"Dude, of course librarians can be guys! Haven't you ever watched 'Buffy'?" Charlie rolled her eyes at Dean, who was flopped facedown on his couch in the morning exhaustion that followed late shifts. He'd felt irrationally off-kilter all night after that last text from his librarian ("Jarvis," his brain helpfully reminded him) and had been unable to mutter much more than "Library guy is a guy" to explain his mood when Charlie showed up the following morning with coffee. He now glared balefully at her.
"Of course I know librarians can be men! I just...didn't think we had any here." Dean's preconceptions had now been forced to make the shift from little old lady to young woman, and then to a man probably not far from his own age, and it was this final shift that was almost too much for his brain to manage. In the moments following the message's arrival, his mind had immediately taken all of his well-visited librarian porn dreams and altered them to include tailored suits in place of pearls and heels, five o'clock shadows rather than crimson lipstick, and a pair of large strong hands gripping his shoulders and pulling him back into a darkened study room…
Yeah, he was officially screwed.
He had freely embraced the fact that he was attracted to both men and women almost from the time that he had started dating. Being openly bisexual meant having a pool of potential partners twice as wide as he'd have if he closeted himself, he laughed, so why hide what he wanted? Happily for Dean, his school and community had been tightly knit enough that almost everybody knew everybody, and he was able to avoid any coming-out harassment by resting behind the shield of the cocky, confident reputation he'd crafted for himself. Only his closest friends and family were ever allowed to see inside that armor to the complex man beneath, the one full of self-doubts, hidden insecurities, and the suspicion that he was ninety percent bullshit but was masking it well with a wink and a grin. Only his dad had given him any grief the first time he'd dated another guy, and that only lasted until his mom decided that homophobes could very well sleep on the couch.
No, Dean was no stranger to dating or being sexual with men, but there was a big difference between kissing the guy you met at the gym and even thinking about kissing a fully realized, in-the-sexy-flesh, fantasy he'd kept in his spank bank for years. Add in the strong indication that said fantasy was perhaps a bit kinky in his own right (Dean tried hard not to imagine what his librarian had worn under the skirt), and the scene was far more than he felt equipped to handle.
"I don't see why it matters, anyway," Charlie was saying. "I mean, so it's a male librarian helping you with trivia contests. Does it matter? Like you said, you're just using him as a search engine with a better brain."
"Well, yeah. I mean, it doesn't matter," he said with an uncomfortable shrug. "Except I think maybe I pissed him off a little. You know, when I basically called him a girl." He groaned and gestured toward his phone, lying on the table. Charlie picked it up and glanced at the text history, open on the screen.
"Pepper Potts?" she snorted. "Were you trying to win a contest or just flirt?" She didn't wait for an answer, knowing well that Dean flirted as naturally as breathing. "But I don't think he sounds all that pissed. He sounds a bit sassy, confident and comfortable with himself, a bit down on prescribed gender roles – the kind of librarian I can get behind. Rock on, Mr. Book Man," she said with an approving nod. "I should see if my library card still works."
"I don't know. It reads different from his other messages. Maybe I'm just reading too much into it and feeling stupid for assuming. God, why did I do that?"
"So you're worried you've lost your meal ticket for the trivia games? You think he'd cut you off because you made him mad?"
Dean shook his head. "No. He wouldn't do that." Without really knowing the librarian, he just had a gut feeling that he was too professional and nice to do something like that. "But that's not really the point, anyway. I came off like a sexist jerk, and that's not me." It bothered him deeply, beyond any sexual feelings he might be entertaining, to think that his librarian might have written him off that way. Dean hated hurting people, and he really couldn't stand the idea that he might somehow have disappointed a man who had seemed so perfectly impressive in all their interactions.
"Aw, you care about his feelings. Dean Winchester, do you have a crush on the librarian?" Charlie grinned widely, but her expression was sympathetic. She knew better than to tease when Dean was feeling sensitive. It was why he felt comfortable opening up to her when, for anybody else, he'd deflect with a wisecrack. Dean didn't really want to answer her question, but his silence was enough of a response. "You could just apologize to him. Tell him you were being dumb but that you know better. And do it soon. If you wait, you'll look like you're just saying sorry so he'll help you with your next round of questions."
He knew she was right, even if it meant revisiting the awkward conversation instead of just crawling into a hole and trying to forget. "Thanks, Charlie. I'll toughen up and tell him I suck."
"Phrase it like that, and maybe you'll get to see that skirt he mentioned."
"Charlie!" He flushed red, and she ducked, giggling, to avoid the throw pillow she knew would fly her way.
Castiel was not having a good day. Someone had dropped a partially full bottle of water into the book return, and it had leaked all over a dozen books. The library was full of the sounds of shrieking children, courtesy of the visit from a zookeeper, who'd brought a selection of creepy, crawly, scaly things that Castiel would just as soon avoid seeing in secure glass cases, let alone in the open area by the paperback spinners. Most of all, though, he was fretting over what he'd texted the night before.
Once he'd left behind his full-blown panic, he tried to look at it rationally. One of three things was likely to happen. Most probably, Impala would have been offended so much by the exceedingly improper message that Castiel would never hear from him again. At worst, the message would reach his director, and Castiel would find himself in the position of explaining to his board why he had felt it necessary to tell a patron how he was no stranger to women's clothing. The best scenario, the one for which he knew better than to hope but could not help himself, was that they could just try to pretend that nothing uncomfortable had transpired and go back to their usual routine of questions and answers. I've never had good luck; no reason to think it'll start now, he mused sadly.
The zookeeper waved at Castiel from across the room. He waved back without thinking. The zookeeper waved harder, and Castiel waded his way through the crowd seated on the floor to reach him. "Do you need me to get you something?" he said, trying to bring his thoughts back to the present situation.
"Yes, Mr. Librarian. I need you to give me…your shoulders!" And with that, the beaming zookeeper lifted a large snake from a cooler and began to drape it over Castiel's back. "Don't worry! She's very friendly! She loves librarians!"
As the children squealed, Castiel stood in frozen terror, grimacing in the best approximation of a smile that he could force, and reflected on how life had amazing ways of demonstrating that things could always be worse.
After the zookeeper had packed away his last creature and waved farewell, Castiel reached into his pocket for his phone, which had vibrated while he was wearing the python as a scarf. (The initial horrific thought that the snake had crawled into his pants pocket to cause the humming sensation had nearly made him start keening in hysteria.) A text message from Impala waited for him.
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for just assuming you were a woman last night. Guess I've never actually had a guy librarian, but that's no excuse. I definitely know better. You're a kick-ass librarian, man or woman."
Well. Of all the outcomes that might have developed, seeing Impala take responsibility for the confusion was unexpected. He read the message again, and then a third time, before he could properly process what he was seeing. Palpable relief washed through him, and he felt his neck begin to unknot for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. Released from the tension that had gripped him, he swiftly typed a response.
"Please accept my apology in return. You are far from the first person to make gender assumptions about my profession, and I allowed my irritation to find voice in an embarrassingly unprofessional outburst. Know truly that I am not upset with you, and I hope that you will not judge my reaction too harshly."
After sending the text, Castiel closed his eyes and breathed slowly, hoping his apology would be received as well as he intended it. His phone promptly buzzed again.
"Man, no judgment here. You had every right to put me in my place, and I can take the hit when I'm in the wrong. No need to feel embarrassed at all."
Castiel smiled as his shoulders eased even further. He had not realized just how upset he would have been to lose this connection. Corresponding with Impala had become one of Castiel's favorite aspects of his job – perhaps one of his favorite activities, period. Since leaving school, he had developed so few friendships, at least beyond the sort of light but cordial associations he had with coworkers and a couple of neighbors. He replied, "Thank you for saying so. I usually control myself better than that, but I'm glad my outburst didn't cause you any discomfort."
A pause, and then another message came through with a buzz. "If you're still feeling embarrassed, maybe I should even us up by telling you something embarrassing about me?"
"There's really no need to do that."
"When I was in high school, my friend Charlie choreographed a lip-sync version of Lady Marmalade for a talent show, only one girl got mono before the show. I let Charlie put me on stage in a huge wig, a bucket of makeup, and a feather boa so big nobody could even recognize me. Top that, Jarvis."
Castiel burst into laughter. He really did feel better now. "I'm not sure that counts; you managed to tell a painful story that also paints you as a good and loyal friend. And my actual name is Castiel, if you like."
"Well, I'm not a complete martyr. ;) I'm Dean, and since you sound happier, my work is done."
After that conversation, things returned to normal between Dean and Castiel, if a bit more relaxed. Dean still sent his Monday night questions, and Castiel responded quickly and skillfully. Dean found himself relaxed enough to keep up his playful praise, which Castiel seemed to enjoy a great deal. His gratitude for Dean's gratitude began to foster some sort of weird cycle of "No, thank you" messagesthat might have continued indefinitely if the library didn't need to close at night.
He really was flirting, Dean realized. But Castiel was no longer just his old fantasy. He had a name, he had a great personality, and Dean actually liked him. He had started to think of him as a potential friend, even if there was a layer of sexual subtext in his head whenever he read one of Castiel's messages. Dean still couldn't help where his mind went when he allowed himself to imagine actually meeting his librarian…
"Shhhhh," Castiel said, finger pressed to lips as his voice lowered dangerously. "We need to be quiet in the library, Dean. Do you think you can be quiet for me?" His features were indistinct in shadow, but Dean felt pierced by the gaze he couldn't quite discern.
"Yes," he gasped, lost in the feeling of the other man's hips rolling against his own, pressing his back into the bookshelf. He could be quiet, he wanted to be quiet. He wanted to please Castiel. The librarian raised an eyebrow and quirked his lips into a small, predatory smirk. He lowered his head and fastened his mouth to the base of Dean's throat, fingers moving to unbutton Dean's shirt and push it from his shoulders. Dean gasped, and Castiel lightly bit at him to remind him of his promise.
Dean drove his teeth into his lip, struggling to keep his sounds from escaping. He grabbed at the back of Castiel's waistcoat, fingers scrabbling for grip on the smooth fabric. He pushed his thigh between the librarian's legs, increasing the friction between them as his cock drove into Castiel's hip. Feeling the answering hardness sliding so close to his own, he felt his breath catch in his throat. This couldn't last long.
Castiel's mouth traveled across Dean's clavicle, stopping to mark him with a sucking bite along his shoulder. "So good," he murmured, hands now dropping to Dean's belt, unbuckling and unbuttoning and seeking inside. His fist closed around Dean's cock, and Dean tried not to cry out -
"Hey, Dean!" The sound of his brother's voice crashed through his fantasy like a sledgehammer. "Open the door! My hands are full and I can't get the doorbell!"
Dean scrambled up from the sofa, running a hand over his face and trying to regain composure. Thankfully, his baby brother's shouting had a quick negative effect on certain other areas that might have betrayed his thoughts, though he took longer getting to the door than he might have otherwise.
"Took you long enough, man," Sam huffed. "Third degree burns on my hands, but, sure, you go ahead and take your time. No rush." He quickly dropped the pizza box on the counter, taking more care with the placement of the six-pack of beer. "I haven't seen you in weeks! Knew you were off work tonight, so I brought dinner. So what's going on with you?"
"Not a whole lot," said Dean, grabbing a slice of pizza and drink. "Picked up some extra shifts, but nothing new. You?"
"Busy here, too." Sam's work as a newspaper editor kept him busier than Dean wished, making these evenings rare treats instead of the frequent occurrences he would have preferred. Sam loved his job, though. He happily ran down the list of all the interesting stories he'd been researching lately, making sure to emphasize the quirky ones he knew Dean enjoyed most. Political intrigue might carry the front page, but Dean preferred following the stories about joggers stumbling across mummified corpses, or strange animal sightings in the public park.
"By the way, here's your Sunday paper. Don't say I never give you anything," Sam said, handing over the extra paper he always kept for his brother. "Check out the hysterical picture our lifestyle reporter took, page 2C. Never seen such polite disgust in my life."
Dean flipped to the page and snickered at the sight of a suited man, eyes wide as they could go, his obviously forced smile a rictus of fear over the enormous snake draped over his shoulders. He stood next to a pleased-looking zookeeper, and Dean couldn't stop his chuckles, even as he sympathized with the guy, who looked like he would rather have been anywhere else. Beyond the terrified expression, he was an extraordinarily handsome man, and if Dean's mind appreciated the unintentional snake/phallic imagery, well, he could hardly be blamed. He'd been interrupted earlier, and his brain was unsatisfied.
The dude was hot. Really hot. Dean glanced at the caption, wondering if he was some local celebrity who was ambushed at the zoo.
Librarian Castiel Novak poses with Suzy, a ball python, during her visit to the library's youth department.
Shit. Witty, intelligent, passionate, considerate, kind…sexy as fuck. And so very, very out of Dean's league. Dean wanted to cry.
