Tags: In Vino Veritas, Drunken Confessions, middle school teachers, Teacher!Dean, teacher!Cas, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Minor Angst, Friends to Lovers, Texting
Summary: Dean spills more than he intends to after a night out with his colleagues at their end of school year drinks.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Special by Posingasme
Sam is in graduate school for child psychology, and he arranges to do his observational research thesis on the special education classroom at the middle school where his brother Dean works as a teacher aide.
It opens up a new world to him, and he falls in love with the whole experience…and also with the weird but kind-hearted classroom teacher Castiel.
Prompt 7 from my ‘30 Destiel Prompts’ for @starclaire
ao3 link
“Okay guys, we got a little time to kill before the bell so talk amongst yourselves. But keep it quiet.” Dean warns.
It’s an ordinary Tuesday morning in Dean’s home room class. He’s got a good bunch this year - a few interesting personalities for sure.
“Mr Winchester?”
Ah, speaking of interesting personalities.
“Yes, Krissy?” He looks up from the lesson plan he’d put together for his sophomore class first period. He frowns when he sees the eyes of all twenty-something kids staring back at him. “What’s going on?”
Nothing would surprise him anymore. He may have only been teaching at this particular school for a couple of years but he’d been an auto shop teacher for going on ten. He’d seen everything. And that’s why he knew having his entire home room look at him, like his kids currently were, wasn’t always a good thing.
“What’s the deal with you and Mr Novak?” She smirks.
Mr Novak, Castiel, is head of the history department. He’d started at the school about a year before Dean. He’s a little dorky and doesn’t always get people’s jokes or references but Dean knows the kids love him. He’s had many auto shop classes that begin with students telling him all about the ‘totally awesome’ history lesson they’d just had with Mr Novak.
Dean pretends not to understand the implication in Krissy’s question. “What do you mean?”
But Krissy isn’t letting it go. “It’s just that we’ve all noticed that you get into the same car with Mr Novak every day after school.” She shrugs, feigning innocence as if her words aren’t peppered with sly suggestions. “And we all know it’s your car because you never stop going on about it even though it’s old as hell and no one, except old men, drive cars like that anymore.”
Dean tries not to be offended on behalf of his baby. He wasn’t going to argue with a teenager about the merits of a well-kept classic vintage car. Not again anyway.
“It ain’t any of your business, Krissy, but Mr Novak doesn’t have a car so I drive him home.” Dean explains. “Happy?”
Krissy seems to relent, realising she’s not going to get a rise out of her teacher today.
“Nah,” comes a voice from the back row. “I reckon there’s more to it than that.”
The class shuffles around to reveal Claire Novak smirking back at the teacher. She has a mischievous look in her eyes that Dean doesn’t like. She has the rest of the students intrigued though.
Claire’s sly look only gets bigger as she begins to speak again. “I think they’re secretly dating,” she says, never taking her eyes off Dean, watching for his reaction.
Dean sighs. Where is that damn bell?
“No, Claire, me and Mr Novak are not dating,” he denies. “And you of all people should know that.”
Claire is Castiel’s niece. Her dad is Castiel’s twin brother, Jimmy. Jimmy came to school to pick Claire up once and it weirded everyone out seeing the exact replica of their favourite teacher stood right next to the man himself.
“Okay, fine,” Claire relents, “but you like him, right?”
Dean is saved from answering by the bell finally ringing.
* * *
Dean was foolish to hope that the details of the interrogation he’d received would stay in home room.
By third period, he’d heard students from each of his classes whisper as they were meant to be working. He couldn’t make out everything they were saying but he kept hearing the words ‘crush’ and ‘Mr Novak’ in the same sentence.
Crush? Dean is a grown man. He hasn’t had a crush since he met his first boyfriend when he was sixteen.
He takes a deep breath. It’ll blow over soon.
* * *
It does not blow over.
A week later and everyone is still talking about. Even some of the other teachers have been giving Dean knowing looks every time he’s sat next to Castiel in the teacher’s lounge. Though, Cas seems to remain none the wiser.
By the end of the day, Dean is glad to see his baby. He couldn’t wait to get home and be distracted from the rumours of his feelings for his fellow teacher.
As usual, Castiel joins him for the journey. Luckily, none of their students seem to be around when they get into the car.
Once they leave the school parking lot, Dean breathes a sigh of relief. He can just be himself now, and not worry about what other people are thinking.
The two men sit in silence for a few moments. Dean’s eyes are on the road ahead. Driving always calms him.
“Dean, can I ask you something?”
“Think you just did, Cas,” Dean smirks, not taking his eyes from the road.
“You’re hilarious,” Castiel replies. Dean sees him roll his eyes from the corner of his own. His smirk just gets bigger.
“I’ve been hearing some things around school recently,” Cas says, his voice changing to a more serious tone. “And, I just wanted to ask. Do you have a crush on me?”
It’s silent in the car for a few moments until Dean is the first to crack.
He lets out a loud bark of laughter. “I can’t believe you managed to say that with a straight face.” He chuckles, shaking his head in amusement.
The car pulls into the driveway of a modest two-storey house. Dean cuts the engine and turns to Cas.
The other man is quietly laughing too. He looks quite amused with himself. He is honestly such a dork, Dean thinks.
But then his face turns serious again. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you have a crush on me?” He asks again.
Dean thinks for a minute, taking in the man sitting in front of him. “Do I have a crush on my best friend, and husband of thirteen years? Yeah, I guess I do.”
Dean gives Cas a teasing smile and leans across the passenger seat to bring his husband into a smiling kiss.
* * *
Later that evening, Dean and Castiel are laying together in their bed. Only a lamp on the nightstand lights the room, letting out a relaxing glow.
Castiel reaches out to let Dean cuddle up to him. Dean rests his head on Castiel’s chest. He plays with the fingers on Castiel’s left hand. Castiel lets him and goes with the movement when Dean turns his hand over to reveal the small ‘18’ tattooed on the underside of his ring finger.
They’d met on September 18th in their junior year of high school. From that day, Castiel had been Dean’s first and only crush.
Castiel and Jimmy had just transferred from their old school. It was some old-fashioned super religious school but some bad shit had gone down and the school had to close. Dean’s school had been the next best thing according to Castiel's overbearing, church-going, Jesus devotee parents.
Dean and Castiel became inseparable by the time it came for them to graduate. By then, everyone knew they were together but they didn’t care. The honeymoon phase never seemed to end for them.
For obvious reasons, Castiel’s parents were the only ones who had never found out about their relationship. Given what they thought about anyone who wasn’t straight, the boys thought it was safer to keep it from them. They didn’t know what they might try to do to Castiel if they found out.
The day after their graduation, Dean had packed up his car and they ran away. They went to college in another state and never looked back. Castiel had left his parents a note explaining everything and telling them not to try and contact him - though Castiel didn’t think they’d want to after they’d found out he was gay.
Dean’s family knew where they’d gone (they’d always been supportive of their relationship since the beginning). They welcomed Castiel into their family and treated him like their own. They’d visit the boys for the holidays and eventually, once Dean’s brother, Sam, finished high school, they all moved to be closer to their boys.
Castiel had felt guilty for years for leaving his brother but in their second year of college, Jimmy tracked Castiel down and told him he’d left too. (Turns out he’d got his high school girlfriend, Amelia, pregnant and their parents didn’t take kindly to it happening out of wedlock.)
Dean and Castiel got married while they were still in college. Most people would warn them against getting married so young but their family knew they weren’t being naive. They were it for each other.
They had a small ceremony on the anniversary of their first meeting. Sam and Jimmy had been best men and two-year-old Claire was their flower girl. (Despite what her attitude now might make you think, she was an adorable toddler who stole the show with her adorable presence.)
Over the years, they’d kept their marriage on the down low. Castiel was a little paranoid that his parents would somehow find them and try to take him away from Dean and their family. They had a lot of connections and Castiel wouldn’t put it past them to use those connections to find him.
So, when they both became teachers and ended up working at the same high school, Castiel had asked Dean if he could be called Mr Novak so as not to draw attention to them. (Same sex marriage might be legal now but it would still turn heads to have two husbands teaching at the same school, which was the kind of thing Castiel wanted to avoid.) Dean had agreed, he just wanted his husband to feel safe. They still went home together at the end of the day and that’s all that mattered to him.
But it is that exact act which has led them to where they are now.
“Dean,” Castiel speaks into his husband’s hair. “I think it’s time to tell everyone the truth.”
Dean turns to sit up properly and look at Castiel.
“Are you sure? We don’t have to. I know you love and I sure as shit love you,” he reassures Cas. “Plus, it’s only your teacher name that’s still ‘Novak’. Legally, you’re a Winchester,” he smiles.
“I know, but I want to be honest with our coworkers and students too.” Castiel explains. “And maybe I want to show them that you’re not the only one with a crush,” he teases.
“Awesome.” Dean beams. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it anyways. We’ll just start wearing our rings tomorrow and they’ll figure it out.”
Castiel nods in agreement.
Dean could just burst with happiness. He’d finally be able to show Castiel off like he’s always wanted to.
Currently, his wedding ring sat against his chest on a silver chain under his shirt. Castiel keeps his safely tucked away, only taking it out for special family occasions (hence why he got the tattoo - as a more subtle and personal token of his love for Dean). Dean couldn’t wait to feel the weight of the ring on his finger every day. And knowing Castiel would be walking around with his matching one makes Dean smile like a love-sick dork.
Suddenly feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve, Dean settles down into the sheets again, eagerly awaiting sleep to take him so it could hurry up and be morning.
He’s just drifting into sleep when Castiel’s voice whispers against his ear.
“Dean?”
Dean hums, not mustering the energy to turn over and face his husband.
“Not that I’m not happy that it gave me the perspective to stop being scared, but where did the rumours of you having a crush on me come from anyway?”
Trust Cas to think of the semantics just as Dean is trying to sleep.
Dean only has one word.
“Claire.”
Castiel sighs. “I should have known. I’ll talk to her.”
Dean finally turns to look at Cas in the eyes. Green meets blue. “Don’t sweat it, babe,” he smiles. “She’s just teasing like all teenagers do. She would never actually tell anyone anything we’re not comfortable with.”
Castiel shrugs and nods his head in silent agreement.
“I’ll just get her back when we go to your brother’s for dinner on Sunday.” Dean yawns, cheekily.
Castiel rolls his eyes. The joking rivalry between Dean and their niece never seems to end.
Dean smirks and leans over to kiss Castiel. “Goodnight, Mr Winchester.”
“Good night, Dean.”
* * *
The next morning, Dean walks into his home room class and begins the regular formalities of the morning.
Claire walks in late a few minutes later. She says nothing to Dean until she sits down at her desk, puts her feet up on the table, and says in a nonchalant manner, “Nice ring, Mr Winchester.”
The rest of the class look to Dean’s hand. Sure enough there’s a silver band on his left hand that hadn’t been there the day before.
“I just saw a matching one on my uncle’s hand when I handed in my history project. Isn’t that a funny coincidence?” She smirks as the rest of the students’ mouths drop open. Dean’s known Claire long enough to know that it’s a smirk of love though.
The news of his and Castiel’s marriage (and Castiel’s new teacher name) reaches his freshman class by second period. He should have known it wouldn’t take long.
-
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it Mae!
If you liked what you saw, REBLOG! and consider reserving a prompt from my ‘30 Destiel Prompts’ challenge, or just send me your own prompt you’d like me to fill!
teacher!Cas + senior!Dean high school au Taylor Swift playlist:
Blank Space, from Dean's perspective when they first meet over the summer
You look like my next mistake.
Hey, let's be friends. I'm dying to see how this one ends.
You can tell me when it's over if the high was the pain.
I got a blank space, baby, and I'll write your name.
August, once summer is over and they run into each other at the school:
Remember when I pulled up and said, "Get in the car", and then canceled my plans just in case you'd call?
Cause you weren't mine to lose
Cardigan, from Dean's perspective:
I knew you, playing hide and seek and giving me your weekends
When you are young, they assume you know nothing
I knew you'd missed me once the thrill expired
Illicit affairs, once they resume their relationship even though they're not supposed to:
Make sure nobody sees you leave (Cas to Dean)
Tell yourself you can always stop (Cas to himself)
Don't call me kid, don't call me baby. Look at this idiotic fool that you made me. (Dean to Cas)
And you know damn well for you I would ruin myself a million little times (Cas to Dean)
Cruel Summer, when they realize they're actually in love, not only because of the Summer references but also:
Said I'm fine, but it wasn't true. I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you.
And I scream for whatever it's worth "I love you," ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?
Out of the Woods, when Cas gets paranoid that everyone knows about them and he might lose his job:
We were built to fall apart. Then fall back together...
Are we in the clear yet?
Remember when we couldn't take the heat? I walked out, I said "I'm setting you free" But the monsters turned out to be just trees. When the sun came up you were looking at me.
How you get the girl, Cas going to get Dean after a fight:
It's been a long six months, and you were too afraid to tell her what you want.
I want you for worse or for better, I would wait for ever and ever.
Read the full fic HERE on AO3 or just the chapter under the ReadMore. Full disclosure... there be bj’s ahead...
...
Dean was in trouble.
Rehearsal went smoothly enough. Dean sat in the back again, smirking to himself as Cas tried to correct what now was looking like a much deeper attitude problem with the students than before. If they were aiming for Shakespeare, however modern, they were pretty far off the mark. Dean wouldn’t call himself an expert by any means, because seriously—apart from Sammy’s brief stint in middle school theater—he had no idea what constituted as quality work. Still, the kids’ awkward phrasing and flippant half-hearted gestures didn’t lend itself well for showing any sort of respect.
He did have to chuckle at Cas’s attempt at giving stage direction though. It was clear that this was a battle of wills between someone who was never educated on the actual terminology of what was supposed to be happening and kids who didn’t give two shits if they were being given direction or not.
“No, further up the stage, Michael… no—okay, stop there. Perfect. Don’t move.” Cas sighed as he adjusted his glasses, his annoyance apparent even from Dean’s spot a few rows back. He wondered if Cas had any actual acting or directing experience. He said he was originally supposed to be a speech teacher, and Dean could see that a bit more. Cas, with his thick-framed glasses and his pretentious—hot as fuck—eyebrow tilt, absolutely bringing down the house with a debate on foreign politics or whatever other brainiac topic that would have interested him at the time. He could see Cas bent over a thick textbook in a dusty library somewhere in the historic part of Chicago, maybe scribbling notes in a notebook as he pored over it. He also had a rather intriguing image of Cas pressed up against a shelf of those textbooks, collar unbuttoned and yawning to the side, exposing his sharp collarbones, breath panting and scruff dark on his skin, but not quite dark enough to hide the hickey that Dean—
Dean shifted in his seat. Probably not the right time.
After rehearsal, Dean had grabbed the bag Cas had stuffed all the hats into and met him at the doors leading back into the shop. Cas chased away the last of the teenagers at the paint counter, and turned to lock up for the night.
“We still don’t have a good place to burn these.” Dean pointed out. He wasn’t crazy about starting a fire in the parking lot of the motel, and he knew he’d have a trooper on his ass in about twenty minutes if he tried to drive out to the country to do it. With so much open space and farmland, almost everyone was looking out for each other’s property.
Cas shrugged as he nudged the stage weight that was propping open the last door. “Might have to do it one by one in my fireplace, I guess.” He glanced over. “You wanna come over for a drink?”
Dean blanched. “Well… maybe that’s not—“
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Cas laughed, totally at ease. Totally ignoring the fact that Dean almost had him by the mouth again in the costume room a few hours ago. “We have the hats, and we need somewhere to get rid of them anyway. Nothing untoward. It’s just a drink, not a marriage proposal.” Cas said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in time with the tilt of his eyebrow. The very same one that Dean had fantasized about earlier.
“Uh.” Dean was super intelligent in times like this. He really, really shouldn’t set himself up like this. He knew what would come of any time spent alone with Cas right now. He didn’t want to break his own heart—whatever was left of it—and he certainly didn’t want Cas to feel obligated or anything.
So yeah, Dean was definitely in trouble.
As it was, just a drink turned into three, which almost inevitably turned into Dean and Cas sitting side by side on Cas’s tiny excuse of a sofa, a bottle of whiskey, a few beer bottles, and three shot glasses between them. Dean was pretty sure they’d had four at one point, but one was on the floor or something. He wasn’t actually too sure. The hats still lay in their bag by the side of the couch, and normally Dean would have made sure to finish the job before indulging like this, but his nerves were currently winning in his battle of priorities.
Cas was slung back across one end of the sofa, legs stretched out with his toes tapping against Dean’s foot. Dean leaned back against the other end and just looked. Looked at Cas with his long, loose limbs, and his messy shock of hair—even messier when Cas ran his hands through it. Dean wondered how it was possible for one person to look so good while so disheveled Cas reached up and palmed the back of his neck, drawing Dean’s eyes to the soft swell of his bicep. He knew for a fact that Cas wasn’t as scrawny as his appearance with his shirt or his profession might suggest. Knew that Cas had some muscle of his own there. Sleek, sinewy muscle, like a runner or a swimmer. Built for speed, instead of bulk. Dean also knew the strength he had in his hands, knew it from the grip Cas had kept on him both in the car, dragging him back down to meet his mouth, and by the way he had pulled Dean in when they were in the costume shop earlier.
“This’s a bad idea?” Dean had to wonder aloud.
Cas frowned and nudged his foot solidly. “Why s’this a bad idea?” His brows were furrowed like he was puzzling Dean out.
Shrugging, Dean let his head loll back for a second. “I know what your mouth tastes like.” Couldn’t get the taste of it out of his head actually. He kept replaying the first moment his lips touched Cas’s, and that brilliant electric shock that had coursed through him. He’d felt the sparks come back earlier this afternoon, and he was fighting the urge to see if that same voltage could be attained now.
If possible, Cas frowned harder, his confusion evident in the crook of his eyebrow. “So? I know what yours tastes like too.” He said this like it didn’t make Dean hot under the collar.
“So...” Dean trailed off, distracted when Cas took a sip from his nearby beer, licking a stray drop from the rim. “... so, it’s weird.”
“Then don’t think about it, Dean.” Cas pitched forward and leaned into Dean’s space, peering up at him from beneath his lashes. “Don’t think about it and it’s not weird.”
Dean tried. He really did. He stared hard at Castiel, eyes running over his lips and eyes, down to the open collar of his throat between the buttons Dean can remember undoing with his teeth not 24 hours ago, “Can’t.” he said, pursing his lips grumpily.
“Can’t think about it?” Cas’s confused look was back. “Or can’t not think about it?” Christ, but they were really going to have a hangover the next morning. He backed off, leaving Dean on his side of the sofa.
Dean sighed. “Guess I’m not good at not thinking about it.” He reached for his own beer, twisting at the label. “You’re good at it though.”
“What makes you say that?” Cas smirked.
Dean raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look at me like that. Like I look at you.”
“How do you look at me?” Cas asked slowly.
He stopped. Even with this much alcohol in his system, he didn’t want to give himself away. He shook his head. “Too embarrassing.” He admitted, with a sheepish grin.
Cas grinned crookedly. “I like the way you look at me,” he said. “I especially liked the way you were looking at me last night.”
This changed everything if Cas knew. Knew how he felt and encouraged it. Dean shifted to press down the butterflies he felt in his stomach and coughed. “I thought we were going to be professional about it.” He looked down the neck of his beer, feeling himself get red.
“Of course,” Cas said. “My apologies.” Even without looking at him, Dean could tell he wasn’t sorry at all. “But how do I look at you? You never said.”
Dean looked up to see Cas with his head tilted thoughtfully. “You look at me like...” he stopped to consider again. The look in Cas’s eye had him swallowing around a sudden dry throat.
“Like you’re something to eat?” Cas leaned in and smiled with all his teeth, earning a bark of a laugh from Dean.
“Maybe that’s it.” He smiled, despite the feeling of butterflies roiling in his belly again. He really hoped he wasn’t about to puke. That would definitely ruin whatever mood they had going here, as well as bruise his ego for the next few days.
Cas tilted his head and took another sip. “You do look pretty tasty from here.”
Dean blushed, grinning the whole time. “Nah, I prolly taste like cheap beer and cheaper whiskey.”
“Want me to find out?” Cas asked, his smile crooked with intention that stopped Dean in his tracks entirely.
Dean didn’t have a good answer to that. As Cas tipped forward to press his lips lightly to Dean’s own, something flipped from feeling slightly woozy and drunk to fucking wide awake. Cas was still as good of a kisser as he remembered, and he felt himself leaning into it entirely too much to be a drunken fling. A second-time fling? He eased back from Cas, a hand pressed to Cas’s shoulder where he was pretty sure he’d been holding on for dear life a moment ago. Cas’s gaze searched his, not disappointed. Just watching.
“I really shouldn’t do this.” Dean started, strangely breathless. He scrunched his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, Cas. It’s—“
Cas’s hands untangled from where they had curled in the front of his shirt, and Dean opened his eyes, cold at the loss of his warmth. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. I assumed—I shouldn’t have done that.”
The butterflies froze in his chest.
“Cas…” he started. Cas shook his head and leaned back against the other end of the sofa.
“That was rude of me. You said no, and I kept pushing. My deepest apologies..” He sounded oddly formal in his embarrassment. Dean stared as Cas’s hands started fluttering around the coffee table, gathering beer bottles and shot glasses, pink in the cheeks. He moved to stand. To leave. Dean panicked.
Without thinking, Dean threw himself across the sofa, intercepting Cas’s hand as he moved. With one hand, he turned Cas’s face to his and locked onto his mouth again. With the other, he wrapped around the back of Cas’s neck and pulled him in tight. He got his thumbs on either side of Cas’s jaw and opened his jaw so his tongue could taste Cas’s. He trailed his tongue along Cas’s soft palate before the other man got with the program and swung a leg over his lap. Cas pinned him back against the sofa, and fucking ground down with those hips of his. Dean couldn’t move, his arms were up by his shoulders, being pressed into the fabric upholstery by the other man’s strong hands. His legs were spread wide to accommodate the welcome weight in his lap. He pressed up into the friction, groaning into the next kiss. This was just as good as he remembered last night. Maybe better, now that he had some idea of what to expect. He really wanted to get his fingers into that wild, dark hair, but Cas didn’t look like he was up for giving him any independent mobility any time soon. Dean finally pulled back to gasp out for air. Cas nipped at his neck, before pulling away as well.
Cas squinted at him. “Why did you do that?” He asked, his voice whiskey-rough and lust-stoned. Dean felt himself twitch. If Cas knew how he felt, encouraged it, and was pressing for more… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to indulge one last time.
“I changed my mind. I really wanna do this.” Dean was definitely breathless now, his gaze skittering all over Cas’s face. He could feel his pants getting tight, and by the look in Cas’s eye, he was about two seconds from losing his shirt. He also couldn’t decide if his earlier goal to get his hands in Cas’s hair was as important as his new goal to get those same hands down Cas’s pants.
Cas didn’t say anything for a moment before frowning. “Are you drunk?”
Shaking his head, Dean tried to focus on something other than his raging libido. “No. Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Another pause. “Are you sure?”
Which, alright. Very fair question. Dean nodded and leaned in again, whining when Cas pulled back again. “Please, Cas.”
Cas leaned in until his lips were a millimeter from Dean’s. “I knew it,” he whispered hotly, his lips twisted in a smirk Dean desperately wanted to feel against his own mouth. “I knew you were jealous about Melody. And I knew you wanted this again.” Cas moved his hands from Dean’s wrists to better support his weight while he made himself more comfortable in Dean’s lap.
“Yeah, I really fucking want it.” Dean breathed into him, pressing up at an angle to get at Cas’s mouth.
Cas gave back as good as he got, scratching through Dean’s hair in a way that set him on fire. “That’s okay,” he whispered back. “I want it, too. Been thinking about it all day.”
Dean’s hands came up to his hips, cupping the strong muscle there as he pressed his fingers into it. He scooted down further into the couch, pulling Cas’s weight into him. It was nice, sitting here on the sofa, just making out with Cas. Of course, he had other ideas in mind of what he’d like to do, but getting there was half the fun.
The other man was getting impatient though, it seemed. Cas hitched his hips forward, pressing them together all along their fronts. Dean gasped as he felt exactly how into this Cas was too. The feel of another man’s cock throbbing against his, even through a few layers of cloth was overwhelmingly sexy, and as Dean laid his head back to the feel of Cas’s teeth along his carotid artery, he couldn’t help thinking that it was a damn shame he hadn’t been able to show up to the hospital that morning and show off the big ol’ hickey on his neck that was already there from the previous night to put Melody in her place. Maybe now he would with a matching one on the other side.
“Dean, can I touch you?” Cas murmured into his skin, punctuating it with a lush kiss. Dean nodded, pushing against the other man’s body to make some room to get his shirt open. Cas’s hands replaced his, smoothing down the sides and deftly undoing the row of buttons. His touch was warm, tracing up the planes of his chest and down to where his stomach muscles were jumping. Cas pushed Dean’s flannel shirt off his shoulders, Dean leaning forward slightly to help. He kept one arm wrapped tight around Cas’s waist to steady him. Cas tossed the flannel to the side, backing out of Dean’s grip and away from his mouth. Dean moved to follow, but was pushed back with a firm hand to the middle of his chest.
Shimmying down, Cas dropped to his knees in front of Dean. With a hand on each knee, he parted Dean’s legs, making room for himself there. Dean struggled against the instinct to close his legs, feeling a little too exposed. He knew he was watching Cas with a dopey, drugged expression, his mouth partly open and his breath coming in puffs. Cas looked up at him and licked his lips. “Can I suck you off?”
Dean managed a nod and heaved a lungful of too-hot air before Cas’s hands went to his belt buckle. The jangling of metal sounded loud in their tense bubble, and as Dean sat up a bit to facilitate Cas sliding the belt through the loops of his jeans, he glanced quickly towards the window, where the lamp sat. Anyone could probably see in and watch them getting cozy with each other. He shifted in his seat.
Cas glanced up, and followed his skittering gaze. He got up fluidly, which allowed Dean to appreciate the very nice bulge at the front of his slacks, and walked over to click the lamp off. The room was cast into darkness, lit only by the light-up sign from the grocery store across the street and the changing stop light on the corner. Dean barely managed a nod of thanks, for understanding his weird hangups, before Cas sank down again in front of him, palms trailing up his thighs like brands, scorching the surface and leaving light in their wake.
“Oh shit.” Dean heard himself whine, and he leaned his head back, gaping up at the ceiling as Cas wasted no time pulling his zipper down and reaching inside to pull him out. He’d had plenty of blow jobs before, but the fact that it was Cas—the same person who’d been driving him crazy all day—made it that much sweeter.
Pressing kisses to the head and down the shaft, Cas kept his eyes on Dean, moving with him as his hips rolled. When he clenched the fabric of the sofa, Cas went harder. When he relaxed and took a deep breath, Cas changed tactics. Dean felt like he was being strung along higher and higher, with no chance to get used to the sensations. He was fully aware he was getting worked up much faster than he usually did. Dean’s gasps turned into higher-pitched whimpers as he felt Cas’s warm hand sneak down and grind a knuckle into a patch of skin behind his balls that made him see fucking stars.
“What the fuck are you doing to me, man?” He felt slightly hysterical asking. Cas smirked around his cock—and seriously, who does that?—and sank all the way down, taking him deep into his throat. The fucker winked and swallowed. Dean gripped the other man’s shoulder as his stomach muscles contracted and he felt his eyes cross with the force of his orgasm. He hitched forward and felt his groans take on an urgent note. Dean was going to die here, and he was going to die the happiest son of a bitch on the planet. He jerked each time Cas lapped at the head of his cock, hovering on the edge of overstimulation, muggy galaxies still swimming in his vision.
He was still panting and sprawled bonelessly when Cas finally granted him mercy and popped back up, grinning smugly. Cas sat next to him on the couch, pants tented obscenely, and with a low fire burning in his eyes, even in the dim light. Dean tried to make himself more comfortable to lie on when Cas fit himself next to him, but his muscles still weren’t cooperating.
“So, was it good?” Cas asked as he sucked at a spot under Dean’s ear, causing him to have to rein in a whine. Cas continued laving at the spot, and the sound of his breath in Dean’s ear was causing quite the rally effort in Dean’s pants.
He blinked. “Shit.” He croaked, his voice hollow enough to let Dean know that yes, he had actually been crying out exactly as loud as he dreaded he had been during that whole episode. He frowned when he heard Cas laugh softly.
“You’ve been holding out on me.” He accused gently, turning enough to snag Cas’s mouth again, fucking in between his lips in retribution. “Or maybe you’re just a show off.” He nipped at Cas’s bottom lip, feeling a tick of a smile when it made Cas’s breath stutter.
“Definitely a show off,” he answered. “Fuck, Dean. I love kissing you.”
Dean couldn’t disagree, especially when Cas proceeded to show how much he enjoyed kissing him by pulling him sideways so they lay atop one another. Dean lost his t-shirt quickly, and Cas was running his hands over his chest, thumbing across his nipples with pleasurable electricity thrumming between them. Despite his best intentions, Dean likely wasn’t getting it up again soon. He could still feel his stomach muscles jumping from his orgasm as Cas tried to rile him up again. He could still get Cas hot though, and—given the impressive erection Cas was grinding into his hip—that was his current goal.
Cas pulled back, breathing heavily. “What does this tattoo mean?” His fingers skated over the black star-sun over his heart.
“Protection,” Dean panted back. “Not that kind—“ he scoffed at Cas’s smirk, “Protection from demons, that sorta thing.”
“Do I want to know about demons?” Cas asked, gasping into the air of the living room as Dean set out to give him a hickey that matched his.
Snorting, Dean rolled his hips firmly to give Cas something to thrust against. “Honey, I hope you never have to know about demons.”
Cas grinned, stroking over the ink. “Such a charmer.” He yanked Dean back down with an arm around the neck. Dean couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to have a habit of getting this man in the same position two nights in a row. Or maybe Cas had the habit of getting him in this position.
“Hey,” Dean pulled back, licking his lips and chasing the taste of Cas off his mouth. “Can I try something?”
The wide-eyed look on Cas’s face told him that Cas was willing to try about anything Dean asked if it meant getting their mouths back together and their skin touching again. Still panting, Cas nodded.
“I—I’ve never… done it before—“ Dean was nervous, performance anxiety like he hadn’t experienced since he was sixteen. “But… I still wanna try it.” He hauled himself upright, before clumsily settling on his knees at Cas’s feet. He glanced up at Cas meaningfully, half-terrified and half-aroused out of his mind.
Dean didn’t think Cas’s eyes could go any wider, or his irises any blacker, but he was dead wrong. “You want to give me a blow job?” Cas gritted out, his fingers clenching around nothing.
Nodding, Dean swallowed hard. “I haven’t done it or anything,” he said quickly, not wanting to get Cas’s hopes up if he was truly awful at it. Who knew? What if he threw up or did something equally and horrifyingly embarrassing? “You have to—tell me what to do.” He cleared his throat when his voice cracked. He settled his gaze at Cas’s knee, still covered with his work slacks, though the zipper was splayed open. He focused on the strong joint there, where he knew Cas was packing some strength in his legs, had felt them wrapped around his hips. He knew this must not look sexy or anything, the way he was on his knees, nervous about giving a blow job. He’d gotten dozens of them over the years, he didn’t mind bragging. Surely, if some random short dark-haired, light-eyed waitress in the middle of rural Ohio could make him come so hard he blacked out momentarily, he could give this his best shot.
Then again, he was starting to see a pattern in the people he chose to fall for—however temporarily.
A hand under his chin jerked him out of his reverie, and his gaze was pulled to meet Cas’s. Cas seemed to be searching his face, intense as anything, just probing his expression. “You know I’m not expecting anything, right?” Cas asked lowly, his words going against what his eyes were practically screaming. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” Dean answered quickly, surprising himself even. He knew he wanted Cas’s dick something awful, wanted to feel the heft of it forcing his jaw wide, wanted to wring noises out of Cas until he couldn’t see straight. He just didn’t know how much he was willing to admit that to the man attached to the dick in question.
He shuffled forward on his knees, running his hands up Cas’s slacks until he got to his fly. “Please, Cas,” he whispered. He reached in between the flaps of his pants and stroked him gently through the navy boxers underneath. Cas’s cock was hot and so, so hard underneath the fabric. The man above him sighed, his breathing ragged. Cas tipped his head back at the feel of Dean’s hand. Cas’s fists were clenching beside his thighs. Feeling daring, Dean reached for his hand. Cas tried to intertwine their fingers, but that wasn’t what Dean was after. He pressed Cas’s hand to the back of his head, Cas’s fingers twisting gently into his hair.
“Okay,” Cas whispered, “I’ll show you how.” He fit his other hand to the curve of Dean’s jaw, and when Dean thought he was going to get pushed down, Cas tilted his head up to look at him again. Dean unscrewed his eyes just in time to get tugged back up to kiss Cas. It must have been an awkward angle, with Cas leaning down, and Dean straining upward, but he couldn’t care less. Frankly, any time spent away from kissing Cas was time wasted, in Dean’s opinion. There was a new hunger to the kiss now, like Cas was doing his very best to worm his way inside Dean’s skin. Cas pulled away. “You have to relax,” he whispered. “I promise not to choke you, but if you’re tense like that, it won’t be good for either of us.” He kissed Dean again. “Relax for me, baby.”
Dean sucked on his tongue for a moment before pulling back and nodding. “I want to do this,” he nuzzled against Cas’s temple once more before setting back on his knees. He took a breath and pulled Cas’s cock out from underwear, where it stood proudly in the dim light. He could hear Cas panting above him. Cas still had his hands in Dean’s hair, stroking instead of pulling. Dean licked his lips and leaned in, pressing a wet kiss to the head, keeping his eyes on Cas’s expression. When he heard Cas’s breath hitch above him, he grinned to himself and leaned in again, this time taking the entire head into his mouth and swirling his tongue around, tasting the tacky precome. Keeping his teeth out of the way, he leaned forward and sank down as far as he could, which wasn’t very far, if he was being critically honest. He suctioned around the shaft, pulling a grunt from Cas. He started a rhythm bobbing up and down, using his hands on what he couldn’t fit in his mouth.
“Fuck, Dean, so good,” he could hear Cas babble above him. “Fuck you mean, this is your first time? Ah—!” Cas yipped a bit as Dean’s teeth caught him in a sensitive spot, but it quickly turned into a long groan as Dean soothed it with his tongue. Dean settled in closer, pushing Cas’s knees further apart, in an effort to get closer. Cas’s hands were so tightly clenched in his hair, still not pulling, but enough to make tears spring into Dean’s eyes. Not that he dreamed of being anywhere else.
Dean was surprised to find that this was doing it for him too. Maybe he wasn’t surprised though—everything with Cas seemed to do it for him. Cas was encouraging without being patronizing, just genuinely glad to be there with Dean. He didn’t seem to mind that it was Dean’s first time giving head, and was instead just enjoying the attention. Dean wasn’t sure if he should feel sorry for the guy that even a first-timer’s attempt was apparently getting him off, or smug about the fact that he seemed to turn Cas on as much as the reverse was true.
He must have been doing this for some time, because before long, he felt Cas’s hands again, pulling him up and away. “Dean, I—I’m going to come—“ and Dean dove down with renewed fervor. Cas thought he’d be too chickenshit to go for the whole deal? Fuck that. He groaned around the feel of Cas’s cock, his jaw wider than he thought it could go. Finally, finally, he felt Cas’s hands pulling him closer, really going for it now. “Fuck, Dean—!” Cas let loose a pained grunt and came.
In all honesty, Dean was a little caught off guard. The flavor wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had, but the fact that it was the result of his efforts taking Cas apart was what made it so appealing. He tried to get it all down, but he knew he missed some as it dripped down his chin. He pressed kisses to Cas’s cock as he worked through the aftershocks. When he finally leaned back to wipe his face, they were both panting.
Cas shifted to tuck himself away, his hands trembling. Dean leaned back on his hands, propping his knees in front of him, knocking lightly into Cas. “How’d I do? Notes?” He was only a little breathless. He worked his jaw a few times.
“Very adequate. Probably went too deep at first, but… that’s fixable.” Cas grinned at him.
Dean chuckled. “Fixable, huh?” He lounged back, settling into his elbows. He huffed a sigh at the ceiling. “That’s hard work, you made it look easy.”
Cas laughed too, “I’ve had years more practice, don’t sweat it.” He tilted his head, still smiling, before heaving himself off the couch and pushing back into Dean’s space on the floor. He laid over Dean’s body and crowded in close for a kiss. “Not that you should, anyway. That was thoroughly” he pecked Dean’s cheek, “absolutely” his other cheek “satisfactory.”
They laid on the floor making out for a while longer, both wiped out and stinking like sex. Eventually, Cas pulled away and straightened up, reaching down for Dean’s hand to pull him up too. “I think it's time for bed, don't you?”
Dean grinned and let himself be pulled. His gaze happened to catch on the bag that had been kicked over by the sofa. The hats spilled from the bag, some under the sofa where he’d have to lean all the way down to reach them. Great.
“Never got around to burning those, did we?” He nudged one with his toe.
“Later,” Cas said, tugging him down the hall back towards where Dean knew his bedroom waited. “Plenty of time for that tomorrow.”
Cas moves to a town in California for his new job, teaching middle-schoolers everything they could ever possibly want to know about Shakespeare. The kids adore him, his fellow teachers admire (and crush) on him, and he’s even got the slimy vice principal, Mr. Crowley, eating out of his hand. Cas is still not entirely sure how he managed that one.
It’s the start of the new year and Cas has set up his classroom just the way he wants it, with posters of his favorite quotes positioned in prominent spots around the room amidst other inspirational passages and art. The kids are, for the most part, awesome. But then, Cas is an amazing teacher and he loves his subject so much, it never feels like work when he shares what he knows in order to shape these young minds.
One day, when Cas is getting ready to close his door so he can begin his next class, he spots this big, burly man marching down the hallway.
All Cas sees, at first, is the man’s back half - clad in thick riding leathers, with a large black patch sewn in place in the center of the back of his black leather jacket that features an old west-style pistol crossed with what looks like an engine piston. The patch underneath declares the person wearing said jacket is a member of the Iron Knights motorcycle club out of Their Town, California.
A small, rectangular patch positioned to one side of the larger central patch spells out the word PRESIDENT in ornate white gothic letters. The leathers creak with every step the man takes and something about him radiates danger, putting Castiel on immediate alert.
“Marina,” he says, poking his head back into his classroom, “please be so kind and read pages 12 and 13 of chapter 11 aloud for the class. I’ll be right back, everyone.”
He doesn’t have to wonder or worry that Marina will do anything but dutifully open her textbook to the pages he indicated and start reading. Cas just has a way about him that makes people want to do as he says -- a natural confidence and comfort in his own skin that makes him an effortlessly engaging teacher for his kids.
Slipping out of his classroom, he glances back in the direction the burly man had been walking and sure enough, he’s standing at the end of the open-air hall, head ducked and glancing at a tiny slip of paper held in his hand.
Taking a deep breath, Cas smooths his hands down over his vest and straightens his tie, letting the breath out to steady himself as he trots to catch up to the man.
“Excuse me, sir -- can I help you?” He asks, doing his best to keep any hint of urgency or alarm out of his voice, no matter how much his heart might be hammering in his chest. He’s not good with confrontations, never has been, but he would fight to protect every one of these children with his last breath, if he had to.
The last thing he expects to see is what he sees when the man turns around, glancing at him over his shoulder and revealing a stunning man with a scruffily bearded chin, obscenely full, red lips and dark wrap-around sunglasses shielding his eyes from the merciless sunshine. Now that the man has turned half-way to face him, he can see another patch on his shoulder, fitted perfectly to the round of muscle - it reads ROMEO in gothic font.
“Oh! Oh, yessir,” he replies, and there’s just the faintest hint of a southern twang to his response as he reaches up and tugs off his sunglasses, revealing eyes the color of green sea glass.
It’s that moment that Cas realizes that the man is cradling a motorcycle helmet in his hand, propped against his left hip, paper crumpling as he hooks his sunglasses into his shirt. That done, he turns the paper about, revealing a hand with fingers dripping in ornately carved silver jewelry featuring eagles, wolves, and owls, squinting at the words written on the slip.
There’s a blue bandana tied around his throat and another green one tied around his head, covering the majority of his hair. There’s a dashing streak of silver on one side of his beard. Castiel is mesmerized.
“’m sorry, I was just tryin’ to locate the administrator’s office. I’m supposed to be in a meeting, uhh... shit, five minutes ago,” he explains, pausing just long enough to wince at the time displayed on the lock screen of his phone.
“A m- meeting?” Cas blinks at the man for a moment, gobsmacked - because what sort of dealings could Crowley possibly have with a guy like this?
“Yeah, you -- you know the way?” The guy asks, holding the paper up and casting a hopeful look at him.
Cas eyes the man for a moment and squints at the paper the man is holding - sure enough, it looks like some sort of official school district documentation on school letterhead. Which is typical protocol for anyone who has an actual appointment with someone in their district.
Glancing back at him, he narrows his eyes at this strange new person and considers him carefully. He has a spray of freckles across his nose and lines around his eyes and mouth, which means he’s in the sun often and smiles and laughs a lot. Cas can see this man smiling and laughing a lot.
“Certainly,” he says after a beat, shooting the man a quick, polite smile. “Please, follow me.”
The administration offices are located in the center of the school complex, so it only takes a minute of navigating a hall or three and Castiel is pushing the heavy door open with his hip, holding it open for the man. “Donna can help you at the front desk, if you have an appointment,” he says, nodding to Crowley’s perpetually chipper administrative assistant with a smile.
“Oh, hey - thanks, man,” the guy says, one large hand patting his shoulder as he favors him with a dazzling smile.
“Of course,” Cas replies, more than a little nonplussed. This guy looks like a motorcycle hooligan and he’s wandering around the school in the middle of the day but somehow, just being near him... he doesn’t feel dangerous, at least.
“I’m Dean,” the green-eyed biker says, holding out his glove-clad hand for Cas to shake. Still processing things a bit, Cas stares at his hand for a beat or two and then takes it, giving it an extra-vigorous shake just in case, so Dean doesn’t think he didn’t want to shake hands with him. “Dean Winchester.”
“Castiel Novak. Tenth grade English,” he rambles and presses his lips together to force himself to stop talking good lord.
“Nice to meetcha, Cas,” he says, eyes shining as he shakes his hand, giving it one last steady squeeze before releasing it. Dean’s hand was strong, his grip steady and firm, and Cas could feel the strength in his grasp, how much raw power he was keeping in check. “Maybe I’ll see you around, sometime.”
“Y-yes! You -- you, too,” he practically squeaks, and at least he’s not stammering (much) or tripping over his words (ugh) - which is his usual social faux pas of choice - that would be the worst. He got the right words out of his mouth at roughly the right time, in somewhat the proper order. Close enough.
Dean’s biting his lip as he meets Cas’s curious gaze, and he looks as though he’s about to open his mouth to say something else, but then -
“Mr. Winchester!” Crowley bellows as he exits his office, startling the both of them out of their bashful staring match.
“Oh gosh, hey! There ya are! Mr. Crowley, you scared the life outta me!” Donna gasps, spinning about in her chair to face Crowley. Turning back to Dean and Cas, she favors him with a friendly smile and waves Dean towards Crowley’s office. “Go on in! He’s all yours, there, Dean-o.”
Dean offers Cas one last apologetic smile, tipping his head in Crowley’s direction. “Sorry I was late,” he says, meeting Cas’s eyes even though the volume of his voice would infer he’s answering Crowley. Reaching up, he gives his shoulder one more quick, friendly pat before he finally tears his gaze away, turning his attention to Crowley and striding further into his office. For his part, Crowley opens the small gate separating the waiting area from everything beyond. “Mr. Novak was nice enough to take pity on me and make sure I got here all right.”
Cas glances past Dean, his eyes falling on Crowley, who’s giving him an odd look - so he gives him one right back, shrugging his shoulders helplessly as he nudges the door open again with his hip and makes his way back to his classroom, where Marina’s just finishing up the reading.
He can’t stop thinking about Dean the entire rest of class, grateful for the questions at the end of the chapter that will keep the kids busy while he ruminates. As soon as the bell rings, he’s up and out of his seat, pushing his door open and leaning back against it to allow his students to leave.
Cas’s eyes scour the hallway and surrounding areas, ears listening out for the creak of leather but then, sure enough, suddenly there Dean is, coming around the corner. He’s a smudge of black in the otherwise neutral concrete-everything school building, his large hand resting on the shoulder of a young girl Cas recognizes as an 8th grader, but not one of his students.
She looks positively teensy next to Dean as she goes along in her lilac t-shirt and leggings. Her arms cradle her plush bunny backpack to her chest as she walks beside him, her eyes mostly fixed on the ground. Crowley follows along with the two of them, and for once, Crowley isn’t grumbling away in his gruff, badgery voice.
Seeing that his classroom has emptied out, Cas hurries to follow after the three of them as they make their way to the front of the school. Where, much to his surprise, he finds an entire battalion of gigantic, gleaming motorbikes parked and waiting in the driveway just out front of the school. Nearly all of them are being straddled by equally gigantic, burly men all clad in gear similar to Dean’s.
As soon as they reach the front steps, the young girl lets out a happy squeal and runs pell-mell down the steps towards the assembly of bikes. For his part, Dean lets out a soft laugh, but there’s a sadness to it. Crowley follows along after Dean as he makes his way down to the bikes.
“Daisy! Hey, there you are! Get over here, girl!” A guy crows, greeting her like one would a beloved niece or nephew, waving a hand for her to come on down towards the phallanx of bikes.
“Moose!” Daisy yells and practically flings herself at the tall, lanky guy perched on a sleek silver bike, slinging her arms around his neck and letting out a happy squeal as he wraps long, leather-clad arms around her tiny self and scoops her up.
Much like Dean, this Moose fellow sports a beard, a bandanna tied around his head, and a pair of gold aviator shades. Unlike Dean, though, there’s no doubt this guy has quite the head of sandy hair, nearly trailing almost to his shoulders from beneath his bandanna.
With his mile-long arms still holding on to their precious cargo, Moose climbs off of the bike, with Daisy’s tiny feet dangling easily three feet off the ground when he’s standing up straight. Daisy isn’t the least bit scared - she just giggles and kicks her feet, as unbothered as a picnic basket.
Moose gives her a big squeeze and then plops her down onto the back of his bike, leaning down to meet her eyes. “So what do you say, kid? Ready to go do this thing?”
Daisy frowns, her arms tightening around her backpack again, shrinking into herself at his question.
“Hey, what did we say, huh?” He gives one of her little braided pigtails a playful flip. “What’s the first rule?”
Daisy draws up one shoulder, her giggle sounding like tiny silver bells. “I’m a Knight!” She yells, smiling from ear to ear.
“Darn right, you are! We got you that cool jacket and everything. So what does that mean, that you’re a Knight? What’d we say?” Moose gently nudges her shoulder.
“If I’m a Knight, that means I’m family,” she says, her smile making way for adoring puppy eyes as she looked up at him.
“And we protect family, Daisy, huh,” he says, only to chuckle as she pounces on him again, latching on like a starfish and nodding as she does so.
As Moose is conferring with the young girl, Dean makes his way down to the cluster of parked motorbikes, slipping his helmet on and then his sunglasses as he huddles close to what, Cas guesses, must be his own bike. A large prowler of a black old-school style bike, complete with Easy Rider-style handlebars.
“Yeah, okay, so we’ll go do this thing, and me and Rome, Dalton, and Cap’n Crunch will all be there the entire time. We’ll be keeping an eye on you and keeping you safe,” Moose finishes, giving her a little squeeze and a pat on the back.
“Who’d you wanna go with, sweetheart?” Dean asks, glancing her way as he secures his helmet.
“Can I go with Moose?” She asks with those big, big eyes.
“You got it! Hey, as long as I don’t have to go with Moose,” he says with a snort. “I don’t know how you can stand riding with this guy. He smells like beans.” Daisy is giggling helplessly even as Moose gets her re-settled on his bike, properly this time, and plops a helmet on her head, which she dutifully starts to fasten under her chin.
“Your face smells like beans, dude,” Moose huffs back at him. Daisy shrieks with giggles.
“That doesn’t even -- all right, let’s hit the road before this starts turning into you making yourself look a fool,” Dean says, holding up both hands as he stuffs his phone and some folded papers into the pocket of his jacket and zips it closed.
“Your face looks like a fool,” he fires back with a chuckle, and Cas can see the two other bikers chuckling to themselves as they wait for everybody to get their shit together.
Moose busies himself with getting his charge strapped into her safety seat on the back of his bike and once that’s done, he stows her beloved plushie backpack in a large leather saddle bag on the side of his bike.
“We’ll be handing her off to her mom once she’s done in court,” Dean assures Crowley confidently as he fits his key into his bike and starts her up, leaving the VP no time to respond. He pulls a pile of folded papers out of his pocket and hands them over to Crowley, who gives them a cursory glance and then gives him a nod of approval before tucking the documents into his pocket.
The rest of the bikes around and beside Dean’s rev to life, causing Cas to jump at the sheer volume of the things. For his part, Cas hangs back on the steps, watching the group getting ready to go, unable to tear his eyes away from Dean for even an instant as he slips his sunglasses back on.
Dean looks up, gaze angling in his direction, and his full lips shape into a dazzling grin as he taps the edge of his helmet with the sides of his fingers in a salute. He revs his bike and pulls the enormous, beautiful beast away from the curb and out of the parking lot.
“Such a snob, Novak,” Crowley tuts, making a show of shaking his head as he passes him on his way up the steps. “Honestly, I expected better - cultured chap like you.”
“A -- I’m a what?” Cas blurts back with a laugh.
“You think I’d allow a Sons of Anarchy reject to traipse around this school if I didn’t have ten different types of ID and certification for him tucked safely away in my filing cabinet?” He tisks with a humorless smile. “Organization’s called BACA. Look it up. Winchester and his mile-high moose of a brother are guardians, dear boy.”
Pssst hey does anyone remember that drabble where dean and Cas are married and teachers at the same school and Dean has to show a new teacher around and he keeps flirting with Dean and Cas like verbally obliterated him??? I could have sworn I read it on tumblr but I can’t find it on my blog anywhere :/
Dean had never keyed anyone’s car before. He cared too much about cars.
But this? This was a whole different kind of circumstance. Keying a car was about as close as Dean was ever going to get to retaliation without endangering himself or his job.
By the time he’d left the staff meeting, he had nothing but a head full of angry questions and half-formed insults echoing in his skull. He trotted down the staircase, hand skimming down the banister – which was cut and carved with middle schoolers’ names. The carving started as pure vandalism but had been promoted to tradition when nobody fixed it, and five hundred other people joined in. By the time Dean left the school building and stepped into the watery autumn sunshine, he let out a clouded breath, and with his mind made up, he marched towards the staff parking lot.
He looked around to find the guy’s car.
That had to be it, right? Golden Lincoln Continental? That dickwad bragged about having a nice car, and besides Dean’s own ‘67 Chevy Impala, this was the only other nice one here.
Gritting his teeth, Dean made his way over, fighting with his pocket to drag out his keys. He went up to the car’s left doors, where there was more room to move and his ass wouldn’t hit the pickup truck on the other side.
Dean look a quick scan of the area. Defrosted soccer field on the left, empty. Stone school building ahead, washed with golden afternoon light, reflecting pale on the windows. The faint smell of Tater Tots and boiled carrots wafted over from the steamy kitchens, lingering from lunch.
Dean took a breath and crouched, then emptied his lungs. “Sorry, girl,” he whispered to the car, and began to scrape.
He had to press harder than a touch, and it wounded him, made him squirm as the gold paint came off.
He started with one vertical line under the wing mirror, and wondered if that was enough.
No! He had to get the point across. So he kept going.
Twelve seconds later, a shadow moved into his sunbeam. “What are you doing to my car!” the silhouette demanded.
Dean gasped, standing straight, hands up. “Nothing! Wasn’t!” He glanced at his hand, then tossed his keys away, and they jangled onto the tarmac near the next car along.
The shadow came forward, and his dark hair split the sunlight, stern blue eyes and furiously flat mouth. “I saw you.”
Dean started to pant. “Wait. You’re not— Is this your car? This is— Ahhh, shit.” He let his hands down, one covering his mouth as he gazed at the scratches in the paint. “I got the wrong car.”
The man hugged an empty cardboard box to his side, looking disgruntled. “Aren’t you the student counsellor? Winchester?”
“Dean, yeah.” Dean breathed out, trying to grin, but grimacing. “You’re the, uh, science gay? Guy! Science lab guy. Right?”
“Castiel,” Castiel said, eyes narrowed. “And yes, I am gay, but that’s hardly any of your business.”
