"I knew you had a thing for guys who have tattoos." Anna beamed up at Castiel from her crossed legged position atop her bed.

Castiel paced her small dormitory, his hands rubbing his temples. "Anna, most art students have tattoos."

She raised a finger at him, "Yes, but not all of them."

"He said you looked pretty." He gestured to the painting leaning against her wall. "In the portrait. Wanted to know if you were my girlfriend." Castiel tried to hide his smile. He knew Dean was fishing to see whether or not he was single and/or liked girls. If he were in Dean's position (and had a little more confidence) he would have done the same thing.

He heard a click and looked up to see Anna behind her Nikon lens.

She sighed faux-wistfully as she inspected the picture. "Ah, young love. Makes a good picture."

Castiel stared at her and pursed his lips.

She looked up at him, whipping her red bangs out of her face and asked, "Do you think you'll see him again?"

"It's not a small campus."

"Is that a no?"

Castiel laughed. He kissed her on her forehead. "I have to go to class. I'll call you when I get out so we can have your birthday dinner with Gabriel. Any restaurant ideas?"

The Novaks were not huge party people. If they had a big gathering it would be because of a political event, because of their parents. Even from a young age, they were used to big family dinners instead of parties, to the dismay of the little ones. Now that three of the Novaks were separated from the rest of their family, they celebrated every birthday with dinner at a nice restaurant.

She patted her lips thoughtfully and replied; "I was thinking French cuisine for this year. You can stick a candle in a crème brûlée."

"I'll make the reservation." Castiel slung his backpack over his back. "Talk to you later, birthday girl."

Anna adjusted herself on her bed so she could snap another quick photo of Castiel on his way out of her small dormitory.

On his way to class, Castiel was careful to look around every corner so that he wouldn't miss Dean if he crossed his path. He was so observant on his walk that he almost walked into a street sign and at least three pedestrians. Castiel was sure that if he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings that Dean would again catch him off guard, and he wanted to be ready this time.

Castiel finally arrived at the studio a few minutes late because he was walking so slowly. His coveted seat in the back of the classroom was taken by some half-asleep bro wearing a drug rug. Instead, Castiel took the stool that was just a tad too close to the subject they were painting.

He pulled out his set of paintbrushes, running his fingers over the hair of each one to make sure they were clean. He set them on the small side table next to his canvas. He also pulled out his set of slightly messy looking tubes of oil paints, his favorite medium. Castiel had a knack for meshing his colors together, his inspiration being the great impressionist painters Monet and Renoir and Cézanne and Degas…and for this he required oil paints. He liked to come back in the evenings when the studio was empty and continue to blend and form the intricacies of the person he was painting. Castiel got extensions on almost all of his assignments because it took him a long time to get everything just right. His professors, at this point, were used to Castiel's higher standards for himself, and gladly accepted his assignments late.

He squeezed a few of his paints on his palette, already preparing to mix them. His professor stood up, and started talking about how to convey a sense of vulnerability in the nude portrait. Castiel felt this was self-explanatory; he was only taking this studio art class as a requirement to graduate.

Castiel filled a cup with turpentine for thinning his paints, and heard the door of the classroom creak open.

"Can I come in yet, Professor?" The familiar voice made Castiel's head snap up.

Still clad in those ripped jeans and maroon button down, stood Dean Winchester.

"You have got to be kidding me," Cas whispered under his breath.

Dean locked his green eyes on the front row student. He raised an eyebrow at him, and flashed him a knowing smile.

The professor slapped a hand on Dean's broad shoulder and introduced him, "Today's subject is Dean, and he's got some interesting body art that will hopefully inspire your portraits. He'll be in here for the next hour, so after that you'll all be working from memory."

He gestured to a coatrack to the side of the platform in the middle of the room. "If you feel comfortable, you can hang your clothes there. Whenever you're ready, Dean." He patted him again. He said louder to the rest of the classroom, "I'll be in my office next door if anyone needs me."

The rest of the class seemed to be shifting in their seats, pulling out their paints and brushes, getting comfortable like they would any other afternoon, but Castiel sat in the front, entirely frozen.

Dean looked like he was in his element. He dropped his bag to the floor and took off his maroon button down, hanging it on the rack. It revealed a few more tattoos on his biceps and upper arms, most notably a stone angel in prayer on his right arm.

Castiel studied the tattoos, trying to read the fine print around the angel, and Dean caught his eye again. Dean pulled the grey v-neck over his head, balling it up and throwing it on the floor. He stretched to purposely show his well-toned chest and core.

Dean unconsciously licked his lips at Castiel and unbuckled his belt, kicking off his boots. Castiel straightened his back in his chair, and fiddled with his brushes.

The tattooed man dropped his jeans to the floor, nudging them to the coat rack along with his socks. He stepped onto the well-lit platform, and sat down on the chair provided for him.

"Oh, god." Cas gasped, running his eyes over the expanse of Dean's body. Dean winked at Castiel and the brushes slipped out of his hands. His face turning beet-red, Castiel scrambled to pick up his paintbrushes.

Cas was just too close to Dean as he sat naked on the platform. Castiel took a breath.

Even though his head was throbbing with his heartbeat, he reminded himself that he only had an hour to paint him. He pulled himself together and got to work, spreading and smudging a figure together.

He understood what the professor meant by vulnerability, and forced himself to look past the…cockiness that Dean exuded. He watched Dean watch him, his emerald eyes flickering across Cas' furrowed brow, as if he was asking if he was doing it right. Cas gave him a small nod in encouragement and Dean's shoulders loosened.

He relaxed as his hands as he touched paint to canvas. Suddenly, Dean didn't seem so intimidating.