@ewanfuckinmcgregor asked:
Destiel AU: Dean works in a tattoo shop near a college and College Castiel comes in for a tattoo with a dash of flirty, cute fun moments
So have a little tipsy!Cas and gross overuse of tattoos as an excuse to flirt ;)
~
inked, 2.5k
Castiel had never really given much thought to tattoos. He supposed he considered them interesting, cool in a way that was for looking, not doing. The way that birds were cool for flying, or Gabriel was cool for trying flaming rum shots. But all of a sudden Cas was extremely, emphatically interested in tattoos. Well, one tattoo. Namely the dark shape creeping up towards the collarbone of the very attractive guy currently crowding into his personal space, trying to lean over the busy bar to retrieve his beer from the harried woman on the other side.
His elbow caught Cas’s shoulder on its way down, sloshing foam over the edges of the glass, but Cas was too busy trying to make sense of the wavy black peaks to really care and the bartender didn’t even glance twice at the mess of beer on the counter. The weary wood of the local student watering hole was basically polished with the stuff anyway.
“Sorry buddy,” Tattoo Guy said, turning to him with brief concern.
Sorry wasn’t the right word, Cas thought in a daze as he caught his apologetic smile, you’re welcome would be more like it. But Tattoo Guy tossed a few bills (avoiding the spill, at least) and disappeared before Cas could say anything so strange. Small blessings, probably.
He grabbed his tray of shots for the table and shuddered as he thought about what kind of battery acid Gabe was bound to order a round of next.
~
Castiel’s next conversation with Tattoo Guy was much more eloquent, he’d like to think. Or the tequila would like to think.
Somehow Cas had found his way over to a quieter section of the counter where the guy had pulled up a stool (wait that’s right, Anna had pushed him), and was dragging another over to sit beside him. Despite the strumming guitar and drums still vibrating low through the bar, the metal legs made quite a racket, and Tattoo Guy watched over the lip of his glass with something like amusement.
“Need a refill, or just some ice for that shoulder?” He gave a crooked smile, nodding toward the arm he’d hit earlier.
“What’s your tattoo?” Cas replied, not abruptly at all, thank you.
For a guy named Tattoo Guy, he really looked surprised at the question, Cas thought, but he recovered quickly and set his glass down. His eyes tracked Cas’s fingers as he gestured to the spot on his own chest where he’d seen the shape. Hesitating just a moment before, he pulled back the collar of his t-shirt slowly to reveal a star surrounded by a circle of black waves. Cas leaned in for a better look, teetering rather dangerously on his stool.
“It’s a protective sigil,” Tattoo Guy explained. He released his collar to let the fabric stretch back into place over the symbol, only one dark corner still peeking out like the tip of a crescent moon behind a cloud.
“Protection from what?” Cas swayed back in his seat.
“Oh, you know, keeps me safe from all sorts of nasties,” he said, just a hint of a suggestive wink. “But mostly from demonic possession.”
The amusement was back, along with a more challenging glint in his eye, as if he was daring Castiel to ask whether or not he was joking. Cas leaned an elbow on the counter to rest his chin, staring at the dull wood with his brows furrowed as if in very serious thought about what the guy had just told him, before meeting his gaze with a grave look.
“Does it work on tequila?”
Tattoo Guy barked out a laugh, grinning broadly and slapping a hand on his knee. It was a nice laugh, blending deep with the bass that drifted from the stereos, a nice grin, shining in the dim lights and neon, and Cas wanted to catch them in a bottle and keep drinking all night.
“Would be nice, wouldn’t it.” The guy eyed how heavily Cas was leaning on the counter. “You could use one too in that case, I’d bet.”
“The only demons I need protection from are my friends,” Cas replied, nodding toward the table of his fellow seniors on the far side of the room, who were doing an excellent job pretending they weren’t gawping at them and were definitely not making a scene. He rolled his eyes, but the motion just served to remind him how unsteady his position on the stool was as his whole upper body nearly followed suit.
“Can’t say it would help with that either,” said Tattoo Guy. “But that’s what you’ve got the classics for… Nothing gets people to back off like a big ol’ biker tat. Get some barbed wire on the neck, skulls on the biceps, your pals won’t even bother to set you up anymore.”
It was Cas’s turn to laugh, though he was becoming distracted by the fingers on his arm where Tattoo Guy was lightly scoping out the real estate for his new ink.
“True. My bumblebee tat doesn’t do much by way of intimidation.”
“Now that I’ve gotta see,” Tattoo Guy was grinning again. It was magnetic, the smile, the touch, the pulse behind the dark shape on his chest, and he wanted more. Sober Cas, who knew he was about to make a fool of himself, and Tequila Cas, who was still staring at the other man’s lips, began to arm wrestle furiously over his next words.
“Well, it’s not in a place I make a habit of showing off in public,” Cas said, angling forward again to look up through his lashes. “But maybe you could see it later.” Sober Cas was rolling his damn eyes and groaning at his antics, but Tattoo Guy was anything but. His eyes darkened to reflect his ink, stars and waves in the pinpricks of light from behind the bar, and he pressed a knee against Cas’s.
“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
Bingo. Cas leaned further, this time to see if he could trail his fingers over that collarbone and trace the edges of the tattoo that had drawn him across the bar. He had a feeling it was only the pre-show, and Tattoo Guy’s knowing smile wasn’t denying it. His hand brushed over his shirt, his fingertips dragging across the fabric and then—
And then he was falling.
And then he was flat on his face, cheek stuck to the disgusting wood and bits of peanut shells, a dull pain buzzing somewhere near his nose for poor Sober Cas to deal with later. Next thing he knew Tattoo Guy was kneeling beside him murmuring something, hands hovering uncertainly over his back, and smaller arms were pulling him up from his other side.
“Oookay then, time to go home,” Anna was saying, clearly torn between stifled laughter and genuine concern for Cas’s wellbeing as she draped his arm over her shoulder. He could hear Balthazar wheezing from all the way across the room, and he groaned.
“I’m fine, I’m not that drunk,” he protested, and he really wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault that gravity decided to work overtime tonight, honestly. Tattoo Guy looked relieved that he was okay, but Anna wasn’t swayed.
“Yeah, yeah flyboy, this is all part of the elaborate mating ritual,” she replied, tightening her arm around his side and steering him towards the door with an apologetic look toward Cas’s would-be partner for said ritual.
He peered back over his shoulder to see Tattoo Guy settling back onto his stool, giving him one last half smile and a little salute.
Well. At least the tequila shots hadn’t been flaming.
~
Cas was thinking about tattoos all the time, now. Despite his embarrassing sidebar into skydiving practice (even weeks later, Gabriel and Balthazar were still taking turns flinging themselves from chairs in dramatic reenactments of Castiel’s nosedive), he really had been interested in that tattoo. Cas had taken to musing idly about what he would inscribe on his own skin if given the chance. Maybe some sort of lyric or passage, an animal… maybe a symbol for strength or protection, like the guy had.
The guy. Cas was rather disappointed that Anna had pulled him away before he could even get his name, let alone a number. But if she hadn’t, Tequila Cas would have probably done something even stupider and dragged him to get matching ink right then and there, so all’s well he supposed.
Cas was shaken from his thoughts, one afternoon, about the tattoo and about the guy (but mainly the tattoo, he lied), when he found himself wandering past the edge of campus. He’d had the vague idea to grab a cup of coffee before heading home, finished with classes for the day, but as he peered down the street in search of a telltale board embossed with some kind of steaming mug, his eyes fell only on one sign. A jagged pentagram with letters at the center spelling Purgatory Ink.
Well… it couldn’t hurt to take a look, could it? He didn’t seem to make a decision one way or another before he was pulling the door open to the soft tinkling of a bell. A skinny guy at the reception desk looked up with a friendly wave.
“Howdy!” he said, voice bright. “Welcome in, I’m Garth. You got an appointment?”
Right. People didn’t usually just walk in for permanent body alterations. Did they?
“No, no sorry,” said Cas uncertainly. “I was hoping to maybe… browse.” Did people browse in tattoo parlors? Cas was already out of his element, but Garth just gave him a goofy smile and pulled out a thick binder from behind the desk.
“Feel free to take a look! We’ve got some great artists, mainly custom work but they’ll do flashes if you see somethin’ in those first couple pages. Dean and Meg are here today, but you could get an appointment with Benny later this week too.”
Cas nodded, trying to absorb the information, and took the book. Settling in one of the waiting chairs, he rifled through the pages with interest. Benny’s work seemed to be mostly animals and nature scenes (some rather violent designs with fangs and blood, he noted), Meg’s work was downright scary (had she actually seen some of these demons?), but Dean’s. His designs were beautiful. Mythical creatures and symbols, ranging from delicately minimalist characters to intricate designs snaking their way across entire backs and shoulders. A sense of humor, too, Cas almost laughed out loud when he came upon an absurd design of a Sasquatch in a barber’s gown.
He was pulled from the book as he heard Garth hang up a phone and call to the backroom, “Winchester, your 4:30 just rescheduled, so you’ve got a break.”
“Awesome,” sounded a man’s voice, coming closer as he entered the room. Cas looked up and his eyes widened, finding his own open-mouthed expression mirrored (mirrored less stupidly, he was sure) by none other than Tattoo Guy.
Tattoo Guy (Artist Guy?) recovered first, and beamed with apparent delight. “Well I’ll be damned. How’s the uhh…”
He trailed off, gesturing to his nose. Cas felt his cheeks coloring, but he managed what he hoped resembled a self-deprecating smirk.
“Ah, you know. You should’ve seen the other guy.”
Garth glanced between them with curiosity.
“Hey Deano, your buddy here…” He looked to Cas with a slight frown.
“Castiel,” he said.
“Castiel here could probably use some help figuring out a design. Since you’re freed up now, why don’t you take him back for a consultation?” Either Garth always sounded this sweetly innocent, or he was up to something, but Cas didn’t care as he nodded along.
The other man grinned. “Yeah, alright, come on this way.”
“So you’re Dean,” Cas said, following him down the hall toward a small backroom with chairs and what looked to be more portfolios strewn over a table. “I’ve been calling you Tattoo Guy in my head.” Dean winked as he took a seat and gestured to the one across the table. “Well, Cas, I’ve been calling you Faceplant Guy.”
Cas refused to let his face heat again, so he batted his eyes right back.
“And here I was hoping you’d been calling me Bumblebee Tramp Stamp.”
God, Dean’s laugh was even better here, layered over the muffled thrum of classic rock playing in what Cas assumed was the studio.
“Is that what you’re looking to get today?”
“I was thinking something a little more dignified, but I’m not entirely sure what that would be,” Cas said. “To be honest, I was mostly inspired by the one you’ve got here.”
Cas pointed to his collarbone again, watching with fascination as Dean’s swagger gave way to something unsure, almost bashful. He didn’t understand how someone so clearly skilled could get red around the ears at a simple compliment, so he continued his point.
“I was admiring your artwork in the book out front, too,” he said. “And I hadn’t even known you’d designed those. I think I might like something you come up with.”
Definitely bashful, now. Dean rubbed the back of his neck and gave a shy smile as he replied, “Can do. Well, maybe a protective symbol for you too? Something custom, so I’ve gotta know what we’re guarding you from.”
Cas considered. What was he afraid of? Failing classes, losing his friends, disappointing his family. Snakes. Losing himself in a job he hates and watching eternity go by without him as he falls through time, slow and empty. Wow, he was not about to ruin the mood.
“What would you protect me from?” he asked instead.
Dean looked thoughtful for a long moment. He leaned forward, chin in his hands as he carefully examined Castiel. Cas could practically feel Dean’s eyes as they traced along his jaw, brushed over his flyaway hair, and he had to suppress a shiver when they finally locked on his gaze.
“I think I know just the thing,” he said, pulling over a notebook and pen. “Just give me a sec.”
Cas watched as he drew, his rough-looking hands surprisingly graceful as they swept in wide arcs over the sheet. With the angle of the notebook, he couldn’t see the shapes growing from Dean’s steady gestures, but he could feel something alluring and peaceful bleeding from the pen and soaking into the paper, into his skin. He already knew he was going to want whatever Dean was drawing.
“Okay,” Dean announced after some time. “I think this is close.”
He tore the page out and presented it to Cas with a flourish. Laid across the paper was a beautiful symbol of angel wings, the edges flaring out to form an elegant circle of feathers. Ancient lettering was inscribed between the plumage, powerful and mysterious, but somehow familiar all the same. Cas looked up, breath taken, and Dean’s expression brightened with a mischievous grin.
“Your very own anti-gravity, fall-safe protective sigil. Good against tequila, bar stools, disarming smiles, you name it.”
Cas couldn’t help but laugh right back, open and full.
“It’s perfect.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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