"Hands in the air NOW!" shouted a voice from behind Castiel's head. He reluctantly complied, casting a vengeful glare at the half-painted wall.
"Drop the spray can." It clattered to the ground.
"Turn around, slowly." His messy black hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead as he pivoted to face his aggressor. 'Fuck me, he's hot,' the artist realized as he took in the full scope of the police officer's tall, sandy-haired frame. "Officer, I can explain -"
"Shut it, 'Novak.' You're coming with me."
...
"Sorry about that Officer Wesson, it won't happen again." Castiel smiled his biggest for the obscenely tall detective as he was escorted from the police station.
Sam snorted. "That'd better be the last time, Cas. I can't keep covering for you, you know that."
Sam Wesson and Castiel Milton had been best friends in high school. Castiel had set Sam up with his first date, his first lay, his first cigarette… Simpler times.
"Yeah, I know." Castiel's sarcastic smirk slid into something more sincere, and a little bit sad. "Thanks."
"Just…" Sam sighed. "No more vandalism."
Castiel gasped. "It's art, Sam. You don't even understand," he lisped dramatically.
Sam laughed, a deep, golden sound that rippled from his belly. It had been a long time. "Regardless of the circumstances, it really is good to see you."
Cas smiled gently. "You too." He began walking away, but spun abruptly on his heel to face the detective again. "Hey," he called. Sam looked up. "You and your partner - office romance?"
Sam stared. "I'm not gay, you know that. Neither is Officer Winchester. I have a girlfriend!"
Castiel grinned. "People change." He pivoted and sauntered away.
Sam frowned. 'No,' he thought, 'they really don't.'
...
Dean Winchester stood in the steam of his shower for a long time that night, thinking about the man with the torn t shirt and paint-smeared fingers. 'Novak.' He was a big deal in the street art community, and no one seemed to know who he was. Like a superhero. Castiel Milton. He was a good-looking guy, with that perpetual tiredness under his big blue eyes that artists all seem to have. Dean blinked, water streaming down his forehead onto his cheeks and jaw. Looking at a guy that way - a criminal, no less - was just wrong. Wasn't it?
...
Castiel sat on the edge of the concrete overlook, swinging his bare feet back and forth, gazing out at the sleepy city. Yellow streetlights flickered, and cars meandered through cozy neighborhoods. He looked down at his phone. Balthazar was hours late, as usual. The metrosexually stylish, if cripplingly alcoholic, man operated on his own schedule, much to his friends' frustration.
A pair of headlights came up the mountain highway. Castiel turned sharply to see, flicking the stub of his cigarette out over the railing. "Finally," he muttered as the car slowed to a stop. He slid his feet out from under the railing and walked towards the vehicle, shoving his phone in his pocket. "Dude, you said you'd be here two hours ago -" Castiel froze. That wasn't Balthazar's car.
The driver's side door popped open and a pair of brown sneakers stepped out onto the road. Castiel's eyes widened. Shit.
"Officer Winchester, I'm not making any trouble here."
The man turned around to face him. "Oh, I didn't see you there… What are you doing all the way out here?" he said, shutting his car door. It was a really nice car, Castiel realized. Classic.
"Is this a '69 Impala?"
"'67. You a car man?" Dean stepped around the boot of the car, letting a hand linger on her sleek black frame.
"Sort of. I did a bit of custom work for a friend. He was actually supposed to meet me here, but I guess he lost track of time."
"Boyfriend?"
"What?"
Dean coughed. "Uh, he your boyfriend? Not a ton of reasons to come up here with a person except make out and get high."
Castiel grinned wide. "So which is it for you?"
"Oh! I - um…." Even in the dark, Castiel could see a flush come from Dean's neck, up to his freckled cheeks. It was ridiculously attractive. "Nothing, I just like the view." He paused. "How did you get here? There's no car."
"Oh, I walked." Castiel shuffled his bare feet on the gravel. That wasn't entirely true. He got a ride on some guy's motorcycle, and his sandals had fallen off a mile or two back. Oh well. He sauntered forward. "Actually, I could use a ride home."
Dean swallowed and leaned back, the backs of his legs brushing the chrome bumper of the Impala.
"If that's alright with you, officer." Castiel purred, closing the gap between them. He grasped Dean's muscular shoulder. He reveled in the smell of whiskey and leather and musk.
Dean's breathing hitched and blood rushed straight to his cock, straining against his jeans. "I - I can't," he stuttered. "This is inappropriate."
Castiel looked into his eyes. Green as summer, even in the dark. "Why did you come up here? To drink? Friends don't let friends drink and drive, and I feel like we're well on our way there," Castiel teased, reaching around Dean's waist and pulling him closer.
Dean wrestled his arm away and turned around. "You don't know me, pal," he growled. Without another word, he opened his car door with a rough heave and slid inside. Within ten seconds, the Impala was pealing out onto the highway, headlights glaring against the hills.
Castiel stared, long after the car disappeared into the valley. "What the fuck was that?"
Balthazar's Camaro squealed to a stop. He stumbled out, a giggling mess in his low v-neck shirt and shorts. There was vomit on his loafers. Castiel's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Cas, how are you doing?" Balthazar hiccuped.
"I'm not sure, actually."
...
"Dean, he didn't know." Sam assured, twiddling his empty coffee cup absentmindedly. "I know Cas really well, he's not a bad person. He's an idiot, but he's not cruel."
"Yeah, I know that, but besides that, I'm not having some fag -"
"Dean…"
"He was aggressive and it was inappropriate. I mean, he's just lucky I was off-duty." Dean slumped in his seat.
Sam sighed and looked out the car window. "I just feel bad, you know? For how his life has turned out. He's really a genius at what he does."
"Are we even having the same conversation? It's illegal, what he does."
Sam paused. "Dean, I don't want you to take this the wrong way…"
"Sam…"
"… but maybe you encouraged him a little bit?"
"No! I didn't 'encourage him' Sam, your buddy is a predator. It's just how it is."
Sam bit the inside of his cheek. "Maybe. I don't know, maybe he changed since I knew him. But if yesterday was any indication, then no. He hasn't really changed." Either that or he wasn't so 'predatory' in the first place, Sam thought silently.
Dean stared out the window.
...
Castiel paced across the marble tiling. "Why am I doing this?"
"I know." Balthazar paused to take a long drag on the hookah pipe. "It's absolutely mental."
"He's a cop. He's a detective, for Christ's sake, and I'm just head over heels." Cas laughed, rubbing his hands through his hair.
Balthazar sat sagely on a large square pillow. "I think you should do it."
Castiel stared. "What? You just said -"
"Yeah, I know, it's mental, and it really is. But you've got something to live for, Cassie. Maybe he'll do good by you."
Cas chewed on his lower lip. "Yeah, maybe… I just don't know why he freaked out last night. I knew he was closeted, but I think I scared him off."
Balthazar smiled lazily and stretched. "It's up to you, but I say go for it." He began to snore, head tilted back over the side of the pillow.
Castiel sighed and picked up the hookah, dumping the still-burning coal into the ashtray. Yes, because we all know how good your judgement is, he thought as he watched the embers crackle and smoke.
...
Dean came back to the top of the hill every night for a week. He sat where Castiel sat, legs under the railing, thinking about the artist and how delicate his fingers were, imagining those hands wrapped around his waist, wrapped around his hard…
Cas set his duffel bag down and checked his watch. Two minutes. He unzipped, removed, set down, uncapped. First the black, holding a board to create hard lines. He unfolded his stencil. Tape at the bottom, fingers at the top. Spray black, then yellow, then white. He shook the can, heartbeat aligned with the rattling of the bead inside. Quick and fast. A shuffle from the other end of the alley moved closer. Castiel's head snapped to the side, watching. Caps on, cans in the bag. Rip off the stencil, fold and stuff. Zip. Cas bolted down the alleyway and out onto the street.
Dean was close to coming. He imagined that the fingers around his cock belonged to Castiel, and that he wasn't alone. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He could practically see his face, those blue eyes, that mouth coming near his. Kissing those lips… "Oh Cas…" he moaned, spurting all over his fingers.
...
"Late night?" Sam asked, handing Dean a cup of coffee.
"Yeah, got caught up doing something."
Sam looked at him closely. Something was different, but he couldn't place what it was. "Anyway, our good buddy Novak struck again. But he didn't leave an anarchic or antagonistic message. Honestly, I really like it." Sam handed Dean a photograph.
Dean stared.
"I don't think it's a big deal, and neither does Chief Singer, he just figures if we catch him in the act, then that's that. As it is, we can't reliably pin this on anyone."
The painting was beautiful, a nighttime cityscape from above. Streetlights glowed in the valley, and there was a rail in the foreground like the ones on the highway. There was even a classic car parked. . . oh.
"Hey, if I wanted to ask some questions, where would I find him?"
Sam thought. "As far as I know, he doesn't really have an address. Last he told me, he was staying with his friend. . . Is this for police business, or personal?"
Dean's neck flushed. "I can tell you anything, right? I mean, we're like brothers."
"Of course," Sam assured, touching his shoulder.
Dean took a breath. "Sam, I think I might be. . ."