Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The diner isn’t particularly nice.

Not even for its kind.

And it being named The Crossroad is a little too on-the-nose for the location at the intersection of the small town’s two main streets.

The food is a point in favor of the place, but that’s not the reason Cas is in here for the second time in as many days.

He’s halfway through his eggs and toast. Today’s newspaper is lying on the counter of the bar, folded over twice to display the article he’s reading. It makes it harder to ignore the unfortunate situation that the brown laminate covering the metal of the counter is eerily similar to the color of the cheap flooring.

“You were in here yesterday morning as well, weren’t you?”

Cas’ attention snaps from the paper to the man standing in front of him on the other side of the bar.

Dean.

Cas doesn’t have to check the name tag today to know. He doesn’t need to check the defined line of Dean’s jaw or the trail of freckles either, but he does it anyway.

He tries to avoid letting his gaze linger on a mouth pulled into a pleasant smile as he drags his attention up to green eyes.

The question. Answer the question. “Yes. I’m staying at a motel while I’m in town, so I’m in dire need of proper coffee.”

Dean’s smile tips from pleasant into a bright grin, “Well, in that case you’ve definitely come to the right place.”

He turns around to grab a pot of coffee from its heating plate. The strings of the white half-apron that’s wrapped around his waist brush his backside as he moves. Cas snaps his gaze away as soon as the thought registers.

Dean turns back to face him and refills the mostly empty cup, “You here with the missus?”

There’s a short-lived moment of confusion, until Cas follows Dean’s gesture towards the gold band he still keeps on his left ring finger.

“Ah, no, I’m…” Cas absently twists the ring, “I’m not married anymore.”

Dean considers him for a long moment before saying, “No, I can’t tell. You a widower or did you leave her and now you’re here in nowhere USA, regretting your decision?”

“She divorced me.”

Dean does a slow sweep of his body, “I find that very difficult to imagine.”

Cas lifts a skeptical eyebrow while attempting to stamp down the beginnings of a flush.

Continuing undeterred, Dean asks, “So what’d you do? Has to have been pretty bad.” He’s smiling, still looking Cas up and down. Out of nowhere his face goes hard, “Were you beating her?”

“What?” Cas blinks rapidly at Dean, feeling his jaw threatening to drop, “No, I… I would never. Why would…” The words die in his mouth as Dean’s expression tumbles from hard, through neutrality, all the way to warm.

Dean puts his crossed forearms on the counter, leaning into Cas’ space, “Okay, what then?”

Trying to keep his tone level, Cas says, "I believed myself to be bisexual. Turns out I'm not."

Dean laughs softly, “Not much to be said for holding off till after the wedding, huh?”

“Um, no, I.… We didn’t…” Cas trails off. He drinks from his cup of coffee to buy himself more time.

“You didn’t wait?” Dean asks with a skeptical expression, “I think you’re gonna have to explain that one to me. Seems like a bit of a difficult mistake to make.”

Cas sets the cup down on its saucer and grimaces, “I don't want to be crass.”

“Well now you have to tell me or I'm going to start filling in the blanks myself,” Dean says. He’s looking Cas dead in the eye as he adds, “And I have a very colorful imagination.”

A patron further down the bar calls Dean over. With a last look, Dean taps the counter barely an inch from Cas’ elbow and says, “I’m going to be coming back for that explanation.”

After taking the first order, Dean makes his way to one of the booths lining the wall below big windows. There he lingers to make small-talk with an air of fond familiarity.

Cas lights a cigarette and tries to be subtle about turning in his seat to watch the interaction take place behind his back, but Dean is making it incredibly difficult to feign disinterest.

Leaning against the burgundy vinyl of the booth, Dean gives his full attention to the elderly lady sitting there alone. He grins down at her as they talk, spending precious moments pulling light onto her face even though the place is full and he’s the only one working – except for whoever mans the kitchen behind the small window where plates and slips with orders exchange hands.

Fully expecting that to be the end of his and Dean’s conversation, Cas finishes the smoke and forces himself to turn his attention back to the newspaper. He folds it out over the counter in search of another article.

Once he’s satisfied, he picks up his cup of coffee and takes a sip. When he puts it back down, the ink transferred from the paper to his hands has left black marks on the ceramic. He doesn’t reach for the cup again after that, and takes care to keep his hands away from the white button-down he needs keep pristine for later.

The warm aura of Dean’s presence registers before he even speaks, “Okay, I’m listening.”

Cas looks up, but doesn’t put the paper down on the counter, “I don’t think-”

“-I’m going to keep haunting you until you elaborate,” Dean says, “I can be quite persuasive once I’ve set my sights on something.”

Another inappropriate flush is threatening to appear, “Yes, I can imagine.” Cas folds the paper in half and puts it down as he ill-advisedly says, “I, uh… I like nice underwear."

“Sure, who doesn’t?”

Cas shakes his head, “Not to this degree I think.”

Dean laughs, “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the kinky type.” There’s no trace of judgment in his tone.

“I mean on a partner, not wearing it myself,” Cas clarifies as he mentally plays his own words back.

Dean shrugs, “Still doesn’t explain it.”

“I think it does.”

“Spell it out for me. Pretend I’m five.”

“I can assure you that we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all if you were a child.”

“You’re not going to distract me with your semantics,” Dean says, “I want that explanation.”

Cas blows out a slow breath that comes out as more of a chuckle. Dean’s eyes sparkle and his gaze flicks all over Cas’ face.

The combination forces Cas to say, “I don’t know how much there is to explain. While we dated we both made more of an effort. And then once we married, the everyday gradually set in. At which point we realized that my sexual interest was... well, nonexistent, when she didn’t dress up. She didn’t find that particularly flattering.”

Dean snorts a laugh, “I bet.”

Cas grimaces, “I know. I feel awful about it.”

With another shrug, Dean says, “Y’know, if it were me, I would’ve just kept going the extra mile for you.”

“Even with the knowledge that I wasn’t attracted to you?” Cas asks skeptically.

“Who cares? As long as it got me into your bed.”

The pause before Cas replies is too long while he wrangles with the stab of arousal that spikes through his body.

He focuses on the wedding ring Dean is wearing to collect himself enough to say, “I hope you’re not having to resort to that kind of mentality with your spouse.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. Then he laughs, “Okay, so once you start being crass you’re just going all out?”

Mortification cuts clean through any other emotion, “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t-”

“-All good,” Dean’s pink mouth quirks into a lopsided grin, “Besides, my memory tends to get real hazy if the tip is big enough.” His attention strays to a point behind Cas before returning. He indicates Cas’ black fingertips, “Let me know if you want me to iron a newspaper for you next time.”

With that, Dean shoves away from the counter and grabs a notepad to tend to the table that’s been trying to flag him down for the last handful of minutes.

Cas wipes the worst of the ink from his hands and checks his wristwatch, only succeeding in confirming what he already knows. He’s late. He shrugs into his trench coat and leaves a tip of a size that’s well past the point of politeness.

----

Cas returns in the evening. Dean isn’t there. Which probably makes sense, since he had the morning shift, but doesn’t help diminish the stab of disappointment. Cas eats his dinner and leaves as soon as he’s finished.

----

Dean is there the next morning. The instant Cas walks through the door, their eyes meet. A smile spreads on Dean’s face and Cas follows the pull of it all the way to a barstool at the counter.

“Are you back to ask me some more inappropriate questions?” Dean says.

Cas stops in the middle of taking off his trench coat to gauge Dean’s expression. He’s still smiling. Cas takes the coat the rest of the way off and leaves it on the barstool next to the one he settles on. “I’m mainly here for eggs and toast, but I’m willing to take confessions if you have anything you need to get off your chest.”

Dean demonstratively lifts his eyebrows, “No coffee?”

“Oh, definitely coffee,” Cas replies, “I just assumed that was a given.”

“Okay, so you’re funny today. Slept well?”

“In a motel bed? Not particularly, no.”

Dean laughs and plucks the pen from the chest pocket of his short sleeved button-down. He scrawls the order on a notepad and fixes the coffee before turning his attention to the rest of the breakfast rush.

There’s something comfortable about the buzz of conversation providing a backdrop to reading the morning paper. The coffee maker gurgles as it fills the air with the scent of a fresh pot getting brewed.

Dean flits around, sparing an extra minute for everyone, even if he’s balancing stacks of plates. When the coffee is done, Dean returns. He refills Cas’ cup.

“Thank you,” Cas says with a grateful smile.

Dean stops moving. Abruptly. He’s staring into Cas’ eyes. The coffee pot is still in his hand, “Yeah, I… of course. You’re welcome.”

It’s strange. Cas is hardly the only polite person in here.

Behind Dean a burly guy in a full apron shoulders through the steel door leading from the kitchen. He waves a piece of paper torn from a notepad at Dean, “Brother, if your handwriting is gonna keep movin’ in this direction, I’m gettin’ you a set of crayons for your next birthday.”

Dean grabs the paper out of his hand and scoffs, “In that case I’m sending you back to school to learn how to read, Benny.”

They keep bickering. There’s a fond edge to the way Benny is watching Dean jab a finger at the illegible note.

Benny’s attention flicks to a point behind Cas’ back. His big hand settles on Dean’s bicep. “Your husband’s here,” Benny says with a nod.

Dean’s head snaps around. Cas tries not to mimic the abrupt motion and instead be subtle about it.

He feels a crease of confusion appear as he watches the newcomer. The man is a lot older than Dean, which isn’t in itself causing the confusion. It just doesn’t help when it’s combined with a vague unpleasantness to his appearance. His eyes are unnaturally light, his lips are too thin and there’s something gaunt about him.

The use of ‘husband’ is more likely to be ironic than the actual case. The man is wearing a wedding band, but so are a lot of people without being married to Dean specifically. Cas himself for instance.

Dean slaps Benny’s arm, “Okay, scram. I’ll give Al your regards.”

Benny nods. With a last squeeze of Dean’s bicep, he moves towards the kitchen door.

“Hey, Benny?” Dean says, handing him the paper across the space between them, “It says ham, eggs and toast.”

“Ah,” Benny just neutrally says and returns to the kitchen.

The door has barely swung shut behind him before Al is behind the bar.

With slow deliberation, he picks something up from the counters lining the back. He holds what looks like a folded piece of white paper out for Dean to take.

Dean hesitates and Cas can’t follow the silent communication happening between them that leads up to Dean finally taking the item.

It turns out to be a paper hat – the kind that’s a poor imitation of the garrison cap that Cas wore when he fought overseas a decade ago. Dean mashes it on top of his carefully styled strands of brown hair.

Al steps all the way into his space and places a hand on the side of Dean’s jaw. His fingertips curl around the back of Dean’s neck. His thumb is on Dean’s cheek.

Dean shrugs the touch off, “I’m working.”

“That’s mighty hard to tell when you’re not wearing your uniform, honey.”

Dean looks away.

“I’m talking to you,” Al says calmly.

“Yeah, okay. I’m wearing it, ain’t I?”

This isn’t any of Cas’ business, even if he doesn’t understand why on earth Dean would choose to be married to this man. He tries his best to direct his attention to an article about the McCarthy hearings.

Once Al departs from behind the counter, Dean grumbles, “These would be the first to go if I had anything to say about it.”

Cas isn’t sure if it’s meant for his ears, so he doesn’t attempt to reply.

Perfectly shaped fingers land on the edge of his newspaper and twist it, “The Red Scare, huh?”

“I like to keep up to date,” Cas replies as he tries to gauge Dean’s expression.

“Mm,” Dean says and leaves the paper alone, “What brings you to this lovely little corner of the world?”

“Work,” Cas replies, “I’m here to supervise at a factory. They do-”

“-automobile manufacturing. Yeah, I know,” Dean replies absently, with his gaze straying to a point further down the room. His eyes land on Cas again, “And this is a long-term project or…?”

“No, not really,” Cas admits, only just managing to cut himself off before he can add ‘unfortunately’ to the sentence, “I’m expecting my work here to be done after today. I hope, at least, as my flight is booked for this evening.”

“Ah, so this trip is a one-time thing?” Dean asks.

“I think so, yes.”

Cas doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or if Dean’s face actually falls for a second.

There’s a sound of fingers snapping somewhere to Cas’ right and then Al’s voice, “Dean, with me.”

Dean hesitates. He’s watching Cas while he does it. The tips of his fingers are grazing the table in front of Cas, close enough that they almost touch.

The green eyes that Cas is staring into briefly flick to the point further down the bar. Dean swallows heavily. With a last look back at Cas, he follows Al. They weave around tables all the way until they pass through a door.

It’s the door leading to a hallway that holds a staircase leading to an upper floor, a storage room and the bathroom – which is why Cas knows what’s behind it at all.

His choice of going to the bathroom at this specific point in time isn’t completely accidental.

Dean and Al are in the storage room further down the dimly lit hall, so they don’t see him when he silently opens the door. He’s halfway into the bathroom when he hears Al’s voice. It’s slightly muffled from the distance, but roots Cas to the spot.

“You always had a soft spot for lost souls, didn’t you?” Al says. Only, he doesn’t say it like it’s one of Dean’s best qualities. Instead it’s nasal and unpleasant.

Dean doesn’t say anything.

“But you’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you grasshopper? You’re going to have the poor guy thinking you’re in love with him before the end of your shift.”

There’s a distinctly hard edge to it when Dean replies, "Pay me an actual wage if you don't want me hustling for tips."

If Cas were the delusional type he might dwell on the fact that this is obviously what one would tell one’s spouse if the situation was that there were anything untoward happening. But apart from the general lack of any kind of morality in that line of thinking, there’s the obvious rule of thumb that your server isn't actually interested in you, they're just at work. Even more so if they’re gorgeous and married.

There’s an unsettling calm to the way Al replies, “Oh, you want to talk money, do you?”

Staying to overhear this conversation is a level of disrespectful that Cas shouldn’t ever have started to venture into. He slips out of the bathroom entirely. He closes the door carefully and makes sure to not make any sound when he makes his way back out to the diner.

Picking up his trench coat, he digs out a more than generous tip that he slides all the way under his plate. He isn’t actually expecting Dean’s husband to be stealing from him, but making sure that the tip goes to the person doing the work is just generally good form.

And then he leaves.

He finishes up his work at the factory. He catches his flight home. He drives from the airport, unlocks the door to his apartment, turns on the lights that illuminate the half-empty rooms that he still hasn’t bothered decorating. He eats his dinner alone and washes up in the unnerving silence of solitude.

And he gets himself off to vivid mental images of Dean. Over and over and over again.

By the time he has his next meeting with his manager, he makes a case for closer supervision of the factory being necessary. And volunteers himself.

Chapter Text

Returning turns out to be more relevant to business than assumed.

In a way it’s fortunate, as it makes a more convincing case for this being purely a rational decision. Which helps Cas look good, both in front of his supervisor and in front of God. It’s almost like it’s never been about Dean at all.

The delusion lasts all the way until Cas walks through the door to The Crossroad barely a month later. Dean stops in the middle of wiping down the counter to do a double take.

Cas sinks onto a barstool. Without looking up from the cleaning, Dean neutrally says, “Thought it was supposed to be a one-time thing.”

“So did I,” Cas replies, “The plan changed.”

Dean’s hand stills on the cloth. After a quick look at Cas, he finishes wiping, “Ah, because of the escalation of the conflict up at the factory?”

“Yes. Do you mind if I smoke?”

Confusion crosses Dean’s face. Cas follows his gaze to the few stragglers lingering in the booths past the morning rush. One man is finishing his breakfast. The gray cigarette smoke from the other two patrons weave together in the air, curling towards the dark ceiling in the sunlight filtering through big windows. Dean looks back to Cas, “No, of course. Go ahead.”

Cas pulls his Camels out of the pocket of the trench coat and strikes a match to light one. He hesitates. Doesn’t want to be just another patron to Dean. He holds out the pack, “Do you want one?”

For a second it seems like Dean might accept the offer. Then he shakes his head, “I’m good, thanks.”

While rinsing the cloth in the sink, Dean looks over his shoulder at Cas, “I’m gonna hedge a wild guess and say you’re not here to support the unionizing up there?”

“Very much the opposite, I’m afraid.”

Dean grimaces into the sink, probably not meant for Cas to see. The wet cloth lands on the back counter with a plop. The grimace is gone when Dean turns around to study Cas with enough focus that the buttoned shirt collar and the tight knot of his navy tie start to feel restricting.

Finally Dean says, “So you being back is a good sign? That it’s not a done deal for the higher-ups?”

Cas slowly exhales a cloud of smoke and lifts his eyebrows, “A good sign for who exactly?”

“The good guys, baby,” Dean says with an unrepentant grin.

“So that would make me one of the bad guys, I suppose?”

“Nah, I believe there’s hope for you yet,” the grin is still there and Dean fills a cup with coffee and places it in front of him. It’s paired with a spark entering Dean’s eyes and Cas hesitates in place of trying to make his case.

Dean stretches his hand across the counter, “I’m Dean.”

Cas doesn’t point out the name tag or say I know. Instead he shifts the cigarette and accepts the handshake. It’s the first opportunity he gets to touch Dean’s skin, “Cas.”

None of them lets go.

Dean’s attention moves to Cas’ left hand that’s currently holding the smoke, “No wedding band?”

“No, I…” Cas swallows, “I think it’s been long enough. It was time.”

Cas gently retracts his hand while Dean is still staring at him.

Drinking his coffee, Cas tries not to shoot glances at Dean cleaning up tables behind him. Once Dean rejoins him at the counter, Cas carefully asks, “Why did you marry him?”

Dean doesn’t display any signs of surprise at the non sequitur. He just says, “You’re curious today, huh?”

“I…” Cas almost chickens out. Probably should, “I’d just like to understand. He doesn’t seem…” He breaks himself off before he can finish the sentence with worthy of you. Instead he settles on, “… particularly nice.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean says slowly, “In that case it’s probably lucky it’s not you who’s married to him, isn’t it?”

He walks away before Cas can say anything else.

It’s just as well, because Cas is late late. Truthfully he has been ever since deciding to stop by here instead of going directly to the reason he’s in town. The other reason. The main reason.

----

Cas shouldn’t go back. There are other places to get food.

He has no idea what he’s even trying to achieve when he returns for a late dinner.

He’s not expecting the place to be as full as it is. But then again, it’s a Friday night.

A set of parents are trying to wrangle their unruly children. They’re in a booth next to a group of men in gaucho shirts with their flat caps lying on the table. Two women who appear to be married are in full business attire, same as Cas who hasn’t changed out of his suit either.

Dean being here is unexpected, but doesn’t make that much of a difference. He’s busy and Cas chooses a free-standing table.

Dean leans in as he passes by with two loaded plates. He sounds friendly, but asks, “You gonna get all up in my business again?”

“No, I…” Cas swallows, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

Dean nods, “Be with you in just a second.”

He’s wearing the paper hat, even if Al doesn’t appear to be here currently. When he returns to take Cas’ order, it’s with easygoing efficiency before moving on.

Cas’ choice of a hamburger is mostly because Dean recommends it. It’s an unnecessary indulgence, it’s messy and it’s easily among the best taste experiences of his life.

Once the crowd tails off, Dean tears off the hat and throws it on the counter. He messes with his hair as he makes his way to Cas’ table.

Cas’ empty plate is still in front of him. He smiles up at Dean, fully aware that he’s about to get thrown out so Dean can close up, “Thank you for the recommendation. It was perfect.”

“I know,” Dean grins, “I’ll be sure to pass the praise along to Benny.”

Cas roots for money to settle the bill, already half out of his seat, when Dean asks, “How long are you in town for this time?”

“Three more days,” Cas replies. He doesn’t pull his wallet out of his pocket, but he doesn’t sit back down either.

“Over the weekend? That’s rough.”

“I suppose,” Cas says neutrally.

“I’m working too, if that helps,” Dean says with a compassionate smile, “I’m here from we open, through the breakfast rush. And then again from the tail-end of dinner hours till I close up alone. Same as every day.”

Cas isn’t sure if he’s imagining the loaded edge to how meticulously Dean is delivering his schedule. But still, Cas says, “I fly home Monday night. So I suppose you’re going to be seeing a lot of me.”

“Suppose I will,” Dean says. He braces his forearms on the backrest of the seat opposite Cas’, “Sounds awful for you to be flying that much.”

Cas laughs and settles back in his chair, “No, it’s actually better than it used to be. I don’t know if you experienced it during the war?”

“For getting back on American soil, you mean?” Dean’s brows lift, “No, I just enlisted, so I didn’t exactly get any officer privileges. Took them long enough to get us on the boat back, too. I was nearly old enough to vote by the time I got home.”

Bad form to have brought it up. Cas fumbles for something to say that can alleviate the way it’s currently appearing as if he’d been using the comment as an opportunity to flaunt his rank.

Dean saves him, “I’ve never been on a plane. It seems like a whole lot of money for the opportunity to be terrified for however long you’re stuck up there.”

“You get used to it,” Cas says, “And there’s something to be said for seeing the sky above the clouds.”

“Probably not gonna be much to see this time, if you’re flying at night.”

“Oh, there is. But it’s rather very early Tuesday morning, so if I’m lucky I’ll get to see the sunrise from the plane.”

Interest lights up Dean’s face, “Okay, in that case I’ll look forward to-” he abruptly breaks off, “You coming back here again?”

“Depends.”

The tip of Dean’s pink tongue darts out. Cas blushes and looks away when Dean catches him watching.

----

Al is there on Saturday. Dean spares time for Cas, same as for every other customer.

----

On Sunday morning Al is absent and a broad smile lights up Dean’s face when he sees Cas. Dean’s button-down has long sleeves today. The hat is nowhere to be seen.

Cas settles at the counter. There’s a neatly ironed newspaper lying in front of the barstool he’s prematurely starting to think of as his. He shoots an uncertain look at Dean through the room. Dean looks up from scribbling down the order of a group of young women. He meets Cas’ eyes and nods.

When Dean drops by to fix him coffee and breakfast, Cas thanks him and a flush blooms on Dean’s cheeks in the seconds before he moves on. Cas reads the paper, smokes and pretends he’s not lingering on purpose. He drinks his coffee slowly, without any threat of ink transferring.

The rush tapers off when the church bells start ringing and most of the nicely dressed customers leave.

Cas ought to do the same. Instead he stays put and tries to kill the slow simmer of anticipation that has settled in his veins.

Eventually Dean returns to the counter. He scrubs both hands down his face and lets out a deep breath.

“Busy morning,” Cas comments.

Dean removes the hands from his face, “What?”

Cas tilts his head.

“Ah. Yeah, busy morning. Thank God for church service.”

Cas’ eyebrows shoot up at the blasphemy.

Dean laughs, “Hey, you’re not at church either.”

Cas should probably say something about common manners. He doesn’t.

It pays off.

“I, uh,” Dean starts, “I have a younger brother. Al paid for him to go to college.”

“Oh,” Cas says, “I see.”

He doesn’t.

At least until Dean says, “You asked why I married him. That’s why.”

Cas doesn’t ask whether Dean means that the man is kinder than he seems or if he’s alluding to something else entirely.

“Sammy finished his bachelor this winter,” pride enters Dean’s expression, “He’s already working a cushy job in the city.”

“Oh, so he started studying right before the draft?”

“Yeah, lucky coincidence right?” Dean says, carefree as anything, “He never set a single foot in Korea.”

“Lucky,” Cas echoes.

Students were exempt from the draft, just the same as those who served during the Second World War.

At the time of the draft for the Korean war, Dean’s brother has to have been at least the same age that Dean was when he enlisted. Very possibly older. Cas doesn’t ask whether Dean’s use of ‘lucky’ relates to his own experiences during the war or if it relates to this cause in particular.

“And then Al owns the diner of course,” Dean continues, steering them away from the topic, “I love this place.”

Blinking several consecutive times, Cas says, “Not to be rude, but…”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Spit it out.”

“What in particular appeals to you?”

“You say that as if you’re not practically living here whenever you’re in town,” Dean remarks.

Cas looks away.

“Okay,” Dean says and leans on the counter with his forearms. Low and conspiratorial he says, "See that guy over there?"

Cas tries to be subtle as he glances at an elderly man in a knit sweater worn over a soft-collar shirt.

“That’s George. He’s infatuated with Madge,” Dean indicates a slender woman gingerly drinking a cup of coffee while looking out the window. Her gray hair is styled into neat waves. “He’s been working up the courage to ask her out for the last four years.”

Dean continues, “And the girl sitting next to the jukebox? That’s Gail. She always buys a pack of cigarettes for her mom and then uses the change to pick every single Frank Sinatra song we’ve got.”

“What about him?” Cas asks about a man reading a newspaper at one of the free-standing tables. He seems vaguely familiar.

Dean hesitates before saying, “I invited him.”

“Oh?”

“For you.”

Cas squints at Dean, then looks back. The man is in a flannel shirt. His face is weathered and there’s an unkempt air to his hair and beard.

Finally Cas recognizes him as the man who’s leading the unruly workers at the factory, Robert Singer. He should probably have realized immediately, but he’s only ever seen the man in work clothes and from a distance.

“Five minutes of your time,” Dean says before Cas can even begin to protest.

“Dean, I don’t think…”

“Just hear him out,” the look on Dean’s face is neutral, but he wants this. Keenly.

Cas doesn’t. He wants to draw out his work here as long as humanly possible. He’ll likely get pulled entirely if it gets back to headquarters that he’s talking to the fledgling union at all.

The positive regard in Dean’s expression diminishes with every second Cas hesitates.

Cas nods and gets up from his chair, “Five minutes,” he warns, “That’s the best I can do.”

A bright smile appears on the mouth he’s doing everything in his power to avoid staring at. White teeth catch a lower lip, as if Dean is attempting to stop the smile from broadening.

Cas forces himself to pull away and makes his way across the room.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asks.

Robert looks up from his paper.

Cas reaches his hand forward, “Castiel Novak.”

Robert doesn’t accept the attempted handshake, “Yes, I know exactly who you are.”

His voice is distinctly unfriendly, but Cas keeps the offered hand where it is. It’s a formal introduction, a sign of good faith. It’s not about exchanging names.

Eventually the union representative sighs and accepts the handshake, “Robert Singer. Sit down, if you must.”

Cas sits. Robert puts his newspaper down and starts talking.

Cas isn’t listening. His attention is on Dean who’s in conversation with Gail.

Abruptly, he shifts his attention from Dean to Robert, “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

Robert lifts his eyebrows, but repeats, “I said that the accident last week was caused by too-long hours and the piss-poor equipment that your guys have refused to replace.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Oh, you were there, were you? And not in some glitzy office high in the sky of some stupid city?”

That’s exactly where he’s been, but he’s been kept up to date. He’s received a detailed report about how the man who lost his hand had been careless and most likely intoxicated. Cas frowns.

But the more they talk, the more his stomach churns as doubt sets in. He attempts to stamp it down. He has obligations, he can’t let the word of one man decide how an entire factory is run.

Their talk lasts for far longer than five minutes.

He jumps in his seat when Dean appears at their table, “I’m going upstairs to get some sleep before the dinner rush. Sue is here if you need anything and Benny is making you lunch.”

He’s looking directly at Cas. It’s tinted with something that Cas wants to slowly peel apart.

“Am I included here or is it reserved for the paper pusher?” Robert gruffly asks. For the first time there’s a soft edge to his expression.

Dean looks away from Cas and rolls his eyes, “Yeah, if you play nice, Bobby.”

Robert grumbles as Dean leaves, but it seems good natured.

Having lunch together does something to the general atmosphere, turning their conversation from verging on an argument into something more closely resembling a business meeting. They’re still talking when Dean comes down from the apartment upstairs.

Emerging through the door, Dean absently smooths down wayward strands of hair and there’s a pillow mark on his one cheek. He covers a yawn, before noticing Cas, at which point he freezes, flicking his gaze from Cas to Robert in the moment before he wrenches his attention away.

Through the evening hours, Dean keeps shooting covert glances at the table where the two of them are negotiating.

Before Monday starts, they have reached a rudimentary agreement about the position of the union in relation to the factory management. All that’s left is to sign the papers tomorrow and get the daily management to fall in line.

The way Dean watches him when he and Robert shake hands past closing time is almost enough to make him forget that he’s going to have to pay for this once he gets back to headquarters.

----

The next morning, Cas gets up unnecessarily early, hoping to see that look on Dean’s face again.

At the diner there’s an ironed newspaper waiting for him, but Dean isn’t there. Cas forces himself to not ask either Benny or the frazzled-looking waitress about it.

----

It’s a long day at the factory and when Cas catches the tail end of dinner hours, it’s half due to necessity and half on purpose.

Dean is there. Same as yesterday he’s in long sleeves and no hat. Al is still absent. Which is fortune as Dean keeps chewing his lip and shooting long looks at Cas. Long enough that Cas lingers on his barstool after he’s done eating.

He has a grueling day ahead of him tomorrow at the office. And it’s only going to be made worse by his decisions yesterday. But he’s unlikely to return here again, and he’s willing to suffer just about anything if it opens up the possibility of getting even half an hour of Dean’s time before they part ways.

Benny exits the kitchen casually dressed and without an apron. On his way out he stops to ask Dean something under his breath.

Dean shakes his head, “Nah, I’ve got it. See you tomorrow.”

Benny leaves and eventually Dean finishes up with the last of the customers. Except for Cas.

Dean keeps throwing glances at him through cleaning up. He has refused the help Cas has offered, but still hasn’t asked him to leave. So Cas stays on the barstool and smokes. He plucks a discarded newspaper from a table just to have something to do other than watch Dean.

Part of him wants to say something. Anything, just to get a conversation going. But there’s something about the tension radiating from Dean that stops him every time he’s about to open his mouth.

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Dean finally says. He briefly looks out the window at the deserted street. He unties the half apron and tosses it on the bar next to Cas. He hesitates, before saying, “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Yes, of course,” Cas stumps out his cigarette and turns towards Dean on the stool, “What is it?”

“I bought something,” Dean says. At least Cas thinks that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell through the rush of blood in his ears as Dean’s nimble fingers undoes a belt buckle. The buckle jangles softly, before Dean undoes the top button of the trousers. Metal grinds as he pulls the zipper down just enough to tug the waistline down on one side.

Shiny pink fabric sits snug against tan skin. There’s a hint of a ruffle half-hidden by the trousers. Between the panties and the hem of the button-down is the jut of an exposed hip bone. There’s a dark beauty mark at its apex.

Cas wants to put his mouth there. He wants to trace the line of Dean’s hip bone with his tongue. All the way down until-

“What do you think?” Dean asks.

Cas pinches his eyes closed. He swallows heavily, but still sounds hoarse when he says, “I’m sure your husband is going to like those very much.”

“Ain’t for him,” Dean replies, “He’s out in Tulsa with some chick.”

“The two of you have a special arrangement?” Cas asks neutrally, but it’s with his pulse thundering in his throat. Please, please, please.

Dean lifts his eyebrows. Then he laughs. “In my dreams.”

“He’s cheating?” Cas asks, feeling his entire face furrow. The questions burn on the tip of his tongue: How can Al want anything except for this? How can he possibly fail to understand that he’s the luckiest man in the world? How could he be so damn stupid.

Dean huffs a breath that sounds like an exasperated laugh. He nudges at Cas’ knee and slips between his thighs. Cas remains seated. His heart isn’t beating. Staring, staring, staring at Dean’s face until long fingers pick up one of his hands and presses it against soft flesh and the edge of smooth satin. His hand is caught there, between temptation and the hard line of a wedding band.

“Yeah,” Dean says unflinchingly, staring directly into Cas’ eyes, “He is.”

Doesn’t make it any better. Doesn’t make it okay. Leave him. Come find me the second the ink is dry on the divorce papers. Cas is a Christian. He should be above participating in adultery.

He’s not above Dean, though. If Dean is the devil, Cas doesn’t want heaven anyway.

His free hand finds Dean’s other hip, curling around it. Both thumbs stroke from sleek satin to naked skin under the hem of the shirt. Cas is hoarse again, “He’s a damn idiot.”

Dean laughs and slips his fingers into Cas’ hair, “Might be your gain.”

A weak sound pushes out of Cas. Dean places a knee on his thigh, crawling halfway into his lap on the barstool. Cas’ hands tighten on Dean’s hips, staring up into his face.

“Do you like them?” Dean asks with his mouth so, so close to Cas’.

“Yes, I…” Cas says shakily, “Very much.”

Dean grins, “Good.”

Carefully Cas tugs at Dean’s trousers, sliding his hands along slippery satin. Ruffles brush his fingers.

Dean pulls back, forcing Cas to drop the touch. The need to follow tears at his every limb, but Dean shakes his head and closes his trousers again, “Go catch your flight. Get yourself off to this memory when you’re back home.”

Chapter Text

The board doesn’t like his choice of opening a direct line of communication between the union and the daily management. Cas was supposed to be in town to set an example. Which is what he pointedly didn’t do.

What saves him is that he’s indispensable. And the general explosion of unionizing across the country. Cas’ decision might affect the entire company, but so would strikes spreading like wild-fire across their enterprises, like the ones they’re seeing their competition struggle with.

If Cas had anything else to attend to than his work, it would all be a disaster. There’s a distinct worsening of his tasks and there’s a steep increase in travel days and unending meetings. Meetings where he has to sit in front of livid union representatives and argue for inhuman conditions that he hadn’t ever been aware of anyone working under.

For the first time, Cas starts having days where he hates his work. This job is what his life revolves around – everything his life revolves around – and he suddenly can’t focus. Can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be doing this.

It takes several weeks for Cas to talk his superiors into letting him return to what haunts him.

He starts to question the decision when Dean stares at him wide-eyed from behind the counter.

Dean stops in the middle of drying a glass with a dish towel. His toned forearms are on display under the short sleeves of his uniform shirt. Stark white paper sits on his brown hair.

“I’d started thinking you were done here,” Dean says in an even voice that sounds distinctly feigned.

Cas settles on a barstool, “I’m not in the habit of leaving business unfinished.”

There’s something going on with the mix of Dean’s breathing and rapid swallowing. Either he’s uncomfortable to the point of panic, regretting his momentary slip in judgment a month ago. Or else there’s something very different going on.

Cas shouldn’t be hoping it’s the latter. But he wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t.

The golden band on Dean’s ring finger glints in the rays of morning sun that spill through the windows.

Cas should leave.

He doesn’t know why part of him had ever entertained the idea that he might return to Dean’s finger being free of everything but a tan line that would fade with time. Or at least to divorce proceedings underway.

Dean could if he wanted to. All he needs is to prove that Al is cheating. At least as long as he hasn’t been been caught committing adultery himself. The second this turns into a shared transgression, getting a judge to grant a divorce becomes impossible.

With Cas’ own marriage they’d chosen the classic route for an amicable parting of ways: A hotel room, a prostitute and a photographer. Cas had hated every second of it, but had taken the fall nonetheless. It was only fair. And at least being painted as an adulterer had been far easier to stomach than the other grounds for divorce, such as insanity, abandonment or cruelty.

It seems unlikely that Al would be willing to make it that easy for Dean, but his cooperation isn’t necessary. Dean already has almost everything he needs.

That they’re still married spells it out very clearly: Whatever the reason, Dean isn’t going to divorce his husband. Not now, not ever.

Cas shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t jeopardize both of their lives like this.

Except there’s the way Dean is watching him like he might want this just as bad. There’s the blush bleeding into the freckles that are speckling Dean’s cheeks and the bridge of his straight nose. There’s the way Dean pours him a cup of coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world. There’s the badly veiled anticipation to the way Dean asks, “So where you staying this time?”

Cas aimlessly shifts the cup on the saucer while he attempts to talk himself out of participating in this. But it only takes a single glance at Dean’s face before he hears himself replying, “I’m just in town for tonight, but it’s the same motel as the last times. It’s further down the road. I don’t remember the name.”

Cas digs the key out of the pocket of his trench coat and places it on the counter right in front of Dean. It’s not smooth.

Dean picks it up and makes a show of looking at the name engraved in the metal charm, “Yeah, I know that one.” His gaze briefly strays to the room number. He puts the key down and slides it across the counter to Cas, looking him dead in the eye while under his breath asking, “And if one wanted to find you at, say, two in the morning, that’s where you’d be?”

“That’s where I’d be, yes,” Cas replies, just as low, “Hypothetically.”

“Uh-huh. Good to know,” Dean’s attention moves to what turns out to be Al making an appearance at the diner.

Cas pockets the key, drinks a single cup of coffee and leaves.

----

In the office of the day-to-day management of the factory, cigarette smoke hangs like dark gray fog, making the wooden furniture appear even darker.

Harold is sitting behind the heavy desk. He’s down to shirt sleeves and is fiddling with the triangular nameplate. Roy is chainsmoking, standing with an elbow propped on top of a filing cabinet.

In his chair, Castiel does his best to avoid pinching the bridge of his nose, “I just want to know why? Why isn’t this situation under control yet?”

It’s very much in his interest that it’s not. But the annoyance at the sheer incompetence is real enough.

Harold mumbles something.

Roy interrupts, “With all due respect, Sir. Their demands are unreasonable, they raise their voices and they use foul language. How exactly are we supposed to enter any kind of negotiations?”

Cas contains the urge to ask what on earth they were doing during the damn war to be unfamiliar with uncouth behavior to the point of paralyzation in the face of it. Instead he says, “Pull Robert Singer from his station and send him up here. I want to talk to him.”

Harold scurries out to do as he’s asked. Cas ignores Roy, lights a smoke and gets up to crack open a window. It overlooks the long buildings where the manufacturing takes place.

It takes longer than it should. When Harold returns, it’s with three people: Robert, a middle-aged black man and a woman that Cas recognizes from a wartime poster. She’d posed in a boiler suit, meant to boost the morale of female workers. She’s older now, but the determination on her face is the same.

“They insisted,” Harold says. Roy looks inclined to throw all of them out on their asses. Or at least attempt to.

They’re too many people in the room. Cas gets Harold and Roy to bring in extra chairs before asking them not-so-kindly to leave the office.

It leaves Cas behind the desk and Robert, Ellen and Rufus seated in front of it. They’re all in dirty coveralls, drawing a sharp line between their positions. Even if Cas has taken off the suit jacket he decided to wear for the ‘meeting’ before this one.

Robert holds up three fingers, checking them off as he says, “Wages, hours, safety.”

“You get compensated for overtime,” Cas says immediately, suspecting where this conversation is headed.

“You know what time and a half of jack shit is? It’s still jack shit.” Rufus says.

“You all get paid in accordance to the Fair Labor Standards Act,” Cas replies.

Ellen is looking at him through narrowed eyes. There’s a hard set to her face, “You can take your insulting minimum wage and shove it the exact same place as your politics for paying women.”

In full compliance of company guidelines, Cas carefully says, “The output of female workers-”

“-Was plenty fine for all of you during the war,” Ellen interrupts, sounding a lot like she’s about to slap him.

“Yes, I… That’s of course hard to argue with.”

They move on to the topic of wages for black workers. Followed by safety standards. Negative bottom lines are zipping through Cas’ mind. Not to mention the tight confines of the general company line that he has no choice but to follow if he wants to keep his job. It’s not a fun conversation.

In the end Cas has to put a stop to it, “I’ll see what I can do, but I need to speak to upper management first. So you’ll have to give me some time.” The offer is genuine, but there are no guarantees that it’s going to result in anything but Cas getting a reprimand and being pulled from the project.

“Clock’s ticking,” Rufus tells him before getting up from his seat.

In the short time between the workers leaving and having to strong-arm his useless subordinates into spending money on a new piece of equipment, Cas leans all the way back in the desk chair and stares blankly at the ceiling.

Then he lights a smoke and calls Roy and Harold back in.

----

It’s optimistic to the point of delusion, but Cas doesn’t go to bed that night. He doesn’t even change out of his clothes past removing the tie and undoing the top buttons of the dress shirt. The suit jacket he hates wearing hangs next to his trench coat.

He finishes jotting down notes for a report during the evening hours. In the absence of a table he has to do it with the notebook propped on top of a dresser.

When evening tips into night, he settles in the room’s lone chair and reads the copy of Fahrenheit 451 that he brought for the plane. He has to read every page twice because he can’t focus in the least. Instead he keeps darting looks at the room’s lone window that overlooks the dark parking lot that the door opens to.

At 2 o’clock he abandons reading entirely. It reaches a quarter past before there’s a knock on the door.

“Hi, Cas,” Dean softly says.

Cas can’t do anything other than stare. That Dean is even here. That he’s in a leather jacket and Levi jeans. Tiny drops of water from the nighttime drizzle cling to his hair.

A lopsided smile appears on Dean’s face, “You gonna let me in?”

Cas quickly steps to the side to let Dean enter. Dean surveys the tiny room with his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket while Cas closes the door.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said this place was dingy,” Dean laughs.

“Did I say that?” Cas asks.

Dean rolls his eyes, “Heavily implied, then.”

“You haven’t been here before?”

Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas at what he has just managed to insinuate.

“No, I didn’t… It’s just, the inside matches the outside, doesn’t it?”

“Fair enough,” Dean says. He slips the jacket from his shoulders and tosses it over the back of the chair in the corner. “Just thought your bosses would splurge a bit more. All of the plane traveling taken into consideration, I mean.”

Cas is barely listening. Dean is in a tight t-shirt and Cas finally understands the complaints about how inappropriate it had been for Marlon Brando to be wearing the same thing in that movie he currently can’t recall the name of at all.

It’s hard to care about anything except for the way the shirt accentuates every line of Dean’s chest and broad shoulders.

Dean is staring expectantly at him. Humor is dancing in his eyes.

The motel. Right. Cas says, “The closest alternative was too far away to seem worth it. I don’t mind.”

Dean isn’t listening either. Instead he unprompted says, “Okay, so you already know I’m wearing them. Do you want to see?”

Cas hasn’t dared consider that possibility at all. He feels like he can’t breathe, but manages to say, “Please.”

“You gonna close the curtains?” Dean asks with a nod at the sun faded window coverings.

Cas does as instructed. First with a sharp tug, barely looking at all. And then, when his mind catches up to him, with careful adjustment to make sure there are no gaps.

Everything narrows to Dean sitting down to unlace his boots. When he’s done he gets back up. His beautiful hands move to the button of his jeans and gradually pink is revealed beyond the denim. Dean pulls the jeans down his thighs, all the way down his legs and off.

Pink frills hug slender hips. Glossy satin reveals the swell of him.

Cas wants to get on his knees and put his lips to the smooth fabric. Mouth at it to coax the swelling into full hardness. Shove the hem of the shirt up. Pull the panties down, not all the way, just enough that he can draw Dean into his mouth.

There’s a whisper of self-consciousness to the veneer of Dean’s laid-back attitude. A slight blush tints his skin. He searches Cas’ expression before turning around to show him the back.

The ruffles follow the curve of Dean’s ass, until the rows meet right in the middle, tracing a path. He’s only partially covered. Enough to show only the very edge of his cheeks, hinting at the full shape. Pink ruffles brush his golden skin. Beauty spots trail down the back of one thigh like half a constellation.

“You look…” Cas starts shakily. He feels like he’s dying. Dean smiles. Half amused, half nervous and Cas can’t stand it any longer.

It’s a small room. He’s already entirely in Dean’s space when surprise registers in Dean’s expression. It’s bordering close enough to alarm that Cas stops and takes a step back.

“Eager, okay, I see how it is,” Dean laughs shakily, “Get on the bed.”

Cas looks down himself, “Do you want me to-”

Dean shakes his head.

Uncertainly Cas settles on the edge of the mattress, fully clothed while Dean is standing in front of him wearing an outfit that’s almost more indecent than if he wasn’t wearing anything at all.

Dean laughs softly and moves closer, “I meant all the way.”

Dean’s hands nudge at Cas’ shoulders, prompting him to move backwards. Cas is still wearing leather shoes, but it stops mattering when Dean gets onto the mattress with him. On his knees, Dean keeps nudging with gentle hands until Cas’ back hits the headboard.

Dean straddles Cas’ thighs, still up on his knees, hovering without touching, “Pull yourself out.”

Staring up into Dean’s face, Cas blindly fumbles with the belt buckle and undoes his trousers. He hesitates once he gets to his underwear.

“All the way,” Dean says, “I want to see.”

Cas does as Dean asks, unbuttoning his underwear only enough to accomplish the task. He’s already closer to hardness than he should probably be.

“Nice,” Dean breathes. He bites his lip on a moan and Cas’ gaze snaps to where Dean is running fingertips along the satin front of the panties.

Hesitantly, Cas reaches for his hip.

Dean shakes his head and moves the hand until it’s on Cas himself instead. Curling his hand around Cas’, Dean guides it into a loose fist around his cock.

Without ever touching, Dean retracts his touch in favor of running fingers down himself instead. When Cas looks to him in confusion, Dean shakily says, “Do it on your own. Just keep watching.”

As if Cas could tear his eyes away.

“Not my face.”

Cas forces his gaze down. Down the flush bleeding from Dean’s cheeks, down his jaw and the column of his throat. Down to where the trail of crimson disappears into the collar of the undershirt. Down the swell of Dean’s chest and his nipples that are peaked behind the thin fabric. Down to where Dean is coaxing himself into full hardness through glossy satin clinging to the shape of him. The line toward his hip where his cock is forced flush against his skin.

“Cas,” Dean says like a soft reprimand, “Touch yourself.”

Slowly, Cas strokes himself. Initially he keeps to the loose hold that Dean left him with. He tightens his fist when the shiny satin starts getting wet. It’s right at the head of Dean’s cock, where it’s enveloped tightly by pink fabric that gets darker the more muffled sounds spill from Dean’s mouth. The more Dean’s tan fingers strum along the line where he’s straining.

Occasionally Dean’s fingers stray further back where the touch makes his moans tremble. A single time Dean slips the touch far enough back that his wrist pushes against his cock.

Dean makes a sharp little sound. He inches his knees further apart on the mattress. With his legs spread wider like this, he’s almost sitting in Cas’ lap. The hand he’s using to either cup his own ass or stroke down the line where the ruffles meet, nearly brushes Cas’ thigh. The movement stops and Dean slowly retracts the hand until the touch is confined to the front of the panties again.

The dark spot is bigger now. Cas is dying to know if it’s sticky or if it’s just slightly wet with everything else contained underneath.

Dean’s free hand is braced on the headboard over Cas’ shoulder. When Cas shoots a glance at his face, Dean is clamping down hard on his bottom lip. He’s looking at Cas with something like wonder.

“You’re not watching,” Dean whispers, sounding wrecked.

Cas forces his attention back down. His strokes become faster, less controlled. Their knuckles brush and Dean makes a low, desperate sound.

A sharp stab of arousal flashes through Cas’ abdomen. He comes over his own fist, taking care not to spill onto Dean like he wants to.

He’s breathing harshly. Dean is still touching himself, keeping it to featherlight fingertips and shaky breaths that are starting to sound wet. Cas’ hand is so close. It would barely take anything for him to run knuckles along Dean. Transfer come onto the panties. Cup Dean through the fabric. Have him fall apart.

“Please, Dean,” Cas begs through the mix of wanting and having just had, “Can I touch you?”

Dean exhales unevenly on what sounds like a hitch of desire, but shakes his head.

Cas almost asks why. This is already cheating, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is whether anyone discovers them. Right now it’s just the two of them in this room. They’re already here. They’re already running the risk.

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t want to hear the answer.

Dean’s fingers land on the cuff of Cas’ shirt. It’s the hand that Cas has kept clenched on the mattress to avoid placing it on Dean’s body. Cas isn’t breathing as Dean pulls at his wrist and carefully pushes the shirt cuff back.

Dean takes a single glance at the face of Cas’ wrist watch, “Shit.”

Abruptly dropping Cas’ arm, Dean vaults off the bed to fumble his jeans back on.

Cas cleans up and tucks himself away while watching Dean struggle with the boot laces.

Getting off the bed, Cas awkwardly stands in the middle of the room. Dean finishes with the boots and shrugs into the leather jacket.

Then Dean hesitates. Doesn’t move to the door, just looks at Cas before asking, “Did you get to see that sunrise?”

“Yes, I did.”

Dean smiles, “Was it good?”

I barely cared because I was going in the wrong direction. The only sunrise I want to see is the one that falls on your face when you wake up in the morning.

“Yes. It was lovely,” Cas says.

Dean grins and Cas wants to describe it to him. But not if it’s going to get him in trouble. Not when he’s apparently already late.

Still Dean lingers, “Are you coming by before you leave tomorrow?”

The reply feels thick in Cas’ throat, “No. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s…” Dean trails off. Nods, “Okay, I’m gonna go.”

In the door Cas haltingly says, “I don’t know when I might be able to… If I’m… I probably can’t promise…”

Dean looks away, “Yeah.”

Then he leaves.

Cas watches him walk across the parking lot. He lingers in the door after Dean is gone, only shutting it after tips of his fingers have turned cold from the night air.

Chapter Text

Cas’ superiors send someone else the next time.

It takes a certain amount of arm-twisting and when the conscript returns, it’s with his gaze glued to the floor as he mutely shuffles in to report to Zachariah.

Zachariah appears in the doorway to Cas’ office half an hour later. He’s harshly lit by sunlight that fills the room with a relentless blue hue from too-big windows too close to the sky.

Cas nods at him, but finishes the sentence he’s in the middle of dictating. There’s a delay as a pencil scratches shorthand onto paper. Once done, his secretary folds her notepad shut and gets up from her chair.

Zachariah doesn’t move to the side and she has to edge around him to slip out of the door. When she’s safely behind his back, she grimaces at Cas, who takes care that his mirroring expression is contained to a shadow rippling across his mask of civility.

She closes the door and Cas turns his full attention to his direct superior.

Cas replies without waiting for the question to get posed, “Yes.”

It’s already been more than a month and the deprivation sits like a tremor under his skin.

Suspicion creeps into Zachariah’s face, so Cas adds, “I’m expecting this to be reflected in my next bonus.”

Zachariah’s slow nod doesn’t reveal if Cas has managed to pull it off. Nor does his tone when he says, “Of course. Once you show us some results, Castiel.”

----

The trench coat is draped over Cas’ arm. He might need it later, but right now it’s early enough in the evening that shirt sleeves are more than enough.

Dean too is in shirt sleeves that are cuffed at the wrist. In the buttery rays of the day’s last sunlight he’s just as breathtaking as ever. He weaves around a table with an easy smile for the couple occupying it.

On top of his brown hair he’s wearing the stupid hat, which should’ve been Cas’ first warning.

Instead he catches Dean’s eyes that go wide at the sight of him. The stack of plates Dean is carrying crashes to the floor, exploding in shards of dirty porcelain all over the linoleum.

Dean instantly drops to his knees and starts hastily gathering up jagged pieces with his bare hands. His eyes aren’t on Cas anymore. Instead they’re on the door to the hallway.

The hum of conversation startles to a stop, but no one does anything to help. Cas takes a step forward to interfere before Dean can hurt himself.

A big hand lands on his shoulder and Benny’s frame blocks his line of sight. In a low voice Benny says, “Al is out back. You need to leave.”

Cas is about to shove past him anyway. He stops in his tracks at the look on Benny’s face. Replays the words. Flits through every possible alternative to this meaning that Benny knows.

“Now.” Benny bites at him, “Come back tomorrow. Early.”

Benny pushes further into his space, walking him back toward the door and away from the pull of Dean.

The thought of wasting valuable time is unbearable. But not as bad as his selfishness costing Dean anything.

“Get him a broom,” Cas says under his breath, already halfway out the door.

----

The next morning Cas is so early that he’s the first customer. It’s still dark outside. Dean isn’t there, but Benny comes out from the kitchen, wearing an apron that’s already dusted with flour.

For a moment none of them says anything. Benny folds his arms. Cas stands in front of the counter, without removing his trenchcoat. He doesn’t want to be the first to speak, in case Benny doesn’t know as much as it appears he does.

It’s Benny who breaks the stalemate, “I'm not gonna rat him out, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It would be a relief to consider that the end of it. But Cas doesn’t want to take the gamble. Not with a man he barely knows. Not when it’s about Dean. So he hesitates.

Benny lets out an annoyed sound. He yanks a coffee filter from a plastic-wrapped stack of them and shoves it into the basket of the coffee maker. “We went to war together. Those of us who made it back did so because of him,” he wrenches the lid off a tin of coffee, “So he gets to make whatever choices he wants, no matter how half-baked.”

The words badly contain the anger underneath. Benny tosses what looks like an arbitrary amount of coffee into the filter. It’s not a question when Cas says, “You don’t like this situation.”

“I dislike plenty of the crap he pulls,” Benny replies flatly and snaps the basket back into the machine.

“Okay, but this is your job,” Cas says over the sound of water gushing against glass as Benny fills the coffee pot from the tap, “Al is your employer.”

“Al can eat shit. I’m here cause Dean asked me to. Otherwise I would be opening my own place.”

It’s easy enough to imagine. That Benny, like Dean, is too good for this place. Too talented, at least. And that Cas isn’t the only one who’s susceptible to doing whatever it takes to make Dean happy. Dean could easily have charmed his way into this. What seems unlikely is that he would be unscrupulous enough.

“Does Dean know that?” Cas asks.

“No. And you ain't gonna be telling him neither,” Benny says. It feels like a warning. He shuts off the water and leaves the coffee pot in the sink without finishing the task. He turns to look directly at Cas, “Point is, I’m here. If I was gonna betray him, I’d have done so already.”

Finally Cas nods, “Thank you.”

It does nothing to diminish the hard edge to Benny’s expression.

Benny nods toward the door to the hallway, “Make it quick, his other questionable decision is going to be down at some point and they’re already fighting. No need to make it worse.”

Cas hears the light jog of Dean coming down the stairs and pushing the door open.

In the moment before Dean notices their presence there’s an emptiness to his expression. A strip of white bandaging is wrapped around his one palm. He gingerly wipes the back of the other hand along the bottom of his nose and checks the skin. Then he looks up and his eyes fix on Cas.

He hurriedly puts the hand down. A wide smile chases the blankness from his face.

Cas can’t stop a mirroring smile from appearing, but he indicates Benny as discreetly as possible.

“Oh,” Dean blinks confused, moving his attention, “Thought I was the one doing the opening.”

Benny shrugs, “We’re doing pies today. Had to get an early start.”

There’s a whisper of actual excitement underneath Dean’s over-the-top carefree grin, “Have I ever told you I love you, Benny?”

Benny rolls his eyes. The corners of his mouth are twitching upwards as he leaves for the kitchen. Without finishing the half-done coffeebrewing.

Staying on Cas’ side of the counter, Dean steps closer. His fingertips settle on a barstool next to where Cas is standing.

Dean darts a look at the closed door leading to the hallway – and the stairs up to the apartment he shares with his husband. In a hushed voice Dean says, “Al leaves later today.”

“He does?” Cas asks, just as low.

Something happens to the distance between them. Cas could’ve sworn that none of them moved, but Dean is close enough that every single freckle on his face could be counted if they just had the time.

“Yes,” Dean replies under his breath. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, searching the empty room for a moment before darting a look at Cas’ face, “Are you still here tonight?”

Cas nods. Some of the regret at the time wasted comes through when he says, “I am. I don’t leave until tomorrow.”

“Short trips, huh?”

“Yes, I…” Cas trails off. He doesn’t mention that this is the timeframe he usually needs to close a case. That anything more would raise suspicion. That it already is. Instead he just replies, “Unfortunately.”

Dean darts another look at the door. The line of his shoulders goes rigid even though Cas can’t hear anything, “What’s your room number?”

Cas replies and Dean nods in confirmation before pulling back.

Once safely behind the counter, Dean ties a half-apron around his waist, right where his button-down is tucked into his trousers, “Coffee?” Dean asks him with an easygoing smile. His gaze sweeps across the mess, “Uh, if you give me a sec, at least.”

There’s still a smile on Dean’s face, but as he grabs a paper hat from the counter and puts it on, it flickers into a grimace. There and gone again.

Cas shakes his head, “No, I should leave.”

----

At the factory everything is on fire. Metaphorically. Though there’s a real possibility of it evolving into actuality if things keep moving in this direction.

Cas talks to Robert, Ellen and Rufus again, giving as much as he can, which is close to nothing.

It’s not enough to please the three of them, or the workers they represent. And it’s more than his bosses are going to be happy with.

He ignores the mental images of quitting. Or signing papers with promises that are going to get him fired, but will be difficult for the board to back down from without provoking nation-wide strikes.

He needs the company to fund the extensive traveling. But even more, he needs the cover of being here on business.

----

While waiting for Dean, he works on the elaborate report that Zachariah has asked him for. The one that’s going to show that his decisions are all rational and with the greater good of the company in mind.

This time Cas has asked for a room with a desk. It’s purely out of necessity, or he would have likely given in to the unfortunate urge to demand the one he had on his last visit. ‘Unfortunate’ because it would be based solely on some kind of fancied proximity to Dean. Like Cas would be able to somehow feel him in the room. Maybe he would – his imagination has developed a mind of its own lately.

The typewriter he has brought sits on top of the desk that wobbles every time he clacks a key. He misses his secretary. He could’ve asked her to join him on the trip – it would probably help make the whole thing more plausible. But there’s no question that the reward wouldn’t be worth the costs.

Instead he lights another smoke and attempts to avoid cursing at either the company that used to be a cornerstone of his life or at the world at large. He doesn’t extend the same courtesy to Zachariah.

At the sound of knocking, he abandons the report without bothering to finish the word he was halfway through typing.

The rush of pleased surprise at opening the door to Dean standing there is the exact same as last time.

Dean’s eyes widen, darting all over Cas’ body, “Oh, you’re…” His gaze drags over the short-sleeved undershirt that Cas has stripped down to. Over the dress pants. All the way to socked feet. Dean’s adam’s apple bobs, “Cool.”

The white bandage is still wrapped around Dean’s one hand and Cas wants to ask, but Dean is already shoving into the room, shedding his leather jacket without taking his eyes off of Cas.

Dean quickly strips until all he’s wearing is a long-sleeved undershirt and the pink panties that has occupied a concerning amount of Cas’ waking hours. The curtains are already closed.

Dean pushes him onto the bed until they’re exactly like they were last time. With Cas’ back against the headboard and Dean so, so close to being in his lap.

The buttons of the undershirt taunt him. He wants to slip them open. He wants to claim Dean, soft and slow. Spread him out over the bed. Open him up. Take his time. It doesn’t even have to lead anywhere in particular.

He curls his hands into fists against the urge to put them on Dean.

The soft inside of Dean’s bare thighs brush the outside of Cas’ pleated trousers.

“You can touch,” Dean mumbles, “If you want.”

An unsanctioned sound pushes out of Cas, settling in his throat. Mutely he nods.

He uncurls his fists from where they’re resting on the bedspread. Following the dip of the mattress, he cups the sides of Dean’s knees. From hard bone he slides the touch up and back, tracing the slope through peach fuzz. Along warm skin and lean muscle.

He gently squeezes the backs of Dean’s thighs.

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. It sounds like desire, but he says, “Not there,” and moves Cas’ hands until they’re on his hips instead, on top of glossy satin.

It brings him closer to intimate areas than before. Curled around Dean’s hips, the heels of his hands are framing the soft swell of the front. His fingertips are grazing the curve of Dean’s ass.

Unsure, Cas carefully runs his fingers along the smooth fabric. Dean nods with a choked-back sound and Cas strokes through the ruffles. They’re like water against his skin. He slips between the strips of satin, to the half inch of separation between them where there’s less distance between him and Dean.

He slips the touch up. Traces the waistband. Strokes his thumbs from the edge of the satin to warm skin. Reverently he continues the curve under the hem of the undershirt. Heat coils in his stomach as his thumbs traces the ridges of Dean’s hip bones.

Dean flinches back and shoves his hands off.

“Cas.” There’s a sharp warning in his voice that kills every drop of pleasure at hearing his name in Dean’s mouth. Dean’s bandaged hand wrenches the hem of the undershirt down until it’s firmly covering the waistband of the underwear.

He’s still straddling Cas, but further up on his knees. Further back. Ready to get off the bed.

Cas presses his palms flat against the bed and keeps stock-still. Uncertainly he says, “I’m sorry, I don’t… I thought you said I could touch you.”

“Oh,” some of the tension leaves Dean’s shoulders, “Yes, okay. Just… On top of my clothes, yeah?”

Cas can feel his face crease in confusion. He darts a look at Dean’s wedding ring. He doesn’t understand any of it. Can’t follow the logic.

Hesitantly Cas says, “Of course. If that’s what you want. But if you’d rather-”

“-No,” Dean interrupts with something raw shifting underneath, “I want you to.”

Cas nods, but doesn’t move. Instead he lets Dean guide his hands. Dean places them to gently rest on his waist. Safely on top of cotton. Cas doesn’t tighten the grip, but he adjusts it slightly.

“Like that,” Dean whispers hoarsely, “Wherever you’d like.”

Cas runs gentle hands up and down Dean’s sides, occasionally straying from cotton down to smooth satin, obsessively watching Dean’s face the entire time. He keeps it to waist and hips. The places he’s sure Dean wants to be touched.

Gradually Dean scoots closer, until he’s fully in Cas’ lap. All the way this time.

Cas pinches his eyes closed. Tries to bite back the groan at how hard Dean is. The line of it presses against his stomach. Dean’s ass brushes his cock through the trousers that are still closed.

Dean lifts up, creating space between them. Cas is at the verge of dragging him back down by the hips until Dean’s hands find the buckle of his belt, “Yes?”

“Yes,” Cas confirms with badly contained want. He watches Dean undo the belt and zipper. Dean stops once he gets to the underwear.

His gaze darts between Cas’ face and the place where he’s tenting the front.

Cas moves to undo the lower button of his boxer shorts. He hesitates, looking to Dean for confirmation before slipping the button open. It’s just enough that he can pull himself out without pushing the underwear down.

Dean makes a hitching sound.

“Can I…” Cas pushes at the waistline of the trousers, “If it’s okay. I just don’t want to scratch you with the zipper.”

Dean stares at him in confusion. With slow movements, Cas pushes the trousers down to the edge of his boxer shorts, halfway down his thighs.

“Oh,” Dean breathes softly, “Sure.”

Cas curls his hands around Dean’s hips again and gently guides him back down. He barely has to pull, Dean follows willingly.

This time the satin is directly against Cas’ cock. He bites back a curse.

Dean rolls his hips in a slow grind, sliding the smooth fabric along Cas. Cas breathes through the arousal stabbing through his insides. He’s hard to the point of strain and his cock pulses, jerking against Dean.

With a shaky moan, Dean grinds down on him again, watching him wide-eyed while setting a pace that has both of them exhaling jaggedly.

There’s a sense of this being unreal. To have Dean bring them together, over and over. To have Dean is in his lap, thighs spread and making pretty noises for him.

One hand stays curled around Dean’s hip. The other slips back to cradle the curve of his ass. All of it over smooth fabric. Dean gasps. Nods. His freckles are swallowed by streaks of pink. His lips are parted.

Cas squeezes, careful not to dig in too hard. He gently guides the smooth waves of Dean’s hips until his self-control slips. His hold tightens. The guiding turns to firm directions that Dean follows beautifully with a tremor running along his thighs and sounds spilling from his mouth.

Dean spreads wider. Arches.

Through satin, Cas gently pushes the tip of a finger against his center. With a soft whimper Dean presses back into the touch.

Cas wants to ask. Wants to beg. But Dean is already shaking his head.

Reluctantly Cas slips his hand away, settling between the layers of airy ruffles instead. He nudges his face against a nipple peaking the white undershirt. Gently he drags his teeth along it, drawing a sharp inhale from Dean. Dean strains against him as Cas sucks at the nipple through the fabric.

The rolling of Dean’s hips turn jagged and uneven until the slides of smooth satin against Cas’ erection turns to Dean roughly dragging their cocks against each other, only separated by pink fabric. Dean’s thighs are trembling.

He buries a hand in Cas’ hair and Cas grunts against the wet cotton covering the nipple. It’s peaked more now, perfect for running teeth against. For flicking his tongue at until the hand in his hair tightens and Dean ruts needily against him.

Cas slips his hand forward on the panties, until he can blindly drag a thumb along the shape of Dean’s cock. He hones in on the head, focusing the touch where it draws desperate sounds. He runs a fingernail down the length, pulling hitching moans from Dean’s throat. He cups him through the satin, lets him buck into it with a whine.

Cas is drunk on it. He barely registers the warmth rushing through his veins before he spills over the hand that’s caught between them.

There’s a ringing in his ears. A blur of white and pink and golden skin. He’s panting as he draws back to look at a stray line of come streaking the pink fabric. At Dean still hard behind it. He draws a shaky finger along, working the wetness into the satin, closer to Dean’s skin.

Dean shudders in his lap.

Cas tips his head back to watch Dean as he comes. He’s gorgeous. Mouth open and delicate features pinching together.

Cas rubs circles into Dean’s clothed hips through the aftershocks. His one hand is sticky, likely staining the panties more. Dean is gasping. His hand is still tangled in Cas’ hair. Two fingers have strayed down to the nape of Cas’ neck.

Cas slips his clean hand up Dean’s clothed back. His fingers twitch with the need to draw him closer. He turns it into a caress instead, gently stroking from Dean’s waist back down to his hip.

With wide eyes, Dean stares down at the mess they have made of the panties, “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Sorry,” Cas mumbles.

“No, I… I don’t mind,” Dean laughs shakily, shoots a bashful look at Cas’ face, “Obviously.”

It’s not obvious at all. Cas can’t do anything but stare. Until Dean’s attention returns to the soaked satin. He grimaces.

Hesitantly, fully aware that he’s grossly overstepping, Cas asks, “Do you want to borrow some underwear?”

Dean is flushed already, so it’s hard to tell if the color deepens as he mutely nods.

Cas’ hands are still curled around slender hips. Dean is still in his lap. Fused together. Cas keeps wholly unmoving, as if doing so can stop the spell from breaking.

He’s forced to drop it when Dean moves off him, leaving the bed entirely, “You mind if I shower?”

“No, I…” Cas swallows the words down. To him there’s a domesticity to what Dean is asking even if it’s born of necessity. It’s dangerous. “No, of course.”

Cas rudimentarily cleans himself up and rights his clothes. Then he gets up and roots for underwear that he hands to Dean, trying his best to hide how it affects him. “I don’t have a spare towel, but if you want to use mine, it’s in the bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Dean mumbles and retreats until there’s a locked door between them.

At the sound of the shower – of Dean being wet and naked – Cas lights a cigarette and settles on the edge of the bed. He chooses the side that faces the curtained window. He wants to choose the foot of the bed which faces the door to the bathroom, but it wouldn’t do anything good for his sanity – and Dean definitely wouldn’t like it either.

When Dean comes out it’s in just the fully buttoned undershirt and Cas’ underwear.

Cas quickly looks away. He multiplies numbers in his head to kill the burst of arousal that threatens to have him hard in spite of his recent release. This hasn’t happened since he was much, much younger.

He wants to fall right back into bed with Dean, but the soft, eager arousal is gone from Dean’s frame. His hair is dry, apart from a few strands that skirt his forehead, as if he’s splashed water into his face.

Cas doesn’t let himself dwell on the hair. It’s a smart choice for minimizing issues if Dean has a run-in with anyone who might wonder. It’s earlier in the night than it was last time.

Dean gingerly puts a handful of pink fabric on top of the dresser. Then he grabs his leather jacket from the pile of clothes. When he emerges with a pack of cigarettes instead of starting to redress, Cas lets out a sigh of relief. It’s accompanied by a line of gray smoke, providing a cover.

Dean bypasses the desk chair and instead settles on the edge of the mattress. He picks the foot of the bed and folds one leg onto the mattress to face Cas. Cas does the same and the corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up.

Dean shakes a Marlboro from its red and white pack. He clenches the filtered end between his lips and lights it with a Zippo lighter. The clink of the lid brings Cas right back to the war. It’s an odd contrast.

“Filtered?” Cas asks. Maybe he’s old school, but to him, those are reserved for women. And there’s very little there’s feminine about Dean, apart from the underwear that Cas suspects Dean might be wearing mainly for his sake. He doesn’t linger on the thought.

“Yeah,” Dean flicks the lid shut and takes the first drag of the cigarette. He inhales slowly, closing his eyes. Lashes that are dark and spiky from the shower fan against his cheeks. Cas realizes that he’s staring when green eyes catch him red-handed. Dean exhales a cloud of smoke and shrugs, “They got me with the cowboy ads.”

Cas laughs softly, “Okay, I see.”

Dean smiles. Then he waves his filtered cigarette at the Camel between Cas’ fingers, “I don't get how you can stand those.”

“Unfiltered?”

“No. C-ration.”

“That’s when I started smoking these, yes,” Cas says confused as he stumps out the smoke before it can burn his fingers. He moves the ashtray to the bed so Dean can reach as well, “Camels were the ones I preferred out of the field rations. You didn’t have a preference?”

“No, I did,” Dean says, “Still doesn’t mean that I want to touch any of them again.”

Cas’ hands still on the fresh smoke he’s halfway through pulling from the pack. “You still have the lighter,” he says. Asks. Tries to keep his tone nonjudgmental.

Personally Cas hasn’t seen any particular need to use his own after getting home. It’s probably somewhere in his apartment, but he doesn’t mind leaving the use of it at the Western Front along with the foul language of his men and the daily carrying of firearms. It had been fine at the front. Seems a little rough-hewn for polite company.

At least if it isn’t caught between Dean’s nimble fingers.

“I had this one before I went. It belonged to my Dad.”

Cas is about to ask, but Dean shakes his head with a sharp jerk. Cas studies the lighter closer, realizing that the mix of gray and black isn’t cheap black crackle that’s chipped off like the ones they used during the war. Instead it’s gray that’s darkened with heavy use.

“You prefer to avoid reminders of the war?” Cas gently prods as he finally puts the smoke to his mouth. He reaches for his matches, but Dean is already there, handing him the Zippo.

Their fingers brush. Dean snaps his hand back and it seems like he’s about to look away when he suddenly stops to instead stare at Cas with his lips slightly parted.

Cas forces himself not to stare over the flame. Instead he finishes lighting the smoke and flicks the lid back on with a smooth motion that’s just as much routine as it was ten years ago.

“Thank you,” he hands the lighter back.

Dean accepts it with a mumbled, “You’re welcome.” He puts it on the bed and stumps out his Marlboro that’s burnt down right to the filter. “You’re right. I don’t like getting reminded of the war.”

“Did anything happen?” Cas keeps his tone neutral. Hopes that Dean doesn’t take the question as an accusation of being mentally unstable – or worse: a coward. “Apart from the expected, I mean.”

Dean stares at Cas in disbelief, “And what exactly do you consider ‘the expected’?”

“War,” Cas says simply, “And all that comes with it.”

Dean scoffs.

Cas tilts his head, “You don’t think it was a worthy cause?”

“Of course I do. I enlisted, didn’t I?” Dean snaps. He clenches his bandaged fist. The bandage is dry. Looks clean. Looks like he’s put it on himself and Cas wants to offer to help him retie it.

Before he gets the chance, Dean says, “It’s just… it’s not exactly like any of us got to kill Hitler, is it? There were no heroes. We were children and we barely even knew who we were shooting at half the time. And then Dresden? Hiroshima and Nagasaki?”

“Those were strategic choices. To save lives,” Cas says. There’s a mechanic quality to the reply. Quick and certain. Like it’s automatic.

Dean’s voice is nothing like that. He’s all the way present when he asks, “Does that make it better? That the bombing of civilians is strategic?”

“I…” a few months ago Cas would’ve said yes. Now he’s deadly honest when he weakly replies, “I don’t know.”

Dean is quiet for a few moments. He fiddles with the lighter. Cas forces himself to not say anything to fill the heavy silence.

Finally, without looking at him, Dean says, “We lost our Sergeant. I somehow ended up in charge of our squad and I lost… Well more than one, but there was this boy. He’d lied about his age when he enlisted and…” Dean trails off. Stares into the far distance.

Cas doesn’t attempt to point out that Dean hadn’t even been of age at the time. Or anything else. Instead he just says, “I lost men, too. Visited their families when I got back. It was awful.”

Dean nods, “Yeah.”

Cas is half expecting him to leave.

Instead Dean pulls out another Marlboro and lights it. He catches Cas watching his mouth and laughs, “Okay, enough of the long looks.” He holds out the filtered cigarette to Cas, “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

Cas takes it from his fingers and brings it to his own mouth. The taste is weak through the filter and it’s generally an incredibly bland experience. Except for the fact that Dean’s mouth was there a second ago.

Cas blows out the mouthful of smoke, doing it slowly to keep Dean’s eyes on him a little longer. Then he brings it to his mouth again.

“Hey, no, I’m not made of money here,” Dean protests around a laugh and vaults across the mattress to take it back.

It lands him dangerously close to Cas. Dean’s bare knee against Cas’ clothed thigh. Dean’s one hand right next to Cas’ hip. Dean stretching over Cas’ lap, because the cigarette is in Cas’ far hand.

Dean puts his fingers on the filter, fitting them to Cas’ without claiming it. Their faces are close enough that Dean’s breath flutters against Cas’ mouth.

Dean is in Cas’ boxer shorts. Stripped down to almost nothing as he’s stretched across the mattress, the position forcing him to look slightly up to be able to stare into Cas’ face. The tip of Dean’s tongue darts out, turning his pink lower lip shiny.

Cas wants to close the distance. Bring his free hand to Dean’s chin and tilt his face further up. Hear the muffled, surprised sound spilling from Dean, before Dean kisses back. Before Cas fumbles blindly to put out the smoke and get rid of the ashtray to tip Dean onto his back on the bed.

Dean’s breath hitches. Then he finishes plucking the smoke from Cas’ grip and pulls back with a shaky laugh.

“Okay, you can calm down,” Dean says around the cigarette that’s caught between his lips as he relights it. An exasperated smile is shaping his mouth when he removes the smoke.

Cas has already shown his hand, so he nods at the ruined panties on the dresser, “Would you mind if I keep those?"

With a confused frown, Dean follows his gaze. When he realizes what Cas is asking, his attention zips back to Cas’ face. Between the dry-swallowing and blushing, Dean’s laugh sounds forced, “I probably shouldn’t be surprised, huh?”

Cas tilts his head.

“Yeah, I mean sure,” Dean says as the blush deepens. He chews his lip. Stops to take two more pulls from his cigarette. His thumb fiddles with the filter when he without looking at Cas says, “I’m getting something else for you. If you’re expecting to come back here again.”

“You are?” Cas asks. Tries not to gape. It’s the first time Dean has mentioned the future like this. Hinted that he’d like Cas to return. Dean shoots a nervous look at him and Cas rushes to say, “Yes, I… Yes.”

Dean lifts the cigarette to his mouth. There’s the shape of a smile peeking through his fingers, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Cas confirms. He watches Dean smoke for a moment, before slowly saying, “I don’t want this to be a financial strain for you.”

Dean’s eyebrows lift, but his voice is relaxed when he replies, “You’re the one paying for it. With the way you’ve been tipping.”

“No, that’s…” Cas trails off. He can already hear it. How a comment about wanting Dean to have his own money is going to sound right now. How any comment about money is going to sound, even without admitting that he’d overheard a private conversation between Dean and his husband. Cas swallows bile at the thought. “Okay. That’s good.”

Dean stretches and gets off the bed. He’s still smoking while he pulls jeans on, closing them over the borrowed boxers, “Any requests?”

“No, I…” Cas stammers while Dean puts on socks and boots, “Anything. Whatever you’d prefer.”

Dean drags on the leather jacket with a crooked smile. He pockets the lighter. The cigarette is clasped between his fingers, “Then I guess I’ll see you around, Cas.”

Cas belatedly gets up from the bed. He’s been raised better than this.

Dean doesn’t appear to care. Before Cas can do anything but stand uncertainly, he has already opened the door himself and leaves without waiting for a reply.

Chapter Text

The smile on Dean’s face is just as bright this time as it’s been the others. The double-take he does is the same, too. The difference is that the shock is absent.

Dean finishes up at George’s table, clapping him on the shoulder before moving to the counter. He’s wearing the paper hat and Cas is instantly on edge. The only thing that keeps him from reluctantly leaving is that Dean seems relatively calm.

Cas bypasses full tables where people are having breakfast. White-collar workers are mixed in between clusters of people in casual clothes that are likely meant for pulling blue coveralls over once they clock in.

He settles at the bar while Dean gets rid of dirty plates and washes his hands. Water splashes everywhere because he’s looking at Cas while he does it, not paying attention at all. He mops water from the area around the sink and dries his hand with a towel that he tracks up bare skin all the way to his elbows with a sheepish smile.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says as Dean puts a coffee cup in front of him. It clinks against its saucer.

Softly Dean replies, “Hey, Cas.”

Dean’s hand is still on the empty cup. His tan fingers are wrapped around the white ceramic. Silver scars sit on two of his knuckles, looking like small bursts of starlight.

Hidden by the table, Cas clenches his fist to keep from covering Dean’s hand with his own. Doing so could be construed as an accident. Just fingers brushing. Innocent.

Not to him, though. Probably not to Dean, either. So instead he asks, “You’re feeling better?”

Dean blinks in confusion.

“No bandage,” Cas prompts, indicating his hand.

“Oh,” Dean replies, “Yeah. I’ve been more careful.”

Dean lets go of the cup and fetches the coffee pot. Cas wants to ask him more questions, but he doesn’t get the chance.

Pouring the coffee, Dean speaks in a voice that’s casual, but distinctly hushed, “I don’t know if it’s gonna be tonight.”

“Oh.” In spite of Cas’ best efforts it comes out flat, with his discontent piercing through. He can’t keep his gaze from straying to Dean’s wedding band. This shouldn’t be unexpected. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t happened until now.

Dean grimaces and sets the pot down on the counter, right next to them. He leans in closer, “Maybe tomorrow if… How many nights are you in town for?”

“Just the two.”

Dean swears softly. He briefly pinches his eyes closed. When he opens them, he nods and says, “Okay. Tomorrow.”

Cas swallows down his selfish disappointment and says, “If you can’t-”

“-I’ll figure it out,” Dean cuts him off, “What’s your room number?”

“Same as last.”

Before Cas can recite it, Dean nods, “Got it.”

Dean leaves and takes the coffee pot with him to provide refills for the rest of his customers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cas tracks Dean shooting nervous looks his way, distracted to the point that he nearly pours hot coffee directly into the lap of a young woman.

Between the lack of conversation about breakfast, the paper hat and the nervous looks, Cas gets the message.

He slips two bills under his saucer and gets up to leave.

As he does it, he nearly crashes into Dean who’s suddenly right next to his barstool. It’s fortunately without the coffee pot added into the equation, because that one has been left at one of the tables.

Under his breath, Dean says, “Meet me at the bathroom in five.”

Without giving Cas the chance to reply, he pulls away. He drags a grumbling Benny out from the kitchen, finishes the round of coffee-refills and disappears out back.

Cas forces himself to wait and tries his best to ignore Benny’s judgmental glare.

The second hand of his wrist watch has never moved so slowly.

Pulling his cuff back down, Cas orders breakfast and counts out the seconds in his head instead. For something to do with his hands, he drinks the by now lukewarm coffee he had planned to leave behind. It doesn’t taste like anything.

Cas allows himself to glance at the watch again. Even if Dean meant five literal minutes, he’s still short, because he has counted too fast.

Finally he leaves his trench coat on the barstool and heads to the bathroom.

He doesn’t know what to expect. He knows what he’s hoping for, but it seems more likely that it’s going to be some sort of dressing-down. Which would probably be warranted.

In front of the empty bathroom, he stands uncertainly under the single naked lightbulb that barely lights up the dark wooden paneling of the hallway.

The stairs creak softly. Dean appears, jogging down the steps flushed and slightly out of breath. He doesn’t smile when he sees Cas, just nods his head at the storage room.

Once in there, Dean closes the door behind them. He doesn’t turn on any light, just leaves it at the sunlight making its way through the pane of frosted glass on top of a back door.

It paints Dean in muted colors. Softens his edges with gentle shadows. Darkens his hair. Dean slips the paper hat off and puts it on a shelf next to stacked cans of golden corn.

Leaning against the shelves lining the wall, Dean bites his bottom lip.

The way he does it is less messy than it usually is. Not an absent worrying or born out of arousal. Instead it seems deliberate as he looks at Cas through lashes that appear darker than usual. The way he’s slumping makes him seem shorter than he is. That too seems deliberate.

“What are your plans for today?” Dean asks. There’s something silky happening under the conversational tone.

“I’m going up to the factory,” Cas replies uncertainly, “Unless…”

There’s a feline edge to the grin that flashes over Dean’s face. He shakes his head, “I’m working, too.”

Cas is about to stammer something unintelligible, when Dean pushes off the shelf with one hand. His fingers find the triangular tip of Cas’ tie. Slowly his thumb strokes along the silk, “And how is your evening looking?”

“I don’t know,” Cas swallows heavily, “Work maybe.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean catches the bottom of the tie between his index and middle finger. His thumb flicks against the very tip.

Cas is staring. Fighting hard to keep his composure. “Might…” his voice is thick. He starts over, “Might read something.”

“Sure,” Dean replies around what sounds like a smile. He runs his fingers further up the tie, curling his fist loosely around the fabric once he reaches Cas’ breastbone. He slants a look up at Cas, “You gonna think of me?”

“Probably,” Cas replies hoarsely.

Dean wraps the length of silk around his fist. It brings his hand right up to the knot. He strokes a finger along one edge. His face is barely an inch from Cas’, “Probably?”

“Definitely,” Cas whispers. Utterly helpless to this.

Dean’s expression quivers. There’s a sharp hitch that’s immediately cut off. The next breath he takes trembles hot against Cas’ jaw. He’s close enough that Cas can make out the pattern of freckles, clustering over the bridge of his nose, fanning out from the epicenter, getting gradually more sparse, but spattered everywhere if you know where to look. The stray flecks at the corner of his eye where the skin is prone to creasing when he’shappy. Over his one eyebrow, following the arch. Tracing from the line of a cheekbone to an ear.

There’s no hiding the sharp flare of want. His gaze drags down when Dean pulls out a grin that’s all canines and asks, “Would you like a preview?”

Gathering enough focus to reply is impossible. Let alone to ask what Dean means. He just mutely nods.

Dean doesn’t let go of the tie. His green eyes stay on Cas as he blindly with one hand unties the half-apron and lops it onto a shelf.

With the same approach, he opens his trousers and Cas very quickly starts to get the picture.

Dean grabs Cas’ hand and guides it to his lower back. From the cotton of a work shirt, dipping below the waistline. Down the curve of his ass.

Lace.

“Dean,” Cas groans. It’s too close to a whine with the way arousal has pushed the air from his lungs. Heat pools in his abdomen.

Carefully he cups Dean’s ass through the latticework. Dean moans softly and his hand trembles on the tie, right against Cas’ chest.

Cas tightens his grip, gathering a firmer handful. The curve of one cheek fits perfectly in his palm. The uneven landscape of the lace sparks fire across his palm. Like this he could imprint the design into the skin of them both. A temporary stamp. A delicate grid tracing the shape of Cas’ hand on Dean’s body.

The stutter of Dean’s breath follows the pace of Cas slowly stroking his thumb along the lace.

“Pleased?” Dean breathes the question. It sounds like it was maybe supposed to come out smug instead.

“Impatient,” Cas admits. His hand twitches on Dean’s ass, drawing another soft moan.

He doesn’t want to wait. Wants it right here, right now. Wants to wrench the trousers down. See for himself. The color. The exact pattern. How gorgeous Dean looks in them. How he would look if Cas bent him over, dragged the lace to the side and pushed his fingers deep inside of him.

With a shaky laugh, Dean untangles them and pulls back. As he closes his pants, he says, “You’re gonna have to drudge up some patience, I’m afraid.” With nimble fingers he wraps the strings of the half-apron around his waist and ties a bow in the back, “But now you at least know what you’re waiting for.”

“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Cas warns.

Dean laughs. Catches the pink tip of his tongue between his teeth. Unrepentant.

The smile disappears when he puts the hat back on and cracks the door to the hallway open. He quickly scouts the space, “Okay, you first. I’ll wait a few minutes.”

“The other way around,” Cas requests. When Dean turns to squint at him, Cas says, “I need to calm down before I’m fit for public spaces.”

The look Dean darts at his crotch doesn’t help the issue in the least. Dean wets his lips and nods, “Okay. Three minutes.” He slips out of the door and leaves Cas alone with canned peas, sliced bread in plastic bags, and his own overactive imagination.

Out in the diner he can’t even look Dean’s way without arousal flaring sharply. It’s all of it. But especially it’s knowing that Dean is wearing pretty lace under his uniform. Lace bought for Cas. Meant for his eyes only.

He doesn’t dwell on the question of where exactly Al is.

Instead he looks down at his ice-cold scrambled eggs. It’s not what he ordered and he might’ve been gone for a long time, but not that long.

He looks up and is met with Benny drily saying, “You were gone for quite some time. Upset stomach?”

Cas eats his eggs without a single word of complaint.

----

Cas works late that night. He stays past dinnertime at the office he’s temporarily stolen from Harold, fighting the burning need to go see Dean. Al is going to be there, he can’t.

He sketches up possible solutions to the discontent hanging heavy in the air at the factory. None of them are feasible. Eventually he gives up and moves on to catching up on the mountains of work he’s behind on due to being here instead.

It’s gone evening, clean into night, by the time Cas locks his borrowed Cadillac and crosses the parking lot. Puddles of water reflect the reds and blues of the motel’s buzzing neon sign. He burrows into his trench coat against the remnants of the evening’s rainfall.

There’s someone standing at his door.

Dark leather jacket with the collar popped. Worrying at the side of a fingernail with his teeth.

Cas stops a little too far away as Dean turns to face him.

“Are you-” Cas breaks off. Are you here to see me? Stupid question. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

Dean gives a helpless little shrug under the leather jacket. Looking lost. Green eyes searching Cas’ face.

It presses tight against Cas’ breastbone. Pushes at his heart. Threatens to puncture a lung. Guilt flickers, “I wasn’t expecting you. I wouldn’t have made you wait if-”

“-No, sorry,” Dean chews his lip, “I can’t come tomorrow. Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Cas replies thickly, finally allowing himself to step closer. It makes it possible to watch the vulnerable relief that darts over Dean’s face. Cas reaches for Dean’s collar, as close to his jaw as he dares, and with gentle fingers folds it down, “I’m very happy you’re here.”

Dean makes a sound so small and soft that Cas wouldn’t have been able to hear it at all if they weren’t standing so close. Desire roars to life in the pit of his stomach, killing the last dregs of his self-control.

He backs Dean up against the door. Dean is staring at him. Possibly not breathing.

“You’re cold,” Cas whispers.

“I’m okay,” Dean replies weakly.

Dean has been waiting. Wanting.

Waiting for him. Wanting him.

Cas’ hands are unsteady when he fumbles for the key. He reaches around Dean to unlock it. He does it slowly, aware that Dean is leaning against the surface. There’s a smell of petrichor and Cas doesn’t know if it’s the air of if it’s coming from Dean, clinging to leather and skin.

Cas twists the handle carefully. It’s wrenched from his grip by Dean’s weight.

Dean stumbles a step back with a surprised sound. One of his hands fists in a lapel of Cas’ coat, yanking him forward and threatening to send both of them sprawling.

Cas catches the weight of both of them with one hand curling around Dean’s elbow and the other shooting out to clutch the doorframe, “Sorry. I thought you’d noticed.”

“Wasn’t paying attention,” Dean mumbles.

Cas blindly fumbles the door closed behind them, herding Dean further into the room. Just as blindly, he wrenches the curtains closed. Grapples for the light switch until he finds it and yellow light floods the shadowed room.

Dean makes a displeased sound. His grip of Cas’ lapel tightens as he blinks disoriented against the light.

“You want them off?” Cas asks.

“No, I want to see you.”

The words prickle under Cas’ skin. Dean off-kilter and clinging to him – or his coat, but right now it adds up to about the same.

Over the clothes is okay. Wherever he wants. Possibly however if he’s lucky. As long as there’s something separating them.

He crowds Dean against the dresser, pushing the thick leather from his shoulders until he’s left with the thin layer of a t-shirt.

Dean stares wide-eyed as Cas gently strokes up and down the sides of his waist. He strays to Dean’s stomach, drags the touch up the swell of his chest where he runs a fingernail over one of Dean’s nipples through the soft cotton.

Dean gasps.

Cas does it again. The nipple peaks and Cas gets lost in drawing sounds from Dean. He repeats it on the other side. One after the other. Not both at once when Dean is already coming apart just from this.

His other hand is clenching Dean’s hip. He slides it forward until he can drag his knuckles over the bulge in the jeans. He barely touches him, but Dean whimpers.

Cas gently cups him through the coarse denim and Dean’s fingers curl around the top edge of the dresser. He’s breathing through something uneven and gasping as he stares down at the hand Cas has on him.

Cas squeezes. Not hard. Just enough that it can be felt through the barrier. Letting go of the dresser, Dean’s hands join Cas’ to fumble with the zipper and drag the jeans down.

Cas pulls back to watch as a sliver of lace is revealed. It’s black. Exactly like he’s spent the entire day hoping it would be, for the way it contrasts Dean’s skin and makes the pretty floral pattern stand out.

“Have you been wearing these all day?” Cas hoarsely asks.

With a careful look at his face, Dean nods, “There’s more.”

Dean pushes the denim down over black straps. If Cas wasn’t already staring, he would certainly be now. The realization is already humming in his head as Dean pushes the jeans down further. Follows along the straps to where they attach to an opaque band.

Dean lets go of the pants and lets them fall to reveal black nylon stockings that fit like a thin film to the perfect shape of his legs.

It’s unreal. That he’s here. That Cas gets to see him like this.

That he gets to touch.

He grabs Dean by the hip and waist and twists them around. He’s aiming for the bed, but not expecting Dean to stumble in the jeans pooled around his boots. It lands Dean on the mattress, flat on his back with a startled laugh that dies in the air between them. He swallows heavily and stares up at Cas.

Slowly Cas kneels down on the carpet and starts unlacing Dean’s boots. The bottom of his open trench coat fans around him as he drags at the laces. Dean pushes up on his elbows. Still staring. Cas doesn’t break the eye contact as he pulls one boot off after the other. He peels off the jeans and leaves them on the floor.

His one hand is still on Dean’s ankle. He presses a single kiss to the top of Dean’s foot through the nylon. Dean makes a low, wounded sound.

Cas’ free hand finds the other foot, squeezing once before slipping the touch up. To the ankle. Up the back of the calf, mirroring it on the other side. Dean inches backwards on the bed.

Without letting go, Cas gets up to place a knee on the mattress between Dean’s spread legs. Dean whimpers as Cas slides his hands up the back of his knees and up the outer side of his thighs. As Cas moves up his body, Dean inches down, closer to the mattress. Under him. All the way until Cas’ fingers reach the top of the stockings and he has to stop.

The sides of the trench coat brush Dean’s legs, getting in the way. But doing anything about it would require them to break apart.

Cas braces one hand next to Dean’s hip. Dean is flat on his back, looking up at him. Looking like he too might have been imagining this over and over again.

Cas runs his free hand along the nylon-covered part of Dean’s inner thigh. With a sharp sound, Dean convulses under him. Grabs at his arm. Not pushing him away, but clutching. Even through the coat, Cas can feel the way the tips of his fingers dig in.

It jostles the touch and Cas connects with warm skin. He looks down and the apology dies on his tongue. There’s a small hole in the stocking, right under the edge of the band. Carefully he runs his finger across it again. Nylon, soft skin, nylon. He repeats the motion.

“Sorry, I haven’t worn this type of thing before,” Dean says shakily, “It happened when I put them on.”

“I don’t mind,” Cas mumbles. Carefully he pushes the tip of his smallest finger through the hole in the fabric. More naked skin.

Dean groans. He curls up and starts pushing the coat from Cas’ shoulders. Cas helps haul it off and throws it on the floor. Then he’s back on Dean.

He glides a finger from the band over the metal hooks. He continues up the slim straps, taking care to not stray from the lines of black. Dean grabs at his shirt sleeves, moving enough underneath him that the hem of the t-shirt rides up to reveal a garter belt. The black fabric has lace detailing that matches that of the panties below.

Cas traces the garter belt, starting at the line right below Dean’s waist. Dean’s breath trembles every time Cas almost skirts the barely-there sliver of naked skin between the garter and the hem of the shirt.

Dean tugs the hem down and Cas moves the touch to his lace-covered hips instead. This pair sits higher than the others, so Cas traces Dean’s hip bones through the pattern. Along the curve of twin leaves. Down interlocking flowers until he reaches the ones that Dean is straining against.

Carefully Cas lifts the panties from Dean’s body, only just enough that he can run a single finger along the inside seam without touching.

His fingertip brushes Dean’s constricted cock anyway.

Dean convulses under him with a sharp sound.

“Sorry,” Cas retreats until his palms are resting on the nylon covering Dean’s lower thighs. He runs his hands up and down in slow, soothing motions while Dean is soft and gasping under him.

“Would you let me…” Cas starts haltingly, “Just on the outside.”

At the confusion on Dean’s face, he runs a light touch down the front of the panties. Dean nods vigorously.

Cas groans in relief. Then it catches up to him properly, bubbling through him.

“What about this?” Cas nudges Dean’s legs further apart to move closer.

“Cas,” Dean whimpers.

Want ricochets through his body, but he doesn’t move until Dean nods again, giving him permission to stay between his thighs.

Cas runs his fingers over the lace. He follows the shapes of threads looping around delicate gaps to where Dean is straining and hard.

“How does it feel?” Cas asks, stroking again. Feels Dean’s cock twitch under his touch, “Is it uncomfortable?”

“No,” Dean gasps.

“And this?” Cas moves his hand back, briefly cupping Dean’s balls, skirting the spot behind, closing around his ass. Before Dean can reply, he licks across the front.

Fingers bury in his hair. Roughly. Twitching.

Cas stops, “Good?”

The confirmation drowns halfway in a hitching sob.

Cas mouths at him through the lace and Dean bucks against him. Cas lets him. Keeps using his mouth over the uneven floral landscape hinting at what’s underneath.

There’s a separation, the kind that heightens some sensations and blunts others. Cas gently runs his teeth along the lace. So, so careful.

The hand in his hair tightens. Holds him in place as hips lift.

Cas smiles against the hard line Dean is greedily pressing him against.

He repeats the action. Dean cries out and Cas does it again.

Swearing, Dean bucks again. It’s jagged, uncontrolled, “Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cas mumbles against him, nudging with his nose.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, “Please.”

Cas’ affirmation is inaudible against the lace. Dean tugs at his hair, “Cas.”

At the insistent tone, Cas reluctantly follows the tug and draws back, “What do you need, sweetheart?”

In place of answering, Dean squirms under his gaze. Blushing. Huge pupils. Trembling breaths. Chest lifting and lowering with it.

Cas wants to make him fall apart. For Dean to sob and claw at him. Crack open with pleasure. Eyes wide with wonder.

“You can have whatever you want,” Cas prompts. Tries to make it gentle. Keep the raw hunger out of his tone. Pay attention. He stills the hands he’s absently running from Dean’s knees to the band of the stockings. Doesn’t remove them. Can’t.

Not unless Dean asks him to.

“Would you…” Dean trails off, before looking away and quietly saying, “I want you inside of me.”

“I…” Cas feels his gaze flitting all over Dean’s face, trying to gauge if he’s understanding correctly.

“I brought a condom,” Dean says, “In case you might like to.”

“Yes, I…” Cas is still gaping. His fingers find one of the clips that attach to the band, “How… Can I unhook these?”

Dean shakes his head, “No, you don’t need to,” he lifts his hips and slides the underwear down, “I put these on top.”

The panties easily glide over the straps. Down to Cas’ hands that are still on Dean’s thighs. They stay there while Cas stares at the red tip of Dean’s cock. It curves up, nearly touching the garter belt. A bead of precome sits at the slit, dangerously close to dripping onto the lace. Is probably going to, if Dean leaks any more than he already is.

Cas doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch. He doesn’t want to ruin it by asking for more. So instead he helps Dean pull the panties the rest of the way off.

“It’s in my jacket,” Dean says, “I can get it, if-”

“-No, stay like that. Please.”

Dean nods, but he sits up on the bed anyway, watching while Cas rummages in the pockets of the jacket.

Cas bypasses keys and a pack of cigarettes. In the inner pocket he finds what he’s looking for. A condom and a tin of vaseline.

He sets the items down on the dresser and carefully folds Dean’s jacket next to them.

He unknots his tie and pulls it from the collar. The slither of the silk is loud in the silence. He kneels down to remove his shoes. Dean leans forward to watch him do it. Heat prickles at the back of Cas’ neck.

He gets up to toe the shoes all the way off and catches the look on Dean’s face. It’s not quite arousal. More like awe.

The heat turns into what feels like an actual blush as he removes his socks. He starts on the buttons of the dress shirt. First the left cuff. He unlatches the wrist watch and sets it down. Then he starts on the right cuff.

The hand Dean has resting on his own stocking-clad knee flexes.

Fumbling, Cas opens the top button of the shirt. When he gets to the second, Dean says, “Keep it on.”

“The shirt?” Cas asks uncertainly, “I’m wearing an undershirt underneath if-”

“-All of it,” Dean says.

“Oh,” Cas says softly. It feels like disappointment. He doubts that the request is because Dean is too eager to wait or wants to be the one to do it. Doubts that Dean is going to let him peel off anymore of what either of them are wearing. They’re going to do this mostly clothed. “Okay. Of course.”

Cas picks up the condom and the vaseline. When he moves closer, Dean scoots back on the bed. Cas moves onto the mattress with him and sets the condom down. Uncertainly he moves back between Dean’s legs and twists the tin’s lid.

“Let me,” Dean reaches for it

Confused Cas hands it over. Opening the lid maybe? But Dean doesn’t hand it back once it’s open. Instead he dips his fingers into it and sets the tin aside.

Then Dean reaches down and without any gentle coaxing or preparation pushes a finger into himself.

He bends his legs further, presses his feet into the mattress and lifts his hips. Cas sits stock-still, watching Dean exhale slowly through his nose before pressing in another finger.

It’s all moving way too fast.

Cas cups Dean’s knee. Squeezes. Tries to get him to slow down.

Dean doesn’t react. He looks like he’s focusing. He takes measured breaths. With a wince he pushes a third finger inside himself. More tense breathing. Then he nods and retracts his hand, “Okay, should be fine.”

“What?” Cas gapes. His mouth might actually be hanging open.

“You can…” Dean twists to get the condom and holds it out for him.

Cas doesn’t take it. Just stares in disbelief, “I can what?”

“Just, whenever you’re ready,” Dean smiles. It’s not one Cas has ever seen on his face before. The expression is one of reassurance, but Cas isn’t feeling reassured in the least.

“When I am ready?”

The unnerving reassurance is still plastered on. It nearly covers the nervous look Dean shoots from Cas’ face to his trousers. The same mix resides in his voice when he says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“-Dean, do you actually want to do this?” Cas interrupts.

Confusion crosses Dean’s features. He looks down himself. At his fingers that are shiny with lubricant.

Cas doesn’t even know where to begin. In the end he settles on the obvious, “You’re rushing. If we don’t have time to do this properly, I’d rather we do something else instead.”

Frozen underneath him, Dean echoes, “Properly,” in a distant voice. His skin is pale underneath the freckles. The overhead light that seemed soft and warm before suddenly seems harsh.

“Dean, I don’t… You’re not ready. Doing it like this would be unpleasant for you.”

“I’d be fine,” Dean quickly says.

His knee is still cupped in Cas’ palm. Gently Cas strokes his thumb over the nylon, “I want you to be more than fine.”

“Oh,” Dean says like he’s realizing something. He nods jerkily. “Of course. I can… I can do it properly, if that’s what you want. Sorry, I didn’t-”

“-We don’t have to do this at all, Dean.”

Dean chews his lip. He darts nervous looks at Cas’ suspicious gaze. Gingerly he says, “You want to.”

Cas doesn’t. Not like this. But he isn’t going to say that when Dean is flat on his back, looking at him like that. Insinuating… In a tone that’s firmer than he’s aiming for, Cas says, “That doesn’t matter.”

“I want to, okay?” Dean snaps. There’s a whisper of the man that Cas knows in there. In the hint of anger flaring. It’s not how Dean usually is with him, but it at least feels like him. Then it disappears again. Maybe there in a sliver of vulnerability. But not at all in the strange, disjointed way he says, “I just don’t want you to lose patience with me.”

“I wasn’t getting impatient,” Cas says. He doesn’t add that if he was going to, it was probably going to be now, because none of this is what he wants. He has no idea what’s happening. The only thing he knows is that he hates it. He tries to trace his own steps back. Figure out where it went wrong. Slowly he asks, “Is it because I’m watching you? I can move away. Or leave the room if you prefer. You can take as long as you want.”

A small, soft sound pushes out of Dean. Something blooms in his eyes. In the way he’s looking at Cas. Some of the rigidity bleeds from his frame. The weak laugh he lets out is nervous, but it’s self-conscious rather than tinged with panic, “I don’t mind that you’re watching me. Just… Could you touch yourself while I do this?”

“You don’t mind or you like it?” Cas means for it to come out like an actual question. None of them are hard. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, with his voice dipping down. Like he knows the answer already and just wants Dean to say it.

The blush brings color back to Dean’s face. His gaze flicks to the hand Cas slips from his knee up his thigh.

“I like it,” Dean breathes, “Want your eyes on me.”

Without letting go of Dean, Cas sweeps a hand across the sheets until he finds the tin of vaseline. Reluctantly he lets Dean take it from him and dip his fingers back in.

Dean touches the tips of his slick fingers to his rim. They stay unmoving as he looks imploringly to Cas’ belt until Cas unlatches it.

Cas’ hands still on the leather. Aware that he could ruin it for himself by asking, he does it anyway, “Can I take off my trousers? All the way, I mean. I’ll keep on my underwear if you want, but-”

Dean nods.

Moving back would probably be the better choice, but Cas opens them right where he is. It makes pulling them off awkward.

Dean laughs softly until Cas presses a kiss into the nylon covering his inner thigh. He exhales jaggedly. His foot finds Cas’ naked leg. The material glides smoothly along Cas’ skin, Dean’s foot pushing at the trousers until Cas returns to the task of removing them.

Dean’s cock fills out, even while Cas is stretching awkwardly to get rid of the trousers.

By the time he has tossed them onto the floor, Dean is stroking along his own opening. It’s almost absent. Eyes on Cas. This time he has reached between his legs to reach. His wrist pushes against his cock.

“So pretty,” Cas breathes.

It startles Dean. Pushes a whimper from him. Desperation enters his eyes.

Cas squeezes himself through his underwear. Purposefully rough against the rush of heat that has him instantly fully hard.

Dean pushes the tip of a finger inside. His lashes flutter. The black of them is edged with gold under the overhead light. He hooks a foot around Cas’ hip. Nylon to cotton. Already spreading for him as he pushes the finger all the way inside.

Dean’s other hand tangles in Cas’ open cuff, curling the sleeve into his fist. Brushes skin, but doesn’t seem to mind. Is too lost in nudging a second finger in along with the first.

Cas lets himself open a single button of his boxer shorts and dip inside. He carefully grips his cock, barely squeezing. Dean lets go of the cuff to tug the other button open. His fingers brush the head and Cas whimpers.

Instead of retreating, Dean moves his hand to curl around Cas’ hip. On the outside of the boxer shorts, but there all the same. Cas pulls himself the rest of the way out and takes up slow strokes.

Dean’s two fingers are all the way inside now, up to the knuckles. It stretches his rim tight. Drags at it when Dean pumps them. With a choked-back moan, Dean lifts his hips closer to Cas. It seems accidental rather than deliberate. Dean tightens everywhere they’re touching, drawing them closer together.

Cas has to squeeze his eyes shut. Pinch the base of his cock. Stop stroking. His hand lands on Dean’s calf instead. He squeezes, maybe too hard.

Dean uncertainly asks, “Why did you stop?”

It’s only the hesitance on his gorgeous face that keeps Cas from laughing. He steadies himself enough to say, “We’re going to get a logistical problem if I don’t.”

“Because you’re…” Dean’s eyebrows are drawn together, crinkling the space between, but the fingers he has inside of himself twitch. Or that’s what it looks like, with the way his entire hand jerks.

“Yes.”

With a groan, Dean pushes a third finger inside of himself. He takes his time, with wide eyes that dart between Cas’ erection and his face. Dean stays hard through it. He’s leaking against his wrist, turning the skin wet and shiny.

Cas isn’t touching his own cock at all. Doesn’t remotely need to. Instead he’s rubbing circles into Dean’s legs. His thighs. His calves. Trying not to stare too hungrily, in case the sharp anticipation might look like impatience.

Eventually Dean nods. He retracts his fingers and curls to find the condom that’s been lost between the sheets. He hands it to Cas who fumbles with it like it’s his first time. His hands are just as unsteady when he coats his cock with vaseline.

He smiles apologetically at Dean, who bites his lip on the returning smile.

It dies instantly when Cas starts pushing in.

Dean turns rigid underneath him. His expression looks like panic. Or disgust.

Cas could have sworn that he had nodded. Made a soft little sound of want.

Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Cas has misunderstood. Or maybe Dean has changed his mind.

Cas freezes. Unsure.

He’s barely inside of Dean, but he carefully pulls back anyway.

“Can I be on top?” Dean asks hesitantly.

“If that’s what you… We can do it however you want,” Cas stops his stammering. He’s about to protest. Just needs to finish breathing through the mix of arousal and nausea first. He doesn’t understand what he keeps doing wrong. Only that they’re absolutely not doing this if Dean doesn’t want to.

Before he gets the chance to say anything more, Dean rolls them over. The movement is sleek and smooth. Disorienting.

Cas is on his back, staring up at Dean straddling him.

“Okay?” Dean asks. He looks uncertain. Shy. In stockings and with his hair messy.

There’s no trace of the panic. Instead he seems aroused. Huge pupils. Back to watching Cas like he wants him.

Mutely Cas nods. His hands find the sides of the lacy garter belt. He gently guides Dean through sinking down.

Dean does it gingerly. Slowly. They’re barely past the very tip when Cas has to close his eyes at the dizzying desire that threatens to spin out of control.

The open cuffs of Cas’ shirt brush against the top of Dean’s thighs. Right where it’s naked, unobstructed skin that Cas forces himself not to gravitate toward.

Dean’s palms land on Cas’ chest as he inches further down, breathing shakily.

He’s so tight. The slide is torturously slow. Cas strokes Dean’s hips soothingly to keep himself from pulling instead. Stays patient. Breathes through it.

In a smooth motion, Dean sinks the rest of the way down. His hand curls into Cas’ shirt, forming a tight fist around the fabric.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean gasps. Halfway to a sob. Still hard.

“Good?” Cas asks shakily through the need to convulse with sharp desire. Forces himself to ask. Close to shaking from the urge to buck up.

Dean nods. Keeps taking uneven, shallow breaths. Starts moving. It’s just gentle shifts of his hips, but the raw desire on his face is a mirror of what’s coursing through Cas’ body from being inside of him. From having Dean gasping on top of him.

Cas shifts his touch down so he’s gripping Dean’s calves instead. On the next pass Dean lifts higher, letting Cas keep his lower legs pressed into the mattress, easing the movement.

“Lift a bit more,” Cas says between controlled breaths.

“Like this?” Dean uncertainly does as he’s asked.

“Almost,” with a hand back on his hip, Cas gently guides him.

Dean convulses. His hands clutch tighter at Cas’ shirt. There’s a sound of fabric tearing, maybe buttons ripping loose, but the only thing Cas is interested in is the choked moan Dean lets out. The reverence on his face. The eager way he starts moving, rutting into the spot over and over.

Between curses Dean gasps, “Good for you, too?”

Cas groans an affirmation that’s past the point of being intelligible.

Dean grabs the hand Cas is clutching his calf with. He curls his fingers around Cas’ palm. Keeps moving. Whispers, “You’re close?”

Cas nods jerkily and nearly gets lost in the way Dean is grinning pleased down at him.

He’s beautiful like this. Arousal etched into his bones. Drunk on pleasure. Unrestrained.

“Would you let me…?” Cas’ hand strays from the place it’s been resting, moving instead between Dean’s legs. Not touching. Just asking to.

Dean looks confused. He slips his own hand down. Curls it around his own cock. Doesn’t let Cas do it. Tentatively asks, “Like this?”

“I…” Cas breaks off. Nods instead, “Want you to feel good.”

Dean’s thumb is resting right below the head that peeks out from his fist. He slips a stroke over the leaking slit, spreading glistening precome with a soft whimper. He keeps moving. Fucks himself on Cas’ dick.

Cas grips Dean’s waist. Lets himself thrust up as he pulls Dean down with a sharp tug that shifts the cotton of the t-shirt under his palms. Pushing right into the place that Dean wants him in.

Dean gasps. His expression opens.

Cas thrusts into him again, careful with the angle, careful that he’s not too rough. He lets Dean meet him halfway, help bring them together. They move in tandem and Dean becomes a mess of pleasure. Choked-off sentences and broken sounds spill from him. His thighs start shaking.

Cas knows it before it happens. From the way Dean tightens. From the driving rhythm faltering.

The expression on Dean’s face is raw and vulnerable as he clenches down hard. He comes on the already ruined shirt, streaking white on top of white. Gasping with a hand still braced on Cas’ chest. Looking dazed.

Quietly, barely audible, Dean whispers, “Fuck, Cas.”

Cas’ own climax washes over him in roaring waves. He clutches at Dean. Wants him, wants him, wants him. It bursts through him, sparkling like the color of spring in Dean’s eyes.

The world is spinning. The fingers of his one hand are tangled with Dean’s. Dean rocks his hips gently, following the flow of the aftershocks.

Dean squeezes Cas’ fingers. Looks at his gasping and tightening like he’s never seen anything like it. Keeps looking even when his hips stop moving and Cas’ breathing evens out.

Wanting to linger in the intimacy they’ve created, Cas traces patterns along Dean’s skin. The web between his thumb and index finger. The bumps of his knuckles. Tendons and calluses.

He hits the line of metal around Dean’s ring finger. The sensation slips between his ribs like a knife.

Gently he retracts his hands. Occupies himself with stripping out of the torn shirt. He balls it and uses it to wipe stray drops from his undershirt, down the exposed line paved by ruined buttons.

Over him, still straddling even while Cas shifts underneath, Dean grimaces.

Cas stops wiping, “What’s wrong? Is it…” Is it because I’m still inside of you? Do you not want me to be?

Scrunching up his face, Dean says, “Sorry about your shirt.”

“Oh, that?” Cas tosses it onto the floor, “I have plenty more.”

“Okay,” Dean gingerly lifts and Cas can’t do anything to stop it from happening. Just has to help him do it. He pulls out, ties the condom and tosses it onto the shirt on the floor.

Dean looks confused at the choice. He’s still straddling Cas. Up on his knees. Not touching like he was before, but lingering. It’s an opportunity that Cas isn’t going to let himself lose by getting up.

Halting and unsure, Cas nudges him down. Gentle enough to make it clear that it’s a question.

Dean follows and lets Cas tuck him against his side. Cas wraps an arm around Dean. His hand settles on Dean’s clothed waist, thumb stroking gently.

Dean rests his head on Cas’ chest. Wraps a leg over his thigh. The hem of Cas’ boxer shorts cuts low enough that it’s below the top of the stockings. Not touching. Not technically.

Not his.

Cas could cry with how bad he wants this.

Dean’s arm is slung over Cas’ stomach. Hand splayed over his ribs. Head resting right next to his heart. Cas tightens his grip.

Dean’s hand curls into the undershirt, clutching hard enough that it drags at the collar.

Dean’s chest trembles. The choked sound he makes sounds like…

Moving to be able to see his face, Cas asks, “Dean, are you-”

“-I need to go,” Dean pulls away from him. Gets off the bed and hunts for his underwear.

Cas averts his gaze. It feels impolite to watch. He rights his own underwear instead.

By the time Dean pulls jeans over the lace, he’s looking unbothered and Cas doesn’t know if he imagined it.

Uncertainly, he moves to sit on the edge of the bed while Dean closes his pants. He knows the answer already, but still he asks, “Can I come by tomorrow?”

Dean shakes his head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Okay,” Cas says. He can’t gauge his own tone. Can’t gauge Dean’s either.

Dean goes to grab his jacket from the top of the dresser. His hand stills on the leather. The line of his shoulders tightens. There’s a pack of camels lying on the dresser. Dean sweeps it underneath the jacket. He does it in a swift motion like Cas isn’t meant to notice.

Cas probably wouldn’t, if he was able to take his eyes off Dean for even a second.

Dean turns around as if he’s able to feel Cas’ eyes on him. A grimace flits over his face. Then he laughs unrepentantly and with a shrug says, “Guess I’m the nostalgic type.”

“About the war?” Cas asks confused.

Dean looks at him for a long beat. Doesn’t reply. Holds up the pack, “Can I?”

“Yes, of course.”

Dean nods and pockets them, “Thanks, Cas.”

His voice is soft. It bleeds onto his face as he lingers with a strange expression. With a last look at Cas he nods. He doesn’t say anything else. Just grabs his jacket and leaves.

----

Cas barely touches down back home before he gets the news.

All work has stopped at the factory.

They’re going on strike.