Dean poured affection over Sasha, thanking her for the food she made them, for offering them asylum from the chill outside, for sharing her culinary skills, for keeping the place open, for the coffee, oh, and did he mention how good the pie was?
He must have hugged her three times before they left, including before and after she offered to send them into the cold with the remainder of the coffee in cardboard to-go cups. Each time she emitted a chuckle through Dean's crushing embrace towards a bemused Castiel.
When Cas approached to give her a final goodbye hug, she held his arms and commanded, "My hospitality comes with a price: you have to start visiting me more. And not just for my food. I'm restarting Sash-stiel dinner and videogame nights." She winked at Dean. "All are welcome."
She turned back to a wide-eyed Cas. "Got it?"
He nodded seriously.
Her face melted, and her mocha skin dimpled with her smile. "Good. Don't be a stranger." She kissed his forehead and handed him his cardboard cup, !Bang Bang! printed on the protective sleeve in pink script.
Dean waved and smiled from the doorway. "Thanks again Sasha," he repeated, pulling his hat down with his free hand to brace for the cold.
She locked the door behind them; the sound of the deadbolt clicking in place reverberated on the glass pane.
A breeze metaphorically kicked them in the pants, and they were left clutching their coffees like makeshift hand warmers on the sidewalk.
Dean moved to close the gap between him and Castiel, feeling sobered post pastry-high by the sudden cold. Cas was pulled away from the sidewalk curb and street and into Dean's roomy wool coat pocket.
They took a few steps, and Dean hesitantly offered, "I'm not quite ready to go home. It's still pretty early."
Cas' cheeks were rosy from a lethal concoction of Dean's warmth and the sharp air on his face. "I'm not either. What do you suggest we do?"
"Well we could catch a flick… or we could go to this great diner I know of."
Cas' brow furrowed. Dean still wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Or possibly it just meant confusion? But that made no sense. Wordlessly, they sidestepped around a speed-walking mother and her purple-scarf-and-hat-clad kid who was toddling a few steps behind her.
Dean broached the subject again, too anxious to wait for a response from his befuddled date. "What kind of movies do you like? We could go see this sci-fi movie I've been meaning to see."
"We could see whatever you suggest, I have no preference." He paused. "Honestly, Dean, I wouldn't consider myself a movie enthusiast, but I do appreciate the art medium of film."
Dean scoffed. "You're not a fan of movies?" he sputtered. This is phrase he was unfamiliar with. "My brother and I love the movies. As a teenager I even worked at a local theater for a year and snuck him in for evening showings."
Cas shrugged into Dean's shoulder. "I don't often go to the movies. I've seen a few with my sister Anna." He chuckled. "My brother Gabriel likes to tease me about my pop culture handicap."
"Was that the brother that hit on me?"
Cas nodded. They stepped over an uneven part of the sidewalk.
"You know what? Stick with me and you'll be able to…speak Dothraki in no time."
Thrilled that he might understand a reference, Cas guessed, "Is that Star Trek?"
Dean shook his head, "Close. You're thinking of Klingon. Dothraki is a language from Game of Thrones."
"Oh." A few of the other students in the dorm had communal Game of Thrones screenings in their common space. Before every episode, they would argue for half an hour about how to properly set up the streaming services. This prompted him to put on his comically big sound-cancelling headphones.
Dean hooked his arm around Cas', walking in time like they were conjoined twins, or a perfectly choreographed step team. Each accustomed to the other's movements as well as the drum that beat out their proper rhythm.
"Don't worry about it." He said with a giggle and a nudge, hoping Cas' constipated expression would morph into an easy grin.
"To the movies?" Cas suggested.
His date was about to smile and say something like, bet your sweet ass. Instead, he watched in slow motion as a burly businessman speaking into his smartphone slammed directly into Cas' shoulder.
Still moving, he grimaced at their pink cheeks and interlocked arms. "Watch it." The man growled at them.
Dean quickly spun and shouted at the retreating figure, "It's polite to say 'excuse me,' you asshole!" He bit his tongue before anything worse bubbled up. Showing a quick temper on a first date? He had more restraint than that. He forced himself to swallow down the venom that threatened to pour out.
Until, of course, he checked his date.
Castiel was still holding his empty coffee cup in one hand, while he sadly fingered the puddle on his stormy grey sweater. He could feel that the cup of coffee had made its way through the sweater, his collared shirt sticking damp to his belly. Even his pants were affected, the coffee spilling down onto his jeans, nearly resembling a different sort of 'accident.'
"Oh no no no." Dean's eyes flicked over his date's tainted clothes. "Fuck, Cas I'm so sorry."
Cas tried pulling the sweater-shirt combo away from his chest as relieve from the moisture, and only felt a chill move through the gap. "Maybe I should head back to my dorm," he mumbled.
Dean's heart dropped to his stomach. "Right. Totally. How far away is that?"
He mentally mapped out their path home, wishing he still lived in the dormitory that could be reached by cutting through an alley behind the pie shop. "Eight blocks. I can take a cab." Yet after the cab, he still had to trek through the college quad. His shoulders sagged with that thought.
Dean's eyes flashed with a realization. "Actually, I live two blocks away from here. You can borrow my clothes and I'll wash yours."
"Dean, you don't have to do that." His skin prickled under the wet spot.
"It's no big deal. We can watch a movie while your clothes are in the wash. Really." He tossed Cas' coffee cup into a dirty black receptacle at the next intersection, and the pair picked up the pace.
Unlike Cas' dormitory hall with winding marble stairs and brass banisters, the stairwell leading to Dean's apartment resembled a set in a post-apocalyptic movie. Complete with flickering fluorescent lights, but it didn't seem to bother him. Dean revealed a gold key at the top of the stairs and, after adjusting the crooked door knocker, jiggled the door as he turned it in the lock.
"It's a tricky door." He explained, pushing the door open with a click and releasing a gust of coffee-flavored wind into the hallway.
Cas' eyes widened at the sight of Dean's apartment. It was not like he expected.
"It's so…"
"Messy?" Dean finished prematurely, slapping his keys on the tilted kitchen table and speed walking to their left around a set of wooden chairs. "Sorry. I've been working on designs for the shop." The keys slid across the table due to the uneven legs, softly clinking with the glass bowl of apples that sat in the center.
Cas frowned in thought, hanging up his coat on the hooks next to the entryway. This mess Dean was referring to seemed nonexistent. He scanned the dark apartment and realized the only thing a little disheveled was a desk in the corner. that had a few stacks of paper, in different stages of design. The corkboard above the desk was covered in paper: some flyers for local art shows, but mostly pen drawings.
The living room looked like it split the apartment like a mirror with two bedrooms on the sides. Castiel could see a red comforter covered bed through a cracked door to his right, wondering if anyone else was home.
Dean pushed the door to the left open and disappeared into the room.
Castiel closed the door behind him, having to lift the door slightly so that it would close completely. He shuffled towards the kitchen, which had a more distinct peanut-butter smell separate from the day-old-coffee scent of the apartment. Despite the aroma of Skippy, the linoleum countertop was spotless. There were no dirty dishes in the sink that marked the home of a bachelor.
From what he could tell through the dark, the rest of the apartment matched this living style. It was obviously lived in: the couch cushions had two dents imprinted on them and kitchen table had more than a few coffee rings on it; but it couldn't be classified as dirty or messy.
Dean squeaked in his socks across the dark hardwood floors (a stark contrast to the exposed sheet-metal walls). He held up a white tee shirt and a pair of plain grey sweatpants with an angry blue blotch of ink on the pocket.
"To the contrary, Dean. I've never seen an apartment so clean." Cas blinked at him through the thick darkness.
Dean twisted the knob of a standing lamp that Cas hadn't noticed by the couch. It illuminated the couch area and the kitchen table.
The lamp also served Dean well, making his green eyes look like sparkling emeralds in a cave. Cas found it difficult to tear his away and acknowledge the clean and dry clothes he held.
Dean's smile flashed at him, the pearly whites looking like just that. "Thanks, Cas. Let's get you out of those wet clothes." Cas could have sworn he saw his date wink at him.
He could have asked about using his bathroom, as he would if this situation had happened anywhere else, but he was feeling bold. He pulled his sweater over his head, throwing it over a kitchen chair. He couldn't help but grimace as he unbuttoned his damp shirt, feeling how cold and sticky it had become on the walk over to shelter. The adams apple in Dean's throat bobbed as Cas dragged his fingers over them.
He did the same thing, draping it over the chair on top of his sweater. He reached out his hand to take the white tee, only to be stopped by a warm body instead.
Dean's lips were cooler than the rest of his body, but when they touched Cas' he felt like he had just gulped down another cup of Sasha's joe. Warmth pooled in his belly, as a slightly shocked Cas finally had the reflex to lean into it.
That's what it felt like to Castiel. A reflex. Muscle memory like kissing by the front door with his shirt off was a ritual they had started long ago. He felt Dean's warm touch working its way down to his belt, unbuckling and unzipping. He felt Dean's hands waver at his waistband, pausing to touch his fingertips on the sensitive skin just under it, without rushing to pull the damp jeans off of him. Cas made a low sound of protest.
"Do you want me to stop?" Dean murmured onto Cas' lips, peeking one eye open to see his eyebrows raised.
"I want you to proceed," Cas commanded.
Dean felt himself twitch under his own jeans. Holy hell. He kissed Cas' lips again. He backed him into the wall of the entryway, sucking on Cas' lip. He moved to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Dean slowly pulled down Cas' jeans as he trailed kisses down his chest, his belly.
"Dean," Cas growled. The fucker grinned up at him, before trailing more pecks and well placed hickeys lower, pulling down the band of Cas' boxer briefs.
"Oh! Dean."
Sorry for taking so long! I'm back from a long hiatus. I just felt uninspired, but i'm feeling way better now. Expect another chapter soon!