"Working late, Castiël?"
The raspy voice with the British accent cut through Castiël's inner cussing.
"Sadly, yes, mr. Crowley. My computer froze halfway through the day and it has set me back a couple of hours. I know you needed those figures tomorrow morning. I'm almost done."
Crowley nodded his head slowly, pensively.
"Well... no need to work that perky little ass off. If you promise I can have them by, say tenish...you can go home." he said.

Castiël narrowed his eyes at the Brit.
"You're being nice to me... What's the catch?" he voiced his suspicions.
Throwing his hands up, Crowley turned his head.
"Seriously, feathers? I just want to go home, kick my feet up and enjoy my Craigh."
Crowley's reference to his tattoos made Castiël more suspicious.
Crowley was the only one within Nomed to know off them, because he'd been to the bar, and after recognising his accountant he had demanded to be shown the ink. Castiël had rolled up his sleeve, stating that was all he would ever show the gnome.

"I'm sorry. You usually have an ulterior motive. I can have your figures done by nine."
Crowley smirked and pretended to salute him with a glass.
"Wonderful. Now scoot. That pretty ass needs to rest on a sofa, not a desk chair."
Castiël clenched his jaws.
"You know that makes me uncomfortable, don't you?" he said to his manager.
Crowley's smirk widened.
"Yes I do, feathers. I just like yanking your chain. Makes me all tingly in me nethers. Night."
Shuddering, Castiël watched the guy wander off.

A glance at his phone told him he should get going. Gabriel knew Castiël would be late, but if he hurried, Castiël might get home only minutes after him and the guy that was coming over to look at the house.
He would need to get to know the man a bit, before agreeing to take him in.
He gunned his Continental and soon parked her next to that ridiculously pink blemish Gabriel called a car.

He hurridly got inside, neatly packing away his shoes and trenchcoat. Just to lose the jacket, undo that damned tie and open up a few buttons... it was Heaven.
He closed the closet, when he heard his older brother yell loudly.
"Heya Cassie! Welcome home!"
Castiël turned to reprimand him, but his throat stopped working.
Next to Gabriel's bouncy form, he saw the one person he would always recognise, and could never rent to... Dean...
Dean hissed something, but so low that he, Castiël, couldn't hear it. Gabriel beamed at Dean and Castiël was certain it was something about him.

Gathering up the shreds of his dignity, Castiël decided to play it cool for now.
"Hello Dean, Gabriel. I trust you got my message." he said, noticing how Dean's cheeks reddened.
Gabriel babbled about coffee, as Castiël got rid of his 'uniform' as he called it. He shrugged off his suit jacket, feeling as though a layer of his mask got shed.
He noticed Dean's posture. Hands clasped to his back, he looked like a soldier on rollcall.
Was he... nervous?
To hide his own nerves, Castiël asked about their coffee.

Gabriel seemed to enjoy himself immensely and asked Dean about a phrase he'd used about his coffee.
When he heard that gruff voice said the words: "I take my coffee black as my soul.", Castiël blushed, but kept calm.
"That's debatable, but I like the saying." he managed. It was true.
He knew Dean was a pure soul, someone who cared a lot about others, and he didn't like how the saying put Dean down, but he did like the sentiment behind it. Dean knew he was a bad boy at heart.

Castiël sipped his own, black, coffee and asked how far they had been on their tour. Turned out they didn't even get upstairs yet.
When Dean mentioned the scullery, Castiël remarked on his collection, just to see how Dean would take it.
"I gathered there were no real skulls there. Gabe neglected to tell me there were fake ones... I wonder why." Dean quipped sarcastically.
Castiël knew exactly why and he shot Gabriel a deathglare, which caused Dean to burst out laughing.
"I know he's a Trickster, Cas. Don't worry." he managed, drying his eyes.

Castiël's heart stuttered at the nickname and he raised his eyebrows.
"Cas?" he blurted out, just as Gabriel did the same. Probably for a whole other set of reasons though.
Castiël liked the nickname. It was less effeminate than the 'Cassie' Gabriel and Balthazar loved to use, and unique.
For the first time in a long time, Castiël didn't mind his odd name.
Trying to cover his happy blush, Castiël sipped his coffee.
He caught Dean's apology, and Gabriel's head tilt, but he pretended to sip, until he was sure the blush was gone.
This was going to be so awkward!
He assured Dean he didn't mind the abbreviation, then proceded to hurry them along the tour of the house.

While Dean was admiring Castiël's bedroom, Castiël drew Gabriel to the side.
"You conniving little imp! What are you doing?!" he hissed at his brother.
Gabriel blinked faux innocently.
"What? He needed space, you have space. Win-win... aw come on, Cassie. Let's try this, huh? If it doesn't work out, kick my ass."
That was the problem for Castiël. What is this did work out? What if, like in those awfull movies Gabriel watched, they would fall for eachother? Castiël didn't dare dream that big.

Meanwhile, Dean looked like he loved Castiël's room.
Castiël was trying to not imagine Dean in his bed, kiss swollen lips, messy hair...
'Darn! Don't do that, Novak!' he snapped at himself mentally.
Hurridly, Castiël stepped closer, hoping his blush didn't show.
"This is my room. You are more than welcome to use my bathroom, if your bath is broken, or you're using it to soak laundry or something along those lines."
Dean looked a bit embarrased by that, but he followed to the next room.

Castiël always liked this room. The green was just so complementary to his blue room.
He opened the door and his imagination ran wild again.
Dean, lying on the bed, sleeping. Would he wear pyjamas or maybe a shirt? Or would he lie there in just his boxers... broad chest naked... crap! His mind was on a roll today!
On autopilot, Castiël finished the tour, trying to keep his mind clear of those enticing thoughts.
Dean parked his perfect ass on the sofa, and Castiël's darned imagination pictured him there, lying down, reading a book, or playing some game on his phone... or looking up at Cas with those big, green eyes darkened, cheeks flushed, oh crap... He definitely needed to reign in his thoughts!

Dean's voice cut through the haze in Castiël's mind. It seemed Gabriel had asked him a question.
"You know damn well what I think, you sly fox. What's my rent gonna be?"
Cheeks burning, because that voice... (Cas had just imagened it moaning his name.), Castiël answered the question. He needed that amount at least, to get by.
On one hand, Castiël hoped Dean would decline, on the other... if he would live here... here in his house... maybe Castiël could make this all... work, somehow.
He wasn't prepared for that devastatingly beautiful grin and the firm answer.
"Is that all? Hell, draw up the papers, buddy! I'm moving in!"
Castiël gulped, wishing he'd known this would happen.