Castiel really wanted those boots.

When he was a child, he loved cowboys, and stories of adventures in the wild West. He sneaked off to go watch spaghetti westerns, pretending he was at the library so that his parents wouldn't forbid him to. He wasn't allowed to dream, ever, it wasn't serious, it wasn't productive.

And here he was, looking like an accountant, working as an accountant. Even at work, he was a joke, never recognizing basic pop cultural reference, unless they were about Clint Eastwood. It was seldom the case and so he had a hard time making friends. It didn't help that he was shy too, and not used to socializing with people his age. He didn't swear, he didn't play poker...

He could see his trench-coat reflected in the display window. Beige. Like his life. Like his personality.

The boots weren't beige. They were outrageous. All leather, multi-colored (mostly bright red). Certainly not historically accurate, but somehow, he didn't care. Because now that he was independent, he could finally buy them, make his childhood dream come true.

He had no idea when he would wear them. At home ? At the movies ? He was never invited to Hallowe'en parties, which was sad, it would have been quite discreet in that environment.

Maybe he could wear them to work on Hallowe'en day, though ? It would be out of character for him, but he doubted people would notice. And if they did, well, it could only be positive, right ? Even if they mocked him, again, at least it would be for his bravery.

There were spur stars, in the back, and Castiel wouldn't have it another way. He had no horse to mount, no young bull to tame, but in his mind, the plain was wide open, waiting for him.

He bought the boots and they were expensive and that was even better. It was a way for his parents not to win, a way to rebel. It was too late to start liking other things, he was set in his ways, now, but still he was his own man.

He wore them at home to break them and also get used to wearing them. They clashed with his slacks but he didn't have any jeans. Should he buy some ? He wasn't a fan, they were too constricting. He felt he was betraying his cowboy idols, but he just stuck to the boots.

Thanksgiving had come and passed, with no one to celebrate it with. On the last day of November, he took a deep breath and put the boots on, slipping his slack in the inside so the red was in plain sight.

But they were no decorations outside, nothing to induce fear. Cas walked into work and the shocked expressions of his colleagues' faces said it all. He rushed to the computer and for once, used the Internet search.

Hallowe'en was in October, not November. So there must have been scary decoration the month prior and he just hadn't noticed.

All his happiness was leaking through. He wanted to cry but he wouldn't give them the pleasure. No, he would grind his teeth and wear his freaking boots with pride and grace. He was a cowboy after all.

He decided to go to the old theater downtown, where they played oldies, including westerns. And it would be in the dark too. That's where he belonged.

The theater was closed. That was the last straw. He was condemned to a life of restraint and invisibility. He would observe life pass by, but not take a part in it.

He walked home, not bothering to wait for a bus. It was a little far but he had time, hadn't he?

He had over-estimated his strength, though. He had to stop to get his breath back, leaning on a streetlight, near a bar. He should exercise more. He tried to, at regular intervals, but soon gave up because there was no one to share it with. His life was hollow, meaningless. The tears were getting ready to fall and he was about to let them. Who would care anyway.

"Hey, Dr sexy!"

Castiel forgot his woes for a moment and looked up, curious at the commotion. There was a man next to the bar door, a vision. Scruffy and broad-shouldered, like the cowboys in Castiel's imagination, but just a little better. With a smile that seemed directed at him.

Castiel turned around to find the girl the man must be flirting with but he couldn't. His eyes went back to the door and were met with a smirk.

"Yep, talking to you, man. You're a fellow fan aren't you?"

He looked down at Castiel's feet. Now Castiel wasn't versed in pop culture but his mind was still baffled. Those were cowboy boots under his trench-coat. How would any of that be linked to a doctor? (and the "sexy" part was even more baffling)

"Sorry? What fandom would you be talking about, exactly?"

The man moved, looking confused. His hips moved, his jacket also and Castiel spotted a gun holder. Castiel was transfixed, barely listening to the reply.

- ... I mean you watch the show, don't you?

- Hum... What show would that be?"

- Dr Sexy, duh!

- Oh, all right. I don't watch television, I'm afraid.

- You don't... ?

The man's demeanor was changing. He looked less confident, less charming. Castiel could have told him he was an alien, it would surely had led to the same puzzled reaction. He was used to it and rarely met with fellow non-TV watchers.

Yet, instead of turning around and leave him to his uninteresting self, the gorgeous quasi-cowboy took a step towards Castiel, extending an arm:

"The name's Dean. Winchester."

Castiel shook the offered hand, wondering if he was dreaming, but still gathered himself enough to answer:

- I'm Castiel Novak.

- Well, Cas, happy to meet you. I hope you have time on your hand tonight.

- Sorry?" He seemed to say that a lot. Dean grinned, his cockiness back in full force, making Castiel's knees turn to jelly.

- What do you say I introduce you to the greatness that is Dr Sexy? I have the marathon on DVR at home."

Now, he was winking and Castiel was utterly lost. This was the body-language of someone flirting. But who with? Of course, Castiel would have loved it if it was with him but it was just not possible. The odds of such a gorgeous man being gay and attracted to poor little him were bar to none. Still he nodded.

Dean's place was more relaxed than he had thought. It looked a lot like his own, if you took away the flat screen and the beer bottles in the fridge, one of which was offered to him.

"No, thank you.

- Cas, I don't plan on getting you drunk... yet."

It was a good thing Castiel had refused to drink as he would have chocked on it if he hadn't. The coughing fit was still unexpected. Dean patted his back, making it worse.

He retreated to the bathroom, while Dean got the DVR ready. His couch was ridiculously tiny, so Castiel had to seat just next to him, their thigh touching.

"You can relax, man, this isn't the Ritz. This coffee-table here is for putting your beer down and your boots up."

There was a hint of hope in the twinkling green eyes. Castiel obeyed and laid his foot on the edge of the wooden table There was a discreet sigh nearby.

He loved the show. He who only liked westerns suddenly found something new to be passionate about (well actually it was two new things...). He understood Dean's first words quite soon. Dr Sexy (who wasn't that sexy, especially next to Dean) wore almost identical ones, although there was no red at the top.

After a while, he noticed how excited Dean got whenever the doctor in question was on screen, even without a gorgeous woman around. Was he...?

This question was answered a few seconds later when Dean's arm innocently slipped from the back of the couch, to wrap itself around Castiel's shoulder. His fingers ghosted their way on his arm. Castiel was smiling like he never had before.

During one of the commercials, Castiel gathered enough courage to ask:

"Can I ask what your profession is?"

Dean's laugh was wonderful, all belly and loud cackle. Castiel wanted to learn lots of jokes all of a sudden. He particularly liked the soft smile that followed, there was tenderness in it.

- I'm a cop. And you?

- I'm an accountant.

- Really?" Dean sounded surprised. Castiel frowned:

- Why is that subject to doubt?

- Huh? Oh, it's just... Accountants usually wear "sensible shoes"," he made the quotation mark gesture "so I'm curious?"

Castiel blushed. He was still his usual shy self but Dean was nice and easy to talk to. So, he opened up. Talked about his childhood dreams.

Dean had paused the DVR and listened with attention and the same tenderness. Cas was hooked.

"So, you have a thing for cowboys, huh?"

The tone was teasing but Castiel didn't feel mocked. He nodded. And then, a streak of madness went through him. He whispered:

- You would make a very handsome cowboy by the way.

Dean was blushing. He gulped, then whispered back:

- You make a great Dr Sexy."

His mouth was approaching Castiel who was now overwhelmed. He had no idea what to do. Dean was all his fantasies come through, as well as seeming really kind and friendly. But if he wanted a one-night-stand, then that meant they would never see each other again, wasn't it?

"Are you going to kiss me?"

That stopped Dean right in his track. His arm tensed around Castiel who was regretting his question, but what else could he do? He didn't do casual. He didn't do anything, Dean would be disappointed, maybe laugh at his inexperience.

-I'm sorry... I mean, I thought... Forget it."

Dean stood up and walked to the kitchen, his pace unsteady. Castiel sighed. He would have to be honest to the point of blunt. Even if Dean didn't like what he heard, at least Castiel would remain a little of his dignity.

"Dean, you are very attractive and I'm flattered by the attention. But I have never... It would be my first kiss."

Dean turned slowly on his heel. He had such an expressive face. His mouth was gaping and he was looking at Cas with total uncomprehension.

- Really? Wowww. Oh, god" Now, he was rubbing his face with his hands. " I had no idea, I swear. You look so hot, I could never have guessed.

- You think I do?

- Yeah and I was thinking maybe we could try and see what happens, you know? I was about to ask for your phone number after, I swear. Ask you on dates... But if you don't want to..."

Castiel stood up and walked toward Dean. He kissed him silent. Soft lips, a scruffy jaw, a minty breath. This was better than any fantasy.

Dean kissed him back. It lasted for a very long time.

"Dean! Move that wondrous gear of yours and come eat breakfast!"

Castiel was walking around the kitchen he knew so well, preparing pancakes and coffee.

He hadn't bothered to dress further than his boxers and of course, his boots. It was difficult to take them off, as Dean wanted him to wear them to bed.

He had once and they had to take off the sheets afterward. It had been worth it though. His very own cowboy was easily turned on.