you.”

“I see.”

“Good thing I have a mind of my own.” A gentle smile pulled at Dean’s lips. “How’s the music?”

Castiel blinked. The first verse of “I Want to Know What Love Is” was playing, and Dean hummed along to it while waiting for Castiel's answer.

“Your soft side?”

“My soft side.” Dean winked.

Castiel shifted closer to Dean, subtly enough for it to be passed off as him finding a more comfortable spot on the futon’s wooden slats. Dean stared down at the last sliver of air between them.

Just don’t do anything you can’t take back.

With a sniff, a lick of his lips, and a clearing of his throat, Dean erased the final fraction of an inch between them. He pressed his thigh into Castiel’s; he lay his head on Castiel’s shoulder. His hair brushed along Castiel’s neck and his hand rested on Castiel’s leg. He smelled like bar soap and sunscreen and sweet red wine.

Castiel wrapped his free arm around Dean’s back to hold him close. “I like your soft side.”

“Feels good.” Dean nuzzled into his shoulder. “Feels good, Cass.”

“What does?” Castiel murmured.

“You and me.” Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed against Castiel’s shoulder. “Like this.”

Castiel took a deep breath. He was teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice, and he wanted nothing more than to fall.

“You smell good,” Dean said. He palmed Castiel’s midsection and rubbed his thumb along the centerline of his abs.  “You always smell good.”

Just don’t do anything you can’t take back.

Castiel let his body go slack, let Dean snuggle into him as much as he wanted. He dug his nose into Dean’s hair and breathed. There was still the scent of the lake and the afternoon sun there, and Castiel knew that any feeble battle he’d been fighting against his feelings for Dean was irrevocably lost.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head, and the hand on Castiel’s midsection gripped him hard enough to sting.

“Dean?” Castiel said, hesitant. Fear was flooding in now. “I’m sorry.”

After a long, long time, Dean’s hand relaxed. It went back to tracing the groove of Castiel’s abs.

“Keep going,” Dean mumbled.

There was one right thing to do, and that was to gently, firmly untangle himself. Take the dishes down to the kitchen and wash them and dry them and put them away. Take a cold fucking shower and come back to—if there were any sort of God in the heavens to take mercy on him—a Dean who’d passed out on the futon, and who’d remember little to nothing tomorrow of what they'd nearly done.

That was the right thing to do.

“Keep going,” Dean said again. His voice cracked.

Castiel breathed. He finished his wine as he held Dean tight against him with his other arm. He kissed Dean’s hair and kept going.

Chapter Text

Dean awoke on Sunday morning after the best night of sleep he’d had in weeks. He smiled at the underside of Castiel’s bunk and stretched under the covers when a warm breeze wafted through the open window. Faint shouting and laughter floated up from the lawn below, along with some stupid nineties one-hit wonder tune. Dean almost started singing along to it. He’d only do something that lame if he was deliriously happy.

The reason for his giddiness didn’t hit him until he flipped onto his side and caught sight of the empty bottle and glasses on the coffee table. Then, everything from last night rushed back.

The dinner, the sunset, the wine. The music and conversation. The…cuddling.

Dean scowled. No, fuck that. He and Castiel hadn’t cuddled. They’d just hugged and chilled together on the futon. He always got a little sleepy after his third glass of wine, and it wasn’t like he was going to get up and crawl into bed midway through their conversation like a lightweight. That would’ve just been rude. Plus, he was really glad they were finally hanging out again.

Dean nuzzled into his pillow as he thought about the previous night. The grub had turned out well—all the produce was farm-fresh, and that buttery-sharp cheese he’d picked out had heightened each of the other flavors. Castiel had definitely seemed impressed.

As good as the food had been, the wine had been even better. They’d made it to the bottom of the bottle pretty quickly. He always embarrassed himself by guzzling down Castiel’s expensive wine like it was PBR or something. No matter how many fancy tasting terms Castiel had taught him in the past year, he was still John Winchester’s rough-around-the-edges elder son, still more at home at a tailgate party than a soirée.

He was such a glutton and a rube. He had no idea what Castiel saw in him.

At some point, he’d whined to Castiel about his dad, which was even more embarrassing. He was sure he had to be annoying him by now with all his complaining, but Castiel was the only one he trusted enough to talk to about him. And Dean’s resentment towards John for the things he’d said about Castiel had been simmering for months. It was one thing for him to spew his bullshit when his target was Dean, but passing judgment on his best friend—whom he’d never even met—was a completely different story.

A couple weeks before heading back to Edlund, he’d been telling Sam how excited he was to see Castiel again, how they’d finally be living together, how they were going to make sophomore year their bitch. John had lumbered into the doorway of the kitchen and barked at Dean to stop talking about his boyfriend and get his ass out to the garage to help him move an engine. Dean had swallowed down his rage because he didn’t want John to revoke his permission to take Baby. He’d just said “Yes, sir.”

Someone on the lawn below turned up “Livin’ on a Prayer,” and the room came back into focus in front of Dean. He stopped clenching his jaw.

After getting all that stuff about Dad off his chest, Dean had felt…strange. Better in a way, since Castiel had been so damn understanding. The dude was always like that. But he’d also felt melancholy and wistful, which sucked because he’d been having such an awesome day up to that point. He’d felt….

Screw it. He’d felt like he needed a hug. Men could hug, it was fine.

And Castiel was so good at hugging. He really gave the best hugs. For a wiry, slightly nerdy guy, he was surprisingly strong. And his body was like a furnace or something, always warm and cozy when you were pressed close to it. It was different from hugging a girl because he didn’t have to be the one doing the holding, doing the comforting. He didn’t have to make sure he was being just the right amount of strong. He could just relax and ease into it and forget.

Was that how girls felt when guys were hugging them? All safe and taken care of and protected? Damn, Meg was lucky.

Dean caught sight of his reflection in the mirror hanging off his closet door. He looked dopey and blissed out, the way he did when he was on his third bong rip. Without even thinking about it, he trained his face back into its stolid, expressionless mask. His survival face.

He and Castiel had chilled—cuddled, whatever—on the futon for so long, too. He hadn’t been keeping an eye on the clock, but at least a dozen songs had gone by, including “Stairway to Heaven,” which was eight minutes long. He murmured the lyrics to that one into Castiel’s collarbone, trailing off here and there to tell him factoids about possibly the greatest track in the classic rock canon, and Castiel at least pretended to be interested in what he was saying. His chest rumbled with his deep, gravelly voice each time he acknowledged Dean’s remarks, and that, along with the steady rise and fall of his breathing, was just so damn soothing. Dean might have even fallen asleep in his arms if it hadn't been for the kissing.

Yeah…the kissing. The first time Castiel kissed him on the top of the head, he was a little weirded out. Like, wasn’t that kind of gay? Hugging a guy and getting a little affectionate after a few drinks or tokes was normal, but kissing seemed like kind of a bright line to him. For a few seconds, he was ready to bolt—some excuse about needing to piss real bad, or maybe just a wordless dive into his bunk, where he’d hide under his covers and figure out what to do next.

But then he realized how stupid he was being. Castiel was from the West Coast, and guys there just didn’t have the same hangups as dumb Kansas rednecks like him. They were all evolved and New Agey and liberal and shit. He really liked that about Castiel, how he just accepted everyone no matter how weird they were and talked to them like another human being. He wanted to be more like him in that way. Actually, he was being kind of homophobic by thinking there was something wrong with men just casually kissing each other, and that wasn’t cool at all.

So, he told him to keep going.

He was so happy when Castiel kept going. Each kiss made him shiver—the wondering anticipation, the tender peck of Castiel’s lips somewhere on his head, the hair-stroking fadeaway. It was like Castiel was telling him over and over how much he liked him, how much he valued him. After a few of the kisses, the dark, jealous part of Dean’s brain wished that Meg would walk in right then and see them like that. She’d probably assume they were up to some gay shit, and Dean wouldn’t correct her. Maybe she’d get the hint that Castiel liked him more and finally leave them alone.

A girl was shrieking along to “Ain't No Other Man” on Fraternity Lawn now, and Dean blinked at his reflection in the closet door. Not “liked him more.” That made it sound like…well, he knew what that sounded like, and he didn’t mean it that way. He didn’t want to bone his roommate. He wasn’t like that.

Also, now that Dean was looking down the length of his body, he noticed the bump in the duvet where Little Dean was poking his head up. Well, that wasn’t surprising. He usually woke up with at least a semi.

It was slightly awkward that he’d had morning wood while thinking about cuddling with his roommate, but it wasn’t like those things were connected. It was just an unfortunate coincidence.

Before Dean could work up the will to stomp out of bed and shut the window—seriously, he wasn’t Sinatra or anything, but this girl was awful—the door to the room opened. Castiel limped in, earbuds cutting a sharp line across his sweat-soaked navy T-shirt.

“Dean.” Castiel pulled his earbuds out. “Good morning.”

“Hey, man.” Dean looked him up and down. “Went for a run?”

“Yes.” Castiel shed his shoes, then socks, as he trudged to his hamper. “I…felt like clearing my head.”

Dean frowned. “Everything okay? Something happen?”

Castiel stopped midway through pulling up his T-shirt, his back to Dean.

“No,” he said. “Nothing happened.”

Dean pursed his lips. Castiel definitely didn’t sound certain of that, but he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to press him. If it was something private—Meg, maybe, or something with his family—he might not appreciate Dean poking his nose in.

“I just got up,” Dean said, because it didn’t seem like Castiel was going to backtrack.

“Ah.”

Castiel draped his T-shirt over his closet door. He always did that after he’d been on a run or a bike ride—that way, his sweaty clothes would dry off before he chucked them in with the rest of his laundry. Funnily enough, that didn’t stink up the room at all. Castiel even smelled good when he was sweaty.

“You can come with me to brunch, then.” Castiel reached for his towel. “If you like. I just have to shower first.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean hesitated. “Is Meg coming?”

“Yes. I told her I’d meet her. Is that a problem?”

Castiel turned around, his head slightly tilted. His hair was all messed up from running and he looked a little red in the cheeks, probably from the sweat he’d worked up. His entire body glistened with exertion, highlighting how damn cut his arms and chest and especially abs were. Dean knew it wasn’t possible to have 0% body fat, but Castiel looked like he came pretty close. The dude literally had an 8-pack. He even had that V-shaped thing leading down to the front of his running shorts. Dean was in okay shape—chicks never complained, at least—but Castiel made him feel downright doughy.

“Uh.” Dean realized he was staring. “No, no problem.”

Castiel nodded, then left for the bathroom. Dean hadn’t been lying. He was almost looking forward to seeing Meg’s smug face. After the day he’d had with Castiel yesterday, he definitely felt like he’d gotten one over on her. Maybe he’d drop a few hints about it and keep her off balance.

Goddammit, Dean wasn’t usually this petty. And he’d even started off this year trying to be more mature, wanting to impress Castiel. He’d stopped banging random girls—Castiel always talked about the importance of meaningful connections in human relationships—and had cut back on his politically incorrect jokes. He’d stopped calling things he didn’t like “gay”; that was a stupid habit he’d been meaning to get rid of for a while, anyway. Above all, he tried to be cool with everyone like Castiel was. But something about Meg just made him see red.

Dean kicked out of bed before looking down and groaning. Little Dean was rock hard, clearly angry at being ignored. That was kind of strange, since Dean would’ve thought that having a whole conversation with his roommate would’ve deflated things down there. Good thing he’d been under the covers.

“Not now,” Dean grunted. “Got to go to brunch.”

Damn, Dean needed to get laid. The last time was almost two months ago, a friend from high school who went to KU now. They’d done the deed while Dad and Sam were out, quick and efficient. Afterwards, he drove her to the diner where she worked the second shift. He talked on the way about his roommate who’d traveled the world and believed that true physical intimacy came from an emotional and spiritual connection. She got pissed at him for some reason and slammed Baby’s passenger door in the diner parking lot, yelling “get him to suck your dick, then!”

Dean had deleted her number.

With a sigh, Dean stumbled up and waddled to his dresser, forcing down the bulge in his Scooby underwear as he went.

“You know the rules. It’s just Madame Palm and her five sisters until we find a meaningful connection. So, time to get connecting.”

Little Dean twitched with enthusiasm.

“But right now?” Dean yanked out the top drawer. “Brunch.”

Luckily, Meg wasn’t in the dining hall yet when Dean and Castiel arrived. Even more luckily, Charlie was sitting by herself at one of the four-person tables off to the side, and Dean joined her once he had his bacon, sausage links, sunny side up eggs, blueberry pancakes, and coffee.

“You look chipper this morning,” Charlie observed.

“Had a good day yesterday.” Dean bumped her fist. “Again, thanks for helping me out with that.”

“Anything for the dream team. You and Cass? You’re like Bert and Ernie. Just better together.”

Dean rubbed his cheek and chuckled nervously. He was absolutely sure that Bert and Ernie were gay, but apparently Charlie thought they were just roommates like him and Castiel. She was a little naïve sometimes.

“Cass and Meg are joining us.” Dean pulled out the chair across from Charlie. “That okay?”

“Depends.” Charlie sipped her coffee. “Is it okay with you?”

“I talked to Meg like you told me to. It went alright, I guess.”

Charlie raised her eyebrows. Before she could call Dean a liar, Castiel plunked into the seat next to Dean.

“Hello, Charlie.”

“Long time no see.”

Dean looked at Castiel.

“We passed each other at the entrance when I got back from my run.” Castiel slathered a slice of toast with peanut butter and immediately crunched into it. “Mmm.”

Dean watched as Castiel licked the crumbs from his lips, then the residual peanut butter from his butter knife. His tongue was really damn long. Dean had never noticed that before.

“I’m so jealous of your metabolism,” Charlie said, indicating Castiel’s loaded tray. “I could never eat all that.”

“It’s not metabolism, Charlie.” Dean scooted his chair closer to Castiel’s, just a little bit. “He runs or bikes every day.”

“I run,” Charlie protested.

“Running to class doesn’t count.” Meg appeared beside the table and took the final seat next to Charlie. Her keyring jingled as she sat down.

“To be fair, part of it is metabolism. Everyone in my family is lithe and compact. Unfortunately, that means we also tend to be on the shorter side.” Castiel smiled. “Hello, Meg.”

“Hey, handsome.” Meg swirled her teabag. “See, that makes me feel better. My entire family’s pear-shaped. Even if I did exercise, I wouldn’t have the physique of a Greek god like some people.”

The bacon Dean was swallowing turned into a lump in his throat. Not only did Meg just totally ignore his presence, but she’d made a shameless comment about Castiel’s body in front of everyone. He just knew Castiel wouldn’t appreciate that, even if he was too polite to say anything himself.

“Hey, he’s not a piece of meat,” Dean said.

Meg smirked at him. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Yeah.” Dean stabbed his stack of pancakes with his knife, then sawed through viciously. “So, don’t talk about him like that.”

“Dean, it’s fine.”

Dean could feel Castiel’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up from his pancakes. He felt heat rising to his face and he didn’t know why.

“How was the cruise yesterday?” Meg said.

Dean froze. Castiel had told her? Of course he’d told her. They’d probably been texting all day while his back was turned. He’d caught Castiel once, at least.

“It was amazing. Beautiful. Charlie, I wanted to thank you for getting us that private charter.”

“Oh, no biggie. Dan owed me one.”

“He was very nice. And he knows so much about the history of Vermont. It was fascinating.”

The other voices at the table faded into the background while Dean chewed his pancakes miserably. How much had Castiel told Meg? Did she know about the dinner they’d made? How they cuddled afterwards, letting song after song go by? How Castiel let Dean feel all over his body while they relaxed on the futon? Yeah, the dude definitely had “the physique of a Greek god.” Dean knew that firsthand.

Did she?

After a while, he realized that Meg was watching him. Her teabag was discarded in the corner of her tray, and she was holding her mug up to her lips. The steam rising around her eyes made her look like the Devil. Dean tossed her a dirty look.

“I keep meaning to come to one of the bicycle touring meetups,” Charlie was saying.

“We have all the gear there. Just bring your water bottle. And wear comfy clothes, things you won’t mind sweating in for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Charlie said. She sounded horrified.

“It’s really not that bad once you’re used to it. Everyone has a different pace on the trails. Plenty of people take it slow.” Castiel laid down his silverware. “I think I’m going to try one of those tofu scrambles. Does anyone want anything?”

“I’ll go with you.” Charlie pushed out her chair. “I need a coffee refill.”

Dean watched Castiel’s back until he disappeared through the arch to the dining hall’s main room.

“Alone at last.” Meg winked.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yay.”

“You don’t even try to put up a front when you don’t care for someone, huh?” Meg sat back in her chair. “Respect, actually. Too many fake people at Edlund who smile to your face and talk shit about you behind your back. But you just don’t like me, and you don’t care if I know.”

Dean shrugged. There wasn’t any point in denying it.

“I mean, I can’t stand two-faced people like that,” Meg continued. “You know?”

“No,” Dean muttered. He brought one of the sausages to his mouth. Why was she still talking?

“People who act one way in public, but who have this hidden other side. One they keep secret from everyone around them. Maybe it’s even a secret from themselves, on some level. Maybe they don’t even want to admit that that’s the kind of person they are.”

“You’ve completely lost me,” Dean said. “Scratch that, you weren’t making any sense to begin with.”

“I’m just saying.” Meg lifted her tea again. “People like that. They can be a real pain to deal with.”

“Okay,” Dean said flatly. God, she was obnoxious.

“I feel sorry for them, mainly. Them, and the people close to them.”

“Do you just really love the sound of your own voice?”

“Meh, it’s okay. I’m mostly glad I never developed much of an accent.” Meg sighed. “Not like Cass. I love hearing that California surfer thing when he stretches out his vowels. And that deep, husky, soothing voice. It’s like liquid sex, isn’t it?”

“Why’re you asking me?”

“I guess I thought you might have some appreciation for it. You’re the one who wanted to live with him, after all.”

Dean shoved his chair backwards. He didn’t care that it squealed against the dining hall’s tiles. He was about to spit something vituperative at Meg before storming off with his tray, but Castiel and Charlie returned to the table right then.

“Dean?” The plate of tofu scramble wobbled a little in his hand. “What’s happening? Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah, uh.” Dean glared at Meg before giving Castiel a reassuring smile. “I’m just behind on reading for next week. Need to get started.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked down. “Okay.”

“See you back at the room, maybe.”

“Okay. I’ll probably be a little while. You know I eat slowly.”

“Yeah, don’t inhale your food like I do. It’s not good for you.”

Dean nodded to Charlie and ignored Meg. Castiel’s eyes were still downcast, and Dean hated that so much that he nearly stayed.

“See you guys.”

Dean didn’t typically study in their room. Bunker Hall wasn’t the biggest party dorm by any means, but it was ground zero for stoners, and the hallways reeked of weed and pulsed with reggae on weekend afternoons. It was a subpar environment for getting work done even if Dean kept the door closed, but it was also maybe the only place on campus where he could be around Castiel without Meg being there.

He didn’t need to be around Castiel while he was studying, obviously, but something about being in his presence was calming. And Dean really wanted to be calmed right now.

Dean paced back and forth between his desk and Castiel’s, replaying everything that had happened at brunch. Honestly, he didn’t really understand why he’d flipped out like that. Sure, Meg was irritating, but she was always irritating, and Dean had more or less managed to keep a lid on his emotions up to this point. But something about her smarmy hints and insinuations had really gotten under his skin.

Thing was, he had no idea what she was insinuating. He knew there was more to her whole weird monologue about people with “hidden other sides” that she wasn’t saying, but he couldn’t figure out what it might be. It made him feel stupid and overmatched and that was probably a big part of why he’d stormed out.

Was it something about Castiel? Did she think Castiel had some hidden side that Dean knew something about, and which she was trying to pry out of him?

Well, too bad. No way would he betray Castiel like that. Especially not to her.

If she had been talking about Castiel, Dean couldn’t think of what kind of hidden side she suspected him of having. As far as he could tell, the dude was an open book. Then again…maybe he was an open book with Dean, but not her.

Dean stopped pacing and smiled. The very thought made him feel all warm and tingly. Meg could flip her hair and flutter her eyelashes all she wanted, but Dean was still Castiel’s best friend. The one he came home to. The one he was closest with. You couldn’t fake the way they’d snuggled together last night. Castiel had wanted to be there, with him, and nowhere else. He’d been missing his roommate time just as much as Dean had been.

Maybe Meg was one of those possessive girls. The kind who tried to make her boyfriend choose between her and his friends. Dean rolled his eyes. Typical. He had no clue what made girls like that so insecure. He was just glad he was nothing like that.

Dean let out a long sigh. He felt a little better, but he probably wouldn’t fully calm down until Castiel got back. He stacked up the dirty dishes and carried them to the kitchen for washing. That way, the room would be nice and clean for Castiel.

Back in the room, he checked his email and started pulling binders and books out of his backpack. He had some articles to read by tomorrow for Sociology of Heterosexuality and he just knew that he was in for a snooze. He’d signed up for that course last spring thinking it’d be a cakewalk. After all, he was pretty convinced he knew everything there was to know about heterosexuality. It turned out, though, that dense didn’t even begin to describe the readings. Not only that, but he was one of only three guys in the class, the other two of whom were gay. He found himself having to answer for all straight men every time there was a discussion, and he didn’t really enjoy being singled out like that.

Dean groaned back into the futon and stared at the first article printout. Fuck, even the title looked boring.

He made it through the abstract and the first paragraph before his mind started to wander. He chewed his lip and looked around the room. He and Castiel had put together a really nice space, actually. Everything about it was clean and tranquil, from Castiel’s fluffy white sheets and pillowcases to Dean’s meticulously organized record collection in the cube shelves by his desk. Castiel had such good taste. The first time Dean had visited his room, he’d been blown away by how nice his half was. It was like being in a museum, except it was really cozy with its warm lights and vintage posters and the ridiculously comfortable futon that just swallowed you up when you sat in it.

After a while, Dean had started hanging out in Castiel’s room pretty much daily. Castiel’s roommate was an international student who seemed to spend literally all his time either in class or at the library, and that suited Dean just fine. It meant that he and Castiel had the room to themselves. It felt like the two of them had a little world that was all their own, where Dean could say whatever he wanted and not be judged or made fun of. Castiel always made him feel like he was the smartest and funniest and most interesting person on the planet, and no one had ever treated him that way.

In the end, Dean thought with a grin, he supposed he had good taste, too. After all, he’d made sure to lock Castiel down as his roommate the instant the topic came up.

Dean tossed the article onto the coffee table and stretched. The same girl from earlier—he was pretty sure it was the same girl—was wailing to “Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover.” Was she just going to keep caterwauling all day?

Dean walked to the window and shut it with a satisfying thump, peering through the glass once it was closed. Oh, it was the ultimate Frisbee people. No wonder.

He glanced at the article again before deciding against it. He was getting nowhere. Maybe there was something else he needed to do.

Dean looked down at the front of his jeans and felt his mouth go dry. True, he’d told Little Dean he’d treat him to some TLC after brunch. And Castiel usually spent ages in the dining hall, talking to Meg about whatever the hell they talked about.

His dick was way ahead of him, already tenting his boxers when he unzipped his jeans. Dean grabbed his lube out of his desk’s bottom drawer and eased back into his chair, spreading his legs nice and wide while he slicked up. He had one of his old favorites that he hadn’t seen in a while playing before he’d even ticked up to full mast. He fumbled the insertion of his earphones once, twice, then turned the volume down low once he was hooked up. As much as her screams got him going, he still needed to keep an ear out for Castiel’s footsteps in the hall.

After stroking himself mindlessly for a couple minutes, Dean wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t actually that turned on, which made no sense. It’d been days since he last jacked off and this video had never failed him before.

“This meaningful connection thing better not be breaking my dick,” Dean grumbled.

He had no idea how Castiel did it. Sex was awesome, and the guy was pretty hot, so it wasn't like he couldn’t go out and get it. Had he even had sex freshman year?

Dean cocked his head at the ceiling, the video all but forgotten. He had to have, right? Who could go without sex for an entire year? Dean shuddered. The very idea was unnatural.

Now that he thought about it, though, he’d never really seen Castiel with another girl before Meg. Friends, sure, but not one chick he’d hang out with on his own. And none of his dozens of stories from his gap year featured even an allusion to him taking anyone home. Or back to the hostel, whatever.

But that meant….

Holy shit. Was Castiel a virgin?

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said, dumbfounded. The video was over now, and he was just gaping at a blank screen.

Castiel was a virgin. It all made sense now. That was why the whole Meg thing was so awkward—he didn’t know how to act, and she was taking advantage of his inexperience. Probably manipulating him, like she’d tried to manipulate Dean into telling her stuff about Castiel that only he knew.

Well, fuck that. If Castiel was a virgin, he definitely shouldn’t be giving that up to Meg. She wasn’t any good for him, and Dean was more convinced of that than ever.

No, Castiel’s first time had to be with someone who really cared about him. Someone who really knew him and valued him and…loved him, maybe. He wasn’t like Dean, who hadn’t hesitated to toss away his innocence at the first opportunity like yesterday’s garbage. He was complex and sensitive and special.

So damn special.

Dean blinked and looked down. Well, this was awkward. He still had his hand around his cock, and it was harder than ever. Way harder than it’d been while he was watching porn. Precome was leaking out steadily, running down between his fingers and wrapping around his wrist, and he usually didn’t even precome very much.

And he’d been thinking about his roommate the entire time.

“Fuck,” Dean nearly whispered.

This was wrong in about seven different ways. And it was definitely due to some kind of bizarre combination of delayed gratification from the porno, him not getting laid since late July, and him finally figuring out just how much Castiel needed his protection.

This was so fucking wrong. And it felt so fucking right.

Dean squeezed up to the head of his cock, licking his lips at the flood of precome that poured out. God, this was fucked up. He was literally about to jack off while thinking about his roommate. Who was a guy.

Dean shut his eyes and let his head fall back into his chair. He started pumping, slow and steady, not wanting to rush this. Their first time.

“Cass,” he whimpered. “Fuck, Cass.”

He saw Castiel’s insanely defined chest and arms and abs, saw Castiel straddling him right there at his desk. He felt Castiel guide his hands to his body, letting him explore anywhere he wanted. He felt Castiel cradle the back of his head as he licked every inch of him from the bottom of his jaw to the little thatch of fur around his navel. He whined at the clench of Castiel’s thick runner’s thighs around his waist and the sinful tease of his tight, perfect ass along Dean’s suffering cock.

“Let me in.” Dean emitted a moan that was definitely loud enough to be audible through Bunker Hall’s paper-thin walls, and he didn’t give a shit. “Let me in, baby. I’ll make you feel so good.”

Dean didn’t even make it in. Castiel was peeling down the waistband of his running shorts with his thumbs, all hesitant and overwhelmed like the virgin he was, when Dean busted. His eyes flew open to the sight of his first spurt flying a good four feet into the air. Come splattered all over his desk, his laptop keyboard, his legs, and the floor. One heavy glob even hit him on the corner of the mouth.

For a few seconds, he just stared at an unfocused white point on the wall, feeling desolate and reverent.

“Fuck.”

He gulped in a long, shaky breath. He hadn’t shot that hard, or that much, in years.

And it had been to Castiel.

Dean reached for his box of tissues and started cleaning up. Okay, jacking off to his roommate was pretty gay. There wasn’t really a way around that one. But that didn’t mean he’d ever actually act on…whatever had just happened. Probably plenty of guys had a fantasy about another dude once or twice in their lives. And that’s all they were. Fantasies.

He was pretty sure he wasn’t gay. He’d just…had a gay moment. Which was a totally different thing.

Dean tossed the tissues into his trash can and zipped up his jeans. He couldn’t think about this right now. The room had to be aired out because it reeked of come. He had to shower and change. He had to figure out how he’d look Castiel in the eye when he got back from the dining hall.

Dean slid his chair back and stumbled upright. He’d never felt more lost in his life.

Chapter Text

“You did what?!”

Castiel flinched, nearly dropping the forkful of food that was halfway to his mouth. Even when she was drunk at a crowded party, Meg rarely raised her voice, so it was especially bracing for her to be shouting in his face in the middle of the dining hall on a quiet Sunday morning.

“We cuddled on the futon,” Castiel repeated.

“Cass!”

“Shh.” Castiel frowned. “People are looking at us.”

“Sorry. I’m just—this is, wow.” Meg crumpled into her chair like she’d been hit in the chest by a wrecking ball. “So, Dean Winchester’s not so straight. I already had my doubts, but—”

“Uh.” Castiel gulped down his bite. “How do you figure that?”

“You cuddled on your futon.”

“Well, we didn’t lie down. We didn’t spoon or anything like that.”

Meg arched her eyebrows and smiled deviously. Castiel didn’t like the way she was looking at him one bit.

“What’d you do, then? Tell me exactly.”

The sensory memories of last night surged to Castiel’s front of mind, and he felt heat prickling on his face. He hastily swiped a napkin over his lips.

“That good, huh?”

“We were listening to one of Dean’s classic rock playlists,” Castiel said, ignoring that. “We’d just finished a bottle of wine—actually, Dean was finished; I still had a few sips left. He was telling me a story about his Dad.”

“You already said all this.”

“I’m just setting the scene. I want to make sure you have all the context before you start jumping to conclusions.”

“Sure.”

“I sort of…leaned in a little bit. But not all the way. I was remembering what you said.”

Meg tilted her head.

“‘Just don’t do anything you can’t take back.’”

“Don’t I give the best advice? What happened next?”

“Dean.” Castiel rubbed his neck. “He kind of…wiggled over. Pressed against me. I put my arm around his back. He touched my leg, my chest—”

“Over or under your clothes?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Over, of course. Meg, the whole thing was completely chaste.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He talked about how good it felt to cuddle. How good I smelled.”

“Oh my god.” Meg covered her mouth. “Oh my god.”

“And then….” Castiel ran his tongue between his lips. “I kissed him.”

“You—”

“On the head,” Castiel said hastily. “He had his head on my shoulder, and he’d just finished telling me about his father, and he usually hates talking about him. I just wanted to comfort him, so I kissed him without thinking.”

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing, for a few seconds. Then he asked me to keep going.”

Meg’s eyes bulged; she brought her other hand to her mouth. She pumped her breath into her palms like a hyperventilating person would abuse a brown paper bag. Castiel watched her with alarm.

“‘Keep going,’” Meg whispered, with starry eyes. “Oh, how sweet and beautiful. Boys in love. It’s like an episode of Undressed. The gay episodes were always the best, obviously.”

“It wasn’t like that at all, Meg. I told you, nothing sexual happened.”

“Yet.” Meg looked out at the sunny lawn behind Bunker Hall. “So, he says to keep going. What do you do?”

“I kept going.” Castiel scooped up the last bite of tofu scramble on his plate. “We cuddled for…an hour? Maybe more? And I kissed him on the head, a couple times on the cheek, while he told me all sorts of esoteric facts about classic rock. And random things about his childhood, metaphysical observations, questions about the West Coast. Stuff like that.”

“And what about…on the mouth?” Meg practically gasped.

“No, Meg. Not on the mouth.”

She fluttered her lips, reached for her water glass, drained the last few drops. She stretched and breathed and sighed like a person who’d just had life-affirming sex and was basking in the afterglow. At least, Castiel assumed that people did that. He’d never had sex, unless you counted the crappy blow jobs he’d exchanged freshman year with a deeply closeted asshole on the swim team. Not the tiniest iota of afterglow there.

“Eventually, Dean seemed sleepy, so I helped him to his bed.”

Meg leaned forward with interest.

“He just curled up under the covers, drifted off within seconds. I brushed my teeth and went to bed.” Castiel added, “in my own bed,” because it seemed like Meg needed that clarification.

“Sweetie,” Meg said, after a few seconds.

“Yes?”

“Here’s the thing. Dean might not be straight. More than that, he might have a thing for you.”

“Meg, don’t. Please.”

“Just think about it. All the catty, jealous behavior this past month makes sense now. And how he hasn’t brought anyone back to your room yet. And how he barely even goes out anymore. Almost like he’d rather stay in with you.”

“Maybe he just hasn’t found any girls he likes this year.”

“Sweetie, he’s Dean Winchester. His only criterion for a girl is a pulse.”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “Maybe in the past, but I think he wants more now. He keeps saying he wants a meaningful connection.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Because he’s growing up?”

Meg rolled her eyes. “I thought Dean was the clueless one. Looks like he might have some competition.”

“Thanks. Your sensitivity’s really something, Meg.”

“I call a spade a spade. A gay a gay. A bi a bi. A lie a lie. Speaking of which, you know what you have to do now, right?”

“Leave before you share your next brilliant idea?”

“You need to tell Dean the truth, Cass.” Meg nodded with utter certainty. “You need to come out to him.”

Castiel glanced fearfully around the dining hall. Thankfully, the brunch hours were edging into the afternoon now, and all the adjacent tables were empty.

“You were thinking about it before this, right? Well, I think the time has come.”

It was true. Ever since returning in the last week of August, he’d been batting around with Meg the idea of coming out to Dean. He didn’t like hiding such a huge part of himself from his best friend, and it surprised him how much more draining it was to be in the closet now that he was rooming with Dean rather than just living down the hall from him. And of course, the stubborn cloud over Dean’s head whenever his and Meg’s relationship came up might be lifted once he understood that she wasn’t a threat to their friendship. At least, Castiel hoped so.

“I don’t know,” Castiel murmured.

“Just think about it in terms of friends. Leave aside the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with him.”

“Meg.”

“Don’t you want your best friend to know who you really are? Isn’t it tiring to have to pretend all the time around him? Think about you and me. We weren’t that close before you came out; when you did, it brought us way closer. You could finally just be yourself. And honestly? You’re a lot more fun to be around when you’re being yourself.”

Castiel pondered that. He examined his nails, bringing one up to chew on before he realized he was reverting to a childhood vice.

“And…who knows. Telling the truth might spark some honesty from Dean, too. Or, at the very least, it might get his wheels turning. Something tells me that boy’s repressed enough that he could convince himself of anything. Probably doesn’t even realize he has a thing for you.”

“I don’t think he has a thing for me, Meg. I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“Even after the day you two had yesterday?”

“He…values me as a friend. We’re only friends.”

“Well.” Meg pushed her chair back, wiggled her tray towards her. “Friends tell each other things, Cass.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes. I think banging my head against my art history textbook sounds way more productive than talking to a brick wall.”

Castiel sighed.

“Look.” Meg picked some lint from her black jeans. “Just think about it, okay? I’d never force you out of the closet. Especially not to Dean. I just think you’ll be happier.”

“Okay.” Castiel looked up at her with a wan smile. “I’ll think about it. I was thinking about it already, anyway.”

“Good. And don’t worry. If he turns out to be a jerk, I’ll kick his ass. I’ve got plenty of experience dealing with homophobes.”

Castiel snorted. “I don’t doubt it.”

Meg hugged Castiel, then lifted her tray and walked off. Castiel decided on another cup of coffee. He thought he might need it before he faced Dean again.

When Castiel got back to their room, Dean was sitting on the edge of his mattress, toweling off his hair. He looked up at Castiel with wide, panicked eyes, like a startled deer.

“Dean?” Castiel dumped his keys and phone on his desk. “Are you okay?”

Dean didn’t answer. He hung his towel on its rack and started shoving binders and books into his backpack.

“Hey, Dean—”

“Okay,” Dean said, without turning around. “I’m okay.”

He darted to the coffee table for what looked like a journal article, nearly tripping over his untied shoelaces, then ran back to his desk. He zipped his bag and reached for the door.

“Going to the library,” he mumbled. He still wasn’t looking at him.

“Okay,” Castiel said, though he was talking to Dean’s back as it disappeared down the hallway. He watched the empty space until he heard the distant bang of the door to the first-floor common room.

Castiel sat at his desk, opened his laptop. It seemed like something was bothering Dean—he’d acted strangely at brunch, and his sudden flight from the dorm only confirmed Castiel’s suspicions. Of course, Castiel’s thoughts immediately went to the possibility that Dean was upset about the night before, but the timing didn’t make sense.

From the moment Castiel had opened his eyes to the purple pre-dawn darkness, he’d been petrified of facing Dean again. He lay awake, watching the shadows yield to the sunlight by inexorable degrees, and envisioned any number of horrible scenarios. Dean demanding to know whether Castiel was gay, forcing him out of the closet. Dean angrily confronting him, shouting that Castiel had boozed him up and taken advantage of him. Worst of all, Dean forgoing a conflict at all and instead slowly and subtly pulling away from Castiel, getting along civilly until the two of them found separate living arrangements next fall.

He’d run from his fears, setting a punishing pace for nearly an hour before breaking down in the empty lacrosse field down the hill from the main campus. He sat and watched the first autumn leaves skitter across the grass. He listened to “Samson” on repeat and called Dean his sweetest downfall. He cried. Finally, he looped back around the campus, pushing himself even harder than on the first leg, and nearly collapsed to his hands and knees over the threshold of Bunker Hall. Thankfully, Charlie had been there to steady him.

But when Castiel returned to their room, girding himself for the worst, Dean seemed completely normal. If anything, he was even cheerier and more ebullient than usual. He didn’t complain about Meg—even though he always complained about Meg—and put his arm around Castiel’s back as they walked down to the dining hall, only detaching to get the door for them. There’d even been a whiff of cologne on him all through brunch, which was strange because Dean only wore cologne to weekend parties.

So why the sudden change in Dean’s behavior? If it wasn’t due to last night’s cuddling and kissing, then what?

Castiel rubbed his eyes. His laptop screen had gone dim while he’d been thinking of Dean. That’d been happening a lot lately. If he let it happen much more, his grades would suffer.

He reached for his bag, deciding to make the most of the time he had while Dean was gone.

Castiel didn’t see Dean for the rest of the day. He considered texting him before dinner to see what his plans were, but he thought better of it. Whatever the reason, it seemed like Dean wanted some space, so Castiel would give him at least until tomorrow before reaching out.

At dinner, Meg was disappointed to hear nothing new on the Dean front. She and Castiel sat with a few friends of hers, fellow art majors, one of whom prodded Castiel with endless questions about California because she wanted to move there and work in animation. No matter how many times he gently told her that he was from Northern California and had no particular knowledge of daily life in Los Angeles, she persisted. Still, it was a distraction from thinking about Dean, at least.

Back in the room, Castiel alternated between finishing off the last of his readings for the coming week and toying with his phone. Midnight came, and Dean was still out. That wasn’t surprising; the library was usually pretty well populated on Sundays until the 1 a.m. closing time, and Dean was more of a procrastinator than him. Castiel changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, and turned off all the lights other than the little adjustable one clipped to the frame of the bunk bed, which he used to illuminate a fantasy novel about monster-fighting angels that he was reading for pleasure.

At 12:45, Dean shuffled into the room, the door creaking behind him. He set his backpack down on his desk chair and walked to their bunks, stopping under the light but not looking up.

“Hey,” Castiel said.

“Hey, man.” Dean set his phone down on the nightstand. “Good book?”

“It’s the same one. The angel one. Book three in the series.”

Dean gave a soft smile, though he still didn’t meet Castiel’s eyes.

“You and your angels,” he said.

“Dean—”

“Cass,” Dean interrupted. “Let me just…just let me say something.”

Castiel swallowed. His entire body felt like it was trapped under the covers and burning up. Things were in knots where they should have been relaxed and slack where they were usually taut. All the scenarios from earlier reared their heads again, filling the room’s dark spaces.

“Look, man.” Dean scratched his head, rubbed his palm down his stubble. “It’s about last night.”

He finally looked up. Castiel stuck his bookmark between the novel’s pages and laid it flat.

“I wanted to thank you for listening. I don’t really like talking about home and…I just feel like I can talk to you about shit like that. And thanks for trying to make me feel better. The hugging and…the other stuff. I appreciate that.”

“Of course, Dean. I—”

“Hang on, just let me finish.”

Dean took a deep breath. He played with the top button of his flannel shirt, the muscles of his jaw working underneath his tightly drawn skin.

“I just want to make sure you know I’m not gay. I was a little tipsy, I got a little handsy, and that’s just how I get when I’m tipsy, you know, with whoever’s around me, boy or girl, whatever—” Dean sucked in a sharp, ragged inhale. “But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I wasn’t trying to take advantage of the situation, not at all. And I know you’re straight too, you know, with Meg, and I don’t want things to be awkward. Well, maybe it’s too late for that, now that I’ve opened my stupid mouth, but…yeah.”

Dean stared up at him with the same frightened deer look from earlier. Castiel blinked back.

“Sorry.” Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m sorry, Cass.”

“Dean, no. Don’t apologize. I didn’t—I don’t think you’re gay. And even if you were, that’d be, um, perfectly fine with me.”

Castiel paused, waiting for relief to break over Dean’s face. For some reason, though, his expression didn’t move at all.

“I know you’re affectionate when you’ve had a few drinks. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I’d never want you to change yourself, Dean. You’re my best friend; I’d never think you were trying to take advantage. Friends don’t do that.”

Dean breathed, finally. He leaned into the bunk bed’s frame and hid his face in the shadows behind Castiel’s reading light.

“Thanks. Thanks, Cass. Yeah, I may be into cowboys, but that doesn’t mean I want to go all Brokeback or something.”

Castiel pretended to laugh. This was excruciating.

“Not into cowboys. Not like that. I just think cowboys are cool.”

“Yes. I understand, Dean.”

“Although—” Dean licked his lips, his tongue shining wetly in the lamp’s corona. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but if I was ever to ride another cowboy, it’d be you. I trust you that much.”

Castiel shuddered. “Dean—”

“Anyway, I better go brush my teeth. Thanks, buddy. Good—good talk.”

Dean hurried out of the room, his head down. Castiel switched off his lamp, tossed his paperback at the futon below, and curled up facing the wall.

That had been, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable and bizarre conversation he and Dean had ever had. The very idea that Dean had been worrying that Castiel was straight and suspected him of being gay was such an inversion of reality that it almost felt like a deliberate mindfuck. But Dean wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t play those kinds of cruel mind games with Castiel’s emotions.

At least, Castiel didn’t think he would. Sure, Dean had been acting strangely for the past month—ever since Castiel had invited Meg over on their second night back to see their room, come to think of it—but he wasn’t an intentionally hurtful person. No, he was just absurdly off the mark in his read of the situation—of him and Meg, of him and Dean.

It couldn’t go on like this. Not for the entire year.

He had to tell him the truth, no matter how much the thought scared him. No matter how afraid he was of all the awful scenarios he’d dreamt up that morning as he’d lain in this very spot. No matter how determined Dean was to not get it through his thick head that he and Meg were only friends.

But not tonight. Tonight, Castiel was more convinced than at any point in his life before that there wasn’t a God—at least, not a merciful one. A merciful God wouldn’t have let those wicked words of cowboys and riding and trust pass Dean’s lips. Not knowing the effect those words would have on him. Not knowing how those words would haunt his dreams and thrum in the background of his every waking hour.

Tonight, Castiel had already been through more than enough. When Dean returned to the room, toothbrush in hand, fumbling in the weak light of the moon and stars, Castiel pretended to be fast asleep. He listened to the soft rustle of each of Dean’s layers dropping to the floor, the small sigh when he crawled under his covers. He wished he could be in his bedroom at home on the other side of the continent, at least until the morning.

Castiel didn’t see much of Dean that week. They encountered each other in passing: sandy-eyed and mumbling in the early mornings; around the huge, cacophonous dining hall tables in the evenings; a few words to communicate normality before bed. To be fair, none of this marked much of a change. They were just busier this year, and their timetables didn’t align very well this semester. But after that weekend, everything felt different between them, even just in the fleeting moments they had with each other. Castiel was sure Dean felt it too. He had to.

On Thursday, Castiel drove Meg to the Hannaford in town after lunch. Her refrigerator was all but void of study snacks—cheese slices, yogurt cups, pre-cut fruit—and this was apparently a desperate crisis that needed to be rectified at all costs before the weekend. Castiel was feeling moody because of Dean and elected to wait in the car for her.

“Stop thinking about him,” she said, as she unbuckled her seat belt. “And whatever you do, don’t listen to Regina Spektor on repeat.”

She shut the door and left across the parking lot, and Castiel huffed. That’d been his exact plan, and now he felt like he couldn’t.

Castiel reached for the radio, started mindlessly scaling the station presets. He stopped cold when Dean’s voice came through.

“And…welcome back to The Roadhouse. Great to have you with me on this Thursday afternoon.”

Castiel checked his watch. It was, in fact, 2:01, which meant both that Dean’s show had just started and that he had exactly 29 minutes to get to Mysticism in Islam. Meg had said she’d be quick.

“Well, we’re almost to the weekend, folks. Hope you’ve got some nice R&R planned. With midterms coming up, you’ve got to take the time to kick back when you can.”

Castiel tilted his head. What were they doing this weekend? Usually, he and Dean had planned something together by now—dinner off campus, a movie, even just a bottle of wine and some late-night munchies—but they hadn’t made any plans this week. That was how seldom they’d been talking.

“Here’s something to start your weekend off right, straight from the summer of 1975. It’s a classic track off Bad Company’s sophomore album, Straight Shooter.” Dean paused, and Castiel swore he could see the huge grin on Dean’s face that he always got when he had the chance to talk at length about dad rock. “Is there a special someone who gives you that warm, fuzzy feeling when you spend time with them? There is, isn’t there? Yeah, I see you smiling.”

Castiel wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t.

“Well, here’s a song for you. This is ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love.’”

Dean’s voice faded into the sunny strumming of a guitar, and Castiel listened to the entire song. He imagined that Dean was playing it for him and felt guilty about that, even if it was only a harmless daydream. He listened to two more songs, listened to Dean’s narration sandwiched between them, until Meg leapt into the car and yanked her seat belt on.

“Sorry, I tried to be faster, but—”

Meg narrowed her eyes at the radio. A Tokyo crowd had just gone wild at the end of the live version of “I Want You to Want Me,” and Dean was talking again.

“A lot of our generation only knows that song from 10 Things I Hate About You,” Dean grumbled. “I don’t know what’s worse, that or avocado toast.”

“Cass?” Meg switched the radio off. “Seriously, enough pining. You need to stop this.”

“He’s always telling me I should listen!”

“Exactly. You’re indulging in indirect, risk-free intimacy with him. Listening to his show, pretending he’s dedicating all these songs to you. Hearing what you want to hear. Am I on the right track?”

Castiel rolled his eyes and started the car. He only had ten minutes to get back to campus, find a parking space, and sprint to the third floor of the humanities building.

“You’ve decided to come out to him. So, make a concrete plan. Figure out when you can sit down with him and tell him the truth. It’s not going to get any easier if you procrastinate. You might as well rip the Band-Aid off.”

“Have you ever come out to your best friend, Meg?”

“Cass, that’s not—”

“Have you?” Castiel glanced at her.

“No. No, I haven’t.”

“Then you don’t know how hard it is. Please stop acting like it’s the simplest thing in the world.”

“You’re right.” Meg squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “You’re right, sweetie. I’m sorry. I don’t have any idea what it’s like. I just hate seeing you like this.”

“I told you I’ll do it.” Castiel turned onto the road back up to Edlund. “So, just…back off a little.”

“Okay. I can do that, 100%.” A beat passed before Meg reached into her shopping bag. “Hey, I got you something.”

Castiel gave a faint smile. They were passing Thompson Hall on the outskirts of campus, where the college radio station’s offices took up most of the ground floor. Castiel wondered what Dean was saying right now.

“It’s a decoration for your room.” Meg placed a tiny butterscotch-colored pumpkin on one of the cup holders between their seats. “I know how much you and Dean love nesting.”

Castiel snorted. “Thank you, Meg. I’m sure Dean will appreciate that.”

Castiel made it to Mysticism in Islam at 2:31, which was an achievement he felt quite proud of. For most of the class, he thought about the pumpkin in his bag and how Dean would react when he saw it on their coffee table. It’d probably set him off on a whole autumnal decorating spree involving colorful ears of corn, Halloween ornaments like plastic spiders, maybe even a cornucopia.

Dean loved taking care of his home. He’d make someone a great husband one day.

That evening, Castiel and Dean left the dining hall at the same time and returned to their room together. It was the first time since Sunday that Dean didn’t head straight back to the library after eating. Castiel felt tranquility and relief wash over him as they ascended, like he was swimming through a pool of cool, clear water following days of sticky heat. Dean didn’t even have to say anything; the fact that he was close by, that things felt almost normal again, was enough.

As Castiel had expected, Dean was thrilled about the pumpkin. He picked it up and tossed it back and forth in his hands while rambling about carving jack-o'-lanterns with Sam and corn mazes outside Topeka. He suggested a road trip to Manchester for leaf peeping and a return to the Burlington farmer’s market for fall produce, and Castiel said yes to all of it.

“I listened to The Roadhouse today,” Castiel said. “Almost forgot to tell you.”

He hadn’t, of course. He’d just been waiting for the right time.

“What, really?” Dean sat down on the futon with him, beaming. “How’d you like it? What about your seminar?”

“I had a few minutes before it started. And I thought it was great. You’re already so good at talking to the listener. Um, making them feel like you’re talking just to them.”

Dean licked his lips and blushed. He lay the pumpkin carefully in the center of the coffee table.

“Did you like the songs I chose?”

“I did, actually. They weren’t as gruesome as some of the other stuff you listen to. I heard ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love,’ ‘Angel,’ and ‘I Want You to Want Me’ before I had to go to class.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean rubbed his cheek. “Guess I was feeling kind of sappy when I came up with this week’s playlists. Don’t know why. The rest of the show wasn’t so heavy on the love songs.”

“Well, I liked them.” Castiel hesitated. “I told you, I like your soft side.”

For a split-second, Dean had that startled deer look again. Castiel opened his mouth to backtrack, but Dean jumped in before he had a chance to.

“Cass, I—I’m sorry I’ve been kind of weird the past few days.”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s okay, Dean.”

“I’ve just been feeling…honestly, man, I’ve been feeling like such an idiot ever since I said all that stuff Sunday night. Like, right after I said it, I knew I’d made things awkward. But I didn’t know how to fix it without making everything even worse.” Dean fell back into the futon with a rueful laugh. “You know I’m hopeless at all this touchy-feely crap. That’s why I need you around to teach me.”

Castiel echoed his laugh. He reached over to squeeze Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s eyes fluttered shut for just a second.

“You’re not hopeless, Dean. I don’t know why you see yourself that way. Just now, you talked about your feelings with complete honesty. Without me even asking. The Dean I met orientation week never would’ve done that.”

Dean smiled and winced simultaneously. He reached up to pat Castiel’s hand. It was a while before he spoke.

“It’s your fault, you know.” His eyes were closed now, and he’d gone from lightly patting Castiel’s hand to tentatively dragging his fingers between his.

“What is?”

“That I’m going all soft. Losing my edge. Going on boat cruises and trips to the farmer’s market and long drives just to look at stupid leaves.” Dean sighed. “Damn California hippies.”

Castiel laughed again. “I’ll take the credit for that, sure.”

“The blame,” Dean said sullenly.

“The blame, too.”

For a minute, neither of them talked. There was only the muffled thrum of “Save Tonight” from the room next door, the murmuring of the chilly late September breeze through the open windows, the slow rhythm of Dean’s breathing as he drank in the air between them. Castiel had a thought to withdraw his hand—the normal thing to do would’ve been to take it back after only a few seconds, honestly—but he didn’t think that was what Dean wanted. From the way he was stroking up and down Castiel’s arm possessively, his fingers gripping tighter now and then like he was afraid Castiel would pull away at any moment, Castiel was pretty sure of that.

Castiel wanted to enjoy this moment, this return of his world to its natural order after days of missing Dean. The fact that less than a week of dislocation had unsettled him as much as it had scared him witless. He was gone on Dean, irremediably, and the brutal truth of that made him want to laugh until his lungs gave out and run until he reached the Pacific and retreat into a shivering ball on the floor, all at the same time. Dean was his first love, the one he’d write songs about if he had any talent for that; the one he’d look for in the inexact features and habits of every man who came after; the one who’d inevitably break his heart, because the two of them lived in the real world and not some kind of ridiculous fairy tale.

Castiel wanted to enjoy this moment more than anything. But it wasn’t real.

He was still lying to Dean, still hiding part of himself from him. The most important part, because it was the part that loved him. He’d praised Dean’s honesty, his willingness to open up to him about his emotions, all while somehow maintaining a straight face as he lied through his teeth and pushed down what he was feeling.

He couldn’t do it anymore. It was time. Time to do something he couldn’t take back.

“Dean,” Castiel said. His voice was surprisingly steady when it came out.

“Hmm?” Dean said. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Dean, there’s—there’s something I need to tell you.”

Dean blinked his eyes open and regarded Castiel with concern. Castiel brought his arm back to his side. He stared at one of the tree lamps, holding back his tears and a gnawing urge to vomit, as Dean twisted on the futon to face him.

“Cass? What’s wrong?”

Castiel sniffed, gazed down at his lap for a moment to compose himself. When he raised his eyes again, Dean looked as terrified as he felt.

“Cass.” Dean swallowed, and whatever he’d meant to say after that disappeared with it. His eyes darted back and forth wildly, searching Castiel’s expression.

“Dean, I—I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. I wanted to find the right moment, the right conversation—” Castiel wiped away his tears. “There’s no such thing as a right conversation.”

Dean reached out, but Castiel drew back from his hand. He hated himself for the hurt and confusion on Dean’s face.

“There’s no such thing as a right moment, so I’m just going to say it.”

“Say what? What the hell are you talking about, man?”

Castiel didn’t answer right away. He was taking in the way Dean looked right now, committing it to memory. Remembering how beautiful he was, in case this was the point when everything fell apart. Remembering how things were.

“Dean,” he said. “Dean, I’m gay.”

Chapter Text

“Gay?”

“Yes.” Castiel wiped away more tears. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean stared. Wait, gay? But he and Meg were doing…whatever weird thing they were doing. Maybe she’d finally lured Castiel into bed and he’d figured out he 100% preferred dudes midway through porking her. Dammit, he shouldn’t be grinning at that mental image. This was a serious situation.

“I wish I’d had the courage to tell you sooner,” Castiel was saying. Thankfully, his face was buried in the crook of his arm, so he couldn’t see Dean’s inappropriate reaction. “Only a couple people know. I should’ve told you last year. You deserved to know before you decided to live with me.”

Dean scratched the back of his head. If Castiel had known since last year, no wonder Dean had never seen him take chicks back to his room. But where did Meg fit into all this? Maybe Castiel had been questioning things for a while, and Meg was the one who tipped him over. Dean smirked. He almost felt bad for her.

Unfortunately, Castiel was looking at him now, and he furrowed his brow.

“Dean? Why’re you—” He tilted his head. “Are you smiling?”

“Oh.” Dean rubbed his cheek. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Castiel blinked.

“Uh, I’m just wondering.” Dean licked his lips, trying to recover. “What about—what about you and Meg?”

Castiel shook his head. “There is no me and Meg. Not in that way. Never has been. I keep trying to tell you that.”

“Huh. So, you’re really just friends?”

“We’re only friends, Dean. That’s all we’ve ever been. I’m gay, after all. Some gay men experiment with women growing up, but I’ve never—” Castiel squirmed a bit on the futon. “I’ve never done anything with a woman. Never had the slightest desire.”

“Not even a kiss?”

“No.” Castiel tilted his head again. “Wait. Actually, I did have a kind-of girlfriend in tenth grade. We kissed three times and held hands. I almost forgot about that.”

Dean couldn’t help but gaze at Castiel’s mouth. Those lips had kissed him last weekend—sure, they’d been bro kisses in his hair and on his cheek, but still. That meant he’d gotten further with Castiel than Meg ever had! He felt his cheeks going hot at that. Castiel really did like him more than Meg, after all.

“Dean, I—I have to admit. You’re taking this much better than I thought you would.” Castiel returned the barest flicker of Dean’s smile. “Not that I thought you were homophobic. Just that….”

“What?”

“Oh, you just don’t seem surprised. I thought you’d freak out a little. A lot of times, even open-minded straight guys freak out when one of their close friends comes out to them. That’s what I’ve read on forums, at least.”

“I mean, I’m a little surprised. I thought you and Meg—” Dean paused. “‘Forums?’”

“Yeah, gay forums. I posted a few times, seeking advice on coming out. I mostly just read other people’s stories, though.” Castiel directed a mournful look at the pumpkin. “So many sad stories. People losing family, losing jobs, losing friends they’d had for years.”

“And you thought—what, that I’d stop talking to you or something? That I’d be weird about it?”

Castiel faltered. He sniffed, blinked away tears again.

“Dean, if I hadn’t been afraid of how you’d react, I would’ve told you a lot sooner. I wanted to trust you…you don’t know how much I wanted to trust you. But I didn’t want to lose you more.” Castiel looked up in panic. “As a friend, I mean.”

Dean pushed off the futon and leaned forward, his arms outstretched.

“Come here.”

Castiel’s eyes widened.

“Come here,” Dean insisted.

Castiel wiggled forward and brought his arms around Dean’s shoulders. Dean hugged him tight.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly.

“Cass, don’t be an idiot. You’re not going to lose me because of this, alright? I won’t treat you any different.”

Castiel breathed in deeply. “Oh, Dean.”

“It doesn’t matter to me that you’re gay. It doesn’t change anything. Uh. Well….”

Castiel tensed in his arms. “What?”

“I guess it does change something, come to think of it. It means I’ll be protecting you from douchebag guys instead of manipulative girls.” Dean chuckled. “Suits me just fine. Guys are easier to handle, anyway.”

“You don’t have to protect me.” Castiel patted Dean’s back as he let him go. “If anything, I should be protecting you. I’m the older one.”

Dean beamed. “Hey, is it too soon for me to ask if you’ve been seeing someone? He has to get my seal of approval, you know.”

“Um, no. I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Oh. Anyone you’ve got your eye on?”

“Not really.” Castiel looked away. “I’m concentrating on classes right now. I’m trying to stay above a 3.8.”

“So, what? You plan on just being celibate all four years?”

“No, I—there was someone last year.” Castiel glanced up. “Forget I said that.”

“What? Who?” Dean scooted forward. “Shit, I had no idea. You were dating some dude and never told me?”

“We weren’t dating. It was just a…casual thing.” Castiel hung his head in shame. “I know I made fun of you last year for having meaningless sex. I’m a complete hypocrite.”

Dean gaped at him. What the hell? Castiel was the last person he’d expect to have been getting random tail and hiding it from everyone around him. Dean felt betrayed and impressed in equal measure.

“Who was it?” Dean said. “Come on, you know I love campus gossip.”

“I shouldn’t say. He’s in the closet.” Castiel shrugged. “He’s on the swim team.”

Dean raised his eyebrows; that hardly narrowed it down. As far as he could tell, the majority of the swim team seemed pretty fruity. Although, he was sure the hockey team had them beat in that department. Something about the way they always talked about the size of each other’s thighs and butts and how jeans never fit them right.

“But it’s pretty much over now?” Dean said.

“Yes. Very much over. Since…February? I realized I was looking for intimacy in sex when there wasn’t any to be found with him.” Castiel sighed. “Intimacy, not sex.”

“So, uh….” Dean fidgeted on the futon. “What’d you guys do?”

“What?”

“I mean, you said sex was the problem, right? Not enough, not good, what?

“Um.” Castiel rubbed his neck. “It wasn’t the sex per se. I mean, it was partly that. Granted, we didn’t do…everything, so maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe if we had, it would’ve unlocked some things for both of us. On the other hand, maybe it would’ve been just as dreary as what we were already doing. It’s impossible to know.”

Dean thought about that. Reading between the lines, it sounded like Castiel and Swim Team Guy had got to third and no further. That meant he’d been right: Castiel was a virgin. Unless….

“Wait.” Dean’s tongue swiped between his lips. “So, you’ve never done, uh, that? With anyone?”

Castiel looked horrified. In lieu of responding, he simply shook his head, his cheeks going crimson.

Wow. Castiel really was a virgin! Dean was old-fashioned: he didn’t think oral counted as losing your virginity. And based on his experiences in high school, he got the impression that most girls agreed with him. Maybe things were different for gay guys, but he doubted it. What was the point of butt sex if not getting your V card stamped?

“Dean,” Castiel mumbled. “Um, could we change the subject? I feel awkward talking about this. Not just with you. I’d feel awkward talking about it with anyone.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean laughed. “No, man, I just want you to feel comfortable, you know? Like, nothing’s changed. You can talk to me about anything.”

“I appreciate that.” Castiel looked like he was about to start crying again. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

“Well, like I said before, I guess one thing’s changed.” Dean was heading into rambling territory now, but he felt like he had to say something to lighten the mood. He hated seeing Castiel upset.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, like, you’ll be telling me about all the dudes you like instead of chicks. Not that you ever talked about chicks, but…anyway, it might be a little weird for me at first to hear you talk about how nice a male ass is, or you know, other stuff….”

“Dean.”

“I’m not saying it’s weird for a guy to like another guy’s butt. That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s completely normal. I mean, look at the hockey team.”

Castiel blinked once, twice. “What?”

“Never mind. I’m just saying that it might take me, personally, a little time to get used to it.”

Castiel shut his eyes and pinched his forehead. Dammit, what had he said now?

“Not ‘get used to it’ as in me liking other guys’ butts. I mean getting used to you talking about that kind of stuff. Only if you want to talk about that kind of stuff with me, I mean.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, his eyes still closed. “Thank you, Dean. I understand. I think.”

“Alright. Yeah. Good chat, buddy.” Dean cleared his throat. “Crap, it’s almost eight. I better hit the library for a few hours.”

“Right,” Castiel said. He almost sounded relieved.

“Yeah, with how much work I have to do for The Roadhouse each week, I can’t take Thursday nights off anymore.”

“An elegy for Thirsty Thursday.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean stretched up from the futon and started getting his backpack together. “But, hey, what say you and me do something tomorrow night? I don’t know, something to celebrate you being out?”

“Uh, sure.” Castiel rubbed his face, smoothed his shirt. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. What do gay guys usually do to celebrate coming out? You’re the expert, not me.”

“I’m hardly an expert. But…go out to a bar, maybe? Except—”

“Except we can’t,” Dean lamented. “We could go out to dinner, though. And come back here and drink. I can ask Benny to pick up something for us. He always goes into town to buy booze on Fridays.”

“No, I’ll handle that. Gabe gave me a special bottle over the summer. He said to save it for….”

Castiel trailed off. Dean zipped his backpack and turned around.

“Save it for what?”

“Save it for someone who means a lot to me.” Castiel blushed. “I know how he intended it, how it sounds. But you do mean a lot to me, Dean. As a friend.”

“Yeah.” Dean swallowed. “Yeah, cool. It’s a date, then. A—a bro date.”

Castiel smiled. It was an easy, relaxed smile, and Dean breathed his relief. Before he could say anything else he had to stumble his way out of, Dean reached for the door and made his escape. Clearly, it’d take him a while before he found his footing again. But he thought he’d handled the whole thing pretty well.

Castiel had been smiling at the end. As far as Dean was concerned, that was all that mattered.

Castiel was gone when Dean awoke the next morning. Friday was the only weekday when Dean could sleep in; it was also the only day he started classes later than Castiel. Castiel had German every day at 10, but Dean had a 9:30 seminar Monday through Thursday, either Sociology of Heterosexuality or Inequality in America. Even though Dean didn’t consider himself much of a morning person, he’d had to leave his afternoons free this semester for The Roadhouse.

The only class he had on Fridays was his Introduction to Sculpture lab after lunch, which was pretty much just three hours of playing with clay. He’d only signed up for the course to fulfill his art requirement, but he was actually really enjoying it. It was chill as fuck and to top it all off, he was working on a “teapot” that was really a bong. He could probably even finish that today and submit it to the instructor for firing in the kiln.

The one downside was that Meg had the same lab as him, and for some reason she couldn’t just leave him alone. She always visited his table and commented on his shit. On his clay bonsai: “Hey, nice tree sculpture. You should probably roll those leaves a little thinner, though, or they’ll bring the branches down once you attach them.” On his replica of The Thinker: “You know, hands and feet are hard, even for experienced artists. You ever think of going more abstract?”

She hadn’t commented on his teapot yet, thankfully. Maybe she’d finally gotten the hint that he didn’t need her advice. Sure, the instructor had said on the first day that peer feedback was part of the course, but Meg’s feedback always made him feel worse about his projects. He was pretty sure she was only being critical because she was jealous of his relationship with Castiel. Just another reason to not like her.

The thought of Castiel immediately put a smile on his face, and his grievances towards Meg dissipated into the ether. They were going out to dinner tonight, then coming back for a special bottle of wine. Maybe even a cuddle. Dean groaned in satisfaction as he stretched under the covers. How naïve was Meg to not even realize the guy she was chasing was gay? He almost felt sorry for her.

Then again, he supposed he hadn’t realized either. But that was different. He wasn’t trying to bang Castiel, so he didn’t have a reason to think about his sexuality.

Dean stared at the bottom of Castiel’s bunk. He wasn’t trying to bone his roommate and best friend, but now that he knew he was gay…well, he couldn’t say the possibility hadn’t crossed his mind more than once since last night. After rubbing one out to him last weekend, Dean had been vigilant about repressing any lewd thoughts about Castiel the instant they reared their heads. Like when he stripped his sweaty clothes off post-bike ride and draped his tight black Under Armour trunks over the side of his hamper to dry. Or when he lay on the futon nosing a book and his T-shirt hiked up to reveal the darkening hair below his navel. A couple times, Dean had had to quit the room altogether, gathering up his crap for another trip to the library, but it’d been worth it. He hadn’t fantasized about Castiel again, much less pleasured himself to him.

And now all that effort was for nothing. Because if Castiel was into dudes, then maybe he’d be into him. And if he was into him…Dean wasn’t sure he could stop himself from reciprocating.

Dean frowned. Just because Castiel was gay, that didn’t mean he’d automatically want to have sex with him. It wasn’t just vain of him to think that; it was actually a little sketchy. Dammit, this was like being friends with a chick. He could never be “only friends” with a girl because that lingering what-if always got the better of him. Well, except with Charlie, because she had the good taste to be into chicks and not dudes.

Dean sat up, glared at the prominent tent in the duvet between his legs, and sighed. He wasn’t gay—he was about 98% sure of that—but damn if Little Dean wasn’t going through some kind of gay awakening lately. His dick hardly even perked up for porn now, even lesbian porn. But the instant Castiel bent over to tie his shoes or sprawled out to read with his legs spread? The instant Dean spent more than a few seconds thinking about him? Instant boner.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled. “I get it. You want to take Cass to pound town.”

Little Dean thrummed with joy.

“Too bad. We’re not seeing Cass until tonight. How about an afternoon of avoiding eye contact with Meg instead?”

With a swiftness that seemed medically improbable, Little Dean shriveled.

“Sorry, buddy.” Dean threw back the duvet and stood up. “Cass isn’t some random girl who’s DTF. He’s my roommate and best friend and that means more than you getting wet for one night. So, we’re letting him take the lead.”

Dean added a confident nod to punctuate his statement before grabbing his towel and heading for the shower.

The ceramics room was still pretty empty by the time Dean arrived, about five minutes early. That meant he had his pick of tables to work at. He liked the table in the back corner the most. It was right by one of the fans, which was important once the room was crammed with aspiring artists and poor saps like him who were just there for the requirement. Also, it was as far away from the table Meg normally worked at as possible.

The professor used the first 15 minutes to drone some spiel about balance and volume before reminding them of the deadline for getting their current project done for midterm critiques. Then, the music went on, and they were turned loose to their sculptures. Dean had prevailed on Professor MacLeod to play the campus radio station during labs; The Roadhouse didn’t air on Friday afternoons, obviously, and he wasn’t the biggest fan of the whispery indie folk stuff that Mick played on his show, but he wanted to support WSPN anyway.

An hour or so into the lab, Dean was working on the lid of his teapot when a shadow fell over his workspace. He looked up.

“Meg.”

“Hey, Dean.” She pulled out one of the table’s stools. “Feel like hearing a critique?”

“I’m okay, actually.”

“I wasn’t talking about your bong.” Meg plopped down on the stool and rested her elbow on the table. “Although, not bad. You’re definitely getting better at balancing form and surface.”

“It’s—it’s a teapot,” Dean stammered.

“Sweetie, you think you’re the first person who’s tried to pass off a bong as a teapot in pottery class? That’s bush league.”

“It’s a teapot!”

“Okay, fine. It’s a teapot. Don’t worry, I won’t out you to MacLeod.” Meg glanced over her shoulder at the professor’s office. “Though, between you and me, I’m pretty sure she’s 420 friendly.”

Dean laughed. He’d gotten the same vibe from her.

“Hey, you can actually smile in my presence. Color me shocked.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Meg?”

“Like I said, critiques. I’m here to offer one.” She lowered her voice. “Cass told me he came out to you last night.”

Dean’s eyes bulged; he nearly dropped the lid of his teapot.

“You knew?”

“He told me last year. Last week of classes.”

“Last year?”

“Yes. And we can do this whole—” Meg spun her index fingers in a loose circle under the overhead lamp. “‘I know him better, he likes me more than you’ thing some other time, if you really want to.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Will you stop thinking about yourself for a few minutes? I came to talk about Cass.”

Dean put down his teapot lid and angled the fan in his direction. He already felt the heat accumulating; embarrassment had that effect on him. He pulled on his T-shirt a few times.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“He said you were really laid back about the whole thing. That you didn’t freak out at all.”

“Of course not. I mean, sure, I was a little surprised. I think I’m still kind of surprised, honestly. But it’s not a big deal. It doesn’t change anything, you know, between us. I told him, I won’t treat him any differently.”

“You’re surprised?”

“Yeah, I mean….” Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I thought the two of you had some kind of thing.”

Meg regarded him skeptically.

“Yeah. Like, Cass said you were just friends, but I thought that was just a cover story. People lie about who they’re sleeping with all the time. Because they’re embarrassed, or….” Dean shrugged. “Other reasons.”

Meg snorted. “You’re such a bitch, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“You just said you thought Cass was too embarrassed to admit he was dating me.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean grinned. “You’re not dating him, so I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, I’m glad you finally know the truth. You definitely look happy about it.”

“I’m happy that Cass is happy. He seemed pretty torn up last night. Wish he’d told me sooner.” Dean placed the lid on his teapot. “What’d you actually come over to say, Meg? You heard it straight from Cass, I’m cool with him being gay. I don’t think I need any ‘critiques’ from you. Me and Cass are fine.”

“It’s not about last night. It’s about tonight.”

Dean scowled. “What, he told you about that, too?”

“He mentioned it at lunch. You’re going on a date?”

“A bro date. Very important word you left out there.”

“Okay. Just—” Meg hesitated. “Look, I’m just going to come out and say it. Cass seems really vulnerable right now. Coming out and all that. And what he needs is total support and love. What he doesn’t need is emotional whiplash and uncertainty and a bull running through the china shop of his emotions.” She tapped the neck of Dean’s teapot. “You’re the bull in this metaphor, by the way.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Dean yanked his teapot away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t treat Cass like that at all.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, maybe sometimes I’m not the best at talking about what I’m feeling, but I’m getting better.”

Meg sighed. “For Cass’s sake, I hope you’re right.”

“Look, I’ll take care of Cass. Don’t worry about that. And….” Dean looked down at his hands, flecked with dried clay. “And if you’re looking out for Cass too, that’s even better, I guess. I can’t be there all the time, even if I want to.”

“Wow.” Meg was smirking when Dean glanced up. “It must have really hurt to admit that.”

“Yeah, whatever. For some reason, he seems to like you, so I’m not going to rock the boat.”

A beat passed; the song switched on the radio. Meg rose from her stool.

“Besides, I was mostly afraid of you breaking his heart.” Dean picked up the lid and his pencil carver. “Now I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

For a moment, Meg gazed out the window behind Dean with melancholy. Then, she pushed in her stool.

“And now I have to worry about you breaking his heart.” She shrugged. “The world’s funny like that.”

Before Dean could say anything, she turned and made her way back to her table.

Castiel was already in the room, reading a book on the futon, when Dean got back. It was a little before six. Dean had stayed late at the ceramics studio to finish his teapot and submit it for firing, then walked across campus to Thompson Hall to pick up some forms his radio producer had left in his mailbox. He tossed his bag down with a groan and dove headfirst into his bed.

“Long day?” Castiel laughed.

“No, short.” Dean wiggled his face out of the pillow to smile at him. “I’ve only been up since lunch. But it’s crazy how tired you get, drawing tiny lines on pots. My neck’s all sore.”

“Aw.” Castiel closed his book. “Want me to rub it for you?”

Dean swallowed. He looked down Castiel’s body to where his hands rested on his lap.

“Never mind,” Castiel said hastily. “Forget it.”

“No, I—that’d be cool. I’d like that. Only if you want to.”

Dean clambered out of bed, stretched, sat on the edge of the futon beside Castiel. Castiel watched all of it without blinking.

“Um.” Castiel drummed his fingertips over Dean’s nape. “Let me know if I’m pressing too hard. Or not hard enough.”

Dean winked at their reflections in the mirror on his closet door. “Harder, Cass. Harder!”

Castiel slapped his arm. “Shut up.”

Dean chuckled. He eased back into Castiel’s hands, letting them knead and prod all the aches out.

“Hmm,” he sighed. “Feels incredible, man.”

“Good.” Castiel adjusted a little behind him. “I got us a reservation at The Barn, by the way.”

“Oh yeah? Sweet.”

The Barn was an “eclectic American” restaurant and one of the nicer ones in the area, if a little pretentious. It was one of those hipster places that Dean was intimately familiar with, having grown up in a college town—a converted 1800s barn with reclaimed wood tables and mismatched stoneware and vases filled with wildflowers that looked intentionally ugly. It was on the other side of the creek from Edlund, on the road south to Middlebury. Only a ten-minute drive from the chapel parking lot.

“It’s for 6:30,” Castiel was saying. “So, we should probably leave soon.”

“Okay.” Dean drooped his head. “You should probably stop, then. I’ll be too blissed out to drive if you don’t.”

“I could drive,” Castiel said, not letting up.

“But I like driving you around,” Dean murmured. “I’m not forced to listen to your music that way.”

“Fine.” Castiel patted Dean’s shoulders. “I’ll stop there, then. Better?”

“So much better.” Dean reached back to squeeze one of Castiel’s hands. “Hey, if you can’t find a job with those ‘useless degrees’ you’re getting, you could always go into massage therapy. You’ve got magic fingers.”

Castiel snorted. “I’ll keep it in mind. You ready to get going?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean stood, nearly swayed with how relaxed he was. “Let me just hit the head first.”

In the bathroom, Dean pissed, washed his face and brushed his teeth, scrunched a non-toolish amount of gel in his hair. He checked his reflection at different angles; he mussed up his hair and started over twice. He sniffed his pits and swiped more deodorant over them. He tugged at the sleeves of his flannel shirt and made sure his fly was up. He jogged back to their room and spritzed some cologne onto a few strategic places. Finally, he sauntered into the hallway, where Castiel was waiting for him at the fire door to the stairwell.

“Ready?”

Dean put his arm around Castiel’s back in response, guided him down the stairs to the first-floor common room. Castiel got the door for them.

“Cold night,” Castiel remarked, once they were passing by the chapel. “Definitely feels like fall.”

“Want to go back for a coat?” Dean bumped his elbow. “Maybe that flasher coat you used to wear?”

“The trench coat is a classic piece of menswear,” Castiel huffed.

“Uh-huh.”

“You can keep your fashion advice to yourself,” he continued, crossing his arms. “At least I don’t look like a lumberjack.”

“Or worse, a hipster.” Dean unlocked Baby’s passenger door. “Alright, Cass, what’re we listening to?”

The drive down to The Barn was dark, with just a hint of purple in the western sky and the Impala’s headlights to light the way. The moon had gotten caught somewhere in the trees, peeking out once in a while between flurries of maple leaves that skittered across the two-lane highway. Dean realized, now that they were sharing the same enclosed air, that Castiel was wearing cologne too. For some reason, that set his heart racing so fast that he was sure Castiel had to hear it.

The turnoff was an unpaved driveway that opened out onto a huge gravel parking lot, and Dean found a space far from any other cars. Castiel teased him about that all the way to the barn’s side door. Dean had been here twice before: once with Cassie, when they were sort of dating this time last year; the other time with Castiel, early in the spring to celebrate becoming roommates. It was funny to think about that latter one now. Castiel must have wanted to come out to him even then, and Dean hadn’t noticed a thing. He really was oblivious sometimes.

The host showed them to their table, a cozy, candlelit alcove in one of the barn’s corners with bench seating on one side. Castiel poured them water from the glass milk jug brought by one of the bussers, then admired the flowers sprouting out of the table’s centerpiece. They were prettier than Dean remembered.

“Dean,” Castiel said, once their main courses arrived. They’d been mostly shooting the shit up till now—Clinton and Obama and Edwards, the odds of Dean’s teapot being confiscated, how fucking weird it was to be getting friend requests on Facebook from adult family members. When Castiel started a sentence with “Dean,” though, it usually meant he wanted to have a genuine conversation.

“Cass,” Dean replied. He smiled in the candlelight.

“Dean, I just want to thank you. Even in my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have dared to hope that it would be this easy. To…tell the truth. You don’t know how happy it makes me. How happy I am right now. Just—” he exhaled, stirred his potato and leek soup. “Just to not be hiding.”

Dean licked his lips. Should he say “you’re welcome?” No, that sounded pompous. Castiel shouldn’t have to thank him for being a decent human being about something people were just born with. Something that didn’t even matter. Dean shook his head.

“You shouldn’t have to hide, Cass. Like, I know I make fun of you sometimes—the way you dress, your music, stuff like that….” Dean brought his napkin to his mouth. “You know it doesn’t mean anything, right? I just like getting a reaction out of you.”

Castiel looked up with a grin. “I know. I know you’re just playing.”

“Yeah. You’re an amazing guy. Don’t ever hide yourself, okay? As far as I’m concerned, you’re the perfect amount of weird.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.” Dean wanted to say something else, but he wasn’t sure how to articulate it yet. Instead, he sliced into his chicken. “It is.”

They were quieter than usual until dessert. Dean got the blueberry pie with Vermont blueberry ice cream; Castiel ordered the Sachertorte with cardamom whipped cream. “First Day of My Life” played softly from the barn’s speakers as the waiter laid their plates down. This really was a hipster restaurant.

“I was wondering,” Dean said. Maybe it was the magic of pie, but he thought he’d finally found his words. “You know how you talk a lot about meaningful connections?”

“Mhm.” Castiel daubed some of the whipped cream onto a bite of cake. “The intimacy of truly knowing someone. The body as the manifestation of will. Touch as the meeting of those wills.”

Dean drew figure eights in his melted ice cream. Castiel’s spoon clinked against his plate, but he didn’t prompt Dean to keep going.

“Uh, I’ve been thinking.” Dean bucked himself up and met Castiel’s eyes. “How do you, like, know what it’s like?”

Castiel didn’t respond for a few seconds. He peered at the flowers as he chewed his cake.

“You mean, because I’ve never had an actual boyfriend? How would I know what it’s like?”

“What? No, I didn’t—I meant ‘you’ like, in general.”

“Ah.” Castiel spooned off another piece of his Sachertorte, seeming to think about that.

Dean ran his tongue between his lips, catching the evanescent taste of blueberries. He’d really wolfed down his pie. When he was nervous, he ate even faster than normal.

He probably should’ve suspected that Castiel had never had a boyfriend, but for some reason he hadn’t really thought about it until now. The fact that Castiel’s only relationships so far had been casual, and yet he clearly wanted a loving, committed boyfriend more than anything, ignited all the protective instincts in Dean’s blood. He didn’t think he could trust any other man to take care of Castiel the way he needed. Men were dicks, after all.

“It’s…it’s something you just feel, I think.” Castiel gazed at his cake. “There isn’t a checklist to fill out and add up. You know just by—by being around the person. It just feels right. Everything in the world feels right when you’re together. And then when you’re apart, you feel like there’s a part of you tugging on your heart, out there in the world, and you look forward to getting that part of you back again.”

Dean shivered. He glanced around the barn, pretending to search for a draft.

“I’d call it…a more profound bond.”

Dean cleared his throat; his mouth felt parched. “‘Profound bond?’”

“I think of it as a deeper connection than you have to other people. Something down to your bones. Something you can’t ignore or shake off, even if you wanted to.” Castiel raised his eyes, stared at him in the candlelight. “That’s how I’d define it. That’s the best I’ve got.”

Dean looked at Castiel’s lips and swallowed. “That’s—that’s pretty good. I think I understand better now.”

They got the check after that; Dean was smug about sliding his debit card onto the tray before Castiel. Castiel always wanted to pay whenever they did anything, and Dean was getting fed up with it. He wanted to show him that he deserved to be taken care of sometimes, too.

It was what a loving, committed boyfriend would do, after all.

When they exited The Barn, the night was clear and the air was cold. The moon shone above the maples and pines, glittering the Impala in silver as they crunched across the gravel. Castiel’s breath billowed out, white and thick. He shuddered. Without thinking twice, Dean reached for his hand.

“Dean?” Castiel stopped in his tracks. “What’re you….”

“Told you we should’ve gone back for that stupid coat.” Dean squeezed his hand. “What would you do if I wasn’t here, huh?”

“Uh.” Castiel looked down at their joined hands. “I don’t know. Freeze, I guess.”

They continued across the parking lot, strolling now. Castiel didn’t try to pull away, but Dean could sense his anxiety in how he tensed his wrist.

“Dean?” Castiel said, once they’d reached the car.

With his free hand, Dean fished his keys out of his pocket. “Yeah?”

“What are we doing?” He turned to him. “I’m really not sure. I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”

“Well.” Dean rubbed his thumb along the side of Castiel’s. “We’re holding hands right now. We’re two wills, meeting.”

“Dean—”

“Look, Cass.” Dean sighed. “I’m not going to pretend like I know what the hell I’m doing, either. I’ve never done anything like this, you know that. And—and maybe we’re just a couple of dumbasses.”

“Probably, yeah.”

“Maybe we are, so what? What I know is that I want to be your dumbass. And I want you to be mine. And…maybe we’ll figure everything else out from there.”

Castiel’s breath billowed out again; his whole body was shaking. It was too dark for Dean to tell whether he was giggling or crying or something else.

“Say something, Cass.” Dean elbowed him gently. “I’m kind of putting it all out there right now. Don’t leave me hanging.”

With a sharp inhale, Castiel walked Dean back until his thighs banged against the Impala’s trunk. He leaned his hips into Dean’s, hemmed him in with his arms on either side, and all the lines of their bodies pushed together. In the low angle of the moon above the tree line, Dean could at last see Castiel’s face clearly. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted and he was peering at Dean like he was a miracle. No one had ever looked at him that way.

“Can I kiss you, Dean?”

Dean gulped and nodded. He grabbed at Castiel’s waist, feeling around for purchase. Everything was harder and slimmer than with a girl, and he felt utterly lost. It was exhilarating.

Castiel tilted in. He roved his open lips just over the surface of Dean’s face, nuzzling the tip of his nose, before capturing his mouth with a throaty growl. His hips jerked forward, and Dean pawed at the small of his back in response. In Dean’s other hand, Baby’s keys jingled wildly. They kissed and kissed and kissed, and Dean lost himself in it.

“God.” Castiel stopped for oxygen, and one of his hands grabbed Dean’s shoulder as if to keep himself from falling. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“You taste like chocolate,” Dean said, almost slurred, like an idiot.

Castiel laughed, kissed him again. “You taste like blueberries, Dean. And heaven.”

Dean drew in a jagged breath of brisk night air. He shivered, not because of the cold. Baby’s keys were still jingling in time with the slow rocking of Castiel’s hips against his, and the sound carried away on the wind, across the near-empty parking lot, tracing the flight path of the swirling autumn leaves.

“Home,” Dean said.

He’d meant it as a question—Do you want to go back to campus now?—but it came out an observation, a declaration. A claim. Castiel stared at him, his bottom lip caught under his teeth and his hand still gripping Dean’s shoulder tight enough to leave a mark. The ocean of stars above their heads swam in his eyes.

“Home.”

Chapter Text

The drive back to campus was quiet. Dean switched off the radio as soon as he started the car, saying he was too nervous to listen to music, adding a laugh that broke into an intake of breath halfway through. The Impala squealed as he reversed out onto the gravel. When Castiel jumped at the noise, Dean reached for his upper thigh and squeezed. He returned his hand there over and over until they arrived at the parking lot.

Dean pulled him in by the waist as they walked the gently sloping hill down from the chapel, the autumn leaves skating along the grass as if matching their stride. A gaggle of girls, giggling and stumbling and wearing alarmingly little given the temperature, crossed paths with them at the crossroads leading back to the student union. Dean took his arm back from Castiel and moved a few gradual inches away. They walked separately the rest of the way to Bunker Hall.

The building’s lobby was empty, the cavernous dining hall below pitch-dark. Dean used his ID card on the door of the first-floor common room and dug his fingers into Castiel’s hip possessively.

“Why’d you—”

Castiel broke off. They were scaling the stairway to the second floor, and the thudding bass of a party in the first suite on the right grew louder with every step.

“What, baby?”

It sounded strange coming from Dean’s mouth. Baby. That was his car’s name. Was that how he addressed all his intimate partners, too? Or was it a special endearment, just for Castiel? Castiel hoped it was the latter.

Then again, Dean probably knew how to make all his partners feel special, even just for one night. He had a lot of experience.

“Why’d you pull away back there?” Castiel managed to finish.

Dean held open the door to their hallway and frowned. “Pull away?”

Castiel decided to let it go. Maybe Dean had done it unconsciously; maybe it was a practical feint to allow the larger group to pass them on the sidewalk. He didn’t want to come off as needy and insecure less than half an hour after their first kiss.

As soon as they got through their door, Dean’s hand was creeping up the small of his back. His thumb dug into the valley of Castiel’s spine, pointing him in the direction of their beds.

“Um.” Castiel stopped between their desks. “How about you put on some music while I open the wine?”

Dean blinked at him.

“The celebratory wine? Gabe’s special blend?”

“The wine, right.” Dean withdrew his hand. “I forgot about that.”

Castiel snorted. He bent down to untie his shoes, placed his watch and wallet and keys and phone on his desk, rooted Gabe’s “family reserve” out of the jumble of his closet. He took a moment to check his appearance in the mirror. His hair was a mess—more than usual—and the top three buttons of his crisp white dress shirt were undone. Had Dean done that?

“Any requests?” Dean slotted his iPod into the dock and tumbled onto the futon.

“Um. Something good for conversation? Nothing too aggressive.”

“Conversation, right.” Dean winked at him in the mirror. “Hurry up with the wine, I’m getting lonely.”

Castiel opened the bottle and set it down next to their glasses. He let it breathe while he walked to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. In all the times he’d imagined his first night with Dean, he’d always had minty-fresh breath.

He was still peering at himself in the mirror, pressing his hair down over and over again and getting nowhere, when Dean pushed into the bathroom.

“Dean.” Castiel dried his hands.

“Hey.” Dean sauntered to one of the urinals, drumming his fingertips along Castiel’s shoulder as he passed.

“I’ll….” Castiel swallowed. Behind him, there was the sound of Dean’s zipper, then of tinkling on porcelain. “I’ll see you in the room.”

“Yup. Be right there.”

As the bathroom door yawned shut behind him, Castiel heard Dean’s singing echo against the tiled walls.

“We can build this dream together—” The urinal flushed. “—Standing strong forever….”

When Castiel got back to their room, he was blasted with what he assumed was the same song. He brought the wine to the coffee table and turned down the volume. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d requested music good for talking. Not only that, but Dean had a habit of getting into an arms race with everyone else in their hallway for whose music could go the loudest and drown out the others, which Castiel felt was always a pointless endeavor since they didn’t have the huge, elaborate sound systems some other kids had. His poor iPod dock would get its speakers blown out before the end of the semester.

“Okay.” Dean rubbed his hands together, making a beeline for the futon. He crashed down beside Castiel and had his glass in hand before their door even clicked shut. “Let’s get this party started.”

Castiel laughed and raised his glass. Dean clinked into him and winked.

“To you and me, Dean. I guess I’m sharing this with someone special after all.”

They held each other’s eyes as they drank. Dean took a huge first sip and licked the red from his kiss-stung lips.

“What’s your verdict?” Castiel said. He’d only had this blend twice before—once at a disastrous family dinner with all his siblings present, the other time when he’d stayed a weekend at Gabe’s over the summer and let slip that he maybe, possibly had a thing for his soon-to-be roommate. Gabe had been unbearable after that.

“It’s good. Really good.” A blush colored Dean’s skin bright pink, and he fiddled with the buttons of his flannel, popping open one of them. “Sorry, all those fancy wine terms aren’t coming to me. My poor monkey brain’s barely hanging on right now.”

Castiel tilted his head. “What’s the matter?”

“No, I didn’t mean—” Dean breathed slowly. “It’s nothing bad. It’s the total opposite. I’m just, like, feeling all these good things wash over me all at once and it’s too much to process. You liking me, and me liking you, and you liking dudes, and me liking dudes….” Dean hesitated. “When’d you know?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. Probably forever. But I never really gave it much thought until the end of high school, somewhere around there.”

“What, really?”

“Really. Before that, I never thought about my sexuality all that often. I had so much other stuff going on—trying to be valedictorian, doing track and clubs and student government, volunteering, being a gofer at my brother’s law office—” Castiel shrugged and sipped his wine. “It just wasn’t front of mind.”

“But didn’t you, like, feel stuff for other boys?”

“Sure. But…I don’t know, I didn’t think me feeling things for boys from time to time automatically made me gay. I dated girls and I think I even felt things for them occasionally, or at least I thought I did. I explained away the feelings I had for boys as me just really liking them as friends. Wanting to have a brotherly relationship with them, the kind I never really got with my actual brothers. And then….”

Dean lifted his glass to his lips and raised his eyebrows.

“And then, I made a new friend senior year, the guy I sat next to in AP English Lit. And I just felt stuff I’d never felt before. The stuff you see in movies and hear in songs. And that’s when everything fell into place.”

“You had your ‘oh shit’ moment.”

“Yeah, I suppose I did.” Castiel poured them more wine. “How about you?”

“Huh?”

“Did you ever…you know, other guys?”

Dean chuckled. “No. Well, maybe I looked at a dude’s arms or butt longer than I needed to sometimes. Compared myself to other guys in the locker room after gym class. But, uh, I was kind of too busy with chicks to pay much attention to that.”

“Ah.”

“What?” Dean prompted, after a beat.

“No, I’m just….” Castiel swirled his glass and stared into the vortex. “So, are you—I guess I’m just confused. Are you straight?”

“Well, all I can think about while I’m sitting here talking to you is what you look like naked, so I’m guessing no.”

Castiel’s eyes went wide. He brought his wine to his mouth and gulped down everything he had left. When he returned his glass to his lap, Dean was grinning at him.

“Too far?”

“No. No, not at all.” Castiel spun the stem of his wine glass back and forth between his fingers. “I, uh, I think about you naked quite often.”

Dean’s pink tongue darted out, then retreated. He glanced down Castiel’s body.

“Oh yeah?”

Castiel nodded. “I’ve sort of had a thing for you for a while. If it’s not too weird to admit that.”

Dean snorted.

“Crap. It is too weird, isn’t it?” Castiel rubbed his forehead; he could already feel the wine clouding his brain. “Forget I said that. It makes me sound creepy.”

“No, man. It’s fine. I’m laughing because I never suspected a thing. I can’t believe how dense I was.”

“Ugh.” Castiel refilled his glass. “Dean, I swear I’ve never had ulterior motives. For anything I’ve done. I never expected anything from you but friendship.”

“Hey, I said it’s fine. Besides, I sort of guessed when you said you’d been wanting to kiss me for a while.” Dean gave an upward nod, almost over his shoulder. “Back at The Barn.”

“Oh.” Castiel rubbed his nose. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Dean drained his glass, then drained the rest of the bottle into it. He plinked into Castiel for another toast and edged a little closer on the futon.

“As long as we’re sharing,” Dean said. “I jacked off to you last weekend.”

Castiel blinked rapidly. If his wine had been anywhere other than his lap, he probably would’ve dropped it.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Something about seeing you all sweaty and half-naked after your run, thinking about how good it’d feel to have your tight little body on top of me….” Dean gently tipped his glass to his lips, seeming to savor the aroma. “It really did it for me.”

“Huh,” Castiel said. He didn’t really feel capable of saying anything more than that.

“There you go.” Dean elbowed him. “I blew away your embarrassing admission with something ten times more embarrassing. That’s how good of a friend I am.”

“Yes. You’re a very good friend, Dean.”

Dean looked down, the blush blooming all over his cheeks again. On their coffee table, his iPod was pumping out ardent demands to “bang a gong” and “get it on.” More than anything, Castiel wanted to touch Dean right now, finally start what the two of them had been circling around since their departure from the restaurant. For some reason, though, he couldn’t pull the trigger. He’d never been the one to make the first move—his pitiful record of sexual and romantic conquests was evidence enough of that—and that apprehension was compounded by, well, the fact that this was Dean.

Dean, his best friend. His roommate. His perfect man. His first love.

He’d pined for him for months, whiled away countless hours in daydreams about this moment; but now that everything he’d ever wanted was sitting less than a foot away, ripe for the taking, he was paralyzed. Afraid of going too fast, too slow. Afraid of not being big enough or sexy enough or masculine enough. Afraid of moving left instead of right and bashing their teeth together, of making too much noise or too little, of touching Dean somewhere that made him edge away and say that maybe he wasn’t ready for this after all.

“He doesn’t beat around the bush, does he?”

Dean was sitting back on the futon now, his empty glass beside the iPod dock. When Castiel looked up at him, he slowly stretched his arms to the ceiling, smiling.

“‘Bang a gong, get it on,’” Dean said, since Castiel didn’t reply. “My kind of guy. I think subtlety’s overrated, personally.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and laughed. He finished his wine and placed his empty glass beside Dean’s.

“So, all that stuff in the parking lot. About how we were two wills, meeting.” Castiel turned to Dean and inched forward on the futon, and Dean licked his lips. “That was just for my benefit?”

“No, I meant it. I want to be with you, Cass. But, uh.” Dean scratched his head, tufting his hair up in random places. “I’m just a really sexual person. My sex drive is…yeah. And it’s been a while. And you’re really fucking hot.”

Castiel roved his eyes down Dean’s torso, settling at his shiny belt buckle. Dean spread his legs wider in response.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, baby.”

“You’re, um.” Castiel looked at his hands, willing them to stop trembling. “You’re really hot, too.”

Dean just chuckled. He reached for one of Castiel’s hands and squeezed.

“Wow, you’re shaking.”

“I can’t believe this is happening, Dean. You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect.”

“Hey.”

“You’re perfect, and I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

“Hey, look at me.”

Castiel looked up. Dean let go of his hand and cupped Castiel’s cheek, caressing his thumb along the bone. His other hand remained immobile on his thigh, framing his crotch in the dim yellow light.

“You won’t do anything wrong, okay? I promise, I’m so horny and buzzed right now, I’ll be into whatever you do.”

“Ah. It’s nice to know I have diminished standards working in my favor.”

“There’s that humor I love.” Dean leaned forward, stopping a few inches away. “How about you kiss me, roomie?”

Castiel glanced at Dean’s lips. He closed his eyes and bent in to meet them. Dean’s hand glided from Castiel’s cheek to his nape, pinching and kneading, holding them together. Unlike in the parking lot, Dean took control of the kiss, guiding every beat and movement.

Maybe Castiel didn’t have anything to worry about. Maybe Dean, with his prolific record of conquests and vast sexual experience, would take care of him, stop him from humiliating himself. Castiel hoped so, at least.

The kiss faded, and Dean asked him a question.

“You ever kiss your swim team guy?”

“Uh.” Castiel swallowed, blinked a few times. “Once in a while. He didn’t really like doing it.”

Something dark flickered across Dean’s expression that Castiel couldn’t identify. Maybe it was the alcohol.

“You want to touch me, baby?”

Castiel looked at Dean’s bulge and nodded—a bit too eagerly, he thought. Or maybe not? Dean had said all those things about not beating around the bush earlier. Maybe he wanted Castiel to be assertive.

“Well.” Dean eased his legs even wider. “Go ahead. I’m all yours.”

Castiel hesitated. After a few seconds, Dean moved Castiel’s hand down to his belt buckle, and he obediently undid it, popped open his jeans rivet, and pulled down his zipper. Castiel grinned.

“Batman underwear?”

Dean wiggled his eyebrows in response. “Want to feel them? They’re pretty soft.”

Castiel graced his fingers along the elastic waistband, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the thin trail leading down from Dean’s navel. Dean was straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs, warping the Bat-Signal almost beyond recognition. A damp patch bloomed across the canary yellow.

“They do look soft,” Castiel murmured.

He lay his hand over the curve of Dean’s cock, almost as if he were petting it, and Dean instantly blew out a long, sharp breath. He smiled when Castiel glanced at him.

“On second thought, it doesn’t feel that soft to me.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Never thought you’d be this much of a joker in the sack.”

“You’ve thought about what I’d be like?”

“Uh-huh.” Dean lifted his hips as Castiel shimmied down his underwear. “Once or twice.”

Castiel finally got Dean’s boxer briefs low enough to free his cock, which bounced out and pointed at the ceiling. It was as perfect as the rest of him: a wide, dark pink, shiny head; a straight, thick shaft with a fat vein along the top; a forest of silky light-brown hair around the base. A few drops of precome dribbled out as Castiel looked on, and he couldn’t resist scooping them up with his index finger and bringing them to his mouth.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “Like how that tastes?”

Castiel closed his fist around Dean’s cock and nodded.

“Yeah, I bet. You’ve been wanting my cock for a while.” Dean grabbed the back of Castiel’s head, tugging gently at the hair there. “Swim Team Guy wasn’t much of a replacement, was he?”

Castiel frowned, then shook his head. He didn’t know why Dean had to keep bringing that up.

“How about you suck it? There’s more where that came from.”

Castiel nodded. He leaned down to lick the tip, getting as far as fitting his lips around the flare of Dean’s glans, but the angle was uncomfortable with his legs folded under him and his spine bowed forward and Dean using his hand to restrict the way his neck could move. Castiel popped off and sucked in the stream of drool that was threatening to escape his mouth.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Um. Maybe we could…move around somehow? It’s kind of an awkward position. Or maybe I’m just inexperienced—”

Dean cut him off by heaving himself upright, swaying in place for a moment in the mellow glow of the tree lights. He gestured for Castiel to sit back as he shucked off his jeans and underwear, then crawled onto the futon, his legs hemming Castiel in on both sides. He presented his cock at Castiel’s lips.

“There. Better?”

Castiel nodded. Dean looked so pretty right now, his skin like miles of gold in the lamplight, his proud cock shiny with Castiel’s spit. Castiel ran his hands up Dean’s sides, notching his fingertips in his bottommost rib. He gazed up at him, this man he loved, with adoration. Dean was staring back at him, but his expression was inscrutable in the shadows up there.

“Come on.” Dean brushed his cock back and forth over the seam of Castiel’s lips. “Open up.”

Castiel obeyed, though there was something about the impatience in Dean’s voice that gave him pause. He didn’t start sucking right away, and Dean brought him back to the moment with a pull to the hair at the crown of his head—still gentle, but not as gentle as before.

“Yeah.” Dean sighed, his grip faltering, as Castiel widened his jaw to take more of the shaft. “Fucker should’ve known you were mine.”

It took Castiel a second to realize who Dean was talking about.

“So good, Cass. So damn good. That long fucking tongue? Made for this.” Dean took hold of the futon’s wooden frame on either side of Castiel’s head and rocked his hips forward, hitting Castiel at the back of the throat. “Made for my cock.”

Castiel didn’t reply. With Dean’s cock stretching his lips and holding down his tongue, it wasn’t like he could, anyway. Instead, he focused on keeping his jaw slack and maintaining his breathing.

“God,” Dean marveled. Despite the fact that their bodies were connected, his voice seemed far away now. “Look at you. You act all above sex and shit, but you’re really just a slut for cock. A slut for my cock.”

Castiel looked up at Dean’s dark form; he still couldn’t see his eyes. He was pretty sure he was supposed to answer in the affirmative, or at least nod, but he didn’t want to. He loved Dean—loved his cock too, sure—but he didn’t think that made him a slut.

“Fuck.” Dean shuddered and pulled out. “I’m coming on your face.”

Castiel swallowed down what was left in his mouth and watched Dean stroke his cock.

“Mine,” Dean growled, right as the first hot jet of come splashed onto Castiel’s eyelid. “My slut.”

A few seconds passed, and the silence between songs yielded to some wailing guitar riff on Dean’s iPod. Castiel didn’t open his eyes.

“Wow.” Dean pawed Castiel’s shoulder. “Babe, you were amazing.”

“Move.” Castiel pushed Dean away and scrabbled up. “Get—”

“Cass?”

Suddenly, Castiel started crying. He crumbled back onto the futon.

“Cass?” The panic in Dean’s voice was sharp and close by. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Just—tissues.”

“Uh, hang on.”

Dean pushed off somewhere. His weight returned to the futon, and then he was wiping his come from Castiel’s face.

“Cass,” Dean said, once Castiel’s face was clean. “You—you okay?”

“Change the music,” Castiel mumbled. “I told you I wanted something good for talking.”

Dean scrambled up, and Castiel opened his eyes when he heard him trip on the rug somehow and bang his shin against the coffee table. He reached a hand to Dean’s hip to steady him.

“Talking, talking….” Dean clicked something and stuck his iPod back into the dock. “Okay. If you don’t like this, I’ll find something else.”

A light, airy female voice floated up, backed by the delicate strumming of a ukulele. Dean plopped onto the futon beside Castiel and answered the question on his face.

“It’s a playlist of Sammy’s indie crap. He made it for me over the summer.”

Castiel nodded. He felt the faintest touch of a smile on his lips. This was his Dean again, not the possessive asshole from a few minutes ago.

“Um. Are you—is something wrong?” Dean looked down at his deflated cock. “Did you not like it? Did I do something wrong?”

“I liked most of it. But….” Castiel sighed. “Dean, I thought our first time would be romantic. Loving. Instead, you talked about other guys and called me a slut.”

Dean blinked, opened his mouth to speak, faltered. He looked down again.

“It didn’t mean anything. It’s just dirty talk, people say all kinds of shit they don’t mean.”

“Even so, I don’t want you to call me a slut,” Castiel said. If Dean favored a direct approach, he figured he could give it to him. “Please.”

“Sure. I’ll never call you that again. Never ever. I—I didn’t even mean it. I was just getting so into what we were doing and…I don’t know, with the booze, maybe it just slipped out.”

“But if it slipped out, that means there’s some truth to it.”

“There isn’t!” Dean’s voice cracked, and he turned to Castiel with tears welling in his eyes. “I promise there isn’t. I don’t know why I said it, okay?”

One of the tears fell, and Castiel brushed it away with his thumb. Dean nuzzled into his hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Cass. I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t mean it.”

Castiel leaned forward and brought Dean into his arms, holding him tight. Dean sniffed, dug his fingers into Castiel’s back, exhaled his warm breath on Castiel’s nape. In less than sixty seconds, Castiel had gone from upset with Dean and even a little mistrustful of their relationship to wanting nothing more than to comfort him and keep him close forever. That was what it meant to be a dumbass in love, he supposed.

“I can be romantic and loving. You’ll see.” Dean kissed his neck. “I’ll be your dream boyfriend.”

“You won’t have much competition. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“Me neither,” Dean quipped. “You want to cuddle? Or….”

“You know what?” Castiel patted Dean’s back. “I’d love to cuddle.”

Dean let him go and beamed. He yanked on his Batman underwear and stumbled to his bed, returning with his duvet and draping it over them on the futon. Once they were lying down, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and pulled him in. They kissed twice: first, a chaste peck as the blanket settled; second, one with open mouths that seemed to dissipate most of the tension in Dean’s body. For a long time, they lay in the rich yellow glow of the tree lamps, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“This song is nice,” Castiel said finally.

Dean squirmed around to see his iPod, nearly falling off the futon in the process.

“‘Be Gentle With Me,’” he said, once he was back in Castiel’s arms. “God, Sam’s music is so ga—”

Castiel tilted his head.

“Great. His music is great.” Dean cleared his throat.

“Mhm.” Castiel rubbed his thumbs in the small of Dean’s back. “Dean, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, baby.”

“Do you—have you been possessive towards your partners in the past? Girlfriends, I mean?”

“Uh.” Dean’s eyes flicked to the ceiling. “Not really. Well, I’ve only had a few girlfriends. Cassie and Lisa last year. And one in tenth grade, before I decided to just play the field.”

Castiel stifled a snort of incredulity at the mention of Cassie and Lisa. He was pretty sure any possessiveness towards them on Dean’s part would’ve been more than hypocritical.

“But no. At least, none of them ever brought it up to me.”

“So, it’s just me, then?”

Dean blinked. His back began to tense again, and Castiel soothed him with a hand up and down his flank.

“You think I’m possessive?”

“A bit, yeah. Think about how you were with Meg.”

“Well, I just don’t like her.”

“Because?”

“Because she’s annoying.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile. “She only annoyed you once I started spending more time with her.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t mean she’s not annoying.”

“And then ‘Swim Team Guy.’ You said just now that he should’ve known I was yours.”

“Cass—”

“But I wasn’t ‘yours’ at the time.”

“Okay, yeah. I get the point.” Dean shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Dean. I just think it’s something we should talk about. Get it out in the open. That’s what they say to do, right?”

“Beats me.” An irreverent grin played on Dean’s lips, and he opened his eyes. “Just tell me what to do, Cass. I’ll do whatever you want. You want me to book an appointment with one of the shrinks at the counseling center? I’ll do it.”

“That’s probably not necessary.” Castiel tilted his head. “Do you want to?”

“I’d rather get a root canal.”

“Ah.” Castiel returned Dean’s smile. “Let’s just work on it together, then. You and me.”

“You and me. I like the sound of that.” Dean craned his neck forward and touched his nose to Castiel’s. “I’ll be gentle with you from now on. I promise.”

They kissed again, and Dean threw his leg over Castiel’s under the duvet. He paused, asked Castiel if it was okay, and Castiel pulled him in tighter. They were going to be just fine.

Chapter Text

They cuddled and talked late into the night, trading stories until the music in the quad closest to them quieted down and the noise in the hallway dwindled to the scuffling of kids stumbling back to their rooms or someone else’s. Castiel told Dean about his favorite Chinese restaurant in San Francisco, how he loved the eggplant with garlic and soy sauce even though it ruined his breath for at least 24 hours. He talked about the animal shelter he volunteered at all through high school and the high-handed way Michael treated him when he worked at his firm, bad enough that Castiel threw a stack of freshly copied papers at him one day and walked out. He said that Gabe was the only member of his family who knew he was gay.

“He’s cool with it?” Dean said. Castiel had just gotten back from the bathroom and was switching out his dress shirt and slacks for bee-and-honeycomb pajamas.

“Oh, yeah. He said he’d suspected for a while. Ever since I played ‘Sometimes’ by Britney Spears on repeat in my room when I was 12.”

“That’s stereotyping.”

Castiel threw him a look that verged on withering.

“Okay, yeah, I do it too. But at least I know it’s wrong now.”

Castiel climbed onto the futon, wriggling back into the gap beside Dean’s body. Dean pulled the duvet over them.

“That’s true. And hey, in this case the stereotype hit the mark. I’m gay, after all.”

Dean rooted around for Castiel’s hand, finding it where their hips met. He squeezed him tight.

“Cass, you’re teaching me so much. You’re making me a better man.”

Castiel snorted. “Dean.”

“You are. I’m serious. I get embarrassed when I think about the guy I was last year, before we started hanging out. Or worse, the guy I was in high school.”

“I don’t think many people like who they were in high school.”

“You’d be surprised. For a lot of people back home, that was their high point. Everything goes downhill after graduation.”

“That’s depressing to think about. It’s quite a long hill.”

“Yeah.” Dean hesitated. “My dad’s one of those people, I think.”

Castiel watched him for a few seconds. He rubbed Dean’s hand under the covers.

“You don’t like talking about him, do you?”

“Not really. But maybe it’d be good for me to talk about him more. With someone I trust.” Dean touched his nose to Castiel’s. “I’m talking about you, in case you’re wondering.”

Castiel smiled. “I’m glad you trust me, Dean.”

They were quiet for a moment. A pair of whispering voices trudged past their door, bound for the first-floor common room and the cold night beyond.

“Without you, I’d be one of them.” Dean flicked his chin over his shoulder. “Out until the party’s over, going home with some chick I’m not even that into, ditching her in the morning.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it last year.”

“I didn’t know what I was missing yet back then.”

Castiel shook his head, grinning.

“What?”

“Dean, I’ve forgiven you. I’m not completely past it yet, but you don’t need to lay everything on so thick.”

“I’m not. I mean everything I’m saying, Cass.”

“Okay.” Castiel pecked his lips. “Well, I’m flattered. Weren’t you going to tell me about your dad?”

“I could, yeah. You want to get into bed? This might take a while.”

In the end, they decided to stay where they were. It was already warm on the futon, and neither of them felt like moving. For the first time in his life, Dean talked honestly to someone else about his childhood. About how Mom had died in a freak accident, how Dad blamed himself for not saving her. About always being on the move, rootless, until they finally ended up back where it all started nine years later. About never having enough money after rent and bills and Dad drinking most of what was left; about having to rely on charity for food. About always being the one in charge of the cooking and cleaning and still going to bed with an empty stomach some nights. About Dad finally getting his act together once Dean started ninth grade, taking over a local garage, expecting Dean to spend all his time after school wheeled under a car chassis.

“It sounds like your dad doesn’t really see you as your own person,” Castiel said, his voice hoarse with fatigue. It was closing in on 3 a.m.; Sam’s indie playlist had looped back around to songs they’d already heard. Damn, he’d really been talking for a while.

“I guess,” Dean said. Even now, cuddled up with Castiel in their room over a thousand miles away from Kansas, he felt guilty about making John look bad. It wasn’t like he could defend himself. What would he say if he were here right now? Actually, scratch that. Dean really, really didn’t want to think about his dad finding out about him and Castiel. He wasn’t ready for that conversation.

“He sees you as an extension of himself. And that’s on top of all his other shortcomings as a father.”

“He’s an old-fashioned guy from the Midwest. I don’t think fathers in the old days constantly asked their kids how they were feeling. And everyone helped out around the house. Elder siblings especially.”

“Those just sound like excuses for shitty parenting.”

Dean laughed. “Tell me how you really feel, Cass.”

“Dean.” Castiel stroked his hand up and down Dean’s back. “Thank you for telling me all this. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Of course I trust you.” Dean placed a light kiss on Castiel’s lips. “Do you trust me again?”

“I never stopped trusting you, Dean. A blowjob that didn’t meet with all my expectations isn’t the end of the world.”

“Good.” Dean exhaled. “Do you—I could return the favor. I didn’t do it earlier because…well, you were upset—”

“It’s okay. Let’s save it for another time. Something to look forward to.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll make it good, don’t worry.”

Castiel shut his eyes and nuzzled into the base of Dean’s neck. He breathed in, breathed out. This was where they were sleeping, then. Together. Because they were a couple now. Dean chuckled, elation and a little disbelief.

“Hmm?”

“No, just…I don’t know how I’ll make it good without any experience, but I will.”

“Don’t worry about it so much,” Castiel murmured. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, baby.” Dean reached up to get the last tree light. “Do you like it when I call you baby?”

“It’s nice. It’s what you call your car, though.”

“I love that car more than anything in the world. You should be honored to be on the same level.” A beat passed in the darkness, and Dean adjusted one of his tingling limbs under Castiel’s body. “I’m kidding.”

“I know.” Castiel kissed his collarbone. “Night, Dean. You can keep calling me baby.”

“Baby, baby, baby.” Dean sighed into Castiel’s messy hair. “Sweet dreams.”

For a few seconds after Dean woke up in the morning, he was disoriented to find himself on the futon, still entangled with Castiel. Then, under the peach light through their room’s translucent curtains, last night flooded back. Dean blinked, bleary-eyed from the wine and the challenges of getting adequate rest on a shared couch, and looked down at Castiel’s slumbering form. He was snuggled up against Dean’s bare skin, squished between him and the back of the futon, his breath fluttering the few downy hairs on Dean’s chest. His hair was sticking up like always. Dean closed his eyes again and pressed a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. He breathed in his scent while he thought about the previous night.

Looking back on it, he couldn’t believe how badly he’d screwed things up. Being more assertive than the other person or getting carried away with dirty talk weren’t exactly cardinal sins in the sack, but he should’ve been way more attuned to Castiel than he had been. The dude’s whole philosophy of sex was that it was grounded in the “profound bond” you felt with your partner. In affection and tenderness and romance and love. By those standards, Dean had been a pretty shitty partner so far.

In fact, now that Dean thought about it, he’d basically treated Castiel the same way Swim Team Guy had. He’d put his own gratification first and hadn’t paid attention to the signs Castiel was giving off. Sure, Dean was used to partners who’d tell him exactly what they wanted—including ordering him to take a hike if they didn’t like him taking control of the encounter—but that wasn’t an excuse. He’d known that Castiel didn’t have much experience, known that he wanted to please Dean. He should’ve been more attentive.

Dean felt himself tearing up as he watched Castiel sleep. He’d done exactly what he’d sworn not to do: he’d put Little Dean ahead of his and Castiel’s relationship. He’d sensed that something was off while Castiel was sucking him, but decided to finish before checking in. His thought at the time was that Castiel would shake his head or pat his thigh or pull away if he was uncomfortable, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that his pent-up need to bust a nut hadn’t been just as front of mind.

Right as a tear spilled from the corner of Dean’s eye and rolled down onto the futon’s cushion, Castiel stirred. He fidgeted under Dean’s arm, squirmed between his legs, and finally tilted his head up, squinting.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Are you crying?”

Dean wiped the back of his hand over his face. “No, I think my eyes are just…kind of tired. Hard to get a good night’s sleep on a futon.”

“You’re tearing up because your eyes are tired?”

“Yeah, I think it’s a genetic thing. All the Winchester men do it.”

“Dean.” Castiel slid his arm around Dean’s waist. “First, that’s a ridiculous lie.”

“Oh well.” Dean shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

“Second, is it about last night? Memories from when you were growing up?”

Dean shook his head.

“Is it about me?”

Dean tightened his jaw and looked away.

“I told you, I’ve already forgiven you.”

“I hurt you, Cass. I made you cry.” Dean felt the sting in his eyes again. “I wasn’t any better than Swim Team Guy.”

“No, you were much better than him. He never would’ve listened to me the way you did, apologized to me, opened up to me about his family and his childhood.” Castiel grimaced. “Didn’t we talk through this last night? You should stop beating yourself up over it.”

“I’m going to do something for you. Something to make it up to you.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I will. I already have an idea, too.”

“Fine,” Castiel mumbled, nosing into Dean’s collarbone again. “You win.”

Dean rubbed between Castiel’s shoulder blades, murmured a “thank you” into his soft, tousled hair. He’d lied—he didn’t have an idea yet. But he’d figure one out soon enough. He had to.

“What time is it?” Castiel said, after they’d lain quietly, arms and legs intertwined, for several minutes.

“Uh.” Dean fumbled behind him for his phone. “10:09.”

“Crap. I told Meg I’d meet her for brunch at 10:30.”

“Why crap? You’ve still got 20 minutes to get ready.”

“It means I have to get up. I kind of like lying here with you.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean rubbed his thigh along Castiel’s morning wood. “I can feel how much you like it.”

“You don’t seem to mind it much, either.”

Dean grinned. It had to be a good sign that he was still turning Castiel on. It meant that he was telling Dean the truth about forgiving him.

“Well, would it make it easier or harder for you to get up if I told you I’m meeting Charlie at the same time?”

“I don’t know if things could get any harder.” Castiel pushed his hips into Dean’s. “What do you think?”

“I think….” Dean bit his lip. “I think we better get up right now. Otherwise, we’ll be standing up two ladies who didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

Castiel rolled his eyes as he clambered over Dean to reach the floor. He stretched, scratched his nape, snatched his towel from its rack.

“Shower,” he said, as he shuffled into the hallway.

Dean watched the door close behind him. Once it clicked shut, his gaze fell to the miniature pumpkin next to the iPod dock, harvest gold in the midmorning light. All of a sudden, he had it. The idea.

Meet me in the lobby, Dean texted Charlie. We’re going to brunch in town.

“Okay, now will you tell me why we’re here?”

Dean looked up from his menu. He had his coffee in front of him, but he’d hoped to at least get his order placed before he had to come out of the closet as—well, he wasn’t sure what, but something not entirely straight—to his lesbian friend.

“Dean, I promised Cass last weekend that I’d try the tofu scramble at Bunker. And you dragged me to some dingy diner in town instead.”

“Hey, Donna’s Donuts isn’t ‘dingy.’ And speaking of Cass, he’s the reason we’re here.”

“Why? Are things weird between you two again?”

“Uh.” Dean took small sips of his coffee while he thought of a response. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Meg again?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“All you’ve been able to talk about for weeks is how Cass shouldn’t be spending so much time with Meg, how she’s a bad influence on him, how they have nothing in common—”

“No.” Dean cleared his throat. “I mean, no, it’s not because of Meg. It’s because of me.”

Charlie peered at him. Before she could ask for clarification, the server arrived at their booth. Dean got the glazed sweet potato donut with double bacon and two eggs sunny side up; Charlie, still committed to her tofu scramble, asked for a “veggie omelette without the eggs.” Dean coughed after several seconds of a tense staredown between her and the server. Charlie sighed and chose something else.

“We can always go to the dining hall when we get back,” Dean said, once the server was walking off with their menus. “Instead of making ‘dingy diner’ waitresses regret their existence.”

“I don’t see what’s so hard to understand about a vegetable omelette without eggs. Just put the vegetables on the grill.” Charlie huffed. “Will you tell me why we’re eating off-campus now?”

“Okay, okay.” Dean took a deep breath. “Charlie, uh, I wanted to talk to you about this because you’re my best friend besides Cass, and…well, because you’re gay.”

Charlie blinked. Dean was formulating his next words as carefully as possible, wanting to get Charlie’s advice on his fledgling relationship without outing Castiel. Charlie would be more than cool with all of it, obviously, but that wasn’t his information to tell.

“Um…I think I’ve figured out why I’ve been getting so worked up over Meg. Her and Cass’s relationship, I mean. Why I’ve been feeling jealous and maybe, you know, more hurt about them spending time together than I should be.” Dean swiveled around to check for eavesdroppers, then leaned across the table conspiratorially. “Thing is, Charlie, I think I have a crush on my roommate.”

Charlie looked like she was trying to suppress a smirk. Dean glared.

“What?”

“That’s what you brought me here to tell me?”

“I mean, there’s more, but isn’t me copping to liking dudes enough?”

“Not to diminish the significance of this moment, but I don’t think you having a thing for Cass is all that surprising. You admitting to it is, though.” Charlie raised her mug to her lips. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Wait. You knew?”

Charlie shrugged.

“How’d you know if I didn’t even know?”

“Let’s see. You light up whenever he enters the room. You never stop talking about him. You stare at him like he farts rainbows. You took him on a private sailboat charter for his birthday, you get annoyingly moody whenever he spends time with Meg instead of you—”

“Okay, I get the picture.” Dean rubbed his jawline. “Didn’t realize I was such an open book.”

 “Sorry. It’s not a bad thing that it’s so obvious. It’s cute, actually.”

Dean rolled his eyes and drained his coffee. Within seconds, their server walked over from the counter to refill it. She fixed Charlie with a look of mild displeasure before returning to the kitchen.

“One thing I love about greasy spoons,” Dean said. “Service with a smile.”

“It’s not like she’s even the one who’d be making the eggless omelette,” Charlie grumbled. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Your crush on your dreamy roommate. Congratulations!”

“Uh…thanks?”

“I just think gay people deserve to be congratulated for coming out. It takes a lot of strength and bravery. And it’ll get easier—”

“Whoa, hang on.” Dean played with the handle of his coffee cup. “I never said I’m gay.”

Charlie furrowed her brow; the arrival of their food gave her a few extra seconds to come up with her reply. Dean would’ve jumped in to clarify things—to the extent that he had any clarity to offer on this subject, at least—but he was too busy stuffing his face with a mouthful of sweet potato donut.

“You like Cass, but you’re not gay?” she finally said.

“Mhm.” Dean washed down the bite of donut with more coffee. “I still like chicks. And I’m not going to start wearing assless chaps or listening to Mariah Carey.”

“Right. I hear you need to wear assless chaps to the initiation ceremony.” Charlie drenched her pancakes in more syrup. “Well, if you like boys and girls, then maybe you’re bisexual.”

“Maybe,” Dean muttered. He suddenly felt self-conscious about talking through something this private in the middle of a crowded restaurant, even if it was too loud to hear anything beyond their own table and no one there knew them. Maybe because he couldn’t reject the bisexual label as easily as the gay one?

“‘Maybe?’ What do you think you are, then?”

“Look, maybe I’m—that. But I don’t really care about that right now. I care about….” Dean hesitated. “I want to do something romantic for Cass. Tell him how I feel. Um…see if he feels the same way.”

“And you’re asking me for advice?”

“Yeah.” Dean sliced off a segment of bacon. “I mean, I have some ideas, but I could use a woman’s perspective. He wants—” Dean stopped himself in time. “I think he wants romance.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “‘A woman’s perspective.’”

“Girls are into all that romance stuff, right?”

“I don’t know. Personally, what I find most romantic is directness. Putting all your cards on the table, seeing right away if you want the same thing as someone else. Why waste time?”

“That doesn’t sound romantic at all. I’m talking about dancing in an empty street after midnight. Kissing in the rain. Going out to a candlelit dinner where you share a plate of spaghetti and end up sucking on the same noodle.”

“And…you think that’s what Cass wants? A Disney movie?”

“Uh.” Dean darted his eyes back and forth. “Let’s just brainstorm for now. Let’s say that’s what he wants.”

“Okay,” Charlie said slowly.

“So, if that’s what he wants—hypothetically, I mean—I’m thinking I’ll decorate our room, light a few candles, put on some good music, get some flowers…what else?”

“That’s plenty. That’s too much, actually. Just for telling someone how you feel? Way overboard. Too much pressure.”

Right. Because of Dean’s necessary lie, she thought that Dean was planning to confess his feelings, not make up for a blunder. Maybe it was better to just skip to the next phase of his plan.

“Okay, but as long as I’m on the right track, I’ll go with that.” Dean wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I could use your help, though.”

“I had a feeling this was coming. Alright, let’s hear it.”

“Like I mentioned, I want to decorate the room. But Cass can’t come back until it’s done. That’s where you come in. I need you to distract him somewhere else until I text you an all clear.”

“Distract him how?”

“I don’t know. Have him take you bicycle touring or—wait, no. He’s not going to want to come back to a surprise all sweaty.” Dean thought for a moment. “I’ve got it. Get him talking about non-Western religions. He’ll babble on and on without you even needing to do much.”

“Lucky me.”

“He and Meg should still be in the dining hall. You can get your tofu scramble, join them, and Operation Bunkhopper’s a go.”

Charlie shook her head. “You better know what you’re doing, Dean. If you go about this the wrong way, any tension the two of you’ve been having because of Meg will look like a day at the beach in comparison.”

Dean assured her that he had things under control, though part of him dreaded that she was more accurate in that assessment than she had any right to be.

Three hours later, Dean picked up his phone to text Charlie. Getting everything perfect had taken longer than he’d anticipated, but he wasn’t about to cut corners now. He’d promised Castiel something amazing to make things up to him. The last thing he wanted to do was screw things up again.

You can send him up now. Dean chewed his lip, then added a second text. Don’t make it obvious, though.

Finally!

Sorry, I was getting all the decorations right.

Then I had to pick the right song.

This guy never shuts up about you!

Meg abandoned me an hour ago and it’s been Dean Dean Dean ever since 🙄

Wait, what was he saying?

All good things, don’t worry.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think something was already going on.

Dean snorted. That had to be a positive sign, right?

Alert, the package is en route.

Thanks, Charlie.

I’ll let you know how it goes 😉

Dean paced as he did a final check of everything. After the diner, he’d dropped Charlie off at Bunker to intercept Castiel, then headed into town to pick up some supplies at Hannaford. Autumn decorations—pumpkins, willow sprays, multicolored dried corn. Unscented candles in varying shapes and sizes. Just a few; they were dorm contraband, after all. He’d stuffed a few yellow roses into the neck of last night’s wine bottle and strewn the rest over the coffee table. As for the song, Dean was ready to push play the instant he heard footfalls in the hallway.

Said footsteps were a few seconds away. “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” drifted from the iPod dock; Dean turned it up by a couple clicks. He straightened up and watched the door handle turn.

“Dean.” Castiel faltered in the doorway, gawking at their room’s transformation.

“Cass, hey.” Dean worked his hands together in front of his belt buckle. “Um, do you like it?”

“Of course.” Castiel tilted his head at the candles. “Naughty boy, Dean. We shouldn’t have those.”

“I know. I just wanted them for—for—” Dean gulped. “Cass, I want you to know that I’m not just sorry about last night. I want you to know that I get it more now. The—the meaningful connection thing. You and me, it’s not just about sex. It shouldn’t be, and I’d never want it to be about that. It’s like, um, this song.”

“The Beach Boys?”

“Yeah. It’s about growing up with someone special. Growing old, even. Going to sleep together and waking up together. Well, it’s about getting married one day, too, but don’t think about that part too hard. I’m not saying—I mean, who knows, maybe one day—”

“Dean,” Castiel said firmly.

Dean breathed. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Castiel rounded the coffee table and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “This is incredible. You really didn’t have to do anything, but this makes me very happy.”

Dean lay his arms around Castiel’s shoulders. “Yeah? You really like it?”

“I love it. And I agree with everything you said. You put it so eloquently and….” Castiel looked up at him. “You really want us to be together? Like, for—”

“For as long as we can make it work.” Dean grazed his nose over Castiel’s. “And I’m a pretty hard worker.”

“I know you are.” Castiel shivered. “Dean, I want that more than anything. You and me, waking up beside each other every morning.”

Dean grinned. “Just…not on the futon. I’ve got about a dozen knots in my back from sleeping on that thing.”

“I’ll massage them later.” Castiel laughed. “These twin beds aren’t the best for two people.”

“We should use mine. There’s less distance to the ground if one of us falls out.”

Castiel laughed again; Dean wanted to join him, but he was still exhaling his relief. He finally felt like the two of them were back where they’d been last night in the parking lot, before he’d gone and screwed everything up. They shared a long, tender kiss, and Dean yelped when Castiel broke it off by squeezing his butt hard enough to leave a mark.

“Sorry. I think I got overexcited.”

“No, you just surprised me.” Dean rubbed up and down Castiel’s rear, feeling the hard, toned muscle through his jeans. “Fuck, your ass is like marble. I mean, your whole body’s ridiculous, but….” Dean broke off. “Cass, hang on.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m—” Dean licked his lips. “I’m feeling kind of possessive right now.”

Castiel sat on the futon, pulling Dean with him. He took hold of one of Dean’s hands.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like I want to bounce you on my dick so you know you’re mine,” Dean admitted.

“I see.” Castiel looked down at Dean’s crotch, blinking rapidly. “That’s quite a vivid image. And not an entirely unappealing one.”

“Look, none of what I just said about us being together was a lie. I meant every word of it. But I think I just get more possessive during sex. And with you, that gets cranked up to 110.” Dean scratched his head. “Dammit, this is so confusing.”

“Dean.” Castiel rubbed his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand. “I think it’s normal to feel a certain amount of possessiveness during sex.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’d assume so. It’s an intimate act. There’s a lot of vulnerability. You relinquish some of your power to the other person. Especially if, um….”

A blush was creeping up Castiel’s cheeks, but Dean didn’t know what kind of lifeline to throw him. So, he just nudged closer on the futon and waited.

“Especially if love is involved. Or—or anything like that. Deep feelings. I can see how there’s a possessive face to love. Love is a very complex emotion. In the abstract, I mean. Not that I’m saying….” Castiel shook his head. “Anyway, we said we’d work on the possessiveness. And I appreciate you communicating with me about it.”

“No problem.” Dean took his hand back from Castiel and snaked it down his torso. “Besides, that’s not what’s on the menu right now, anyway.”

Castiel tilted his head.

“Yeah. I told you I’d return the favor for last night. I keep my promises.”

“Oh.” Castiel watched as Dean undid his belt, hiked up his T-shirt to kiss his navel. “I’d like that.”

“I thought you might.” Dean shimmied down Castiel’s jeans and tossed them across the room with his socks; the candle flames flickered in the breeze. “I love these plain trunks you wear.”

“They’re moisture-wicking,” Castiel said proudly.

“I remember last year, I walked in on you changing one day. You were wearing these and you had a T-shirt half-on, covering your face.” Dean worked the cloud-white boxer briefs down to Castiel’s ankles, throwing them in the direction of his other clothes once they were free. “First time I saw what you were hiding under all those layers. Probably when all this started.”

Dean dropped from the futon, crawled into place between Castiel’s legs. He nudged him wider and caressed up and down his inner thighs.

“All this?”

“My little…bisexual awakening.” Dean shrugged. “That’s what Charlie thinks I am, anyway.”

“Charlie. You talked to Charlie.” Castiel took in a sharp breath when Dean’s fingers reached his balls. “The last couple hours make much more sense now. She didn’t seem nearly as interested in Zoroastrianism as she purported to be.”

“I didn’t tell her about you, don’t worry. Just me.” Dean scuffled forward, bringing himself face to face with Castiel’s cock. “Whoa.”

“Huh?”

For a few seconds, Dean just stared at it. “I’ve never….”

Castiel reached for Dean’s hand. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong.”

Dean wrapped his fingers around the shaft and pulled down, slow and gentle. Castiel’s foreskin peeled back, revealing his shiny-smooth, bright pink head.

“Whoa,” Dean repeated. “I’ve never—this is the first time I’ve seen an uncut dick.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. In real life, at least. Maybe in porn, but I’m not really focusing on the guy when I watch porn. If there’s even a guy in the scene, I mean.”

“Ah.” Castiel adjusted a little on the futon. “Is that a problem?”

“No! Not a problem.” Dean rolled Castiel’s foreskin back up, brushed his thumb over the cute snout that formed at the top. “Aw. Look at this little guy.”

“Dean. That’s not what anyone wants to hear about his penis.”

“I didn’t mean—I’m talking about this. The droopy tip part.” Dean pulled a little at the opening in Castiel’s foreskin. “Not your dick. Your dick’s a good size. Nice and long. Pretty thick, too. Does it hurt when I do that?”

“No.” Castiel’s breath hitched. “It feels…very good.”

“Do you play with it? Should I play with it?

“I don’t know if I do anything special with it. It’s just a normal part of the penis.” Castiel sat forward a bit, holding himself up by the elbows. “It moves back and forth over the glans. That feels nice. And the underside is really sensitive.”

“What, like, inside? Should I stick my tongue inside?” Dean licked around the tight ring of skin. “Does it stretch that much?”

“You could. I actually meant underneath the head, though.”

“Oh.” Dean exposed Castiel’s glans again, then flicked his tongue down the underside. “Like this?”

Castiel groaned and sank back into the futon.

“I think that’s a yes,” Dean said smugly.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, his voice barely audible.

“Keep making those noises, baby.” Dean kissed the very tip of Castiel’s cock, right on the slit, then swallowed the head.

“Oh god.” Castiel shuddered, and Dean squeezed his thigh to hold him down. “Dean….”

“Mhm.”

Dean moved down a little more, enough to take a couple inches of the shaft in his mouth, and paused to breathe. Maybe get used to the feeling of having a dick in his mouth. The heavy heat of it; how it thrummed in delayed time with Castiel’s galloping heartbeat. The taste: that hippie body wash Castiel used, peppermint Dr. Bronner’s, and his musk underneath that, salty and just a little sweet. All Castiel. All his.

He edged down more, letting up and gliding back to the top once he felt the tickling of his gag reflex. Maybe this was how he’d work on his possessiveness. Submit just a little. Let Castiel take control. Give him everything he wanted. Make him happy. Dean was sure he could make him happy.

“Dean, god. So perfect, Dean.”

Castiel stroked Dean’s jaw, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth over the bulge in his cheek. For some reason, it felt like the dirtiest thing he’d ever done, letting a dude feel himself through his skin. He wanted to give that to Castiel, every one of his firsts that he still had to offer. Was that possessive too, in a way? Dean was trying to care right now, but he wasn’t sure he did.

Dean sucked down far enough that a few strands of Castiel’s hair started tickling his nostrils. He let up, sucked the drool into his mouth as he popped off, grinned in satisfaction at Castiel’s bitten lower lip and tightly shut eyes and clenched fists sprawled out to either end of the futon. Apparently, he was pretty good at sucking cock.

Okay, this definitely qualified as a gay experience. No going back from here.

“Dean,” Castiel moaned. “I’m close.”

“Alright.” Dean pumped Castiel’s cock, smearing the precome that oozed out over his palm. “I want to swallow it.”

“What?” Castiel opened his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. I want to taste your come. I want it inside me. Is that okay?”

Castiel stared at him in awe. He laced the fingers of his left hand between Dean’s right.

“Please.”

Dean nodded. He wrapped his lips around the head of Castiel’s cock, engulfed it all the way down until his nose almost touched the root. He shoved down his gag reflex until he felt tears in his eyes, then pulled back to breathe and keep going. Some more practice and he’d be deepthroating Castiel in no time. He was pretty sure Swim Team Guy hadn’t done that for him.

“Oh, Dean. Fuck—”

He felt Castiel’s fingernails dig into his wrist, the spasming of his hips. His cock throbbed between Dean’s lips, spilled over the base of his tongue, spurted into the back of his throat. Dean sucked it all down, holding his breath so he wouldn’t waste a drop of Castiel’s come. He wanted it all.

Finally, Castiel sank back into the futon and sighed.

“Dean, that was…you were unbelievable.”

Dean kissed Castiel’s thigh, then scrambled onto the futon and kissed his lips. Castiel pulled Dean into his arms and held him close.

“Told you I’d make it good for you.” Dean winked.

“That was really your first time?”

“Sucking dick? Yeah.” Dean threw one of his legs over Castiel’s. “But I’ve had it done on me enough to know what feels good, I guess.”

“You were unbelievable,” Castiel repeated. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

They cuddled silently for a minute, Dean matching the rhythm of his breathing to the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest. The oldies playlist had moved on from the Beach Boys to Dusty Springfield; the orange flames of the candles danced in the sky blue of Castiel’s eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean said.

“Oh?”

“Our first time. I want to be the…receiver. Whatever it’s called. The one taking it.”

Castiel turned to face him. “You do?”

“Yeah. That way, I know I won’t hurt you. You’ll be in control.”

“But I might hurt you.”

“I’m pretty sure you won’t.” Dean pressed a gentle kiss to Castiel’s upper lip. “You’re awesome like that.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, after so much time had passed that Dean was sure he’d say no. “I’d like that. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Dean snuggled in as close as he could get, and Castiel ran his hands up and down his back. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it really is.”

Chapter Text

The following Friday was the start of homecoming—or, as it was called on the Edlund website, “Family Homecoming Weekend.” Castiel and Dean hosted a small gathering in their room after dinner, six of their closest friends. Officially, they were pregaming the night’s events, but they revealed the real reason after everyone had had a little time to buzz up from Natural Light and bottom-shelf vodka, both courtesy of Benny.

“Guys, we’ve got a little bit of an announcement. We’re. Uh.”

Dean licked his lips and swallowed; everyone’s eyes were on him, including Castiel’s. He’d told Castiel that he wanted to be the one to make the announcement. It was important to him, apparently, that he say it in his own words.

“Me and Cass. We’re—” Dean rubbed his cheek. “How do I put this….”

“You’re playing tummy sticks?” Meg volunteered.

“Meg.” Castiel flashed her a look of warning.

“I thought you said you didn’t tell her!”

“I didn’t,” Castiel said, pinching his brow. God, this was already careering off the rails.

“It’s glaringly obvious from the setup.” Meg nudged her shot glass to Benny, who refilled her. “Getting us all here, winding up to some big ‘announcement.’ And you’re basically sitting in each other’s laps.”

Castiel looked down at the futon. He and Dean were taking up maybe a third of it, leaving the rest to Hannah and Josh, and their legs were pressed flush together from hip to heel. He had his arm around Dean’s lower back, supporting him as he did the hard work of coming out for the both of them.

“You have to step on their moment, huh,” Benny chuckled.

“What, you knew too?” Hannah said. “Did everyone know except me?”

“I didn’t know,” Josh piped up.

“I didn’t know, I just suspected.” Benny spun the vodka cap back on. “Something about the way Dean never stops talking about him.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“Uh, hello? Guys?” Dean glared at the room. “This moment’s about me and Cass, not you.”

“Hey, he’s right.” Kevin slammed his shot glass to the coffee table with a clatter. “Shut up, all of you. Let the man speak.”

“Thanks.” Dean cleared his throat. “Well, yeah. Cass and I just want you all to know that we’re together. Since about a week ago. We want to be open about it because—because—”

“Because there’s nothing wrong with us being together,” Castiel said, stroking Dean’s back. “Because we’re like any other couple.”

“Yeah.” Dean exhaled. “Thanks, babe. I was getting to that.”

“Okay.” Kevin shrugged. “Cool.”

“Aren’t they cute together?” Meg said. “Precious little baby gays.”

“I’m not gay,” Dean blurted.

An awkward caesura settled over the room, filled only by the rhythmic insistence of “Umbrella” from next door. Castiel shimmied forward to the edge of the futon and faced everyone, deciding to take things from here.

“I’m gay. Dean isn’t, though. He’s—” Castiel turned to him.

“I’m bi. I’m, uh, pretty sure.”

“Yeah.” Castiel scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure how you wanted to approach that. If you wanted to tell everyone.”

They made eye contact again, and Dean pursed his lips, waiting for Castiel to continue. When they’d talked things over before dinner, right after Dean got back from his sculpture lab, they’d agreed to play things by ear. Castiel had been nervous about that, but it seemed to be working out well enough so far.

“The point isn’t our orientation,” Castiel said finally. “The point is that we wanted to be open about what’s going on. Dean and I, we’ve had our share of misunderstandings—”

Dean snickered.

“—And we figured that just telling the truth to you all from the start was the best way. So, that’s what we’re doing.”

Castiel sat against the back of the futon with Dean, and Dean put his arm around him. He kissed Castiel’s temple. The group was quiet for a few seconds before Meg broke the silence.

“Man.” She fluttered her lips. “You two are so dramatic.”

“I told you they’d be like this if they ever got together,” Charlie said.

Everyone laughed, including Castiel and Dean. Benny poured all of them shots, even forcing one on Josh, who normally didn’t drink. He sniffed the vodka and winced.

“You okay?” Hannah said.

“Smells like your nail polish remover,” he said.

“Probably tastes like it, too.” Benny raised his glass. “To our two lovebirds. May you always take pleasure in each other’s company.”

“And may the rest of us never walk in on it,” Kevin added.

They laughed again and drank. Dean slapped his hands together and whooped, screwing his eyes shut in disgust.

“Damn, that’s nasty. Swill like that’ll put hair on your chest. Even yours, Kev.”

“Dick.”

“Alright.” Dean reached into his pocket for his iPod. “How about some music?”

Later that night—after the a cappella performance in the chapel and the dance in the student union—Castiel was feeling relaxed and relieved. Their friends were supportive, he and Dean had clung to each other on the dancefloor like any other couple, and now they were capping the night off with a shared joint, blowing the smoke out their window and watching the stragglers on Fraternity Lawn amble home. Dean, however, had fallen into a minor melancholy, saying his family wouldn’t ever visit for homecoming and maybe that was a good thing.

“A good thing?” Castiel said.

“Lot of booze at homecoming.” Dean puffed at the window screen. “Don’t trust Dad around that. And he’d probably be a jerk about other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“You,” Dean said glumly. He passed Castiel the joint.

He rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder, said he had a little headache, said he wanted to smoke less. After they sucked each other off, after they cleaned up and were cuddling on the futon, Castiel consoled him. He said his family wasn’t likely to make an appearance at homecoming either; California was just too far away. At least they had each other.

“Cass?” Dean said, once they’d turned out the lights and gotten into bed. They were lying close together in the bottom bunk, Dean facing the moonlit room and Castiel snuggling up behind him.

“Hmm?”

“Just seeing if you were awake still.” Dean wiggled back into him. “Little Cass is definitely awake.”

“Mmm,” Castiel said, throwing his right leg over Dean’s and grinding down. He was too sleepy and chilled out to communicate with anything other than monosyllables, apparently.

“Hey, Cass? I’ve been, uh, doing some research. The past few days.”

Castiel sniffed and yawned. “Research?”

“Yeah.” Dean paused. “On, you know. Taking it up the butt.”

“Oh.” Castiel giggled. “I see. What’d you learn in the course of your research into ‘taking it up the butt,’ as you so eloquently put it?”

“I don’t know, some of it’s confusing. I figured I’d ask you—” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “Can you stop?”

Castiel stifled his giggles against Dean’s back. Tamping down inappropriate laughter was harder when his brain was swimming in alcohol and marijuana. He had no idea how Dean was staying so deadly serious.

“Sorry.” Castiel kissed Dean’s neck. “Sorry, Dean.”

“Now you’re making me feel embarrassed. I don’t know if I should tell you what I found.”

“No, sweetheart.” After another kiss to Dean’s nape, Castiel edged back a bit and soothed up and down his flank. “Please tell me.”

“Sweetheart,” Dean murmured. He rolled onto his back and peered up at Castiel. “I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dean cupped Castiel’s cheek. “Man, that joint fucked you up. You’re all loopy. Look at me. Look at me, baby.”

Castiel humored him. Dean studied his eyes.

“Your head’s not spinning, is it? No nausea or anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Just…just mellow. I think it didn’t hit me right away. I think it’s all the shots Benny had us doing.”

Dean hummed, seemingly satisfied with Castiel’s response. Castiel dropped down onto the pillow beside him.

“So.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.

“‘Taking it up the butt,’” Castiel said, with impeccable solemnity. “What’d you learn, sweetheart?”

“Um, well.” Dean breathed in deep, and Castiel ran a comforting hand down his side again. “Obviously, the first thing I wanted to figure out had to do with the main function of an ass. How to, uh, avoid that.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah. It wouldn’t be very sexy if—you know.”

Castiel gave a sympathetic nod.

“Some people said to wash yourself out with water. Like, squirting it up inside there. Others said that as long as you ‘go’ beforehand and take a shower, it’s alright.” Dean covered his face with his arm. “I can’t believe I’m saying all this. I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready—”

“No, that’s the thing. I’m really fucking ready.”

Castiel swallowed. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dean brushed the backs of his fingers down Castiel’s abs, stopping just short of his waistband. “I really want it. You inside me. Well, I guess you’ve already been inside my mouth, but you know what I mean. The whole nine yards.” Dean snorted. “My hole, your nine yards.”

Castiel wanted to groan at Dean’s pun, but the vodka and weed overpowered him again. He tittered instead, which seemed to calm Dean’s anxiety over the topic at least a little.

“So, okay. That’s the first thing. Cleanliness. After that, I wanted to know how to make it not hurt. Because I don’t see how it won’t.”

Castiel splayed his hand over Dean’s heart. “I would never hurt you, Dean.”

“I appreciate that, baby. But it’s not about you intending to or not. You’re—” Dean chuckled. “You’re not exactly small. And my poor little virgin ass doesn’t have experience with being rammed. I’ve never even stuck a finger up there. So…it’s going to hurt. They said it almost always hurts the first time.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Castiel flopped onto his front and crossed his arms over the pillow. “If I’m hurting you, I’m not going to enjoy it either. What’s the point if neither of us is enjoying it?”

“No, that’s the thing I was researching. How to make it hurt less. And how to maybe turn some of that pain into pleasure.”

“Oh.” For some reason, the idea of turning pain into pleasure struck a delicious chord in Castiel’s subconscious, and he reveled in the mental image of a writhing, sweaty Dean begging for more. “Did you find anything useful?”

“Yeah, a lot, actually.” Dean sighed. “Well, aside from the unhelpful comments. Like ‘stop being a little bitch and man up.’ Or ‘real bottoms take what their top gives them.’”

“What?”

“Yeah, I started this thread on a gay forum. Said I was looking for advice on having anal sex for the first time and that I’d be the one playing catcher. And that my boyfriend was on the larger side of average. Got a few replies like those, but most of the dudes were really nice.”

“Hmm. What’d they say, then?”

“Oh, right. So, first thing: foreplay.”

“That makes sense. That it’s the first thing, I mean.”

They shared a nervous laugh, though it hardly seemed to settle Dean down at all. He had a thin sheen of sweat along his hairline, tiny beads in the moonlight. Castiel flipped onto his side again and kissed some of them away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, babe.”

“Mhm.” Castiel kissed him again. “So, foreplay.”

“Yeah. They said a lot of ‘bottoming’ has to do with being in the mood. Wanting to take the top’s dick. I figured that’d be easy for me. Us. I mean, I’m kind of always in the mood for you.”

“I do like foreplay. Do they mean kissing, feeling each other’s bodies, oral sex?”

“Yeah.” Dean hesitated. “They also mentioned rimming and fingering.”

“Oh.” Castiel picked at the wrinkles in Dean’s fitted sheet. “Those sound good, too.”

“Really?”

Castiel blinked at the surprise in Dean’s voice.

“No, I mean—have you done any of that before?”

“I’ve tried a finger on myself a few times,” Castiel said sheepishly. “Not on anybody else. And I’ve never done the other thing.”

“Not….” Dean dug his face into his pillow. “Not on Swim Team Guy?”

“No. He never wanted anything near his ass. He freaked out anytime my hand even got close. A little too gay for him, I think.”

“Idiot,” Dean muttered. “His loss is my gain, I guess.”

“You think?”

“Well, yeah.” Dean snuck a glance at him. “You really want to do that? You know what rimming is, right?”

“I…have a general idea.”

“It’s when one guy licks his tongue around the other guy’s butthole,” Dean said, after a beat. He mimed the action with his tongue. “Sometimes he even sticks it inside.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes.”

“And you’re really cool with doing that?”

“I think it might be neat to try. You have a very nice ass, Dean. And I’ve been wanting to do unspeakable things to it for quite a while now.”

“‘Unspeakable things,’ huh.” Dean pushed his hips back into Castiel’s wandering hand. “Well, I guess you won’t be speaking much while you’re eating me out.”

“No,” Castiel agreed. “What about fingering? Do you want to do that?”

“Yeah, I’m up for trying it. As long as you’re lubed up, not like last time.”

The ‘last time’ Dean was referring to had taken place Wednesday night, during what was becoming their customary routine of oral sex and cuddling before bed. On an impulse, Castiel had traced his index finger up Dean’s perineum and circled his hole while blowing him. Dean had inadvertently wriggled back onto it during his orgasm, causing him to yelp from the dry intrusion.

“I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t intending to penetrate you then. I just wanted to feel the outside.”

“It’ll be better once we have lube. Everyone who commented said it’s important. I have mine in my bottom drawer, but it’s almost gone. And I don’t know if it’s as good for butt stuff as it is for jacking off.”

“I wasn’t aware one kind was better than any other.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah, so, I was thinking we’d go to that sex shop in Burlington tomorrow, pick up a big thing of lube. We can also look at….”

“What?”

“Uh, some of the guys suggested I get a dildo to use on myself, or for you to use on me, just to get me used to the feeling. They said to go for a ‘starter dick.’”

Castiel tilted his head.

“One on the smaller side.” Dean brushed his hand over Castiel’s crotch. “I told them your measurements. I just guessed. I hope you don’t mind. They said a dick like yours, it’ll feel good once it’s all the way in because it’ll fill me up, but it’ll hurt like a bitch if I don’t prepare for it by stretching my asshole a little. That’s where the smaller dildo comes in.”

“Or goes in, depending on your point of view.”

It took Dean a second before he scoffed at that. Castiel could tell from his delayed reaction, his hoarse voice, his slow breathing, that he was tired.

“Okay, let’s go to Burlington tomorrow afternoon, then.”

“Mhm.” Dean flattened himself into the mattress, pulling his duvet up over his shoulders. After a couple nights of neither of them having enough covers in the narrow, cramped bed, Castiel had brought down his blankets to add to Dean’s.

“Thank you for doing all this research, Dean.” Castiel stroked his fingers through Dean’s hair as he settled in beside him. “Sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” Dean nosed up from his pillow for a sleepy kiss. “I fucking love when you call me sweetheart.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I love when you say my name, too. I love when you talk to me, no matter what you’re saying.” Dean exhaled softly. “Maybe I just love—maybe….”

He trailed off, his breath hot against Castiel’s neck. A few seconds passed before Castiel kissed him again. He said goodnight, and Dean mumbled it back into his skin. Castiel hoped Dean knew that he didn’t have to say anything more.

“Possessive behavior is a sign of low self-esteem,” Meg said. “Not to mention codependent tendencies.”

Castiel sighed. They were most of the way through brunch, and due to his and Dean’s conversation late into last night, he’d gotten less sleep than he was used to. And now, with the floodgates opened by their dual coming out to their friends, Meg was badgering him for all the details of their relationship.

“I’m surprised he isn’t here right now,” Meg continued. “He’s always hanging onto you like he’s afraid to let you out of his sight.”

“He and Charlie went to Thompson,” Castiel said, referring to the dining hall on the other end of campus. “She was complaining last night about having to walk all the way here every time. And don’t make things up, Meg. We’ve been doing brunch for over a month. Dean hasn’t butted in. He hasn’t been ‘hanging onto me.’”

“That just proves my point. He resents me; he resents us spending time together. Letting you off-leash for a couple mornings a week? It’s just so he can play the victim and guilt you about it later. Trust me, I’ve been with these types of guys before.”

“No,” Castiel said. “Dean has some issues with jealousy and possessiveness, but we’re working through them. I’m helping him.”

“You’re fixing him?” Meg’s smile flickered, irony to compassion and back again. “With the power of sweet gay loving?”

Castiel glared.

“I’m not making fun of you, sweetie. I’m just pointing out—I’ve had so many friends who thought they could fix a guy’s issues if they just gave him enough love. Thought they could change him. You know how many of them succeeded?”

“Well, they’re not Dean and me.”

“I know, you’re different. Everyone thinks they’re the exception.” Meg thinned her lips. “Cass, you’re not a therapist.”

“Oh, okay. I guess you’ve only been in relationships with perfect guys, then, right? Ones who didn’t have any problems the two of you needed to work on?”

“Hell no.” Meg barked out a sharp peal of laughter, drawing concerned glances from all the nearby tables. “No, if anything, the more issues a boy’s carrying around, the more enticing I find him. Probably why I was drawn to you. I could tell you were wrestling with something juicy.”

Castiel tilted his head.

“You know I had a thing for you, right?”

“I suspected.” Castiel dragged the tines of his fork through the maple syrup left on his plate. “Well, and you’ve hinted at it before.”

“Yeah. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. I think we’re better as friends, anyway. Even if you liked girls….” Meg snorted. “I’d give us two weeks before we got fed up with each other.”

“Maybe three. I’m good at managing conflict.”

“And I’m good at escalating it,” Meg said patly. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand. The reason I’m saying all this is because I’ve been in your shoes more than once. And, you know. I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.”

“Aw. That’s very sweet, Meg.”

“Your sappiness is contagious, what can I say.” Meg stood up with her mug. “I’m going back to forage. You want anything?”

“Actually—” Castiel checked his watch. “I have to leave soon. Dean and I are going to Burlington.”

“Oh, you didn’t mention you were going.”

“No.”

“Why—” Meg sat back down. “Why’re you blushing?”

Castiel shook his head rapidly. He didn’t even trust himself to open his mouth right now.

“Yes, you are. It’s not another boat ride, is it?”

Castiel shook his head again.

“Angels and Demons?”

Castiel gaped. “How?”

“I figured you guys would be looking for a sex shop eventually. The closest one’s up there.” Meg quirked an eyebrow. “What’re you guys getting?”

“There’s no way I’m sharing that with you. Absolutely no way.”

“I could guess.”

“I could leave.” Castiel checked his watch again. “Yes, I think I’ll leave.”

“Wait! Take me with you.”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious. I’ve been meaning to check that place out.”

“That’s nice. How about you check it out on your own?”

“I don’t have a car!” Meg reached for Castiel’s hand. “Please, Cass. Take me with you. I just want to shop for myself. I’ll leave you two alone the entire time.”

“I don’t believe that for one second. Besides, Dean would kill me.”

Right then, Castiel’s pocket vibrated. He unlocked his phone to a text from Dean, read it once to himself, read it aloud.

“‘Back at room, meet there? Charlie’s joining us.’”

Meg burst out laughing. “Seems like he doesn’t mind others tagging along on your clandestine sex shop trip. I’m coming, then.”

She was already heading for the tray return before Castiel could respond, though he knew it was likely pointless now anyway. Of course, Dean scowled when Meg showed up in their doorway a few minutes later, and he grumbled to Castiel on the walk to the parking lot a few minutes after that.

“Did you have to?”

“She kind of twisted my arm.” Castiel looked over his shoulder; thankfully, Charlie and Meg seemed to be talking amongst themselves a few paces behind. “And you’re bringing Charlie.”

“Charlie’s cool. Meg’s…Meg.”

Castiel shrugged. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t know what else to say.”

“What? No.” Dean rubbed down Castiel’s back. “I’m just giving you a hard time, baby.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m not mad.” Dean fished his keyring from his pocket as they approached the Impala. “Besides, I don’t have to like all your friends. You know?”

“Meg’s really not that bad.”

“Shotgun!” Meg called. She and Charlie jogged up to the car, crunching the maple leaves underfoot.

“Girls in the back,” Dean said gruffly. He winked at Castiel. “You were saying?”

They listened to AC/DC on the drive up to Burlington, Charlie’s request for “something less dudebro” notwithstanding. The back seat erupted with fits of whispering and sniggering every so often, to the point that Castiel started peering at Meg and Charlie in the rear-view mirror. For his part, Dean studiously pretended to hear none of it.

“So,” Meg finally said. “Who’s getting shaken all night long once we get back?”

“Meg,” Charlie said. She tried and failed to clap her hand over Meg’s mouth.

“And who’s doing the shaking?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dean said, without taking his eyes off the autumn road.

“That’s a very personal question, Meg,” Castiel said. “And unlike you, some of us have boundaries.”

“Why’s it some big secret? We need to destigmatize conversations about sex. Here, I’ll go first.”

“Please, God, no.” Dean cranked up the radio.

“How about you, Charlie?”

“Huh?”

“Do lesbians have tops and bottoms? You must, right?”

Dean rubbed his palm across his face, quick enough to still keep the car steady. Castiel and Charlie shared a look in the mirror.

“How about you meet a nice lesbian and find out for yourself?” Charlie said.

“Can I consider that a proposition?”

“Er.” Charlie turned to the window. “Let’s start with browsing Angels & Demons together. See where things go from there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Meg said. “We should figure out if we’re even compatible first.”

At that point, Castiel joined Dean in tuning out the conversation in the back. Dean shot him a look.

“At least they’re not talking about us anymore,” he muttered.

Angels & Demons, which billed itself as “Vermont’s naughtiest adult boutique,” was located on Cherry Street, a fact which supplied Meg with several raunchy puns as Dean scouted out a parking space. He and Castiel regrouped at the car’s trunk while the other two led the way inside.

“We should’ve come on our own,” Castiel said, after a while.

“We could always just ditch this and go to Ben & Jerry’s,” Dean said. “It’s right down the block.”

“Unless you feel like using ice cream for lube, I think we just have to bite the bullet.” Castiel tilted his head. “Does that banner above the door say ‘Dildo Madness?’”

“‘Up to 69% off,’” Dean said, supplying the rest of it. “Pretty good deal.”

As it turned out, the lube section of Angels & Demons was right at the front, which Castiel supposed made sense for the closest thing a sex shop had to a staple product. He picked out an organic one in a beige and bright green tube; Dean grabbed the largest size of a strawberry-flavored one.

“So you can taste something other than my ass,” Dean said, under his breath. An eager-looking sales associate was hovering just outside hearing range; she made her move when Castiel caught her eye.

“Do you guys have any questions I could answer?”

“No. But I think our friends might have questions about—” Castiel pivoted to locate Meg and Charlie, reading the sign above their heads once he spotted them. “Um. Anal beads.”

The sales associate nodded sagely before setting off to the back wall.

“Let’s just get this and hightail it out of here,” Dean said. “Hit the Ben & Jerry’s.”

“But what about—” Castiel nodded in the direction of the dildos.

“There’s not a chance in Hell, Heaven, or anywhere else that I’m letting those two see me pick out one of those. You’ll just have to loosen me up the best you can with your fingers.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. “Well, we can always come back if you change your mind. Alone.”

They paid at the counter before heading down the block for ice cream. Castiel ordered Chubby Hubby in a plain cone; Dean got a waffle cone of Cherry Garcia. Back in the car, Dean rummaged through the box of cassettes on the passenger floor for a couple minutes before finally dredging up a Grateful Dead tape, a worn-down copy of American Beauty.

“I can’t remember Dad ever listening to this one,” Dean said, during “Friend of the Devil.” “Must’ve been one of Mom’s.”

Castiel looked at him. Dean’s eyes were faraway, and he swallowed when Castiel reached across the front seat to touch his thigh. He switched his cone to his left hand, lay his right over Castiel’s.

“Speaking of Dad,” Dean said, after a few seconds. “He called the other day. I keep forgetting to tell you. He’s taking Sam up to our Uncle Bobby’s for Thanksgiving.”

“Ah. North Dakota?”

“South Dakota.” Dean bit into his waffle cone. “Not sure if I’ll join them. Long drive, and Thanksgiving break’s only a few days. Plus, we go home for Christmas three weeks after that.”

Castiel didn’t bring up flying since he didn’t know whether it was a money thing. He squeezed Dean’s thigh, and Dean eased back into the driver’s seat.

“At least I know Sammy’s getting a good meal on Thanksgiving. Bobby’s not a bad cook.”

He squeezed Castiel back gratefully as he broke off another hunk of his cone. Neither of them talked until Charlie and Meg emerged from Angels & Demons.

“Here they come,” Dean said. “Why do they have so many bags?”

Castiel had an uneasy feeling about Meg’s purchases in particular, one which turned out to be prophetic.

“I got something for you guys,” she said, once they were pulling out of the parking space.

Castiel smiled over his shoulder. “Thank you, Meg.”

“You should see what it is before you thank her,” Charlie said ominously.

“Here you go.” Meg dropped one of the bags in the middle of the front seat, and a colossal hot pink dildo in clear packaging tumbled out.

“What the—” Dean swerved the car a couple feet. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a dildo? Their entire stock was on sale.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a dildo,” Dean snapped. “I’m talking about the size. And the color.”

“It’s more like a forearm than a penis,” Castiel said. He picked it up and started reading the back of the package. “’10 inches of insertable length, in plush silicone for unparalleled realism.’”

“I’m not the foremost expert on penises,” Charlie piped up. “But I’m pretty sure that ’10 inches’ and ‘realism’ in the same sentence is some unintentional irony.”

“Apparently, the base is both strap-on harness compatible and can be used as a suction cup for hands-free stimulation.” Castiel frowned. “I don’t know what most of that means.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Charlie said.

“Agreed.” Dean handed Castiel the empty shopping bag. “Thanks, Meg, but this one’s all yours. Enjoy.”

“Yes.” Castiel wrapped up the dildo and passed it back to her. “A little overly ambitious, I think.”

“Fine,” Meg sighed. “Too bad they have a no returns policy during Dildo Madness.”

Back at Edlund, Castiel and Dean wasted no time in parting ways with Meg and Charlie on Fraternity Lawn. Dean craned his neck to watch the latter two as they walked off in the direction of Charlie’s dorm.

“Think anything’s happening there?” Dean said.

“Hmm?” Castiel stopped in his tracks. “Meg and Charlie?”

Dean carded the door to Bunker Hall. “Yeah.”

“No idea. I suppose stranger things have happened. Especially where Meg is concerned.”

Dean shook his head. “Still can’t believe that ‘gift’ she got us. Like I’d shove something the size of a rolling pin up my ass.”

“It was a bit scary.”

“I doubt my asshole would ever close up again. Ah, I’ll get the door.”

Their room still lingered with the subtle skunk odor of last night’s joint, and Castiel opened both windows as wide as possible to the warm afternoon. He plugged in his phone and set his and Dean’s lubes on the coffee table. He pulled off his sneakers and socks and collapsed onto the futon next to Dean, who was sitting with his hands clasped together, waiting to say something.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Dean said, after a minute or so of Castiel leaning against him.

“Okay. I think I’ll do some readings for Fundamentalism and Religion.”

“A really long, thorough shower.” Dean turned to him. “I might be in the bathroom for a while.”

“Oh.” Castiel gulped. “Right—right now?”

“We have the lube. We have the time.” Dean looked down between his knees. “I’m ready, I think. Are you ready?”

“I want this very much, Dean. Maybe more than I’ve wanted anything before.” Castiel paused. “I don’t know if it’s ever possible to be completely prepared for something that you want that much. But if you’re asking me if I want it, and if I’ll be present in the moment, and if I’ll do my best to make you happy—yes, I’m ready.”

Dean snorted affectionately. He leaned in, kissed Castiel on the lips, nudged under his chin.

“Always with the deep thoughts. You could’ve just said yes.”

“Yes,” Castiel murmured. “God, yes.”

“Well, alright then.” Dean kissed him again, then stroked his cheek as he stood up. “I’ll go jump in the shower.”

Dean hadn’t been exaggerating; he really was in the bathroom for a while. For the first few minutes, Castiel read every word on both packages of lube. He unpacked them and sniffed them and rubbed a little bit of each between his fingers. He didn’t think Dean’s smelled or tasted like strawberry very much, but it was still a nice aroma.

Castiel tidied up their room—a few cans and glasses still lingered from last night’s gathering—and drank about half of his metal water bottle. He walked to the bathroom, used the urinal, brushed his teeth. The air was muggy with the spicy oakmoss scent of Dean’s shampoo. Castiel had showered that morning, after his run, but he considered showering again, just so he’d be as fresh as possible. After a moment, he decided that he was overthinking things.

Back in the room, Castiel closed their windows and curtains, turned on the tree lamps to the sound of Bob Marley from next door. He stripped down to just his underwear and T-shirt. He paced, sat down, paced again. Should he be preparing himself somehow? He wasn’t sure what that would even entail. He was already aroused to the point of an upset stomach at the thought of what he and Dean were about to do, so he didn’t think he had to work himself up in that way. In fact, that would probably be counterproductive. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t last very long as it was.

After more than half an hour, Dean finally returned, his shower flip flops squeaking in the doorway. He flashed Castiel a bashful smile, tossed his outfit from earlier at his overflowing laundry basket, shut his closet door. Finally, he shuffled over to the futon and sat down.

“Hey,” Dean said, pecking his lips. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Suddenly, Castiel was very conscious of the fact that Dean was naked except for the towel around his hips, and that he was naked underneath that. He had no idea why that was notable to him now, since the two of them had been naked around each other constantly in the past week.

“Hello, Dean.”

“I got all clean for you.”

His skin was dewy, pinker than usual from the shower’s heat, and fragrant with bar soap and deodorant. Castiel gripped Dean’s upper arm as he ducked in for another kiss.

“You smell very nice.” Castiel graced his fingertips over Dean’s shoulders. “I love your freckles.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, nipping one of Castiel’s earlobes. “Be sure to let me know if I’ve got any around my butthole. I’ve never checked.”

Castiel snorted; Dean’s entire upper body shook with anxious laughter. He dropped his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder and took a long breath.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. I’m doing this.” He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist. “Take care of me, okay?”

“Of course I will. And…you know, it’s not like this has to be perfect. It’s not like it’s the only time. If we don’t get it right, we can stop and try again.”

“Yeah.” Dean caressed Castiel’s back underneath his T-shirt. “I feel a little pressure, though. To make things good. After what I did the first time we—”

“Don’t,” Castiel said firmly. “No pressure, Dean.”

Dean nodded into his shoulder.

“I want to make you happy. I want both of us to feel good.” Castiel nuzzled his ear. “Promise to tell me if it doesn’t feel good.”

Dean nodded again. “I promise, baby.”

“Okay.” He kissed Dean’s damp hair. “I guess I should take my shirt off.”

“Let me get that.” Dean pulled Castiel’s T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the opposite end of the futon. “You want some music?”

Castiel glanced at the wall behind their bunk beds. “I don’t feel like competing with them.”

“I could go over and tell them to turn it down.”

“It’s okay. Bob Marley’s not too bad.”

“Alright. Let’s stir it up, then.”

Castiel shook his head and grinned.

“One thing first, though.” Dean worked his hands together in his lap, right above the bulge in his towel. “Uh, you can shut me down right away if you want. I won’t be disappointed or anything. Well, I’ll be a little disappointed, but don’t let that affect your decision at all.”

Castiel frowned.

“Thing is, I’ve got condoms in my drawer. But…I was thinking about the talk we had a few days ago.”

Dean looked at him meaningfully. After a second, Castiel nodded.

“Last chick I was with was over the summer. And I got tested when I got back to campus, and everything was golden. And you’re squeaky clean, obviously. So, uh, I was thinking we could maybe leave out the condoms.”

Castiel blinked. “Oh.”

“I want to feel you inside me. You. And it’ll feel better for you, too. Speaking from experience…yeah, it’s way better without anything in between. Not that I’ve done that with just anyone. And I’m still pure as the driven snow, so you know I’ve been careful.” Dean gulped. “Never mind. Don’t feel like you have to.”

“No, I—” Castiel licked his lips. “I think I’d like that, Dean.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Yes, I think I’d like that a great deal.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. He stared down at the tent in Castiel’s trunks.

“Okay then. How do you want me?” Dean loosened his towel. “Should I get on the bed?”

“Um.” Castiel rose from the futon. “I was thinking we could do it here. To start, at least.”

“Alright.” Dean laid the towel down neatly. “To catch any mess.”

“Right.”

They both looked at the towel for a moment. Only 12 hours had passed since his and Dean’s late-night conversation, but Castiel had already imagined the way this would go. He’d seen a few videos, after all, and he thought he might be able to emulate them.

“I was thinking you could kneel down and face the wall,” Castiel said. “Maybe hold onto the back of the futon if you need purchase.”

Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Without a word, he clambered onto the futon, clutched the wooden frame, and hung his head. Castiel ditched his underwear before dropping to his knees on the rug and rubbing up and down Dean’s thighs.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah.” Dean shimmied back, evening out his spine. “That okay?”

“Yes.” Castiel kissed one of Dean’s cheeks. “You can spread your legs a little more.”

Dean groaned and complied.

“Hmm?”

“It’s so hot to hear you say that,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel’s pulled open Dean’s ass and breathed onto his hole. It was rose pink, the same color as his lips, and surrounded by a few wisps of soft light-brown hair. It winked when Castiel’s breath hit it, contracting and then unfurling again.

Dean chuckled. “Tickles.”

Castiel blew again, and Dean’s hole repeated the motion. He traced his fingertip around its outer edge. To his surprise, it opened infinitesimally, exposing some of the wet interior.

“I think your hole’s trying to tell me something,” Castiel said, teasing it in smaller, slower circles.

“I played with it a little in the shower,” Dean said breathily. “It’s probably muscle memory or something.”

Castiel licked his tongue up Dean’s hole. “Or maybe you’re just made to be fucked.”

“Fuck.” Dean quaked, resting his head against the top of the futon’s frame with a thump. “Maybe I am.”

Dean loved dirty talk; Castiel knew that much from the first blow job he’d given him. He’d been holding back ever since, though, and Castiel hadn’t known how to broach the topic, how to encourage him that it was alright as long as they weren’t degrading each other. Maybe the best way—despite his own inexperience—was to show him.

“Such a pretty hole.” Castiel lapped around it as he massaged Dean’s ass. “As perfect as the rest of you.”

Dean whimpered and bucked back a little, shoving his ass into Castiel’s face.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Castiel spread Dean’s cheeks again and dipped the tip of his tongue inside. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this, Dean?”

“How long?”

“Since orientation.” Castiel licked a long stripe from Dean’s balls to the top of his crack, then dove back down to graze his teeth over Dean’s rim.

“Holy shit.”

“Mhm. Remember that icebreaker game in the student center?” Castiel swirled a circle inside Dean’s hole, loving the way it clinched back around his tongue in response. “When all the first years had to find a partner and introduce themselves? They played that Whitney Houston song.”

“‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody.’”

“I couldn’t believe you chose me. You just came out of the crowd in that tight white orientation shirt—”

“They got my size wrong,” Dean panted. “Fuck, you’re good at this.”

“—And you introduced yourself and smiled and said you’d seen me in our hallway. And I think I just stared at you in mute silence.” Castiel reached for his lube. “I’m going to add a finger now.”

“Not the strawberry?” Dean said, glancing under his arm.

“I like the way you taste.” Castiel warmed some of the lube in his palm before daubing it around Dean’s opening, then coated his index finger with another squirt. “And I read the labels while you were in the bathroom. Apparently, mine is made without any harsh fragrances that can irritate the sensitive mucus membranes of the rectum.”

“Interesting.” Dean sighed. “I knew you’d take care of me, baby.”

“I will always take care of you, Dean.” Castiel stroked his fingertip over Dean’s rim. “I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay,” Dean said, his voice quieter now. When Castiel’s finger slipped in to the first knuckle, he exhaled.

“Hmm?”

“Feels nice.” Dean breathed in, breathed out. “So, you’ve liked me since then, huh?”

“Yes. I stared at your ass when you walked away.” Castiel scattered a line of kisses down Dean’s left cheek. “You have goosebumps all over your skin.”

“It feels so fucking good. That’s probably why.” Dean arched his back even more. “You going to put in another one?”

Carefully, Castiel withdrew his finger. He lubed it up again, then the middle one.

“How does it feel?” Dean said, once Castiel was easing two fingertips past Dean’s rim.

“It feels amazing.”

“How does it feel now that you’re finally making that ass yours, I mean?”

“Oh.” Castiel bit his bottom lip. “That feels amazing, too.”

Dean peeked at him over his shoulder. “Is it okay that I said that? That I’m yours?”

“Yes.” Castiel kissed the small of Dean’s back and caressed his thigh. “It’s okay. It’s more than okay.”

Dean reached one of his arms behind him, and Castiel squeezed him in response with his free hand. When Castiel wiggled his fingers in more, sliding all the way down, Dean gasped and nearly lost his balance. He took back his arm and steadied himself against the wall.

“That might be my prostate,” Dean grunted. “The guys on that forum said that’s kind of the Holy Grail of this whole thing.”

“The Holy Grail of your hole?” Castiel replied.

Dean laughed, then gasped again. His body tensed up around Castiel’s fingers.

“Shit.” Dean looked down between his legs. “Apparently, laughing while you’re rubbing my prostate gets my dick dripping like nothing else. Look at that.”

Castiel felt around, catching some of the precome from Dean’s cock and rubbing it up and down his shaft. Dean moaned.

“No, stop. I’m going to come if you don’t stop.”

“Don’t you want to come?”

“I want to come with your big cock inside me,” Dean muttered. “With the entire thing inside me, hopefully.”

“Oh.” Castiel drew his hand away. “Shall I try another finger?”

“Go for it. Might be a tight fit, though. I only got two fingers in when I was in the shower.”

Castiel uncapped the lube and slathered it over his fingers. He worked another gob of it past Dean’s rim, and his hole pulsated in response, almost like it was gobbling it down.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Castiel said reverently. “I think I was right.”

“Right about what?” Dean said, sounding dazed.

Castiel pushed three fingers into Dean, using more force than before. Dean just groaned, taking them to the hilt without any protests.

“I think you were made to be fucked.”

“Yes,” Dean whispered. His entire body was shaking now. “Yours, Cass.”

“And….” Castiel pulled out to his fingernails, then plunged back in with one smooth slide. “I’m yours, Dean.”

Dean whimpered, and Castiel wasn’t sure if it was because of the stretch in his ass or because Castiel finally felt safe enough again to say that. He eased away from the wall and straightened his back. Castiel slipped his fingers out, looking up at him to make sure he was okay.

“Dean?”

Dean hopped off the futon and grabbed the lube. When Castiel stood up, Dean reached down and squelched wet handfuls of it all over his cock.

“Oh,” Castiel said.

“Fuck me, Cass.” Dean maneuvered Castiel back towards the futon, plopping him down on the towel. “I need you to fuck me now.”

“Oh,” Castiel repeated. “Okay. Like—like this?”

“Yeah.” Dean climbed up, one knee on either side of Castiel’s hips. “They said me riding you would be best for our first time. Then I can control the penetration.” Dean snorted. “Shit, that might not be the best idea. I kind of just want to cram it all in.”

“Dean, I—” Castiel squeezed the base of his cock, holding it up as Dean dragged his balls over the tip. “I don’t think I’ll last very long.”

“We’ll work on that.” Dean hovered his ass over Castiel’s cock, then leaned down for a gentle kiss and a brush of their noses. “I’m really looking forward to working on that.”

“So am I. Do you want me to—”

“Just kind of guide it. Yeah.” Dean bit his lip when Castiel’s glans caught his rim. “There we go. Just like that.”

Castiel moved his hands from his cock to Dean’s ass, one for either cheek, supporting him as he squatted down. He felt his head pop past Dean’s resistance, then Dean’s body going suddenly tight all around it.

“Ah.” Dean grimaced. “Fuck. That’s a fat fucking cock.”

“You feel incredible, Dean.” Castiel soothed Dean’s flank. “You feel like heaven.”

“Thanks,” Dean grunted. “Son of a bitch. I’m regretting not going for one of those starter dildos. Meg and Charlie be damned.”

“Do we need to stop?”

“No, no,” Dean said quickly. “Just—just give me a minute. They said you’ve got to let your body adjust before you start taking more.”

“Okay.” Castiel kissed Dean’s thigh, twisted his sticky hand around Dean’s cock. “You’re amazing, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean chuckled. “For what? Giving up my ass to you?”

“No, for doing all this research and preparation and guiding me, us, through this….” Castiel shivered when Dean’s ass accepted another hard-won inch. “And for that.”

“No one else I’d do this for.” Dean flinched. “Fuck. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Castiel murmured.

Dean took a few more slow breaths before bearing down again, letting in the widest part of Castiel’s cock. He wavered, the muscles in his thighs giving out, and Castiel reached out to hold him aloft.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said again, through gritted teeth. “How much is left?”

“Um.” Castiel tilted his head to see underneath Dean’s balls. “About halfway there.”

“You can’t be serious.” Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I feel like I’ve got a cannon stuck up my ass.”

“You’re doing so well, Dean,” Castiel said. At this point, he figured Dean would appreciate praise more than an apology. “You’re so amazing. So perfect.”

Dean hung his head and breathed. “Dammit, Cass. Keep talking like that and you can make me do anything you want.”

“You’re in control, sweetheart.” Castiel kissed Dean’s thigh again, sucked the skin into his mouth. “Want me to touch you?”

“How close are you?”

“I’m…very close.” Castiel flushed. “Embarrassingly close.”

“Give me a couple strokes when you’re about to come. I think I’ll bust the instant you touch me.”

Castiel nodded, and Dean grasped both his shoulders, digging his nails in. With a single loud grunt, he sank down most of the way, stopping an inch from the bottom.

“Oh fuck,” Dean moaned. “Son. Of. A. Bitch.”

“Dean? Are you alright?”

“I’m really fucking full.” Dean dropped his head to Castiel’s shoulder and bit his collarbone. “That big fucking cock. I think you’re banging against something that doesn’t like being banged.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We can stop now.” Castiel nuzzled his temple. “I’m about to come, anyway.”

“Okay.” Dean sniffed, wiped his tears on his forearm. “Are you going to—”

“I’ve got you,” Castiel said, wrapping his hand around Dean’s cock. “Come, Dean.”

Dean hadn’t been exaggerating; after only a couple pumps, he exploded over Castiel’s chest. His ass clenched and pulsed around Castiel’s cock in time with his orgasm, and that was it. Before Castiel could even tell Dean what was happening, he was spilling deep inside him, thrusting his hips up involuntarily. Dean wailed as the last inch filled him.

“Oh no.” Even though he was sitting down, Castiel felt dizzy, and his lungs burned despite his heavy breathing. “Dean, I’m really—”

“Oh fuck. Fucking hell.” Dean ground down into Castiel’s hips. “I can feel it. I can feel your load inside me.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed. “You try shoving an eight-inch cock up your ass.”

“Sorry. Stupid question.” Castiel started to add more, but he figured that this wasn’t the time to quibble with Dean that his penis was almost certainly less than eight inches.

“But that ‘pain into pleasure’ thing?” Dean ran his hands along the grooves of Castiel’s abs, scooping up his come. “I think I’m starting to feel it.”

Castiel opened his mouth, and Dean fed him come from his slimy fingers. Castiel sucked every one of them clean. Now that they were in the quiet afterglow, he could hear “Is This Love” from the room next door. They’d looped back around to the start of the Legend album, then.

“I love having you balls deep in me,” Dean said, his voice filled with wonder. He bent down, licking and kissing his come from Castiel’s lips. “I love having your come in my ass. Makes me feel like I’m yours.”

Castiel swallowed. “Dean, I….”

Dean smiled back at him, waiting. He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and scraped his thumbs along his nape. Castiel knew what he wanted to say, knew what he felt. The song didn’t have a question mark at the end of it. Neither did Castiel’s feelings.

“I…love what we just did.”

Dean grinned, waggling his ass down against Castiel’s deflating cock. He didn’t look disappointed at all. Maybe he had no idea what Castiel had nearly said.

Maybe he didn’t feel the same way.

Castiel didn’t think so, but he also didn’t think that Dean was ready to say it, no matter what he felt.

A few seconds passed, and Dean separated from him. They cleaned up with the towel, and Dean tossed it away in the direction of his closet. He crashed back into the futon and let Castiel hold him.

“Dean,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I was thinking about what you said earlier. In the car.” Castiel stroked Dean’s thigh. “About not going home for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.” Dean laid his head on Castiel’s shoulder. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I was thinking you could come home with me instead. Have Thanksgiving in Tiburon. Meet my family. My parents would pay for everything. They know you’re my roommate.”

Dean sat up again, and Castiel turned to look at him. His beautiful green eyes, like the California sun in the coast redwoods, searched Castiel’s face.

“If you want.” Castiel gulped. “We can say we’re only friends.”

A moment passed, and Dean shook his head. Castiel looked down.

“Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to come, I just thought—”

“No, you dumbass. I’m coming with you for Thanksgiving.”

Castiel glanced up again, an irrepressible grin on his face. Dean beamed back at him.

“I don’t want to say we’re only friends, is what I mean. I want people to know. I want your family to know.” Dean caressed Castiel’s cheek. “If that’s what you want.”

“Oh. Yes, I do want that.” Castiel ran his hand through his hair. “I guess that’ll save me having to come out to them.”

Dean snorted. “That’s settled, then. California, here we come.”

He relaxed into Castiel’s arms, singing the theme to The O.C. in a scratchy, dreamy voice. He seemed profoundly tired. Castiel didn’t feel much like moving either. Maybe they’d call in delivery instead of going to the dining hall.

“‘Driving down the 101—’” Dean paused. “That’s a real thing, right? Can we do that?”

“Yes, it’s a real thing.” Castiel pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “It’s the highway that goes over the Golden Gate Bridge. And yes, we can drive it. I’ll get Gabe to lend me one of the winery vans.”

“Awesome.” Dean snuggled into him again. “I get to pick the music, though.”

Castiel scoffed, kissed him again. The song next door faded out, and Castiel didn’t mind. He loved Dean, and he had all the time in the world to say it.

Chapter Text

Three Years Later

“Yoo-hoo! Hello down there!”

Dean and Castiel crouched below the row of vines. One of Dean’s knees knocked away a grape cluster, sending a few of them rolling down the slope. Castiel reached out to steady him.

“Thanks, babe,” he whispered.

“I know you’re there, baby bro!” Gabe’s voice grew louder, closer, and Dean could just imagine the smirk on his perpetually smug face. “Don’t make me come find you! I don’t feel like playing hide and seek right now, I’m far too busy!”

Before Dean could stop him, Castiel shot up and whirled around to face Gabe, his arms crossed tight over his chest.

“Busy with what, Gabriel? You spend most of your day bossing Dean and me around.”

“Ah-ha! I knew that would flush you out. Hang on, I’ll be right there.”

Dean sighed and got up. He pulled his dust-stained black cowboy hat from his head, wiped the sweat from his forehead and the skin above his ears, stuck it back on.

“At least he has coffee for us,” Castiel grumbled, nodding to Gabe’s hands. He’d reached the end of their row and was sauntering towards them with an ominous spring in his step.

“Probably wants something,” Dean said. He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist from behind, and Castiel leaned back into him, resting his nape on Dean’s shoulder.

“Aw. You two are such cutie pies.” Gabe held out the to-go cups, one for each of them. “I had to go into town for something, figured I’d get you guys your Peet’s orders while I was there.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said suspiciously.

“Yeah.” Dean sipped his; the cappuccino’s foam kissed his upper lip. Ever since moving out here to the West Coast, he’d acquired a taste for the frilly espresso beverages he used to make fun of. Just another way Castiel was rubbing off on him.

“And for lunch, I’m thinking of sending Balt into town to pick up Indian. You want your normal palak paneer and garlic naan?”

“What is this, Gabe?” Castiel handed Dean his cup to hold and put his hands on his hips. “You need something from us, don’t you? Some kind of favor?”

“At least snag the free food first,” Dean muttered.

“What is it?” Castiel said, ignoring him. “You going to split us up again?”

Earlier in the summer, Gabe had switched things up on them without notice, keeping Dean out in the fields with an early start while Castiel had to work the tasting room in the afternoons and evenings. After a week of them hardly seeing each other and being dog-tired when they did, Castiel had confronted Gabe in his office and threatened that he and Dean were gone if he didn’t put them back together. Mrs. Shurley had accompanied him.

“Oh, no. I learned my lesson.” Gabe fondled one of the grapevine tendrils, training it back onto a nearby wire. “No need for you to go running to Mom this time.”

“I didn’t ‘go running’ to her. I just asked her for advice when she came to visit.”

“Babe, come on.” Dean handed his oat milk latte back to him. “We can at least hear him out.”

“Thanks, Dean-O.” Gabe brightened. “Okay, I know the timing’s not the best, but I need you on special duty in the tasting room Saturday evening. Dean too, if he wants to earn some extra dough, but I definitely need you.”

“Saturday’s my birthday!”

“I know, okay? That’s why I said the timing’s not the best. But I’ve got a group of business tourists from Frankfurt coming, and having you pouring will impress them.”

“They’ll all speak English. Better than I speak German, probably.”

“That’s not the point, baby bro. The point is hospitality. You know, the industry you work in?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. He elbowed Dean, who shrugged. After four months of this sort of bickering, he’d learned to stay out of Shurley family disputes whenever possible.

“Do you guys have plans on Saturday?” Gabe said.

“I was just going to make him a nice dinner.” Dean paused, grinding his boot toe into the sunbaked dirt underfoot. “We have plans the whole day Sunday, though.”

“Sunday, you’re completely free. I’ll even give you guys the rest of today off. And tomorrow. And Saturday until 3:45. I just need you on Saturday evening.” Gabe turned back to Castiel. “Please, Cassie. You know I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed you.”

“Fine.” Castiel thinned his lips into a grim line. “But you’d better be getting me something amazing this year.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that!” Gabe dove into Castiel’s arms, nearly knocking him back into the grapevines. “Thank you so much, baby bro.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Castiel sipped his drink over Gabe’s shoulder. Dean grinned at him, then pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing one-handed.

“So,” Gabe said, once they’d separated. “What are these plans on Sunday?”

“I don’t know. They’re a surprise.” Castiel turned to Dean. “What’re our plans on Sunday, sweetheart?”

“You know I’m not going to answer that question.”

“Does that have something to do with the surprise?” Gabe peeked at Dean’s screen. “Confirming a reservation, maybe?”

“No,” Dean said, returning the phone to his jeans. “Just texting Sammy. Now that we have a few days off, I figured I’d invite him to visit. He can finally see this place.”

Almost four weeks earlier, Sam had started his freshman year at Stanford. Dean and Castiel had picked him up at the airport, helped him move in, had dinner together at a burrito joint in Menlo Park, but they hadn’t seen him again since then. Dean didn’t want to smother his little brother too much right when he was first spreading his wings, but it was definitely time for them to get together again. A month was too long between visits when they only lived an hour and a half apart.

“Oh, I get to finally meet him?” Gabe was saying.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean rubbed his cheek. “Try not to freak the kid out too much, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance.

“Anyway,” Castiel said. “What’s this about you treating us to lunch?”

That evening, Dean was cooking dinner for him and Castiel in their four-room cottage a quarter-mile from the winery’s main building. It was a small wood and brick house with electricity, indoor plumbing, cable, heat for the winter, and a DSL modem, though the latter was desperately slow compared to the speeds Dean had gotten used to at Edlund. Whenever they wanted to download music or movies, they walked their laptops up to the winery, lounging in Gabe’s office or the employee break room.

It really was a humble abode, but they didn’t need more at this point, really. They had a cozy bedroom along the eastern wall with a queen bed that warmed with the sunrise. Also in the bedroom was a two-person garage-sale desk where they searched for jobs; the intensity of that effort varied with how much Gabe was annoying them any given week. The living room took up most of the middle of the house, and it was large enough for both the futon—they’d dismantled it and brought it across the country post-graduation—and a respectably sized TV. As for the bathroom, the toilet could get temperamental, but at least the shower was spacious enough for two. He and Castiel had cleaned each other off after a long day in the vineyard more than once.

And then there was the kitchen. It was long and thin, stretching from the front of the house to the sliding door in the rear, dotted with windows that perfectly caught the sunset over the mountains to the west. The sink was too small, but the stove was good enough; they only had a narrow two-person table with uneven legs in the kitchen itself, but the back porch had a bigger table with four chairs around it that was ideal for entertaining on long, balmy California nights. Dean even had a potter’s wheel out there, where he’d throw bowls and cups and vases that he’d set out to dry in the sun before taking them into town for firing. He’d sold a few to local artisan shops and hoped to sell more.

“Hmm.” Dean finished chopping onions right when his phone buzzed on the counter. He put down the knife and read Sam’s message, a grin spreading across his face as he responded. Once he pressed send, he strolled out the back door to find Castiel.

Fittingly, the cottage Gabe had given them to live in came with a cottage garden. It’d been bone dry and overrun with tumble mustard and orchardgrass weeds when they’d moved in back in May, but four months of diligent work meant that it was finally producing a few vegetables and herbs. Castiel had even been researching ways of attracting more bees to the garden, in hopes that their tomatoes and peppers and eggplants and zucchini would go from flowers to fruits without fail.

“Baby?” Dean called, from the edge of the porch.

“Over here,” Castiel grunted.

Dean hopped down and ambled to the garden’s back corner. Castiel was squatting behind one of the raised beds, training a tomato plant back into its tower.

“Sammy texted me back,” Dean said. “It’s a go for tomorrow.”

“Wonderful.” Castiel straightened up and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’m sorry for not bringing in the vegetables yet, Dean. I wanted to do the watering first, but the faucet’s so slow. I finally finished, though.”

“Hey, no biggie.” Dean picked up the wicker basket beside Castiel. “Now we get to do it together.”

Castiel beamed and led the way to the zucchini. He pulled off a few of the large ones, checked them for dirt, and laid them in Dean’s basket.

“Is this enough?”

“That’s plenty.” Dean stared at the pink light in the foothills. “Man, I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sunsets here.”

“I told you.” Castiel picked up his garden shears and snipped the stem of the fattest eggplant. “Remember how nervous you got when I brought up maybe moving to California?”

“Well, it wasn’t just that.” Dean held out his basket for Castiel’s eggplant. “It was moving in with Gabe and working at his winery, more than anything.”

“You make it sound like we’re living down the hall from him, sharing a bathroom.” Castiel pointed his shears at another prospective eggplant.

“Nah, one’s perfect.”

They walked to the end of the row, where the butter-gold and carrot-orange bell peppers grew in great clumps that weighed down their branches. Castiel attacked them with glee, tossing his haul into Dean’s basket.

“You’re doing such a good job out here, babe.”

“Thank you.” Castiel twisted off a fistful of basil before doubling back down an adjacent row for the tomatoes. “I figure I have to do something while you’re cooking for us every day.”

“Well, I like pasta night.”

Castiel snorted. “Please, all I do is put butter and Parmesan on our plates. Along with whatever I have too much of out here that week.”

“That’s what I mean. It’s like a surprise each time.”

Dean laid the basket between them and helped Castiel harvest the tomatoes. Ratatouille called for a lot, but they’d planted the most tomatoes of any crop. They both really liked tomatoes.

“I’m going to miss having this when we move,” Dean said offhandedly. “We’ve put a lot of work into it. Especially you.”

“What?”

“Just that our first apartment’s probably not going to have a deluxe garden out back. We’ve got a pretty good setup right now, even if it means having to put up with your brother.”

“‘When we move?’” Castiel dumped a huge handful of bruise-colored tomatoes into the basket. “We just got here a few months ago.”

“I know. I just mean, like, in the future. When we eventually find new jobs and a place and all that.”

Castiel tilted his head. “We have jobs. We have our own place, even if Gabe’s our landlord. Are you unhappy here, Dean?”

“No!” Dean reached over the basket to squeeze Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m just saying…. You know what, forget it.” Dean shook his head, reached for another tomato. “I’m just rambling. You know how I do that. I’m a rambling man.”

“Okay.” Castiel sniffed Dean’s hand. “You smell like garlic. And onions.”

“I’ll wash my hands extra well before bed.” Dean hefted his basket. “I better get started.”

“I’ll join you in a bit. Just need to finish up out here.”

Dean pecked a kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth, then returned to the kitchen. He rinsed the vegetables in the sink one by one, his face hot and red in the window’s faint reflection. What had he been thinking back there? Castiel was right. They’d only just settled into their cottage, the first home they were sharing post-graduation. Dean’s talk about the future, how they’d definitely need their very own place as a point of pride, would only make sense to someone who knew about what Dean had planned for Sunday.

The question he planned to ask Castiel.

As of now, the only two people who knew were him and Sam. He was glad his brother was visiting, since he could really use a pep talk right about now. He wasn’t having second thoughts—not even close—but he didn’t see how anyone wouldn’t be nervous under the circumstances. Proposing while he was basically living off his boyfriend’s family? Sure, he was earning his keep and saving as much as he could, but he still didn’t feel amazing about it.

The one thing he did feel amazing about, though, was the idea of spending the rest of his life with Castiel.

Right when “The Best of My Love” was fading out—Dean had been listening to the Eagles more since moving to California—Castiel came back in through the sliding door. Dean told him he could change the music if he wanted. Castiel walked to the record player in the living room, and a few seconds later, “Is This Love” floated into the kitchen.

Dean chuckled as he stirred the ratatouille. “Bob again?”

“What’s wrong with Bob?” Castiel came up behind Dean and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Nothing.” Dean leaned into Castiel’s embrace. “You just put him on a lot.”

“‘I want to love you,’” Castiel sang, ignoring him. “Every day and every night.”

“‘We’ll be together with a roof right over our heads,’” Dean responded. He wiggled his hips in time with Castiel’s.

They swayed together in front of the stove for a while, Castiel murmuring the lyrics onto Dean’s neck. Sometimes, Dean stirred the ratatouille; every so often, he handed the wooden spoon to Castiel for a turn.

“This song was playing the first time I knew I loved you.” Castiel kissed his nape. “Our neighbors were playing it. Sophomore year.”

“Good old Bunker Hall.”

“And then I really knew I loved you when you came home with me for Thanksgiving.”

Dean laughed. Three years had passed, and Castiel still loved telling this story to anyone who’d listen.

“The way you shut down Michael when he started getting pompous—”

“Started?”

“I’m more used to him, I guess.” Castiel rubbed up and down Dean’s abs. “You even made my dad laugh. That’s not easy.”

“And that’s how you knew I was the one.” Dean banged the wooden spoon against the walls of the pot, then set it down. “Because I called your brother a dick.”

“Because you stood up for us.” Castiel kissed him again. “I’ll jump in the shower before we eat.”

They made love after dinner, taking their time late into the night because they didn’t have to work tomorrow. Over the course of the last three years, Dean had started thinking of it less and less often as sucking and fucking, more and more as lovemaking. Castiel’s body was another part of his own when it moved inside him, slow and steady, comforting like an old friend. When they switched things up, like tonight, he’d try imitating the way Castiel was with him, only to receive clipped growls to go harder. Sometimes he thought that Castiel said things like that to make clear who was in charge, even when he was the one taking it.

At some point, it’d stopped surprising him how much he didn’t mind that.

“We’ll take my car tomorrow?” Castiel said.

It was 1:30, and he had his cheek pressed into the middle of Dean’s chest. The cool breeze licked in through the window high up on the wall. October was only a couple weeks away. Harvest season, according to Gabe. They’d have to work all night under the floodlights.

“Sure.”

“I know you don’t like driving on the freeways here.”

“That’s because no one here knows how to drive.”

Dean felt Castiel smile against his bare skin. Castiel slung his arm across Dean’s body, and Dean grasped around until he found Castiel’s hand.

“Don’t forget, Mom wanted us to invite him to Thanksgiving. You should do it.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Mom and Dad will love him. Michael might even take a liking to him. You said he’s interested in pre-law, right?”

Dean hummed, kissed Castiel’s hair. It’d be good for Sammy to meet Castiel’s family. After all, if Castiel said yes, they’d be his family too.

“We have the futon if he wants to stay the night,” Castiel said sleepily.

“As long as we never tell him what that futon’s seen.”

Castiel grumbled something unintelligible. He always stayed perfectly lucid right up until the point he conked out. After three years, Dean always knew the exact moment when he drifted off. On the nights when Castiel went first, Dean liked to stroke his back until his breath slowed, thinking about the future until he eventually joined him.

“Neat place,” Sam said. He pulled out one of the slatted wooden chairs on the winery’s deck and plopped down. “Too bad I can’t try any of the product.”

“That’s not true.” Dean handed him his menu. “The chefs cook up some great grub.”

“You know what I mean.” Sam tossed his hair away from his face, and the warm wind through the valley blew it back immediately. “Hey, any chance you might slip me a couple bottles to take back to campus? I can stash them in my closet.”

“I’d never condone something like that,” Castiel said, with a perfect straight face. Dean grinned and shook his head.

They dedicated the next couple minutes to looking over their menus. Well, Castiel and Sam did; Dean always got the same thing. Instead, Dean spent most of his time listening to them talk and watching Sam. Stanford was definitely feeding him well; the freshman fifteen looked to be well and truly on their way. Sam had always gained weight in his cheeks first, a fact about which Dean had teased him mercilessly for the entirety of their childhood.

More than that, though, there was a healthy glow to his skin. A lilt to his voice. A grander-than-usual vanity in the way he played with his hair. He was even wearing tight jeans, and Dean hadn’t stopped giving him shit for that ever since they’d picked him up at his dorm.

It all pointed to one thing, and Dean was thrilled.

“So,” Dean said, interrupting some religion thing the two of them were babbling about. “This Jess chick. You’ve sure been talking about her a lot.”

Sam squirmed and reached for his water glass. He gulped down half of it before replying.

“No I haven’t.”

“You could invite her along next time you visit.” Dean shrugged. “Introduce her to your brother. I wouldn’t embarrass you.”

Sam shot him a horrified look. “Uh. Yeah, maybe.”

Before Dean could say anything else, a familiar voice cut in from behind him.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Gabe patted Castiel’s shoulder. “Welcome to The Prodigal Son Winery. I’m Gabe; I’ll be your server today.”

Castiel shook him off. “Go away, Gabe.”

“What? Someone had to pick up the slack after I gave you two the day off!”

“You’re Cass’s brother?” Sam stood up and extended his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Nice to finally meet.”

“Oh my.” Gabe rubbed his thumb over Sam’s and licked his lips. “Aren’t you a big boy.”

“Um.” Sam blinked. “I guess my family’s pretty tall, yeah.”

“Dean’s a runt compared to you.” Gabe let him go, only to circle around the table and hover over Sam’s place setting. “Anything you’re curious about? I don’t mind giving you a free taste of anything on the menu.”

Dean glanced at Castiel, who just rolled his eyes and reached for the wine list.

“Hey,” Dean barked. “If our table’s comped, I want to order a bottle of the 2005 family reserve.”

“No one said anything about you,” Gabe said, without looking away from Sam.

The rest of the meal went much the same way, with Gabe lavishing attention on Sam and indulging in racy innuendoes about “thick and creamy” sauces. By the time they were leaving the deck to embark on a tour of the vineyards, Sam was clinging to Dean for dear life.

“If you ever want to make some extra money, Sam,” Gabe said, as he walked them out. “Well, I could use a young buck with lots of energy and spunk.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Dean halted at the foot of the deck. “Now you’ve gone too far, okay?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” Sam said, before sprinting back into the winery’s interior.

“You need to stop this, Gabe,” Castiel said. “He’s 18.”

“And he has a girlfriend.” Dean rubbed his chin. “I think.”

“What’re you even suggesting?” Castiel added. “‘A young buck with lots of energy and spunk?’ You sound like one of those elderly women who hire gigolos.”

Gabe raised his eyebrows. “I was just going to say he could help with the harvest next month. We need all the hands we can get.”

“Oh.” Dean cleared his throat. “Well, he can’t. He’s too busy with school.”

“A few weekends of work won’t stop him from earning a useless degree like you two.”

Castiel glared. “You were a drama major.”

“And now I own a winery worth millions of dollars,” Gabe said patly.

“Which has nothing to do with what you studied in college.”

“One thing you learn when you do ‘useless degrees’ like sociology,” Dean said. “Correlation doesn’t equal causation.”

“Interesting. Well, when the Germans come tomorrow, I want you and Cassie in the tasting room wearing your tightest, starchiest, whitest dress shirts. And leave the top two buttons undone. That tends to do wonders for customer satisfaction.” Gabe started up the staircase. “You can tell me later if you think that’s correlation or causation.”

They watched Gabe until he rounded the corner to the deck. Then, Castiel sighed deeply.

“Sometimes I think it was a mistake to come here, Dean. Yes, it was a soft landing after graduation, but he’s really trying my patience.”

“Our fault for graduating into the worst job market in 80 years. Thanks, Obama.”

“It’s not Obama’s fault.”

“I know, baby.” Dean rubbed his back. “It’s an internet joke.”

“Hmm.” Sam was descending the stairs, and Castiel smiled up at him. “Actually, I should go too before we take him on the tour. I’ll be right back.”

Sam nodded to Castiel as he passed. He joined Dean at the base of the stairway, and they leaned against the winery’s brick wall.

“Man.” Sam perched his shades on his nose. “Gabe’s a character. You said he was out there, but he’s…out there.”

“He’s a good guy. Most of the time. Just, uh, over the top.”

“Yeah.” Sam gazed out at the vineyard. “Your brother-in-law-to-be.”

Dean fidgeted his hands in front of his belt buckle. He only had a little more than 48 hours left.

“You still doing it on Sunday?” Sam turned to him. “No second thoughts or anything?”

“No, never.” Dean scratched his head, then returned to his fidgeting. “Me and Cass, we belong together. I knew that even before I knew I liked him that way.”

“Aw.” Sam looked down at Dean’s hands. “But you’re still nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous, Sam. I’m asking him to marry me.”

“Yeah.” Sam patted his shoulder. “Hey, two things. One, he’s definitely saying yes.”

“I hope so. Otherwise, it’ll be a really awkward ride back down to the ground.”

“Two, I’m proud of you. So proud of you. And happy—”

Dean cut Sam off by grappling him into a crushing hug. Once he’d recovered from the air being punched from his lungs, Sam hugged him back.

“I appreciate it, baby bro.” Dean sniffed.

“Cass loves you so much, you know? And…and maybe Dad’s not all the way there yet, but he likes him too. I can tell.”

“Yeah, right.”

“He does, Dean.” Sam chuckled. “Maybe he’ll come to the wedding and make up with both of us at the same time. Save him the extra trip.”

Dean returned his laugh. They were still hugging and patting each other’s backs when Castiel loped down the stairs.

“Oh, did something happen?” Castiel’s expression darkened. “Was it Gabe? Do I have to talk to him?”

“No, no.” Dean wiped his eyes. “Just…family stuff.”

Castiel offered a sympathetic smile but didn’t press him. It hit Dean a minute or two later, as the three of them were walking down into the rows of vines, that his answer had been even truer than he’d realized. After all, Castiel was his family, too.

Hopefully, come Sunday, they’d be making it official.

The visit by the business tourists from Frankfurt went swimmingly the next day, aside from Gabe making a mistake between the similar German words for humid and homosexual that had half the table in nervous titters. Castiel chewed him out when they were closing up at the end of the night, telling him to lay off the Google Translate. Dean didn’t catch all of it at the time—he was busy with opening bottles and pulling up glasses behind the bar—but Castiel explained it on the flashlight-lit walk home.

Dean tried to behave as inconspicuously as possible on Sunday, but he was sure Castiel suspected something. There wasn’t anything abnormal about a birthday surprise; ever since the year he’d chartered Lazarus on Lake Champlain, a trip to a secret destination had become one of their traditions. But the way he couldn’t sit down, sit still; the way he took a shower in the morning, sweated through his clothes, took a second one after lunch—yeah, Castiel was getting weirded out. He went out to the garden sometime in the early afternoon, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

At around three, Dean pulled out the worn, overfolded copy of his speech from his pocket. He read it over and over, returned it, grabbed it again and read it again. He locked himself in the bathroom and practiced in the mirror. He inspected the ring for what had to be the millionth time. It was just a simple band; Castiel thought diamonds were unethical. Dean hoped he’d like it.

At 4:30, Dean called Castiel in and told him to get ready for a little drive. He told him to wear something nice, suited for a long trip, and with at least one layer in case he got cold.

Something he’d want to look at photographs of, he added, hoping that wasn’t too much of a hint.

On the drive out to the field where they’d be lifting off, Castiel seemed remarkably serene. He sang along to Dean’s newest mixtape, rolled down his window to the grassy, fecund air of the Sonoma Valley. If he noticed that all the songs were ones they’d fallen in love to back in sophomore year, he didn’t say a thing.

“Here we are,” Dean said, as he took the last turn onto a one-lane road. The hot air balloon was just edging into view behind the line of trees, and Dean waited for Castiel to notice it.

“Hmm, the middle of nowhere? A hike—” Castiel gasped. “Is that—are we….”

“We sure are.”

“Dean!”

“Remember your twentieth birthday?” Dean turned down the stereo. “I threw you that G-rated party in the student union, Meg brought you to it?”

“That reminds me, it’s been a while since I caught up with Meg. But yes, I remember that very well.”

“And I got you balloons.” Dean parked the Impala on the side of the road. “Well, I figured you deserved an upgrade this year.”

Castiel admired the balloon through his window for a few seconds. Then, he dove across the front seat and planted a kiss on Dean’s lips.

“Mmm.” Dean rubbed Castiel’s back with one hand, squeezed his butt with the other. “Happy Birthday, baby.”

“I love you, Dean.” Castiel brushed their noses together. “Thank you.”

“And the surprises aren’t done.” Dean unlocked his door. “Come on, I think he’s ready to fly.”

They met on Castiel’s side, then crossed the field hand in hand. Another thing Dean appreciated about California compared to Kansas was that no one batted an eyelid at two men holding hands. Not that that would be an issue with the only other person on the field with them.

“Hey guys!” The pilot waved to them, his shaggy brown hair spilling out from under his beanie. “Fancy meeting you here!”

“Wait.” Castiel faltered for a second. “He seems familiar.”

“Garth,” Dean said. “The mate on the ship I took you on?”

Recollection dawned over Castiel’s face right as they got close enough for Garth to remind him himself. Dean offered him a handshake, but got a hug instead. He didn’t mind that.

“This is your balloon?” Castiel said.

“Yeah. A couple years back, I got tired of playing second fiddle to Dan. Plus, I’d always wanted to fly. I moved out here, got into ballooning, now I do it for a living.” Garth beamed. “I’m stoked you guys stayed together.”

Castiel tilted his head. “We weren’t together when we met you. We were only friends.”

“Dan said you’d be a couple within a month. I gave you two weeks.” Garth shrugged. “You do this kind of thing most of your adult life, you start getting a sense for couple dynamics.”

“I bet.” Dean swallowed. “Hey Garth, I’m not the best with heights. In fact, I hate flying. So….”

“Just don’t look down,” Garth said, with a twinkle in his eye. “Alright, boys, let’s set off. Don’t want to miss the sunset.”

The basket left the ground with a minor lurch, and Dean hid his face in Castiel’s trench coat. Castiel soothed the back of his head.

“I won’t barf on you,” Dean mumbled.

“It’s okay.” Castiel’s chest rumbled with laughter. “You always call this my flasher coat, anyway. No great loss.”

“Welcome aboard the Fizzles' Folly,” Garth said, once they’d been ascending for a minute or so.

Dean looked up. “Where’d the name come from?”

“Oh, it was the name of my boat.”

“Was?” Castiel said, with some trepidation.

“She sank,” Garth said brightly. “But don’t worry. I’m much better at piloting hot air balloons than I am at captaining ships.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Dean dug his face back into Castiel’s coat. “Babe, you might be seeing our lunch for a second time.”

Garth tsked. “Hey, you can’t hide for the entire flight! Think of how much you paid!”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Castiel petted his hair. “We can head back down early if you need to. This is already the best birthday gift ever.”

Dean shook his head. He straightened up against the opposite corner of the basket from Castiel and took a deep breath of the pure, clean air up here.

“No.” Dean smiled bravely. After all, he still had work to do.

“Okay.” Castiel rubbed his arm. “Are you sure?”

“Completely sure.” Dean peeked over Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey, is that Gabe’s winery?”

“Prodigal Son?” Garth said.

“Yeah.”

“That’s it, indeed.” Garth motioned in the other cardinal directions. “Kline Family Winery & Vineyard, Free Will Estate, Leahy Cellars. I can keep pointing them out as I go.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Dean squinted at the view. “Wonder if we can see our house from here.”

“It’s probably just a speck,” Castiel said. “I’m more interested in where we’re headed.”

“West,” Garth said.

“West is the Pacific Ocean,” Castiel noted.

“That’s right!” Garth opened some kind of valve, and heat billowed out. “Don’t worry, we’ll land before we reach it.”

“Right.” Castiel looked at Dean. “I suppose we better enjoy the view until then.”

“Yeah.” Dean felt around in his pocket. “‘Best birthday gift ever,’ huh?”

“You really need to stop outdoing yourself, Dean. At this rate, you’ll be taking me to the Moon when we’re 50.”

Dean grinned. “So, you’re planning on us still being together when we’re 50, huh?”

Castiel widened his eyes a little. He rubbed his thighs and blinked, clearly unsure as to why Dean was asking him that.

“I think so. I hope so.”

“Oh, hell.” Dean yanked out his phone and started playing The Beach Boys. “I wanted to wait until we were further along on the flight, but I’m just going to do it.”

“Dean, what’re you—” Castiel gasped. “Dean!”

Dean knelt down on the floor of the basket and held out Castiel’s ring. He breathed, trying to launch into the speech he’d been laboring over and memorizing for weeks. It was all mush, and Dean decided to just speak from the heart.

“Cass.” Dean exhaled. “Castiel Shurley. A long time ago, I played this song for you.”

“I remember.” Castiel dried his eyes. The fading light of the sun shone a perfect halo around his head.

“I said that it was about growing up with someone special. Growing old.” Dean chuckled. “If we’re going to the Moon for your 50^th, I can’t wait to see what we do for your 100^th.”

“Dean,” Castiel said softly.

“Because I want to spend all those years with you, Cass. And I know we don’t have a lot right now, I know we’re still figuring things out, but the one thing I’ve figured out for sure is that I want to share my life with you. And—and I kind of hope you feel the same way.” Dean held out the ring. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Dean.” Castiel brushed away more tears as he nodded. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”

Garth gave a quiet whoop as Dean returned to the bench and slid the ring onto Castiel’s finger. It fit just right, and Castiel complimented the fact that it was a plain band, no stone.

“My first proposal as a pilot,” Garth said. Even he seemed a little emotional.

“Really?” Castiel brought his arm around Dean and held him close. “I would’ve thought it’s a common way to propose.”

“Oh, it is. I just haven’t been piloting for very long.” Garth tinkered with a valve again. “I did have a dozen or so proposals on my boat. Before she capsized.”

“I see,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, anyway.” Dean cuddled into Castiel. “We can’t actually get married, what with Prop 8—”

“Isn’t that such bullshit?” Garth glanced at them. “Sorry, I should—I’ll give you some privacy.”

“You were saying?” Castiel said, after a beat.

“We can’t actually get married yet. But I figure, you know, it’ll take time to plan everything. And maybe by then, it’ll be legal.”

“And if not, we could get married in Vermont. Maybe even a venue on Lake Champlain. It’d be easy to get all our Edlund friends together that way, too.”

“That’d be cool. But….” Dean hesitated.

“What is it?”

“No, I was just hoping for here. It’ll be easier for Sam to come. And easier for us to make Gabe host the reception.”

Castiel laughed. “Very good point.”

They kissed again, and Dean peered out at the view along with Castiel. They were floating over the mountains now, the ones that caught the sunset every evening in the cottage’s kitchen window. Past that, everything was greener, and then there was the endless blue glass of the Pacific.

“I love you,” Castiel said. “Fiancé.”

Dean hugged him tighter. “I love you too.”

The balloon flew west, following the warmth of the sun to the ocean.

THE END