A/N: I apologize this seems a little choppy, or if the characterization is inconsistent. I was experimenting with a slightly different writing style; this fic was just a fun writing exercise, so I tried not to be too controlling. (Ha.) EDIT: Though I am having a bit of trouble with the verb tense (sorry, no beta). Tried fixing as of 8/27 but we'll see.

Also, I checked out AO3 for the first time. I thought E was like "Rated E for Everyone." Boy, did I get a surprise.

Not that I'm complaining.

But lesson learned—always read the manual first.

Dean didn't know he had a fetish for quiet, virginal book nerds until he picked up Sam from work at the local bookshop one day.

Okay so maybe it was just the one nerd, but damn. The guy was hot—he had the face of an angel and the body of something much more sinful hiding under that innocent, cream-colored Oxford shirt. Not to mention, he was reserved in an enigmatic (and totally sexy) sort of way that made Dean want to drag him over to the dark, secluded 'mystery' section and give him a 'thrill.' Sam cringed when Dean confessed to him exactly that, puns and all. And then his younger brother scolded him for coming onto his coworker. To which Dean replied that no one was 'coming,' not at this rate.

That particular comment earned him a slap upside the head and Bitch Face of the Week.

But seriously. He didn't even know Sexy Nerd's name, and Sam refused to "violate the man's well-guarded privacy for the sake of his horny brother's insatiable libido" by telling him. God, Sam was a pretentious little prick when he was in his dark, dusty, natural habitat.

The point is that this meant that Dean had to do everything the hard way. And hard, he was.

Er, it was. Whatever.

Dean knew from the moment he first met the mysterious angel-nerd-dude that he wanted to make those intense baby blues go cross-eyed. As soon as he laid eyes on him, he immediately shot the man a wink and delivered a line:

"Baby, you can stamp my books any day."

To which the man curtly replied, "I am not a librarian," and stalked off to do non-librarian things.

Well then.

It was a little bruising to his ego (and Sam's snickering was no help), but Dean shook it off with a little smirk because hey, he liked a good challenge. So maybe this guy wasn't going to be the easy pickings he'd thought he would be—but Dean was certain it wouldn't take long to crack him. A nerdy little virgin like that was bound to be looking for a fine specimen like himself to show him the ropes, right?

He tried again the next day, suavely pulling his baby up to the curb even though Sam didn't need a lift. His brother, initially surprised to see him, just rolled his eyes as Dean strode through the door confidently, the tinkle of the bell as bright as the charming smile he wore.

"Can I get your call number, Angel?"

The look he got in return was nothing short of withering. What's more disturbing, is that Blue Eyes didn't stop staring at him—or even blink, holy shit—until Dean backed slowly down the aisles to not-so-inconspicuously join Sam amongst the dusty shelves.

Three more days passed like that. Dean would drop by around closing time, deliver a cheesy literary pickup line courtesy of the internet, get awkwardly stared down, and retreat to the Impala to lick his wounds. The bookshop was closed on Tuesdays, but the same routine picked up and continued the following Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday. And Saturday.

Fucking Saturday night and here he was: still alone, still horny, and still without a name.

"To be fair," Sam told him, "you haven't told him your name, either."

Son of a bitch.

Sunday witnessed the end of Dean's arsenal of Google hits (which had included a Kama Sutra pun that even Dean found distasteful), and he actually felt a little apprehensive as he stepped into that dingy little shop. He approached the counter, looked the brunette up and down appreciatively, and wet his lips.

"If I could rearrange the classification system, I would put U and I together."

Hot Mystery Guy didn't even blink. "Fortunately for me, N and O already come pre-packaged."

Shots fired.

Feeling utterly defeated (and totally prepared to make a trip to Baskin Robbins to treat his burn), Dean gave a little nod of surrender and tried not to let his shoulders droop too low as he headed for the door. At the last second, however, he remembered what Sam had said and turned back to the man at the check out counter.

"I'm Dean, by the way." He rubbed at the back of his neck as he felt a reputation-damaging blush start to creep up his face under the man's curious stare. "In case you ever want to, you know, file for a restraining order or something."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of the guy's mouth. And though barely there, it was the most beautiful and rewarding smile Dean had ever seen.

He did get ice cream that night, but not for healing purposes—a smile from the most alluring and terrifying man Dean had ever met definitely called for an apple pie-flavored celebration.

On Monday, Mystery Man was missing from his post at the register (gone doing mysterious things, Dean assumed) but there was a massive, old tome left on the counter. Taped to the worn, leather cover was a folded slip of paper labeled "Dean."

Stifling the urge to do a happy dance, he opened the paper and found a neatly scripted message inside:

As fate would have it, you first entered my shop on a Thursday.

That was it. Literally. That was all he wrote.

Leave it to Mystery Man to be cryptic.

That night, he took the book home and pored over the great, musty thing all evening and the next. The only time he ever looked up from its frail pages was for food or to go to work. Or to pelt Sam with his shoe when his brother made a remark that he'd never seen Dean read anything without pictures before. Dean wasn't exactly a bookworm, but he wasn't stupid either, so it didn't take him too long to figure it out.

The book was a record of angel lore, naming and describing every angel in existence—including the angel of Thursday: Cassiel. Or Castiel. He wasn't sure, actually, since the author had made a point of listing every damn variation of all the angels' names. To make things simpler, Dean decided to use "Cass." Problem solved.

Honestly, he was most ecstatic about the fact that he now had a name to call out in his nighttime fantasies.

On Wednesday he brought the book straight up to the counter, beaming at the dark-haired man behind it.

"Hey, Cass."

The man tilted his head. "Cass?" he echoed.

Suddenly Dean's confidence melted into bashfulness. "I wasn't sure whether your name was uh, Cassiel or Castiel. So I sort of compromised."

That little smile appeared again and his knees damn near buckled. Crap, maybe he was growing ovaries. "It's Castiel."

"Oh," Dean breathed.

"It's nice to meet you, Dean."

"Yeah."

There was a pause as he and Castiel looked—really looked—at each other for the first time. Examining full lips and hooded eyes and faded blemishes from the teenage years and freckles and rigid jawlines and creases under the eyes... Every bit of it was magnificent. Until a voice rang out from somewhere by the back wall.

"Get a room!"

Probably the children's section, where said voice belonged. Dean flashed an awkward grin at Castiel.

"SHUT UP, SAM."

It took a brief internal struggle to keep his face from blooming red as a cherry, but Dean mustered up his usual, bold confidence and threw Cass a sly grin. "But we could, you know."

Castiel's dark eyebrows jumped to attention, clearly confused. How adorable. "We could what?"

"Get a room." Dean leaned forward with his elbows on the counter, tongue tracing his lips as he stared up into sharp, blue eyes. "Shack up somewhere, away from obnoxious little brothers, and just go at it for a day or two. Y'know?" Dean winked at him. "'Bet I could make you scream."

Castiel fixed him with a flat look. "That sounds…awfully romantic, but I think I'll have to pass up the temptation."

"Oh, come on, Cass!" Dean pleaded, green eyes as big and sad as he could make them. "I thought we were starting to get somewhere!"

"The only place you're interested in getting is in my pants."

Well, duh.

Castiel tsked at him. "You'll have to try harder than that. I'm not going to just bend over for you like some easy conquest." He leaned forward a little, a gleam in his eyes and his lips tilting in a crooked smile. It was the most expressive Dean had ever seen him. "I want to feel like I'm worth more than just a piece of ass. I want you to wine and dine me. Tie clouds on the end of a string. Write my name in the stars."

Dean's jaw dropped. "You've gotta be kidding me with this chick flick crap."

Castiel cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. "You are the one who decided to pursue a bookshop owner, Dean. I am a man of art and logic, a keeper of histories and dreams. I savor pretty speeches and courageous ideas." His hand shot out and grasped Dean's collar, tugging him halfway over the counter with an effortless strength that no man who sells books for a living should have.

But dude. Those. Eyes. They were studying him with an attitude just this side of arrogant and a whole lot predatory. He didn't know when the tables of cat-mouse had turned, but Dean was hooked.

"I know words, Dean. It's one thing to be brazen and another to be brave. Give me brave." Castiel released him, dismissal evident in the flick of his wrist. "You're trying to be a real man? Cut the alpha pimp shit."

And with that, Castiel disappeared leaving Dean half hard and completely stunned. Damn. This guy was no angel.

Dean should have given up. He really wanted to. He'd considered driving over to the nearest bar to find a girl for some flirty, late-night fun, but he couldn't get Castiel out of his head. For some stupid reason, some stupid part of him wanted to fulfill that nutcase's request. Maybe it was the "never surrender" side of him that wanted to prove to Castiel that he could beat him at his own game.

Or maybe it was that tiny, stifled voice deep down inside him that asked for something steady, something warm and fulfilling and…precious.

Ugh. He disgusted himself sometimes.

Again, it was all just a stupid notion. It wasn't like he expected Cass to be his "one true love" or anything like that, right? His life was so not a Disney special. He was Dean Winchester, goddammit!

Which was exactly why he was going to do everything Castiel asked—not because he was caving into it, but in order to teach a certain book nerd who had read one too many Jane Austen novels that Prince Charming and happy endings exist only in fairy tales for a reason.

But when Dean asked Cass out on a date—a real, proper date with dinner at a fancy restaurant and the latest Oscar-nominated drama showing in cinema—he was turned down. So much for wining and dining.

Dean complained about the obvious dilemma, but Castiel just shrugged and said, "I'm not easily won over by money." That admittedly both relieved and irritated Dean.

With his dinner plans shot down, Dean found himself at a loss…but then he looked across the counter to Castiel who was straightening up from where he'd been bent over examining his financial accounts book and rolling his shoulders.

Oh yeah. He totally had this.

Dean smoothly stepped behind the counter; he noticed that Castiel, though pretending to ignore him, was in fact highly aware of his presence. Smiling to himself, Dean pressed up behind the other man and brought his hands up to rub and knead at the knots in his shoulders. Castiel stood rigidly at first, but after a few minutes of Dean's magic fingers, he started to loosen up and lean into the pressure. Dean then moved to massaging at the back of his neck and along the lines of his shoulder blades, thoroughly enjoying the bookstore owner's appreciative little moans.

Being in such close proximity, Dean found himself enveloped in Castiel's enticing scent. Mmm. If it were possible to smell such things as warmth, comfort, arousal and raw power, he would bottle them all up and label it Cass. But there was no way he'd shelve it at a Bath & Bodyworks—he wanted this tantalizing concoction all for himself. It took all of Dean's strength to not wrap himself up in the brunette and tuck them away in some dark corner, but he couldn't help inching just a little closer.

He had just barely edged his nose into the space behind Castiel's ear when the man flinched away.

"Thank you, Dean. That will be all." Castiel sounded polite enough but there was a glint in his eye. Dean hated being teased, but he was still feeling dazed and pleasant from the close contact and Cass' heady scent so he let the man ease away from him.

Dean didn't realize he had been pouting a little until Castiel caught sight of his expression and threw him a knowing smirk. "You fight dirty," he said as he collected his record books.

Yeah. Sure.

Dean could not wait to show him dirty.

The next day, he decided to keep things simple and classic: he brought Castiel flowers.

Roses were way too chick-flick for Dean's tastes, so he let the assistant floral designer handle it. Becky was perky on a scary level and nosy on a creepy-stalker one, but after her Twenty Questions about Cass ("He has blue eyes? Hmm…Like, aquamarine, or sky blue? Are they violet, or sapphire? Does he drink coffee? Is athletic—like, tan and toned? Or is he the skinny, pasty type? Is the bookstore cluttered and musty, or does he keep it tidy?"), she quickly put together a rather impressive bouquet of larkspur, geraniums, sunflowers and delphiniums.

Sam, of course, provided the names.

Castiel seemed to be trying to hold back his enthusiasm, but there was no denying the light shining in his eyes when Dean presented the flowers. He immediately retrieved a dusty old vase from a cabinet under the sink in the café-kitchenette space off to the side of the shop, and picked and prodded at the stems to get the explosion of color on top situated just right. Dean was just glad that Cass hadn't bothered to make a show of smelling the flowers first—he thought it was a stupid gesture, and that the doe-eyed idiots who did it deserved the pollen-induced headache that inevitably followed.

When Castiel finished his silent fussing, he rearranged the book display on the center table so that the bouquet was the centerpiece. Dean was feeling pretty damn proud.

"I take it you like them, then?" He teased the nerd.

"Oh yes," Castiel said genuinely as he admired them. "They're lovely."

Lovely. He kind of liked that.

Dean watched as Castiel, who became fidgety all of a sudden, darted around the room fixing book displays and polishing surfaces with a rag. As he passed by, Dean heard him grumbling, "—should get some potted plants…brighten up the place."

Just as Castiel was flying past him for the sixth time, Dean reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "If you want, I can drive you over to that florist I went to. I'm sure we could pick out a few things…"

When Castiel hurried him out to the car, Dean figured he could pat himself on the back for scoring a (semi) date. He didn't even care that they were leaving Sam behind to close up the shop.

Thank God some kid named Alfie was at the counter this time. Dean was pretty certain that Becky would have spontaneously combusted on the spot if she had seen Castiel in person. But two hanging planters, three overflowing flowerpots and a terrarium of succulents later, even Alfie was picking up on Castiel's infectious giddiness. Cass was so pleased with the trip that it wasn't until they were back at the store and unloading the plants that the spell seemed to break, and Castiel was suddenly shifty-eyed and awkward and red in the cheeks.

Now, normally Dean would have been all over the blushing virgin look, but Castiel just seemed so adorable and grateful and happy, that Dean couldn't bring himself to be anything other than tender. He didn't demand anything, or even ask him out for a drink. He just gave a quick peck to the man's cheek and left.

If it could, Dean's pretty sure his dick would have slapped him for it.

His ovaries, however, were growing in just fine and seemed pretty happy with what he'd done so far. And then the next day, they went bat crap-crazy when Dean came in to find Castiel reading to a young boy in the children's area. Seriously, the man had reached a puppies-and-unicorns level of cute. Bastard.

Dean (in super-ninja-secret-spy mode) hid behind one of the bookshelves as he watched Castiel read a Mercer Mayer Little Critter book aloud with the kid tucked in next to him in a large armchair. It just about melted him.

At the end of the story an elderly woman retrieved the child, thanked Castiel "again" for being "such a dear," and hobbled back out to the street, all the while gently turning down her grandson's persistent requests for "mo' book." It was then that Dean sidled out from his hiding place and grinned at Castiel, who stood up and stretched out his spine.

"Looks like you've got a fan," he teased.

"A fan? Please. I'm a celebrity on this block," Castiel muttered in that rough voice of his as he twisted at his center, cracking his back. "The elementary school's just up the street. You should see this place on Book Fair Day."

Dean could totally picture Castiel trying to wrangle twenty or thirty hyperactive kindergartners—his hair adorably mussed as he herded them in a semicircle on the floor around his battered armchair and patiently explained why The Ugly Duckling was his favorite story of all time.

Castiel chuckled. "Huh. Well, The Ugly Duckling is my favorite story of all time."

Crap. Dean was losing it.

Trying to hide the fact that he'd just said something embarrassingly saccharine out loud, he turned to the chair. It was stained and sagging, and the fabric looked like it had been an orange corduroy, once upon a time. Dean put his hands on his hips and eyed it skeptically. "So where'd this come from? Some kind of 70's throwback-themed flea market?"

"Close enough. I picked it up at the thrift shop." Castiel shrugged and went about collecting the scattered picture books and putting them in their rightful places.

Of course, Dean returned the next day and upholstered Castiel's armchair. Luckily it was a Sunday, so he started early to give himself plenty of time. He first went to the fabric store, where he found out a soft, forest green imitation leather, and brought it back to the bookshop. Castiel seemed to like the color enough, though he had no idea what it was for.

"Just wanted your opinion." Dean answered as nonchalantly as he could. Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, causing Dean to shift his weight, but he kept his gaze determinedly on Cass.

"Redecorating," he explained with false easiness. That didn't exactly convince Cass, either, but the blue-eyed man relented his stare and didn't press any further questions. Dean then convinced Kevin, an assistant who was a couple years younger than Sam, to keep Castiel distracted with the coffee machine while he dragged that sad, old armchair outside and into a back alleyway.

It wasn't easy moving that brown-orange beast, and he was more than happy to take the knife out of his boot and hack away at the lumpy, rotting cushions. Several hours later, he was rather proud of his work; the chair was plumped up with fresh stuffing and the new fabric was put in place. Bringing the now unrecognizable piece of furniture back round to the front, he popped his head in through the front door and called out for a "delivery." The confused frown on Castiel's face as he rounded the corner was adorable enough, but the expression that flickered over it upon seeing the chair just about turned Dean's knees to jelly.

His eyes widened to the size of blue porcelain saucers, shining with a surprise and awe that made Dean's stomach flutter happily. A small, sweet curve settled on Castiel's lips but the majority of the smile was in his eyes—and somehow, that made it all the more meaningful. Dean felt like a blushing schoolboy.

"Dean, this is…magnificent. You did this all by yourself?"

Dean nodded, trying to look anywhere but at the man's adoring expression. "Well, I didn't want you and your kids getting tetanus or anything," he mumbled.

If Castiel saw through him (which Dean suspected he did), he didn't say anything about it.

They wrestled the chair inside and back into its original space. Dean had to admit: Castiel's soft grunting was pretty hot. He could feel a little twitch at the crotch of his jeans, and instantly knew he would have to deposit those sinful sounds in the spank bank for when he got home later and—

"Are you free tomorrow?"

Hold that thought.

"Tomorrow?" Dean repeated, trying to hold back a grin.

"Yes. I'm aware that it's a Monday, but do you think you could stop by the shop for an hour or so? Around 3 or 3:30?"

An hour? Hell yeah. That was more than enough time to romp around in the storage closet. He didn't know why Castiel was specific about the time, though. Maybe that was when Kevin finished his shift and before Sam showed up.

Castiel gave him a half-smile that looked a little too much like a smirk. Dean didn't know whether to feel apprehensive or excited.

Both. Both was good.

"Sure, I can do that. My boss can't complain, I have way too much overtime."

Castiel's smile grew—he had a gleam in his eye that was there one moment and gone the next. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Great. I look forward to seeing you."

As promised, Dean took some time off from work at the garage, which Bobby celebrated with a gruff "It's about time, idjit." Arriving just a little after three o'clock, Dean checked his hair in the review mirror, popped a mint in his mouth, and slapped on a grin because he was so ready for this.

Until he found out what this was.

Over a dozen children between the ages of six and eleven were scattered about the store, drinking juice boxes and sharing copies of The Boxcar Children and If You Give A Mouse A Cookie and other "I Can Read!" books.

Dean jolted in surprise when a chin perched on his shoulder and arms wrapped around his waist. "Glad you could make it," a deep voice purred in his ear.

Do not pop a boner. Do not pop a boner. Do not pop a boner. There are children present for God's sake.

"Uh, Cass?"

"Hmm?"

Dean swallowed, blinking hazily. "Wha-what is all this?"

Castiel pulled away and revealed a soft green belt that he had surreptitiously fastened around Dean's hips. Dean could feel also feel a light, bouncy weight hanging just over his ass. Confused, he twisted around and looked behind him to find . . . a dinosaur tail.

What. The. Fuck.

It was literally just a tail. Kelly green and plumped with cotton balls or sponge or something, it had two extra strips of fabric that attached together with Velcro around his waist, so that the fake limb hung limply over his backside. Castiel stood a few feet away, hand covering his mouth to mask his low chuckle as he admired his handiwork.

Dean considered throttling the man, but figured it best to wait until the kids were gone.

"Cass." Dean said sternly, though it did nothing to dim the totally suspicious smile Castiel was hiding. When Cass glanced at him Dean threw out his hands a little desperately, like "Well?" but the other man just shrugged "What?" and went back to admiring Dean's ass.

Well. At least that was a step in the right direction.

Dean playfully wiggled his rear end, making the tail slap awkwardly side to side but definitely holding Cass' attention. "So is there a point to this?"

"Of course. You're a dinosaur."

Dean pulled out the bitch face. "Yeah. I figured that out. What I mean is, Why?"

Castiel said nothing and simply held up a book called Danny and the Dinosaur.

"Right," Dean sighed. "Of course."

And thus Dean acquiesced to twenty-two insufferable minutes of shuffling around on his hands and knees and carrying children on his back—after he promised to kill Castiel and throw his body in a ditch if he ever told Sam.

Only when the book was read for the third time was Dean finally able to take a break. Castiel had to scoop up the children climbing all over him and firmly put them back in their spots on the rug. Dean's back ached like someone had taken a baseball bat to it, but he had to admit: Castiel was pretty good at handling kids. Never before had Dean heard the phrase "we are going to read The Magic Tree House now" sound like a threat, but it worked—the kids instantly became still like they were sitting in church and God was the guest speaker.

At first, Dean was content to just stand up and stretch for a while, but he was quickly drawn in by the lull of Castiel's deep voice and, well . . . So what if he wanted to know where Jack and Annie would end up this time? He grabbed a juice box and plopped down on the floor with the children, who seemed spellbound by the warmly spoken words. It was nice, actually. Reading was one of the simplest acts of pleasure he knew; it was peaceful—a brief look into the land of eternity that didn't allow any of the injustices of the earth's normal dimensions of time and space to penetrate its sacred, imaginary space. Dean found himself in a bubble, and he gladly relaxed into it; he didn't even mind when one of the younger children wordlessly crawled into his lap. In fact, Dean kind of liked the thought of lazing around in the afternoon, a kid or two snuggling into his side while they all listened to Castiel read about whimsical creatures and fantastic adventures.

Holy fuck. He was gonna have to start whoring himself out on the street corner for two bucks a round if he kept coming up with these dangerously domestic ideas.

Around four o'clock, parents began dropping by to pick up their children. Dean noticed, not without some jealousy, when a couple of the moms thanked Castiel with a delicate hand on his arm and their eyelashes fluttering hard enough to take off and fly around the room.

And how long ago Sam had arrived, Dean had no fucking clue. His annoying little brother decided to show his ugly mug when all of the children and parents had been ushered out of the shop, and he looked far too happy to see Dean. Dean didn't trust him one bit.

"Is that a tail or are you just excited to see Cass?"

"What?...Oh. Son of a bitch." He'd forgotten all about the dinosaur tail, which had gotten twisted around and was now hanging by his hip. He'd gotten so used to the damn thing, it felt like his own appendage. Feeling embarrassed at getting caught by his brother, Dean shot back a witty retort.

"Shut up, bitch."

All Sam did was grin smugly at him. "So let me guess, you're the creature from the black lagoon?"

Dean snatched the tail off and whipped it at his brother's head. "I'm a dinosaur, asshat."

Sam dodged the assault and snorted. "Cute. By the way, I got you a souvenir."

Dean paled when Sam pulled out his fancy phone and showed him a photo: Dean, surrounded by a bunch of little kids, sitting on the floor (still in that ridiculous tail) and sipping juice while he watched Castiel read.

"That's adorable," Castiel said, peering over Dean's shoulder.

Fuck! The dude had appeared out of nowhere. Dean felt a headache coming on.

He pointed a stern finger at Sam. "Delete it."

"Yeah, right. Hey Cass, want me to email it to you?"

"Yes, I would like that very much."

"Oh hell no. Erase it right now, dammit!"

"Dean, there is no need for such language."

"But Sam's being a bitch!"

"I think it's very thoughtful of Sam to give me the picture. It's very cute."

"I AM NOT FUCKING CUTE."

Sam stuck his tongue out at Dean over Castiel's head (so of course Castiel didn't see it). Dean could practically hear the "nyah" that usually went with it and it ticked him off to no end.

Castiel ignored them and changed the topic. "Sam, would you mind taking this box to the old people's home? I've amassed a collection of second-hand books from my patrons, and I'd like to donate it. You know where it is, don't you?"

Sam nodded his massive, shaggy head. "Yeah, of course. I'll take it over right now."

"Thank you."

Dean was still puffing up about the fact that Sam was getting off easy, but a minute after the Sasquatch left, Castiel calmly took his hand and guided him back to the armchair. He took his seat first, and then coaxed (a very reluctant) Dean to sit sideways in his lap, bowed legs dangling over one of the arms.

Dean had never felt so simultaneously safe and insecure in all his life. He settled, though, when Castiel began stroking his hair and murmuring to him.

"Thank you for being such a big help today, Dean."

Dean tamped down the blush he felt coming on. "Yeah, sure. You really threw me for a loop there, though," he grumbled.

Castiel hummed his amusement against Dean's shoulder. "You are remarkable with children, Dean. I don't think you realize that."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. Compliments not about his ass or his game in bed generally made him uncomfortable. Luckily for him, the other man didn't press further about the subject.

Instead, Castiel decided to suck on his neck.

Dean gasped in surprise. "Whoa, uh...hmmn...C-Cass?"

Castiel unlatched from the sensitive skin and hushed him before connecting their lips.

Not that Dean really minded.

It wasn't slow, but it was steady and Castiel's form was wonderfully solid around him. He was slightly smaller than Dean, but he had a strong presence, and it was heady and comforting and for the love of all things holy—

"What was that?" Dean panted, firmly holding down Castiel's hip to keep him from bumping up into his backside again.

Castiel frowned at him. "I believe you are familiar with an erection." He hissed when Dean shifted, accidentally pressing against his hardness once more.

"Oh. Yeah." Dean squeaked but Castiel silenced him by reconnecting their lips.

Okay, so Dean could forgive him.

Castiel swallowed his moan, and soon there was plenty of fondling and grinding at awkward angles. Castiel was trying to pin Dean's arms to his side, but Dean wouldn't have it. He twisted his arms free and held Castiel's jaw in both hands, keeping him still as he attacked his mouth, nipping and licking his way in.

He liked to think that he was gaining the upper hand here and displaying his dominance, but he had forgotten how strong Castiel was. The next thing he knew, Dean was being spun around in the man's lap so that his back was pressed against Castiel's chest and his legs were spread and straddling the man's thighs. Two hands began working at the buttons on his jeans, and Dean was pretty certain they weren't his. All he knew was that his brain was short-circuiting.

"Wait! Wait, wait wait." His dick kindly told him to shut the fuck up. "We-we can't. What if Sam—"

"Don't worry. I'll make it quick."

And that was all the warning Dean got before Castiel plunged his hand below the waistline of his jeans and started tugging at his cock like it was the prize at the bottom of the cereal box. Dean groaned as his hips involuntarily lurched up, twice, trying to press further into the friction. Which felt amaaaaaaaazing. He dropped his head back onto Castiel's shoulder, leaving his neck exposed for more bruises to be sucked into his skin. It was sweet surrender, and Castiel gladly accepted his victory by snaking a hand around and clasping Dean's throat.

"I saw that look in your eyes earlier," Castiel muttered darkly into his ear. The hot breath on his skin made Dean's cock twitch in Castiel's grip. "Giving those young mothers the death glare just because they were flirting with me."

Castiel was pumping his cock mercilessly, and all Dean could do was whine softly. He felt a devilish smile press against his temple.

"Were you jealous?"

"Cass . . ."

Dean yelped when the man bit his ear, hard.

"Answer me, boy," Castiel growled.

"W-wanted you . . . all . . . to myself," Dean admitted between pants. "Cass, please."

Dean didn't even know what he was pleading for, but he squirmed happily when Castiel licked that same ear in apology and reward.

And then he was taken by surprise when Castiel started thrusting his jean-clad hips (and a rather sizable bulge) up into Dean's ass with merciless force.

"Is this what you wanted?" Castiel whispered hotly, his tone teasing.

"Y-yes, Cass! Fuck."

This definitely wasn't what Dean had hoped or planned for, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. His main concern was that he was having a hard time deciding which he wanted more—to rut up into Castiel's hand or press back into those whirling hips.

As it turns out, no decision was necessary. Dean's eyes rolled back in his head as Castiel continued his assault, pressing in on him from every side. They must have made quite the sight, with Castiel pulling and twisting at his cock with one hand and gripping his throat possessively with the other, while Dean clutched at the arms of the chair and dug his heels into the carpet. And the whole time, Castiel was thrusting wildly against him like he was just some cheap piece of ass . . .

Castiel "the virginal book nerd" was driving Dean mad.

"You—ungh, y-you got your wish, Dean." Castiel grunted.

"H-huh?"

Dean felt like he had tunnel vision, he could hardly hear anything. But he was feeling everything.

"You've got me—ah—all to yourself." Castiel was starting to sound breathless. "J-just like you wanted, right?"

Dean groaned his reply—or whatever you could call that whale noise that came out of his mouth. Whatever. All he knew was that his brain didn't have the capacity to process this much pleasure.

And then there was pain. Lots and lots of pain when that blue-eyed son of a bitch had the fucking nerve to fucking stop.

"C-Cass?" Dean whined, still wrapped up in Castiel's arms and throbbing but getting no relief where he wanted it most. The hand around his neck constricted just a fraction, and then Castiel's lust-roughened voice was pouring into his ear.

"If I'm yours, Dean . . ." Castiel began gyrating his hips once more, but very slowly this time. Very. Slowly. "Then you're mine. Got it?"

The hand briefly resting against Dean's inner thigh palmed his flesh once more, but only to press Dean's body into Cass' solid form behind him. The shop was silent with their snail pace, but the air was no less charged as Castiel sought out only his own pleasure this time round.

"You are mine, Dean," Castiel growled. His erotic movements punctuated his words. "I own you. Every breath."

Thrust.

"Every moan."

Thrust.

"Every freckle."

Thrust.

"Every. Inch. Of skin."

"Fuck, Cass . . ."

An unexpectedly tender kiss on the back of his neck.

"Those candy apple green eyes."

Dean was in Hell. Or Heaven. Fuck, he couldn't tell the difference anymore—all he knew was that he hurt but it felt good, that it was too much but he wanted more, that he both hated and worshipped the man that was gripping him tight and grinding an impressive erection into the meat of his ass. Dean cried out in despair and ecstasy.

"I've, ungh, got you in my clutches now." Castiel panted over Dean's soft mewling. "And I'll never let you go."

Castiel fell silent, seemingly content with sucking on Dean's earlobe as he continued his slow thrusts and light choking.

A minute or an hour later (fuck if Dean knew), he finally claimed Dean's cock once more and firmly tugged on it. The blonde couldn't take it anymore. He fell apart.

"C-Cass," Dean whispered hoarsely. "Please."

"Let go, Dean. Come for me."

There was a flash of white as Castiel momentarily squeezed away his air supply, but Dean quickly succumbed to the mindless weightlessness of his climax. He sobbed and writhed with pleasure until his body tired, and finally slumped back in Castiel's arms. Castiel tumbled over the edge behind him, violently rocking against his ass until the aftershocks ceased, mouthing wetly at his temple and murmuring a slew of praises into his hair the entire time.

Even after Castiel finished, Dean's mind was so hazy it took minutes until he finally registered the tongue that was taking advantage of his slackened jaw and exploring his tonsils.

Dean whined in protest when Castiel pulled his mouth away, but his eyes grew wide as he watched the bookstore owner bring his slender hand to his lips, licking away Dean's pearly essence with a sinful moan.

Dean whimpered. If he hadn't just had the most mind-blowing hand-job of his life, he would have gotten unbearably hard in seconds.

"You're trying to kill me, I know it." He accused weakly.

"Of course not." Castiel's smile was predatory as he finished sucking his fingers. "I'm not through using you yet."

Dean slapped a hand over his face and groaned. He wasn't ready for this. "Son of a—. Alright, I admit it! I fucked up. You're not just some pansy little nerd I can bend over a table and have my way with. I see that now, I've learned my lesson—happy? Jesus. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm just gonna go home and crawl in bed."

He tried to get up (as best as his wobbly knees would let him) but Cass pulled him back into his lap, gingerly tucking Dean's sensitive dick back into his jeans and zipping him up. He adjusted Dean to sit in his original position, so that the full-grown man was curling into Castiel's chest.

"You poor, little fool." Castiel pressed a sweet kiss behind his ear. "You had no idea what you were getting into."

Dean flashed him a sarcastic look. "Yeah, I guess not." He stretched his limbs with a sigh of content before pressing his face into Castiel's neck and nuzzling under his jaw.

Okay, so he could stick around for a few more minutes. It's not like he was in any condition fit to drive home anyway.

Sam came in a short while later (luckily they were just a little less sweaty and debauched by then) and snickered at the two cuddling in the chair. Dean was in no mood for his teasing so he just flipped him off.

He gave Castiel a well-deserved kiss when he noticed that the dark-haired man had done the exact same thing.

After which, Castiel just looked at him and smiled, small and secretive like it was only meant to be shared between the two of them. Dean wasn't used to such adoration, but the tiny yet significant gesture warmed heart more than anything.

His heart did funny things again later that night, when Castiel gave him the same smile after bending him over his coffee table and mercilessly fucking him into oblivion. That was the moment when Dean realized that he would probably never get tired of that smile.

Yeah, he was falling hard for the not-so-angelic book nerd.

A/N: I cannot take credit for "candy apple green." I saw it on tumblr but seriously, that blogger pegged Jensen's exact eye color. Bravo.