Soft, pliant lips were beneath his own. Little gasps shook him to the core of his being. Hands were carding through his hair and green, lustblown eyes sought his.
Castiël knew this was too good to be true, but for now, he revelled in every moan, every gasp of that abbreviation of his name.
"Cas... Cas... Cas!"
Someone was knocking, and the sense of warmth beneath him dissipated.
More knocking.
"Cas, C'mon bud! You need to get up! It's only Tuesday... you need to get to the office."
Castiël groaned, pulling his pillow over his head.
That was unmistakably Dean, knocking and calling out, which meant that it was another dream Castiël had.
And it had yet again resulted in a very, very hard to ignore problem.

"Thank you, Dean. I'm awake. Be down shortly!" Castiël called, rubbing his eyes.
He finally sat up, shifting his hips uncomfortably.
"Damnit..." he muttered, frowning at his crotch. "How to deal with you... UGH. I'm not in the mood for this!"
With a course, Dutch expletive, Castiël threw the covers off and got to his feet.
He stomped off into his bathroom and turned on the shower, scowling at the jets as they streamed down without fogging up the room.
With a loud gasp, he stepped under the shower and was back out in five, his hair soaked, and his skin dappled with goosebumps.
He rubbed his eyes, barely noticing the dark bruise-like shadows under them.

When he got downstairs, Dean had already left for work, and Castiël sighed.
He was relieved on one hand, on the other, he would have loved a little chat with Dean, just so he could face the day.
Using the cheese slicer and the block of Gouda cheese oma gave him, Castiël quickly made a cheese sandwich.
It was gone in under a minute.
Checking his watch, Castiël decided to get his cafeine shot at work.
"Godsamme..." he sighed, grouchiness making him fall back on his second language whilst pulling on his trenchcoat. "Ongelogen... die dromen maken me niet vrolijker."

Gabriel texted him while he was waiting at the last intersection.
With a growl, Castiël slid his car onto the parkinglot and in the last free space there.
"Cassie! You're late bucko!" Gabriel called out, opening the glass door like a hotel doorman.
"Morning, Gabriel. I know. I overslept slightly."
His brother shot him a Look.
"Cassie, bro... you need to cut down the hours, bud. You're running yourself to the ground!"
Sending his meddlesome brother a deathglare, Castiël swiftly moved past him.

"That is not the problem, Gabriel." he bit out, removing his coat on the go.
Gabriel smirked and waggled his eyebrows, as he trotted along to keep up with Cas' long, irritated strides.
"Then what, Cassie? Imagination keeping you awake with images of what dear old Dean-o might look like under all the flanel?"
Castiël snarled at him and threw the door in his face.
"Rude, Cassie!" Gabriel called through the wood.
Castiël couldn't care less.

After six hours, Castiël was ready to call in sick. The only thing keeping him there, was the fact that if he went home, to bed, the dreams would start again.
So far, he had been able to leave the house without Dean noticing the state he was frequently in lately.
But one day, Dean would find out, and Castiël dreaded the moment.
Dean would probably hate him for it and move out again.
"Feathers... looking a bit frayed at the edges today..."
Closing his eyes resignedly, Castiël turned towards his boss.
"Just a bad night, Crowley. What do you need?"
A completely insincere smile on his face, Crowley stuffed his hands in his pants pockets.
"Just thought I'd pop over for a chat with my favorite accountant."

With one serious deadpan, Castiël looked up at him.
"What do you want? You never 'just pop over' for anything."
The insincere air vanished and the slick guy sauntered over.
"Honestly, Feathers... I was noticing a decline in your health, and sick employees are very bad for business. I'm happy ms. Braeden isn't calling in sick every other morning because that bun in her oven is making her feel queasy."
The reminder of Lisa's condition did nothing to improve Castiël's mood.
"I'm fine, Crowley. There have been some changes in my life, and I am adjusting. Nothing to worry about."

Parking his buttcheek on the edge of Castiël's desk, Crowley narrowed his eyes.
"Then I suggest you get your ducks in a row, as they say, and make sure it will not become something I should worry about."
Not able to withold the glare building up inside, Castiël side-eyed his boss.
Crowley chuckled and grinned.
"There's the spunk I know and love from you, Feathers. Carry on..."
He got to his feet again and turned to go, but stopped at the door.
"Oh, by the by, Feathers... You're not fooling anybody." he said casually.
Blood freezing, Castiël stared at him. What was he on about?
"Even mr. Gold seems to have noticed you don't look too dandy. Go home. I won't dock you the hours. Get some rest." Crowley suggested and walked off.

Leaning back, Castiël ran his hands over his face and groaned.
It seemed he had to go. Maybe he and Dean could spend some time together. It might not help the dreams, but it would help him relax a bit. With the hours at the bar, and his regular office job, Castiël had been working every day of the week for months now.
Saving his work and logging off, he thought about sending Dean a text but decided against it.
If Dean was still at work, he'd disturb him.
Castiël tugged on his tan coat and left.

The porchlight was on, meaning Dean was home.
With a light feeling in his chest, Castiël went inside and cleared away his shoes and coat.
Dean was sitting on the sofa, legs stretched out on the seat.
His green eyes were glued to the screen, where a doctor, wearing cowboy boots no less, was making out with some other character in scrubs.
Castiël bit his lip. He knew this show. Gabriel watched it all the time. Castiël was not going to judge here.
He folded his suitjacket over the back of a chair.

A commercial break came on, and Dean stretched, then flushed red when he noticed Castiël standing there.
"Cas! Hi... I ehm..." he stuttered, trying to not look guilty. It was adorable.
Castiël just smiled softly and pushed Dean's legs off the seat, so he could sit too.
"Hello, Dean. So... why is dr. Sexy making out with that intern? Did something happen between him and dr. Piccolo?"
Dean worked his mouth, but nothing came out.
Tilting his head at Dean, Castiël blinked a few times.
"You know the show?" Dean finally asked.

Shrugging, Castiël popped a few buttons of his shirt and loosened the tie.
"A bit. Gabriel used to watch it all the time. I haven't been keeping up since I moved here." he admitted, which got Dean to use the whole commercial break to bring Castiël up to speed.
They watched in silence until the next break, when Dean caught Castiël's blue eyes with his green.
"Sooo... you don't mind if I watch this?" he queried carefully.
Castiël looked back wondering why Dean would ask that.
"Only... I really missed it. Li... she would scoff and make nasty comments about a grown man watching a show like this..."

Lisa... anger burned in his veins. She had constantly made Dean question his masculinity, and then, if he did something manly, burned him about that, calling him misogynistic.
"It is a compelling show, Dean. I don't really follow it, but I do see it's appeal."
Which was two-thirds made up by the doctor with the long hair, scruff and cowboy boots, Castiël had to agree silently.
With a happy smile, Dean turned back to the screen.
Castiël smiled too, glad he could in some small way undo the damage Lisa had done with Dean. She had tried to make him into another person, which was right against what Dean himself had taught Castiël.

Notes:

Dutch to English translation:

Godsamme... - Goddangit (litterally more an unfinished sentence the Dutch often use. It meant that God will do something to you, but it doesn't say what.)

Ongelogen... die dromen maken me niet vrolijker. - No lies.. these dreams do nothing to make me more cheerful. (Another Dutch Idiom. It means you're grouchy, about being grouchy, and blame it on some situation.)