Author's Note:
Prompt: Castiel as a TSA Agent.
For Alice, because you need this.
Enjoy!
I own no supernatural characters and I do not profit from this work of fiction
Being human was a bitch. At least that's the way Dean had put it. And now, at the top of the fourth hour of his shift, he was beginning to agree. Not that showering and laundry and, well, everything hadn't been exponentially more tedious. It was just that, here, among wailing children and screaming immigrants -all of which he'd had the misfortune of being fluent in- that phrase seemed to ring true a hundredfold.
Blue eyes moved to the screen displaying the contents of a bag that belonged to a passenger he hadn't bothered to actually look at. Everything looked normal and he waited for the next bag to pass by. There was a dark spot where he knew the passenger had something wrapped up. He nudges the elbow of his coworker Darrell, motioning to the screen.
He watches Darrell go through the motions, following procedure and everything is normal until the passenger in question becomes uncooperative. Darrell thinks he is too small, too weak because of his build to get the man into the booth and Castiel watches as Darrell wrestles him into a chair.
Cas smirks too late as Darrell gets -what Charlie calls- sassy, backing the man into a verbal corner and, without a choice otherwise, he rises from the chair. No way to back out of the involuntary strip search.
"Cas, my man," Darrell tosses him a set of gloves, "I got the last dude, this ones all you man."
Castiel sighs, pulling slightly too small gloves on and approaches the passenger. "Your pants." Its all he says and when the man raises an eyebrow he offers, "Remove them." He is completely ambivalent to sexual orientation and gender but this makes him uneasy. It is awkward and, for once, he is privy enough to catch on to its awkwardness.
"Good." He says as denim meets tile, "We can begin the strip search." As he pulls the last glove on it snaps, unaware of just how unsettling the sound is. Castiel moves to his knees, almost forgetting the courtesy question -as Darrell calls it. "Would you prefer to continue with or without lubrication?"
He sees the way Darrell's stomach rolls slightly that he is laughing at the way the passenger almost begs for lubrication, but the humor fails to hit home with him. Instead he returns to the task at hand, discarding the empty single serving package of lube. "I-" he nearly cuts himself off with a powerful eye roll, "You need to relax, or this is going to take an inordinate amount of time."
The progress is slow and he finds himself looking off to the side - no matter how ambivalent, there was only so much genitalia one could take. "Stop moving." When he feels sudden warmth he arches a brow, his intrusion has angered the mans intestinal tract and he is thankful the flooring in here is vinyl. "I apologize for inspiring a," Castiel adjusts his voice, eyes searching the ceiling for the right words, "rectal mishap. Ill just get a fresh glove. One moment."
Yes, it would be a long night.
After replacing his gloves Castiel raises a brow as he turns around to begin again. "Sir." He pauses, not sure how to continue for a moment. "Why are you aroused? I am well aware of the secondary functions of the prostate and, I can assure you, I have taken every precaution to avoid that area." The only response he is afforded is a shrugging blush and he vows to hurry up, to just let this strip search in particular end.
Darrell has left at some point and is returning, "Uh, Cas?"
He turns quickly, the backdrop of this unfortunate strangers ass brightening in the extra light coming in from the hall now that he door is open. He has to bring his left hand to keep the strangers anatomy from poking him in the cheek. Cas raises a brow as he is waved over and he bends slightly so his coworker can speak low.
"Funny thing," He looks around the room, trying to ignore the completely ludicrous situation his co worker is in and his face scrunches as he spots the all too familiar puddle, "bag with the smack in it belongs to the hippie behind this guy." He shrugs before leaving quickly, door slamming behind him.
Castiel peels the gloves off, their smack into the trash bin reverberating before he speaks. He needs a moment to gather himself so he picks the clipboard up. "Mister," he drags the r out, searching the paper, "Reyes? This has been a successful strip search. You are free to go."
Its obvious English is not Mr Reyes' first language now, "I do not like this, sir." He is dressed in seconds.
Castiel's eyes narrow as he tucks the clipboard under his arm, "No one likes it."