Personal Space is for Pussies
Miscellaneous indie music swept the old record store, adding a hint of ambience as he strolled through the aisle. Castiel wasn't meticulously reading every label as he passed, moreover finding particular covers that invited his eyes. Many that he brushed over with his calloused fingertips were depictions of satanic worship and frontal female nudity, which did not settle with him to say the least. He grimaced at the lacking depth of music artists and moved onto the next aisle, which was arguably the same scenario.
"Sir, can I help you with something?" a male employee chimed. He wore his jet black hair combed over his eyes and his earlobes were far too stretched to be mundane. It must be a form of self-mutilation, he thought silently.
"I'm quite fine, thank you," he lied. He shifted his wandering eyes to one cover that actually appealed to him: a group of predominately male hands joining together with a barely legible, "Keep the Faith" sprawled at the bottom. This was perhaps something he could relate to; keeping his reliance in the man upstairs. He had just flipped to the backside when large hands snatched the album from behind him. He swiveled around to find the hands belonged to those of a male with bright green eyes.
"You don't want that," he corrected, waving the plastic before tossing it back on the rack. Castiel drew an exasperated sigh. He wasn't in the mood for games.
"Why did you—?"
"Bon Jovi rocks on occasion." He smirked, a wicked ruefulness that required a certain talent. "You need Kansas," he retorted, wrapping his other arm slyly around his shoulder to place the album in his hand. His arm brushed lightly against his as he whispered in his ear, "a guaranteed classic since nineteen seventy." Castiel paused. He wanted to thank the man, though he was a little too perturbed to speak. He felt like a sardine in a package. Had this guy ever heard of personal space?
"I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked uncertainly, backing up slightly so that the stranger bumped the shelf behind him. He didn't falter; instead a deep chuckle escaped his lips.
"Dean," he replied, extending the same hand that had kidnapped his album. Cass turned around and shook it hesitantly. "You know you could thank me, I did just enlighten you with good music." Cass wasn't sure if he was serious until a wider smile played across his lips, exposing his even white teeth.
Cass glanced from the case to the smiling man barely towering over him. "You're cocky, you know that?"
"I've been told." Dean shrugged, draping an arm around Cass's shoulder. Cass jumped slightly at the man's sudden action. He had just met the guy not even a minute ago and he was already shaking his egotistic persona all over his trench coat. "You know I just realized something," he said, stopping the both of them in the middle of the aisle. "You can't listen to your first Kansas album by yourself."
"How did you know it was my first?"
Dean glanced from Cass's tousled curly hair to his tuxedo and down to his dress shoes. "It was a lucky guess."
Dean eventually removed his arm from his shoulder long enough to grab his wallet at the checkout lane. "You don't have to pay for that," Cass said quickly, placing a hand over his to stop the transaction.
"Don't worry about it, man," he said, drawing out two crisp five dollar bills and handing them to the cashier, the same young man with the maimed earlobes. Cass was going to oppose but felt it would somehow be useless against this guy. In the first few seconds he used with him, he was already starting to rub off as the wouldn't-take-no-for-an-answer type. His arm returned to Cass's shoulder after they trekked out of the store and stepped into a black Chevy Impala on the journey to his place.
If only Cass had this luck with women.
"Should I place the album in now?" he asked, somewhat distracted by scoping the interior of the muscle car. It looked less than lightly worn with a dash and floorboard that glowed with the sun's echo, completely dabbed of any dirt or residue whatsoever. The windows were tinted and the seats reclined just enough to lean back and ease into the sleek leather. Dean noted his fascination and grinned.
"No, let's wait," he replied indifferently. He fixed his eyes on the road ahead; however he didn't drive the whole ten miles without something to show for. He ended up popping in a cassette tape with a white piece of tape on the side labeled with thick black sharpie, "MOTORHEAD". Cass would have enjoyed it more if he hadn't been so damn confused. He ran three questions through his mind multiple times: where was he, why would anyone name their band after a state, and most importantly, why the hell was he in the front seat of this guy's car?
Dean's voice swept him from his contemplation a minute later when they pulled up to a penthouse. Dean hadn't said anything even after he slammed his door shut and opened Cass's, gesturing he step out as well. Cass trailed uncertainly behind him, album in hand. He nearly bumped into Dean again entering the steel elevator with almost dozen other people, taking them up five floors before reaching their destination. Dean only rejoined by lingering his fingers on Cass's chest, pulling him closer using his blue tie and feigning a musing beam. "Oh, honey, you're naughty. I'll deal with you later," he said in a falsetto. Cass only craned his head, even more confused. Everyone fled the occupied area and Dean released him, only beaming wider. "They're all so gullible."
When they approached his home, Dean extended his arms and breathed in the sweet smell (in which sweet consisted of leftover red meat, most likely from a burger or steak, and unattended laundry) of his livelihood. Cass only narrowed his eyes, muddled enough with the man's counteractions to everyday situations, and stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Dean turned around and led him past the kitchen and into the interconnected living room in which a large stereo system was connected to a plasma screen TV and many more albums were sprawled idly across the floor. Dean didn't bother cleaning up the mess; moreover even bother to look at it. He motioned for the new guest to take a seat on the carpeted floor. Cass did as he was told and peered briefly out the large double-pane glass windows opposite the entertainment system that served as his view, which protracted far beyond the noisy cityscape and to the falling sun. He began to wonder if it bothered Dean to be so high up and exposed to the world, though he assumed it hadn't bothered him if he bought the place.
"Hand me the album, good sir," he said playfully. Cass shook his head, dispelling his thoughts once more and handing it to him. Dean popped in the album and threw his eyes and a finger into the air.
"You know you—"
"Shh, wait for it," Dean said, pursing his lips and inhaling a long breath. The first beat dropped, a sharp fast-paced electric guitar riff, and his mouth turned upward into a menacing smile. It fit him, he supposed; it brought out the gold in his emerald eyes and added a youthful quality to his high, rosy cheekbones. He wasn't bad looking, Cass thought absent-mindedly, though he knew somehow he couldn't maintain the blithe act for too long. Exactly twenty five seconds into the song when vocals hit, he lowered his eyes to Cass's, the smile never fading from his face. He was definitely no stranger to the album. "You were saying?"
"You never asked my name," Cass stated. Which was true; the least he could do when inviting someone into his home was inquire their name, let alone want to know their name before they enter his house.
Dean rubbed his chin, as if the statement required much considering. "That's true."
"So…"
"So?"
"Are you going to ask?"
"Eventually," Dean replied, his eyebrows lifting enigmatically. Cass dismissed the inquiry. He would let it slide for now since Dean had bought him the album, which, he had to admit wasn't all that bad. His eyes widened with sudden realization, as if his duty as a host submerged completely. "Are you hungry?"
Cass shrugged. "I'm quite content."
"Are you sure? I'm pretty hungry."
"Then grab yourself something to eat."
Dean sulked, lowering his head. "But the kitchen is so far away," he pouted. Cass drew a sigh.
"ThenI'll go fix you something," he specified, moving to the kitchen. Dean grabbed him by the wrist and shook his head.
"No, stay, I don't want you to go through all that trouble," he said, pulling him to sit back down, "I'd rather starve anyway; I can't miss this song." Cass laughed, really laughed for the first time in a long time. Dean's mouth turned upward once more and he let out a small chuckle as well. "What?"
"Nothing," he replied, signaling him off with his free hand, "it's just you."
"What about me?" he asked, his fingers never detaching from Cass's skin. Cass stood perfectly still; he was actually quite warmer than he'd originally presumed.
"You're an interesting specimen," he verified, eyeing the man below him attentively. Dean nodded, ingesting what he took as a compliment and hesitated slightly before sliding his hand from his wrist to his arm. Warm vibrations trailed south of his border. Dean stood up to meet him eye to eye, his fingers tracing small invisible circles into his arm.
"Have you ever been in love?" he queried earnestly, his eyes examining Cass's aqua ones. Cass tried his best to think about this with Dean's hand on his arm, which was most likely going numb now, and bit down on his lip considerately.
"No, I don't believe so, why—?"
Dean removed his hand to change the song a couple of times until he rested at a slow and more soothing tune. Cass totally didn't check out his ass as he bent down. Dean returned to his original position, this time prolonging the same arm that grazed his lightly a few seconds before. "Dance with me?" Cass tossed him a puzzled look, though somehow found the courage to grab his hand. Dancing was an unknown concept to him so he definitely had no "moves", so to speak. Dean noted this which only caused him to reel him in closer in order to eliminate the cumbersome gap that hung between them, giving him less room so he wouldn't have to think so hard about how to sway. When the song picked up to the chorus, Cas managed to keep himself on solid ground until his foot still somehow managed to interject with Dean's and he fell straight into his arms. Cass peeled himself off of his chest a little more than uneasily.
"Sorry," he mumbled, his face turning bright scarlet. Dean only laughed and placed his hands under the base of his neck to steady him.
"Shit happens, what're you gonna do?" Dean, however, did not let go of Cass. He only continued to smile at him all the while, as if soundlessly reassuring him he was perfect nonetheless. Cass produced a smile as well, showing Dean he was capable of being exultant too. Suddenly, Dean moved in closer, closing his eyes until he was at the bridge of his nose.
The other man didn't budge, which was strange considering his clear-cut intentions. He actually found himself surrendering into Dean as his lips came crashing onto his. Dean moved his hands to the nape of Castiel's neck and he breathed softly through his nose, pleased with his impulsive move. He slowly worked his tongue into his mouth when Cass bit back with a harder, firmer kiss, sending Dean backward onto the couch behind him. Dean fell gracefully; his legs spread open as a place for Cass. Cass tossed his coat on top of the pile of CDs and dropped to his knees, gliding his hands down Dean's thighs. Dean's hands found the back of his head again and kissed him once more, this time more enchantingly, like the ones Cass had always seen in fairytales and only dreamt of receiving.
Dean, apparently finding lips too orthodox, trailed his down Cass's neck as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Cass ran his hands up Dean's back through his faded graphic tee, tracing his fingers over his hardened shoulder blades before shrugging that over his shoulders. Dean moaned in sheer pleasure before groping Castiel's ass with one hand and pulling him in by his tie, lifting him on top of him. Cass ran his hands through his crew cut hair as Dean placed him on top of him, his heart thrashing a mile a minute and reverberating onto Castiel's own pounding chest. He enfolded his legs over the green-eyed bandit and a merciful sigh escaped Dean's wet lips.
"Hi, I'm Cass," Cass said quietly.
Dean smiled the same smile that had already grown on Cass in the last hour. "It's nice to meet you, Cass."
Cass pulled him back in and suddenly, he wasn't so concerned about personal space.