[FIC] This Is Not Me for dizzzylu
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: This Is Not Me
Author: akadougal
Recipient: dizzzylu
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 6,700
Summary: All human AU: When Dean complains of being bored while visiting his brother in LA, he ends up with an unexpected job. Turns out being a stand in does have some downsides as well as some unexpected perks.
Author notes: This was marvellous fun to write. Thanks to my beta who shall remain nameless until after the reveal. Based on one of the plots in Love Actually.
“You’ll get your own IMDB page,” Dean muttered to himself, letting the wardrobe person fit a shirt around his shoulders. “It’ll be good for you to get out of the house.”
The bustle of the film set had been fascinating for the first ten minutes. Now all Dean had done was stand about and wait endlessly before being dressed in some other guy’s clothes. He was nothing more than a glorified tailor’s dummy, a mannequin. Stand there. Pose. Hands up. That was the extent of his interaction with another human being all morning.
This wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined when he’d come out to visit Sam in LA. He had expected it to be like when they were young and living in each other’s pockets but with beer, admittedly. Sam had been around that first weekend - staying up late, watching shitty action movies, eating too much salt and fat - but then his office had called, summoned him in and Dean had watched his baby brother suit up and head off to be the lawyer he’d spent all those expensive years at school aiming to be.
Doing nothing in a strange city got boring fast. So a friend of a friend of Sam’s had set him up with this stand-in gig. Film making was really disappointing him. There was no glamour in any of this movie making. Instead he was cold, a little hungry and fed up of standing around.
The wardrobe mistress patted his shoulder. “Final set-up of the morning. Lunch after this.” Dean liked the sound of that. “Bring in Cas!” she called to someone over his shoulder.
This was the moment Dean guessed he was looking forward to the most: meeting his counterpart. He pasted on a grin he knew would charm any girl, a grin that would say “I’m a good guy but also fun”. Polite. Well brought up. Manners his father had drilled into him and Sam. But Dean’s manners and his hand faltered somewhat when he realised that Cas was no chick. Wasn’t a woman or a girl either. ‘Cas’ was a guy, dressed in jeans and a soft buttoned shirt and regarding Dean’s frozen, half out-stretched hand with interest.
“Hey there,” Dean eventually managed to get out the word which had seemed stuck in his throat. “I’m Dean.”
The man looked at him with a hard to read expression. It wasn’t wary or anxious but it didn’t seem overly pleased either. It was neutral. He reached forward to gingerly shake Dean’s hand. “Cas - Castiel.”
“That’s an interesting name.” Dean could hear the rise and fall of Sam’s girlfriend’s fake enthusiasm in his intonation. Castiel dropped his hand.
“My family is religious-“ religious nuts more like, Dean thought. “They named me after an angel.” Cas seemed to stop there, not willing to offer any more information. Dean couldn’t blame him.
“Well I’m named after my grandmother. So there’s that. I got a girl’s name. At least your angel is a guy.” Dean was aware he was babbling, trying to erase Cas' first impression of him. After all, he'd be working with the guy.
Castiel listened politely, nodded, and turned to take his position.
Dean was cursing himself internally, pasting a polite smile on whenever Castiel’s puzzled eyes met his. He should have read the script Sam’s friend of a friend of a friend had waved in his direction. This wasn’t a regular film. Well, it was. In the way that there were actors and cameras and costumes and shit. And it wasn’t like Dean was going to do porn. It was just a scene in a movie. That’s all. It just involved a little too much skin for Dean to be entirely comfortable. The plot seemed to revolve around these two ordinary blokes who fall desperately in love and then everything collapses around them. Dean was standing in for some typical Hollywood actor, all muscles and tan. That had been one of the reasons they wanted him. He was still pretty built but not a UFC fighter or anything. Being a fireman had a few perks.
Castiel was standing in for one of those emo-hipster actors. He had smooth pale skin, the odd freckle and mole doing nothing to blemish it. And he had these narrow hips, lean, slender. And when he unbuttoned his shirt to let it hang open, Dean could see a narrow trail of dark hair running under his waistband. Dean could hardly meet the guy’s eyes when he was told to palm his hips, hold on to the spur of bone and pull Cas towards him. They were stuck like that for the 10 longest minutes of Dean's life while the lighting was fussed with and the tiny little bits of tape were placed on the floor under their feet.
Finally there was the freeing sound of “LUNCH!” and Dean was finally able to let go of Cas. Wardrobe hadn’t bothered to refasten Castiel’s buttons and he seemed unaware of the way the material was fluttering around his shoulders, first hiding then revealing more of his chest. And Dean couldn’t look away - didn’t want to. Castiel sat opposite him, chatting to people he knew, while Dean wolfed down the burger he’d been handed. He thought about eating healthy, thought about sticking to salad, but couldn't bring himself to care like Sammy did all the time.. Dean Winchester didn’t need to watch his figure like these movie types. Soon it’ll be back to Kansas, back to his normal life. He knew it was a vain hope that none of his workmates found out about his foray into gay porn. Or something. It wasn’t porn, it was just sex. It was a legit movie, dammit.
Although the way Castiel lapped at his tea, tiny tip of his tongue sliding out to clean the last droplets from his lips made Dean’s mouth go dry. The way his chest rose and fall, innocent breaths, muscles flexing and turning made Dean’s breath come shorter. The way his skin shone even in the muted flat light of Craft Services made Dean break out into a slight sweat. Dean thought desperately about car maintenance and tax returns, anything to stop his body from making a fool of himself in public.
When they returned to set and Dean was told to remove his shirt, he froze. He was facing Castiel and his eyes were fixed on Cas’ bright blue eyes that seemed to see right through him. Dean couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He couldn’t even throw up no matter how much he wanted to. Castiel, shirtless himself, didn’t look angry or disgusted like Dean expected. Instead the blank expression on his face softened somewhat and he reached out to lift Dean’s shirt up. The unexpected warmth of his knuckles on Dean’s skin made his paralysis vanish. He lifted his hands and let Castiel pull the shirt off and toss it to the waiting wardrobe staff. Castiel didn’t look at them, however, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean. Dean smiled weakly and let himself be manhandled into the best position. Castiel seemed a little less standoffish than before, helping Dean hold himself against the rigid wood of the four poster bed that loomed large in the room.
At the end of the day, which Dean reckoned was more about standing about than actual filming, Castiel shocked him with a slight smile. “Will I see you here again tomorrow?” Dean nodded without really thinking and couldn’t even keep a small smile from his face. Then he folded himself in the tiny rental Sam had organised for him and headed off back to Sam’s house, thoughts clouded by a pair of blue eyes that seemed to see right through him.
The next day started a little better. Dean knew where to park, where to go. They were still in the bedroom. This morning, however, they were down to their underwear. Dean knew his nipples were reacting to the chill. They were like hard pebbles determined to poke out someone’s eyes near enough. Dean tried chafing them a little to warm them before he realised what he looked like. It didn’t even help as his hands were freezing cold.
Castiel was with him all day, from the very start. And Castiel was equally as naked. He ignored Dean’s blush as he settled on the bed beside him, kneeling up on legs that were muscular and strong. Runner’s legs, Dean thought, idly tracing the muscles up Cas’ leg with his eyes to the place where the material of his boxer’s cut across the smooth white skin.
“Morning,” Dean stuttered out.
The blank mask lifted off of Cas for a moment, showing the merest hint of amusement. “Good morning, Dean. I hope your night went well.”
Dean had tossed and turned for hours before he’d slept but there was no way he was letting Cas know that. “Yeah. I’m staying with my brother and he snores like you would not believe. Rivals a baby hippopotamus.”
Castiel let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “I, too, suffer from annoying brothers.” And then it was as if a dam broke between them. There were no more awkward silences. Dean talked about his job, about his brother, Sam and his girlfriend who was much too good for Dean but always good to him. Castiel was slightly reticent but responded appropriately, seemingly able to ignore the way he had to sit between Dean’s splayed thighs, his ass snugged up against Dean’s family jewels. The family jewels that hadn’t seen any action in far too long and that Dean had to talk rather firmly to, to stay put. Luckily the chill in the room and all the other people standing around dealt with any interest that got beyond Dean’s ability to control.
Cas ended up holding the wooden footboard and Dean kneeling up behind him, hands on those slender hips, warm under Dean’s mildly sweaty palms. Dean kept apologising, especially when they asked Cas to slide his boxers down a little and suddenly Dean was faced with the fact he wasn’t so much holding onto hips and admiring the elegant arch of Cas’ back as much as groping his ass.
“I’m really sorry,” he said again, spreading his hands wide and letting his thumbs rest at the top of the crease of Castiel’s ass. Cas turned to throw Dean a look over his shoulder as if to say shut up and just get on with it. Dean stared at the ceiling rather than count the moles on Cas’ back, the vertebrae that were just begging to be bitten. He should at least buy the guy a drink first.
And suddenly that was a marvellous idea.
It still took Dean a while to work up to it. Cas was sitting in his lap by then, those deceptively strong thighs wrapped around Dean’s waist, Dean’s arms around his shoulders. Dean was still processing the direction to “thrust up into Cas” when the words spilled out of his mouth.
“You doing anything tonight?” Dean concentrated hard on the rhythm they were building up and on telling his cock to pay no attention to the man writhing in his lap. The flash of a camera in his face seemed to help with that.
“Laundry. Supposedly.” Then Castiel seemed to catch up with what Dean was asking. There was a moment when Dean tried not to breathe when Castiel relaxed a little, another one of those almost non-existent smiles crossing his face. “Although that can be left for another time.”
“Would you… I mean. Only if you want.” Dean realised that all his game had left the building. No, it had not just left the building. It had left the building, boarded a plane and was halfway to New York.
“Yes,” Castiel replied. “Do you like burgers?”
It took Dean a moment to think about that. Castiel filled in the silence.
“Because you wouldn’t know where to get the best ones, not being local.” Dean nodded, full of wonder. He’d thought Castiel might be one of these hippy types, like Sam with his local and organic and seasonal fucking rabbit food. “And we could have beer.”
“Only if you want. But yeah.” Dean knew he was beaming, he could feel his cheeks hurt with the spread of his smile. Cas seemed to find it funny, eyes shining even bluer with amusement. Dean couldn’t really find it in himself to care, and ignored the churning sensation in his stomach. “Just checking. This is a date, yeah?”
“Yes, Dean.” Castiel’s smile seemed broader this time.
Castiel was waving off someone in a car when Dean came out of the wardrobe trailer. He hadn’t thought much about the potential of a date when getting dressed that morning in his usual plain t-shirt, overshirt, jeans that were overdue for a wash and boots that had a little too much dirt from stomping around the sights of LA that Sam thought he should see. Castiel was dressed much more professionally in a suit with a ridiculous trench coat over his arm.
Dean thought about insisting on being driving back to Sam’s first but shrugged to himself instead. It wasn’t like Castiel hadn’t seen him out of his clothes already.
Castiel tucked a cell into his pocket and gave Dean a quick once over that made Dean realise that any interest Dean had in Cas was definitely returned. It made the churning in his stomach turn into something more like a burn. Castiel was looser off set, quicker to lose the neutral expression and laugh at Dean’s attempts at jokes and at the way Dean swore at the tiny pedals in the car.
“My baby is a proper car, not this tin can,” Dean found himself explaining, telling Cas all about his dad’s old car that had become his on his sixteenth birthday and how he’d looked after it ever since. That topic ran out as they pulled up in front of the type of bar Dean would be happy to frequent at home. Dean was worried that he was dominating the conversation but Castiel didn’t look unhappy as he led them to a booth in the back.
Castiel seemed happy to talk about sports and cars and manly, manly pursuits for quite a bit, actually. He drank his beer with an odd careful air, keeping it close by his side at all times, sipping rather than chugging. Dean only noticed because he finished his own while Cas had only drunk a third of his. Dean ordered an orange juice rather than another beer.
“So do you do stand-in duty all the time?” That should be a safe topic, work. To his surprise, Castiel blushed. After all the - let’s be honest - nudity and groping that Cas had handled without turning a hair, Dean was surprised to see his reaction.
“I want to be a writer. I have a novel. And some short stories that are going to be published.” Castiel played with his napkin. “I do the stand in stuff to make some money while I wait.”
Dean leaned across the booth, totally coincidentally sliding his foot in between Cas’ feet. He thought about moving it but quite liked the sensation. “That’s cool man. I’m not judging. Tell me more about it.”
It was if he’d flicked a switch. Castiel told him about his college courses and the creative writing professors and everything. The mild, controlled man who hadn’t reacted to even the feel of Dean’s cock riding his ass earlier seemed to have vanished. Dean liked this new Castiel, even when he wound down, slowly slipping back behind the cover of his shy persona. There was something Clark Kent about it that Dean really liked. He was pretty much all surface, near enough, heart on his sleeve and all. Cas was different. Maybe it was him being from LA and all.
Dean realised that Castiel had stopped talking a moment too late. He was conscious of being caught staring at him warmly. Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Turned out he only had a couple more days of stand-in duty left when he arrived at set the next morning. The guy he’d been covering for had recovered from the flu that had struck him down and he would be returning on the Friday. Dean nodded obligingly - he was heading home next week anyway - but there was a pang of something aching on the inside. Only two more days meant a very limited time with Cas. Which was not something he was entirely happy about. It also meant two more days and some other guy was going to be laying his hands on that translucent white skin that would bruise pretty easily if someone didn’t take care. Another lurch of his guts - Dean thought his belly was definitely getting too attached to the idea of him and Cas - and Dean knew it for jealousy.
He was still happy to see Castiel when they came out of wardrobe. And he fixed an extra coffee at craft services (the lingo was starting to sink in) and handed it over to combat the chill of the set. Cas raised his eyebrows at the taste.
“You got it right.” He sounded surprised.
“Half and half and two sugars. It’s not rocket science, dude.” Dean sipped his own coffee to hide the flush of pleasure that shot through him. This crush was starting to cross all crushing lines if this was the way he was feeling. Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder, a more intimate touch than any of the groping that they’d been put through yesterday for some reason. “Thank you.”
The weird way things were filmed meant that today they were more clothed. Dean was growing to hate the pin striped shirt Cas wore. It wasn’t him - too hip, trendy. Not like the man who’d waxed lyrical about words, images and symbolism. It was too forced. Dean at least was in a shirt he knew he made look good. And now he was paying attention, he couldn’t help flexing his biceps to make the sleeves tighten across his arms. Cas’ eyes followed the movement and his tongue dipped out to moisten his lips.
Moist lips were a theme of the day, as Dean ended up pinned against various pieces of uncomfortable furniture while Castiel snugged close to him and kept his face close. Dean kept dragging his tongue over his lips. The intimacy of shared breath was new, somehow more tense than all that nudity yesterday. The way Castiel’s eyes searched his seemed to drown out all the noise, the lights, the other people. Dean lost himself in Cas and the warmth from his body. On their infrequent breaks, he stayed close, sharing water. At lunch they shared one side of a table, thighs snugged up close on the bench. Then it was Castiel’s turn to ask if Dean was busy that evening.
“No,” Dean said immediately. Then he remembered what was happening. “Yes.”
Castiel rocked back on his heels. “Which?”
“Sam is having friends round. For a pre-Christmas party. And I should be there.” Castiel turned to go, his face wiped blank again. “You can come too.” Dean knew the words rushed out of him but it was enough to make Castiel turn with that faint smile. Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, mildly uncomfortable, before grabbing a pen and a pad of paper to scribble down the address. Castiel took it and slotted it carefully into his wallet. Then they had to endure another three hours of standing close and watching every thought shift across the other’s face.
When they went their separate ways, Dean sat in the parking lot for a while, eyes shut and forehead resting on the steering wheel. His mind flickered through a thousand scenarios of Sam’s reaction to the fact he was bringing a date to the party. And not just any date. This bright, intelligent, sane guy who was so far from Dean’s usual type as to almost be opposite. Dean banged his head off the too-small steering wheel a few more times before switching the engine on. It didn’t matter what Sam thought, not really. All that mattered was that Dean wanted Cas to be there, to introduce him to a part of his life, let him see a little of who Dean was beyond the cars and beer. And he wanted Castiel to like it too.
He was doomed.
In the end, Dean was used and abused as general handyman when he arrived back at Sam’s, who treated the invitation of another guest with a ‘that’s nice, Dean’ pat on the shoulder. Apparently a pre-Christmas party organised by Jess’n’Sam meant that the decorations that had been lying in boxes at the foot of Dean’s guest room bed needed to be hung, right now, all over the house. Dean had tried to remain pleasant in the face of Jess’ sudden transformation into Sergeant Major. He had just retrieved a bottle of beer from the fridge when there was a knock at the door.
Castiel was wearing a pair of jeans and a soft sweater that hung too loose on him for Dean’s liking. He held out a bottle of wine with a red ribbon bow round the neck. And he was shaking.
Dean leaned against the door jam. “Hey.” He’d spent most of his day staring at Castiel and he now realised that he would never be able to drink his fill.
“I got the right address at least,” Cas said, voice betraying his nervousness.
Jess hung over Dean’s shoulder, hand outstretched. Cas placed the bottle of wine in it and shuffled nervously through the door when Dean stepped back, careful to keep his eyes on Castiel. More people were making their way into the yard now and Dean placed his hand low on Castiel’s back to steer him into the kitchen, uncomfortable awkward silence firmly in place. Sam looked up from the eggnog briefly, nodded, then raised his head for a proper look that made Dean step in front of Castiel and eye Sam with intent.
“You must be Castiel,” Sam said, tipping a generous serving into a cheery red paper cup. He handed it over to Cas and fixed the ‘you look okay but I’m not sure’ look on his face. Cas nodded, took the cup and looked at the yellow gloop. Dean pulled another beer from the fridge and nudged Cas out towards the deck at the back of the house. Sam had installed these fancy outdoor heaters so the evening chill was nothing to worry about. Hell of a lot milder than in Kansas anyway.
Castiel swiftly abandoned his cup in favour of the offered beer. “It’s a nice house.”
Dean looked around. “It’s not home,” was the best he could come up with. It wasn’t. It screamed respectable suburbia and whilst the house in Kansas wasn’t quite up to its standards of desirability, the battered white railing and open lawn meant more to Dean than all the leather furniture and tasteful artwork put together.
“Tell me about your home,” Castiel asked, taking a seat on the antique teak lounger. Dean looked at the seat beside it but decided to settle on the lounger too. He lifted Cas’ legs and slid underneath his calves. Castiel stiffened then relaxed back against the high back. Dean tipped back his beer before starting to tell Castiel about growing up playing baseball and building dens in the backyard with Sam.
Castiel didn’t respond with any stories of his own. Instead he drank up all of Dean’s stories, beer forgotten. Occasionally a smoker would stumble out from the kitchen, light up, invade their space for a moment before stubbing out the cigarette in the potted palm and heading indoors again. The noise of the party was louder, music starting up and voices chiming out greetings. Sam looked harried when he stepped out onto the deck, hair curling with sweat. He handed Dean a fresh beer then headed indoors to replace Castiel’s as well.
“Need to-“ He jerked his thumb back to point indoors when he came back with another bottle fresh from the fridge. “Jess’ boss just arrived.”
“No trouble, Sam.” Dean waved him away and turned back to Castiel who was examining his watch. Dean gently turned Cas’ wrist towards himself. “It’s early… Okay. Not so early.”
“I should go. There is work tomorrow.” Castiel turned so he was sitting beside Dean on the lounger. The twinkling lights Sam had strung along the railing on the deck were like fireflies. It wasn’t dark, not really, but the light was dim and Dean was feeling loose enough from the beer to just have enough courage…
He turned to Castiel, placing his hand on the stubble rough cheek and turning Cas’ face towards him. Cas didn’t resist. They went beyond sharing breath, Dean seeing Castiel’s eyes flutter closed before he gently kissed him. Cas’ lips were softer than Dean had expected and Cas opened his mouth beneath Dean’s faster than he’d hoped for. The kiss deepened, lips pressing more firmly, hands coming to grab at shoulders, faces. It was only the sudden lurch of the lounger when Dean tried to turn to press more fully against Cas that split them apart.
Castiel kept his eyes shut for a moment longer, dark lashes fanned on his warm pink cheeks. Dean let his thumb soothe over Cas’ reddened lips, unable to resist the temptation.
“I don’t have to go just yet,” Cas said when Dean pulled back to let him have his space. In contrast to his words, however, Castiel stood up. Dean knew he should be annoyed that he let loose a small sound of confused frustration but he was going to blame it all on the fact that all the blood that should have been going to his brain was rapidly rushing elsewhere in his body. Castiel chuckled, unexpectedly, before pressing his hands to Dean’s shoulders and guiding him back on the lounger. He followed, swinging his leg over to straddle Dean, resting his weight carefully to stop the pernickety piece of furniture from tipping.
Then his mouth was back on Dean’s, hands framing Dean’s face and all frustration, worry, thought, vanished as Castiel picked right up where they’d left off.
Dean’s last day as a glamorous part of the movie industry was an exercise in temptation. The fact he had to stand, in various forms of undress, pressed against a warm, soft, comforting Castiel and know, just know, that were they alone in either one of their bedrooms that this would have a very different outcome. Knowing that Cas and he were within reaching distance of that kind of action meant he had to focus totally on the here and now and not allow his imagination to run wild. Like thinking about how Cas’ nipple might taste. Just for example.
The end of the day wasn’t marked by anything special. Dean tucked the handful of cash into his wallet and turned to see Castiel waiting for him.
“Your last day?” Cas asked, unnecessarily. His eyes, those eyes that seemed to see through Dean, were fixed on the tarmac in front of his toes. Dean refused to look into the middle distance.
“Yeah. And I’m heading home tomorrow.” There was something building at the back of his throat and he coughed to clear it. “You should come visit. Might be fuel for your next novel.”
Castiel fixed him with his eyes, finally. And Castiel was as unreadable as he’d always been when he shut down, played neutral. “I suppose you want to come home with me. Or perhaps you have to spend tonight with your brother.”
“And you could finally do your laundry.” Dean bit back any more hurtful remarks. “I’d like to spend time with you, Cas. Like to see where it goes. But I can’t pretend that I’m going to stay. I have my life to get back to.”
Castiel nodded and Dean thought that’s all she wrote, folks. They’d shake hands, maybe. Go their separate ways.
“Come home with me,” Cas offered.
There was a selection of take away menus pinned to the board beside the front door. Cas gestured at them, taking off his coat and shoes. Dean shuffled inside the apartment and took off his boots, stripping his socks off as well. Being in Castiel’s space was like another layer being peeled off his mystery.
A cat - kitten - with paws too big for its body curled around Cas’ ankles before peering up at Dean fearlessly. Cas petted it before straightening and leading the way through the open living room to the closed doors at the back of the space.
“Bathroom. Gabriel’s bedroom. And my bedroom.” Castiel pointed to each door in turn before opening his door.
Dean backed away. “We could eat. You could introduce me to the cat…” He was interrupted by the fiercely pleading glance that Castiel sent over his shoulder. “Or not.”
“There is no time to waste, Dean.” Castiel was already stripping off his clothes, arms tangled in his shirt. “You are leaving.”
Dean knew he was looking forward to returning home. Not to work, because who really liked work, but to his own bed, his own space. His friends and the familiar sights and sounds. A place where he knew the grocery store and the roads. There was a spike of temptation though, an urge to say “I’ll stay”. Dean tamped down on it and pulled off his own shirt, coming to wrap his arms around Castiel and hold him close.
“No time to waste, sure. But we also got all night. I’m not going anywhere right now.” Cas stilled under his hands or perhaps at the words that spilled out of Dean without him really thinking them over. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”
They kissed again. There was an edge of panic, of hysteria almost, to the way Castiel’s lips devoured and pushed against Dean’s mouth. Dean took it slow, taking care to kiss every part of Cas’ mouth, pull his bottom lip with his teeth. Every trick and twist that Dean had ever learned about kissing were poured into that one single moment. His hands roamed over Cas’ back, holding him close, soothing, pressing. Touching. Grounding.
Castiel’s hands were pressed tight to Dean’s body in return, holding him in place, almost afraid to roam just in case Dean was to slip free and vanish. Dean relaxed against Castiel. There was none of the stiff awkward posing that had framed their time on set. Instead they melted into each other. True closeness.
When Dean moved away from Cas, a protesting sound came from Cas’ lips and the hands tried to keep him close. Dean gently unfastened Cas’ hands, keeping hold, and led him to the bed, white sheets neatly stretched over the frame. It was difficult to manoeuvre but Dean managed to get himself laid back, pliant and offering. Castiel followed, kneeling up between Dean’s splayed thighs, interlocked hands raised between them.
Dean was aware of the pulse of his cock pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. He could see a matching bulge in Cas’ pants and there was a red flush spreading down his rapidly lifting chest. Dean didn’t care about that at the moment. He was lost once more in the depths of Castiel’s eyes that seemed to pin him in place like some butterfly on a card. He let himself be on display in a way that all those eyes regarding him on set had not managed to put him. Finally Castiel broke his hands free of the grip and finally - oh, finally - went for the waistband of Dean’s pants.
They were completely naked and rocking against each other, kisses becoming sloppy as Dean used his tongue to widen Cas’ open mouth, tasting deeper. Cas responded by fucking his own tongue into Dean’s mouth. Hands never stopped moving until Dean had to pull back, catch his breath. He was on the knife edge, a hair’s breadth from coming. Castiel seemed equally close, chest heaving with the deep breaths he panted in and out. Dean let his hands hold either side of Cas’ ribcage, cradling it above him, feeling every movement. Castiel brought his forehead down to touch Dean’s.
“Can I…?” Dean watched as the blue in Castiel’s eyes was swallowed inexorably by his swollen pupils. The way Cas’ hips were rutting against him left him in no doubt as to what Castiel wanted. Dean palmed his cheek once more, feeling that electricity of connection from earlier.
“You got stuff?” Dean could hear his voice deeper and rasping. He wasn’t sure if it was from disuse or desire. Cas didn’t answer him, not verbally. Instead he stretched up to fumble inside the drawer of his nightstand. Lube and a condom packet were obvious in Castiel’s hands when he returned. He looked almost lost, holding them in his open palms. Dean wriggled his legs free from under Castiel, kneeling up to face him again, feeling their cocks rub against each other when he pressed forward and kissed Castiel deeply.
Dean was embarrassed to admit it, when he pulled back. “Just- Go slow. It’s been a while.” Castiel’s eyes looked a little wild, open wide, eyebrows arched. Dean bit once more at Cas’ puffed lips before flipping onto his belly and spreading his legs. Castiel’s hands were hesitant on his hips, his ass. Then Dean held the lube click open. He braced himself, only to melt under the gentle swipe of Castiel’s hand up his spine, to guide his head to the side, to feel Castiel bend over him to kiss, tongue clumsy at his mouth.
The hesitance was gone when Castiel pressed his finger in, burn radiating up Dean’s spine, making him arch up off the bed. Castiel seemed to know what he was doing, one finger rapidly being joined by another, a crook, a twist and Dean was mewling into the pillow.
“Ready?” Cas’ voice was barely audible. Dean felt it through his bones, through his skin, through every place their bodies were already joined together. He gasped out his yes, barely biting back a begging please. He had a moment’s respite, watching over his shoulder as Castiel drew on the condom, lubed his cock up, grabbed at the base when he caught Dean’s eager eyes. Then there was no turning back.
Castiel seemed to want to draw out the moment for as long as he could. Dean could forgive him that. For all that there was the pressure to rut back, to come hard and fast, he knew he wanted this night to never end. He could be frozen here, for eternity, for some archaeologist to unearth in some far imagined future and he’d be happy, Castiel panting into his twisted mouth, biting at Dean’s neck, his shoulder, as he rolled his hips slow, deliberate and steady.
The morning came as mornings were prone to do. Dean didn’t want to move, hurting in all the right ways. They’d managed a round two, frenzied, face to face, in the depths of the night. He was contemplating round three when Castiel came back into the bedroom, dressed in his ridiculous suit and tie. His left sock had a hole in the toe. Dean could darn that for him. He’d learned it from his dad.
He wanted to fix it for Castiel.
“Lock up when you have to go - the spare keys are by the door. Use the shower. There’s coffee in the pot.” Castiel was staring at a point a couple of yards above Dean’s head. The wall must be fascinating. “Gabriel’ll be back around four. You probably want to be gone by then.” Castiel turned to leave.
Dean scrambled out of the sheets, ignoring the discomfort of being naked and sticky. “I don’t want to go. If I didn’t have to.”
Castiel looked at him, neutral mask back in place. “Back to your real life, Dean? You have to go.”
Dean knew what Cas meant. Didn’t mean it hurt less. “Anytime you want a break from all the Hollywood glamour, right? You come see me?”
Castiel nodded but Dean knew it for the polite dismissal it was. He kissed Castiel, just one more time, careful to not muss his suit or his hair much as he wanted to. “Cas…?”
“Goodbye, Dean.” Castiel grabbed Dean’s shoulder, holding him tight for a moment, any more words caught in his throat. He turned and was out of the door even before Dean knew what was happening. It was like he’d vanished.
Dean gathered his clothes, forgoing the shower. He wanted the evidence of Cas on his body for just that little while longer, just before he headed home.
Epilogue
Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot and gathered his gear. Night shift was a beast at the best of times and doubly unpleasant in the December dark. He was halfway to the door before he noticed the bent figure slumped on the steps.
“Hey. You okay man?” The dawn light made it difficult to make out any details until he came closer. Dean had to rub at his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating or just dreaming. Cas. Sitting here outside Dean’s door. He’d had a dream like this, once or twice, since coming back from LA. Sometimes he was naked.
In his dreams, Castiel tended to just look at him, eyes he remembered so well pinioning him in place. The rusty unused gravel of Cas’ voice startled him out of his daze.
“Dean. I hoped…” Castiel looked at him then and Dean was shocked by the stubble, the bags under his eyes and the sheer exhaustion etched on every part of Cas’ face.
“How long- No, nevermind. You want some coffee?” Dean jangled his keys and made a move towards the door. Castiel stood gracefully, rumpled trench coat no proof against the morning chill. They moved in silence, a combination of ingrained courtesy for Dean’s neighbours and the result of too many thoughts whirling around his head. He had a million questions.
His apartment was warm as they made their way in. Dean cast a critical eye around but it was tidy enough. Cramped, sure. But no take out cartons or beer bottles lying around. Dean flung his keys onto the table by the doorway, peeled off his boots. By the time he’d made it to the kitchenette and flicked on the coffee maker, Castiel had slowly come into the room. He hadn’t taken off his coat.
Dean flattened his hands on the counter, breathing deeply. A wild hope was replacing the surprise of seeing Castiel on his doorstep. He ran through all the possibilities that might come to pass.
“Sam let you know about the address?” Dean asked as the coffee brewed. Castiel belatedly removed his coat.
“Yes.” Cas looked around before relaxing his stiff posture. “If the offer still stands…?”
The stupor that Dean had been caught in faded. “Yes. Of course.” He crossed the space between them, feeling the chill rising from Castiel’s skin as he came close. He didn’t leave a respectable distance between them. Instead he wrapped his arms around Cas, plastered his body against him. Their lips were a breath apart when he’d finished.
The hope Dean felt was reflected in Castiel’s eyes. “I can write from anywhere, you know.” Castiel’s voice shook as he spoke.
Dean let another yes slip loose as he pressed his lips to Cas’ pouring his want and hope and everything that he’d never say into the kiss. Castiel was just as fierce, holding Dean close as if to never let him go.
“Best Christmas present ever,” Dean said when they finally parted. He couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up inside of him. Castiel responded with a throaty laugh of his own, following Dean through to the bedroom. This year’s Christmas seemed to be shaping up to be the best one yet.
Title: This Is Not Me
Author: akadougal
Recipient: dizzzylu
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 6,700
Summary: All human AU: When Dean complains of being bored while visiting his brother in LA, he ends up with an unexpected job. Turns out being a stand in does have some downsides as well as some unexpected perks.
Author notes: This was marvellous fun to write. Thanks to my beta who shall remain nameless until after the reveal. Based on one of the plots in Love Actually.
“You’ll get your own IMDB page,” Dean muttered to himself, letting the wardrobe person fit a shirt around his shoulders. “It’ll be good for you to get out of the house.”
The bustle of the film set had been fascinating for the first ten minutes. Now all Dean had done was stand about and wait endlessly before being dressed in some other guy’s clothes. He was nothing more than a glorified tailor’s dummy, a mannequin. Stand there. Pose. Hands up. That was the extent of his interaction with another human being all morning.
This wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined when he’d come out to visit Sam in LA. He had expected it to be like when they were young and living in each other’s pockets but with beer, admittedly. Sam had been around that first weekend - staying up late, watching shitty action movies, eating too much salt and fat - but then his office had called, summoned him in and Dean had watched his baby brother suit up and head off to be the lawyer he’d spent all those expensive years at school aiming to be.
Doing nothing in a strange city got boring fast. So a friend of a friend of Sam’s had set him up with this stand-in gig. Film making was really disappointing him. There was no glamour in any of this movie making. Instead he was cold, a little hungry and fed up of standing around.
The wardrobe mistress patted his shoulder. “Final set-up of the morning. Lunch after this.” Dean liked the sound of that. “Bring in Cas!” she called to someone over his shoulder.
This was the moment Dean guessed he was looking forward to the most: meeting his counterpart. He pasted on a grin he knew would charm any girl, a grin that would say “I’m a good guy but also fun”. Polite. Well brought up. Manners his father had drilled into him and Sam. But Dean’s manners and his hand faltered somewhat when he realised that Cas was no chick. Wasn’t a woman or a girl either. ‘Cas’ was a guy, dressed in jeans and a soft buttoned shirt and regarding Dean’s frozen, half out-stretched hand with interest.
“Hey there,” Dean eventually managed to get out the word which had seemed stuck in his throat. “I’m Dean.”
The man looked at him with a hard to read expression. It wasn’t wary or anxious but it didn’t seem overly pleased either. It was neutral. He reached forward to gingerly shake Dean’s hand. “Cas - Castiel.”
“That’s an interesting name.” Dean could hear the rise and fall of Sam’s girlfriend’s fake enthusiasm in his intonation. Castiel dropped his hand.
“My family is religious-“ religious nuts more like, Dean thought. “They named me after an angel.” Cas seemed to stop there, not willing to offer any more information. Dean couldn’t blame him.
“Well I’m named after my grandmother. So there’s that. I got a girl’s name. At least your angel is a guy.” Dean was aware he was babbling, trying to erase Cas' first impression of him. After all, he'd be working with the guy.
Castiel listened politely, nodded, and turned to take his position.
Dean was cursing himself internally, pasting a polite smile on whenever Castiel’s puzzled eyes met his. He should have read the script Sam’s friend of a friend of a friend had waved in his direction. This wasn’t a regular film. Well, it was. In the way that there were actors and cameras and costumes and shit. And it wasn’t like Dean was going to do porn. It was just a scene in a movie. That’s all. It just involved a little too much skin for Dean to be entirely comfortable. The plot seemed to revolve around these two ordinary blokes who fall desperately in love and then everything collapses around them. Dean was standing in for some typical Hollywood actor, all muscles and tan. That had been one of the reasons they wanted him. He was still pretty built but not a UFC fighter or anything. Being a fireman had a few perks.
Castiel was standing in for one of those emo-hipster actors. He had smooth pale skin, the odd freckle and mole doing nothing to blemish it. And he had these narrow hips, lean, slender. And when he unbuttoned his shirt to let it hang open, Dean could see a narrow trail of dark hair running under his waistband. Dean could hardly meet the guy’s eyes when he was told to palm his hips, hold on to the spur of bone and pull Cas towards him. They were stuck like that for the 10 longest minutes of Dean's life while the lighting was fussed with and the tiny little bits of tape were placed on the floor under their feet.
Finally there was the freeing sound of “LUNCH!” and Dean was finally able to let go of Cas. Wardrobe hadn’t bothered to refasten Castiel’s buttons and he seemed unaware of the way the material was fluttering around his shoulders, first hiding then revealing more of his chest. And Dean couldn’t look away - didn’t want to. Castiel sat opposite him, chatting to people he knew, while Dean wolfed down the burger he’d been handed. He thought about eating healthy, thought about sticking to salad, but couldn't bring himself to care like Sammy did all the time.. Dean Winchester didn’t need to watch his figure like these movie types. Soon it’ll be back to Kansas, back to his normal life. He knew it was a vain hope that none of his workmates found out about his foray into gay porn. Or something. It wasn’t porn, it was just sex. It was a legit movie, dammit.
Although the way Castiel lapped at his tea, tiny tip of his tongue sliding out to clean the last droplets from his lips made Dean’s mouth go dry. The way his chest rose and fall, innocent breaths, muscles flexing and turning made Dean’s breath come shorter. The way his skin shone even in the muted flat light of Craft Services made Dean break out into a slight sweat. Dean thought desperately about car maintenance and tax returns, anything to stop his body from making a fool of himself in public.
When they returned to set and Dean was told to remove his shirt, he froze. He was facing Castiel and his eyes were fixed on Cas’ bright blue eyes that seemed to see right through him. Dean couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He couldn’t even throw up no matter how much he wanted to. Castiel, shirtless himself, didn’t look angry or disgusted like Dean expected. Instead the blank expression on his face softened somewhat and he reached out to lift Dean’s shirt up. The unexpected warmth of his knuckles on Dean’s skin made his paralysis vanish. He lifted his hands and let Castiel pull the shirt off and toss it to the waiting wardrobe staff. Castiel didn’t look at them, however, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean. Dean smiled weakly and let himself be manhandled into the best position. Castiel seemed a little less standoffish than before, helping Dean hold himself against the rigid wood of the four poster bed that loomed large in the room.
At the end of the day, which Dean reckoned was more about standing about than actual filming, Castiel shocked him with a slight smile. “Will I see you here again tomorrow?” Dean nodded without really thinking and couldn’t even keep a small smile from his face. Then he folded himself in the tiny rental Sam had organised for him and headed off back to Sam’s house, thoughts clouded by a pair of blue eyes that seemed to see right through him.
The next day started a little better. Dean knew where to park, where to go. They were still in the bedroom. This morning, however, they were down to their underwear. Dean knew his nipples were reacting to the chill. They were like hard pebbles determined to poke out someone’s eyes near enough. Dean tried chafing them a little to warm them before he realised what he looked like. It didn’t even help as his hands were freezing cold.
Castiel was with him all day, from the very start. And Castiel was equally as naked. He ignored Dean’s blush as he settled on the bed beside him, kneeling up on legs that were muscular and strong. Runner’s legs, Dean thought, idly tracing the muscles up Cas’ leg with his eyes to the place where the material of his boxer’s cut across the smooth white skin.
“Morning,” Dean stuttered out.
The blank mask lifted off of Cas for a moment, showing the merest hint of amusement. “Good morning, Dean. I hope your night went well.”
Dean had tossed and turned for hours before he’d slept but there was no way he was letting Cas know that. “Yeah. I’m staying with my brother and he snores like you would not believe. Rivals a baby hippopotamus.”
Castiel let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “I, too, suffer from annoying brothers.” And then it was as if a dam broke between them. There were no more awkward silences. Dean talked about his job, about his brother, Sam and his girlfriend who was much too good for Dean but always good to him. Castiel was slightly reticent but responded appropriately, seemingly able to ignore the way he had to sit between Dean’s splayed thighs, his ass snugged up against Dean’s family jewels. The family jewels that hadn’t seen any action in far too long and that Dean had to talk rather firmly to, to stay put. Luckily the chill in the room and all the other people standing around dealt with any interest that got beyond Dean’s ability to control.
Cas ended up holding the wooden footboard and Dean kneeling up behind him, hands on those slender hips, warm under Dean’s mildly sweaty palms. Dean kept apologising, especially when they asked Cas to slide his boxers down a little and suddenly Dean was faced with the fact he wasn’t so much holding onto hips and admiring the elegant arch of Cas’ back as much as groping his ass.
“I’m really sorry,” he said again, spreading his hands wide and letting his thumbs rest at the top of the crease of Castiel’s ass. Cas turned to throw Dean a look over his shoulder as if to say shut up and just get on with it. Dean stared at the ceiling rather than count the moles on Cas’ back, the vertebrae that were just begging to be bitten. He should at least buy the guy a drink first.
And suddenly that was a marvellous idea.
It still took Dean a while to work up to it. Cas was sitting in his lap by then, those deceptively strong thighs wrapped around Dean’s waist, Dean’s arms around his shoulders. Dean was still processing the direction to “thrust up into Cas” when the words spilled out of his mouth.
“You doing anything tonight?” Dean concentrated hard on the rhythm they were building up and on telling his cock to pay no attention to the man writhing in his lap. The flash of a camera in his face seemed to help with that.
“Laundry. Supposedly.” Then Castiel seemed to catch up with what Dean was asking. There was a moment when Dean tried not to breathe when Castiel relaxed a little, another one of those almost non-existent smiles crossing his face. “Although that can be left for another time.”
“Would you… I mean. Only if you want.” Dean realised that all his game had left the building. No, it had not just left the building. It had left the building, boarded a plane and was halfway to New York.
“Yes,” Castiel replied. “Do you like burgers?”
It took Dean a moment to think about that. Castiel filled in the silence.
“Because you wouldn’t know where to get the best ones, not being local.” Dean nodded, full of wonder. He’d thought Castiel might be one of these hippy types, like Sam with his local and organic and seasonal fucking rabbit food. “And we could have beer.”
“Only if you want. But yeah.” Dean knew he was beaming, he could feel his cheeks hurt with the spread of his smile. Cas seemed to find it funny, eyes shining even bluer with amusement. Dean couldn’t really find it in himself to care, and ignored the churning sensation in his stomach. “Just checking. This is a date, yeah?”
“Yes, Dean.” Castiel’s smile seemed broader this time.
Castiel was waving off someone in a car when Dean came out of the wardrobe trailer. He hadn’t thought much about the potential of a date when getting dressed that morning in his usual plain t-shirt, overshirt, jeans that were overdue for a wash and boots that had a little too much dirt from stomping around the sights of LA that Sam thought he should see. Castiel was dressed much more professionally in a suit with a ridiculous trench coat over his arm.
Dean thought about insisting on being driving back to Sam’s first but shrugged to himself instead. It wasn’t like Castiel hadn’t seen him out of his clothes already.
Castiel tucked a cell into his pocket and gave Dean a quick once over that made Dean realise that any interest Dean had in Cas was definitely returned. It made the churning in his stomach turn into something more like a burn. Castiel was looser off set, quicker to lose the neutral expression and laugh at Dean’s attempts at jokes and at the way Dean swore at the tiny pedals in the car.
“My baby is a proper car, not this tin can,” Dean found himself explaining, telling Cas all about his dad’s old car that had become his on his sixteenth birthday and how he’d looked after it ever since. That topic ran out as they pulled up in front of the type of bar Dean would be happy to frequent at home. Dean was worried that he was dominating the conversation but Castiel didn’t look unhappy as he led them to a booth in the back.
Castiel seemed happy to talk about sports and cars and manly, manly pursuits for quite a bit, actually. He drank his beer with an odd careful air, keeping it close by his side at all times, sipping rather than chugging. Dean only noticed because he finished his own while Cas had only drunk a third of his. Dean ordered an orange juice rather than another beer.
“So do you do stand-in duty all the time?” That should be a safe topic, work. To his surprise, Castiel blushed. After all the - let’s be honest - nudity and groping that Cas had handled without turning a hair, Dean was surprised to see his reaction.
“I want to be a writer. I have a novel. And some short stories that are going to be published.” Castiel played with his napkin. “I do the stand in stuff to make some money while I wait.”
Dean leaned across the booth, totally coincidentally sliding his foot in between Cas’ feet. He thought about moving it but quite liked the sensation. “That’s cool man. I’m not judging. Tell me more about it.”
It was if he’d flicked a switch. Castiel told him about his college courses and the creative writing professors and everything. The mild, controlled man who hadn’t reacted to even the feel of Dean’s cock riding his ass earlier seemed to have vanished. Dean liked this new Castiel, even when he wound down, slowly slipping back behind the cover of his shy persona. There was something Clark Kent about it that Dean really liked. He was pretty much all surface, near enough, heart on his sleeve and all. Cas was different. Maybe it was him being from LA and all.
Dean realised that Castiel had stopped talking a moment too late. He was conscious of being caught staring at him warmly. Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Turned out he only had a couple more days of stand-in duty left when he arrived at set the next morning. The guy he’d been covering for had recovered from the flu that had struck him down and he would be returning on the Friday. Dean nodded obligingly - he was heading home next week anyway - but there was a pang of something aching on the inside. Only two more days meant a very limited time with Cas. Which was not something he was entirely happy about. It also meant two more days and some other guy was going to be laying his hands on that translucent white skin that would bruise pretty easily if someone didn’t take care. Another lurch of his guts - Dean thought his belly was definitely getting too attached to the idea of him and Cas - and Dean knew it for jealousy.
He was still happy to see Castiel when they came out of wardrobe. And he fixed an extra coffee at craft services (the lingo was starting to sink in) and handed it over to combat the chill of the set. Cas raised his eyebrows at the taste.
“You got it right.” He sounded surprised.
“Half and half and two sugars. It’s not rocket science, dude.” Dean sipped his own coffee to hide the flush of pleasure that shot through him. This crush was starting to cross all crushing lines if this was the way he was feeling. Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder, a more intimate touch than any of the groping that they’d been put through yesterday for some reason. “Thank you.”
The weird way things were filmed meant that today they were more clothed. Dean was growing to hate the pin striped shirt Cas wore. It wasn’t him - too hip, trendy. Not like the man who’d waxed lyrical about words, images and symbolism. It was too forced. Dean at least was in a shirt he knew he made look good. And now he was paying attention, he couldn’t help flexing his biceps to make the sleeves tighten across his arms. Cas’ eyes followed the movement and his tongue dipped out to moisten his lips.
Moist lips were a theme of the day, as Dean ended up pinned against various pieces of uncomfortable furniture while Castiel snugged close to him and kept his face close. Dean kept dragging his tongue over his lips. The intimacy of shared breath was new, somehow more tense than all that nudity yesterday. The way Castiel’s eyes searched his seemed to drown out all the noise, the lights, the other people. Dean lost himself in Cas and the warmth from his body. On their infrequent breaks, he stayed close, sharing water. At lunch they shared one side of a table, thighs snugged up close on the bench. Then it was Castiel’s turn to ask if Dean was busy that evening.
“No,” Dean said immediately. Then he remembered what was happening. “Yes.”
Castiel rocked back on his heels. “Which?”
“Sam is having friends round. For a pre-Christmas party. And I should be there.” Castiel turned to go, his face wiped blank again. “You can come too.” Dean knew the words rushed out of him but it was enough to make Castiel turn with that faint smile. Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, mildly uncomfortable, before grabbing a pen and a pad of paper to scribble down the address. Castiel took it and slotted it carefully into his wallet. Then they had to endure another three hours of standing close and watching every thought shift across the other’s face.
When they went their separate ways, Dean sat in the parking lot for a while, eyes shut and forehead resting on the steering wheel. His mind flickered through a thousand scenarios of Sam’s reaction to the fact he was bringing a date to the party. And not just any date. This bright, intelligent, sane guy who was so far from Dean’s usual type as to almost be opposite. Dean banged his head off the too-small steering wheel a few more times before switching the engine on. It didn’t matter what Sam thought, not really. All that mattered was that Dean wanted Cas to be there, to introduce him to a part of his life, let him see a little of who Dean was beyond the cars and beer. And he wanted Castiel to like it too.
He was doomed.
In the end, Dean was used and abused as general handyman when he arrived back at Sam’s, who treated the invitation of another guest with a ‘that’s nice, Dean’ pat on the shoulder. Apparently a pre-Christmas party organised by Jess’n’Sam meant that the decorations that had been lying in boxes at the foot of Dean’s guest room bed needed to be hung, right now, all over the house. Dean had tried to remain pleasant in the face of Jess’ sudden transformation into Sergeant Major. He had just retrieved a bottle of beer from the fridge when there was a knock at the door.
Castiel was wearing a pair of jeans and a soft sweater that hung too loose on him for Dean’s liking. He held out a bottle of wine with a red ribbon bow round the neck. And he was shaking.
Dean leaned against the door jam. “Hey.” He’d spent most of his day staring at Castiel and he now realised that he would never be able to drink his fill.
“I got the right address at least,” Cas said, voice betraying his nervousness.
Jess hung over Dean’s shoulder, hand outstretched. Cas placed the bottle of wine in it and shuffled nervously through the door when Dean stepped back, careful to keep his eyes on Castiel. More people were making their way into the yard now and Dean placed his hand low on Castiel’s back to steer him into the kitchen, uncomfortable awkward silence firmly in place. Sam looked up from the eggnog briefly, nodded, then raised his head for a proper look that made Dean step in front of Castiel and eye Sam with intent.
“You must be Castiel,” Sam said, tipping a generous serving into a cheery red paper cup. He handed it over to Cas and fixed the ‘you look okay but I’m not sure’ look on his face. Cas nodded, took the cup and looked at the yellow gloop. Dean pulled another beer from the fridge and nudged Cas out towards the deck at the back of the house. Sam had installed these fancy outdoor heaters so the evening chill was nothing to worry about. Hell of a lot milder than in Kansas anyway.
Castiel swiftly abandoned his cup in favour of the offered beer. “It’s a nice house.”
Dean looked around. “It’s not home,” was the best he could come up with. It wasn’t. It screamed respectable suburbia and whilst the house in Kansas wasn’t quite up to its standards of desirability, the battered white railing and open lawn meant more to Dean than all the leather furniture and tasteful artwork put together.
“Tell me about your home,” Castiel asked, taking a seat on the antique teak lounger. Dean looked at the seat beside it but decided to settle on the lounger too. He lifted Cas’ legs and slid underneath his calves. Castiel stiffened then relaxed back against the high back. Dean tipped back his beer before starting to tell Castiel about growing up playing baseball and building dens in the backyard with Sam.
Castiel didn’t respond with any stories of his own. Instead he drank up all of Dean’s stories, beer forgotten. Occasionally a smoker would stumble out from the kitchen, light up, invade their space for a moment before stubbing out the cigarette in the potted palm and heading indoors again. The noise of the party was louder, music starting up and voices chiming out greetings. Sam looked harried when he stepped out onto the deck, hair curling with sweat. He handed Dean a fresh beer then headed indoors to replace Castiel’s as well.
“Need to-“ He jerked his thumb back to point indoors when he came back with another bottle fresh from the fridge. “Jess’ boss just arrived.”
“No trouble, Sam.” Dean waved him away and turned back to Castiel who was examining his watch. Dean gently turned Cas’ wrist towards himself. “It’s early… Okay. Not so early.”
“I should go. There is work tomorrow.” Castiel turned so he was sitting beside Dean on the lounger. The twinkling lights Sam had strung along the railing on the deck were like fireflies. It wasn’t dark, not really, but the light was dim and Dean was feeling loose enough from the beer to just have enough courage…
He turned to Castiel, placing his hand on the stubble rough cheek and turning Cas’ face towards him. Cas didn’t resist. They went beyond sharing breath, Dean seeing Castiel’s eyes flutter closed before he gently kissed him. Cas’ lips were softer than Dean had expected and Cas opened his mouth beneath Dean’s faster than he’d hoped for. The kiss deepened, lips pressing more firmly, hands coming to grab at shoulders, faces. It was only the sudden lurch of the lounger when Dean tried to turn to press more fully against Cas that split them apart.
Castiel kept his eyes shut for a moment longer, dark lashes fanned on his warm pink cheeks. Dean let his thumb soothe over Cas’ reddened lips, unable to resist the temptation.
“I don’t have to go just yet,” Cas said when Dean pulled back to let him have his space. In contrast to his words, however, Castiel stood up. Dean knew he should be annoyed that he let loose a small sound of confused frustration but he was going to blame it all on the fact that all the blood that should have been going to his brain was rapidly rushing elsewhere in his body. Castiel chuckled, unexpectedly, before pressing his hands to Dean’s shoulders and guiding him back on the lounger. He followed, swinging his leg over to straddle Dean, resting his weight carefully to stop the pernickety piece of furniture from tipping.
Then his mouth was back on Dean’s, hands framing Dean’s face and all frustration, worry, thought, vanished as Castiel picked right up where they’d left off.
Dean’s last day as a glamorous part of the movie industry was an exercise in temptation. The fact he had to stand, in various forms of undress, pressed against a warm, soft, comforting Castiel and know, just know, that were they alone in either one of their bedrooms that this would have a very different outcome. Knowing that Cas and he were within reaching distance of that kind of action meant he had to focus totally on the here and now and not allow his imagination to run wild. Like thinking about how Cas’ nipple might taste. Just for example.
The end of the day wasn’t marked by anything special. Dean tucked the handful of cash into his wallet and turned to see Castiel waiting for him.
“Your last day?” Cas asked, unnecessarily. His eyes, those eyes that seemed to see through Dean, were fixed on the tarmac in front of his toes. Dean refused to look into the middle distance.
“Yeah. And I’m heading home tomorrow.” There was something building at the back of his throat and he coughed to clear it. “You should come visit. Might be fuel for your next novel.”
Castiel fixed him with his eyes, finally. And Castiel was as unreadable as he’d always been when he shut down, played neutral. “I suppose you want to come home with me. Or perhaps you have to spend tonight with your brother.”
“And you could finally do your laundry.” Dean bit back any more hurtful remarks. “I’d like to spend time with you, Cas. Like to see where it goes. But I can’t pretend that I’m going to stay. I have my life to get back to.”
Castiel nodded and Dean thought that’s all she wrote, folks. They’d shake hands, maybe. Go their separate ways.
“Come home with me,” Cas offered.
There was a selection of take away menus pinned to the board beside the front door. Cas gestured at them, taking off his coat and shoes. Dean shuffled inside the apartment and took off his boots, stripping his socks off as well. Being in Castiel’s space was like another layer being peeled off his mystery.
A cat - kitten - with paws too big for its body curled around Cas’ ankles before peering up at Dean fearlessly. Cas petted it before straightening and leading the way through the open living room to the closed doors at the back of the space.
“Bathroom. Gabriel’s bedroom. And my bedroom.” Castiel pointed to each door in turn before opening his door.
Dean backed away. “We could eat. You could introduce me to the cat…” He was interrupted by the fiercely pleading glance that Castiel sent over his shoulder. “Or not.”
“There is no time to waste, Dean.” Castiel was already stripping off his clothes, arms tangled in his shirt. “You are leaving.”
Dean knew he was looking forward to returning home. Not to work, because who really liked work, but to his own bed, his own space. His friends and the familiar sights and sounds. A place where he knew the grocery store and the roads. There was a spike of temptation though, an urge to say “I’ll stay”. Dean tamped down on it and pulled off his own shirt, coming to wrap his arms around Castiel and hold him close.
“No time to waste, sure. But we also got all night. I’m not going anywhere right now.” Cas stilled under his hands or perhaps at the words that spilled out of Dean without him really thinking them over. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”
They kissed again. There was an edge of panic, of hysteria almost, to the way Castiel’s lips devoured and pushed against Dean’s mouth. Dean took it slow, taking care to kiss every part of Cas’ mouth, pull his bottom lip with his teeth. Every trick and twist that Dean had ever learned about kissing were poured into that one single moment. His hands roamed over Cas’ back, holding him close, soothing, pressing. Touching. Grounding.
Castiel’s hands were pressed tight to Dean’s body in return, holding him in place, almost afraid to roam just in case Dean was to slip free and vanish. Dean relaxed against Castiel. There was none of the stiff awkward posing that had framed their time on set. Instead they melted into each other. True closeness.
When Dean moved away from Cas, a protesting sound came from Cas’ lips and the hands tried to keep him close. Dean gently unfastened Cas’ hands, keeping hold, and led him to the bed, white sheets neatly stretched over the frame. It was difficult to manoeuvre but Dean managed to get himself laid back, pliant and offering. Castiel followed, kneeling up between Dean’s splayed thighs, interlocked hands raised between them.
Dean was aware of the pulse of his cock pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. He could see a matching bulge in Cas’ pants and there was a red flush spreading down his rapidly lifting chest. Dean didn’t care about that at the moment. He was lost once more in the depths of Castiel’s eyes that seemed to pin him in place like some butterfly on a card. He let himself be on display in a way that all those eyes regarding him on set had not managed to put him. Finally Castiel broke his hands free of the grip and finally - oh, finally - went for the waistband of Dean’s pants.
They were completely naked and rocking against each other, kisses becoming sloppy as Dean used his tongue to widen Cas’ open mouth, tasting deeper. Cas responded by fucking his own tongue into Dean’s mouth. Hands never stopped moving until Dean had to pull back, catch his breath. He was on the knife edge, a hair’s breadth from coming. Castiel seemed equally close, chest heaving with the deep breaths he panted in and out. Dean let his hands hold either side of Cas’ ribcage, cradling it above him, feeling every movement. Castiel brought his forehead down to touch Dean’s.
“Can I…?” Dean watched as the blue in Castiel’s eyes was swallowed inexorably by his swollen pupils. The way Cas’ hips were rutting against him left him in no doubt as to what Castiel wanted. Dean palmed his cheek once more, feeling that electricity of connection from earlier.
“You got stuff?” Dean could hear his voice deeper and rasping. He wasn’t sure if it was from disuse or desire. Cas didn’t answer him, not verbally. Instead he stretched up to fumble inside the drawer of his nightstand. Lube and a condom packet were obvious in Castiel’s hands when he returned. He looked almost lost, holding them in his open palms. Dean wriggled his legs free from under Castiel, kneeling up to face him again, feeling their cocks rub against each other when he pressed forward and kissed Castiel deeply.
Dean was embarrassed to admit it, when he pulled back. “Just- Go slow. It’s been a while.” Castiel’s eyes looked a little wild, open wide, eyebrows arched. Dean bit once more at Cas’ puffed lips before flipping onto his belly and spreading his legs. Castiel’s hands were hesitant on his hips, his ass. Then Dean held the lube click open. He braced himself, only to melt under the gentle swipe of Castiel’s hand up his spine, to guide his head to the side, to feel Castiel bend over him to kiss, tongue clumsy at his mouth.
The hesitance was gone when Castiel pressed his finger in, burn radiating up Dean’s spine, making him arch up off the bed. Castiel seemed to know what he was doing, one finger rapidly being joined by another, a crook, a twist and Dean was mewling into the pillow.
“Ready?” Cas’ voice was barely audible. Dean felt it through his bones, through his skin, through every place their bodies were already joined together. He gasped out his yes, barely biting back a begging please. He had a moment’s respite, watching over his shoulder as Castiel drew on the condom, lubed his cock up, grabbed at the base when he caught Dean’s eager eyes. Then there was no turning back.
Castiel seemed to want to draw out the moment for as long as he could. Dean could forgive him that. For all that there was the pressure to rut back, to come hard and fast, he knew he wanted this night to never end. He could be frozen here, for eternity, for some archaeologist to unearth in some far imagined future and he’d be happy, Castiel panting into his twisted mouth, biting at Dean’s neck, his shoulder, as he rolled his hips slow, deliberate and steady.
The morning came as mornings were prone to do. Dean didn’t want to move, hurting in all the right ways. They’d managed a round two, frenzied, face to face, in the depths of the night. He was contemplating round three when Castiel came back into the bedroom, dressed in his ridiculous suit and tie. His left sock had a hole in the toe. Dean could darn that for him. He’d learned it from his dad.
He wanted to fix it for Castiel.
“Lock up when you have to go - the spare keys are by the door. Use the shower. There’s coffee in the pot.” Castiel was staring at a point a couple of yards above Dean’s head. The wall must be fascinating. “Gabriel’ll be back around four. You probably want to be gone by then.” Castiel turned to leave.
Dean scrambled out of the sheets, ignoring the discomfort of being naked and sticky. “I don’t want to go. If I didn’t have to.”
Castiel looked at him, neutral mask back in place. “Back to your real life, Dean? You have to go.”
Dean knew what Cas meant. Didn’t mean it hurt less. “Anytime you want a break from all the Hollywood glamour, right? You come see me?”
Castiel nodded but Dean knew it for the polite dismissal it was. He kissed Castiel, just one more time, careful to not muss his suit or his hair much as he wanted to. “Cas…?”
“Goodbye, Dean.” Castiel grabbed Dean’s shoulder, holding him tight for a moment, any more words caught in his throat. He turned and was out of the door even before Dean knew what was happening. It was like he’d vanished.
Dean gathered his clothes, forgoing the shower. He wanted the evidence of Cas on his body for just that little while longer, just before he headed home.
Epilogue
Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot and gathered his gear. Night shift was a beast at the best of times and doubly unpleasant in the December dark. He was halfway to the door before he noticed the bent figure slumped on the steps.
“Hey. You okay man?” The dawn light made it difficult to make out any details until he came closer. Dean had to rub at his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating or just dreaming. Cas. Sitting here outside Dean’s door. He’d had a dream like this, once or twice, since coming back from LA. Sometimes he was naked.
In his dreams, Castiel tended to just look at him, eyes he remembered so well pinioning him in place. The rusty unused gravel of Cas’ voice startled him out of his daze.
“Dean. I hoped…” Castiel looked at him then and Dean was shocked by the stubble, the bags under his eyes and the sheer exhaustion etched on every part of Cas’ face.
“How long- No, nevermind. You want some coffee?” Dean jangled his keys and made a move towards the door. Castiel stood gracefully, rumpled trench coat no proof against the morning chill. They moved in silence, a combination of ingrained courtesy for Dean’s neighbours and the result of too many thoughts whirling around his head. He had a million questions.
His apartment was warm as they made their way in. Dean cast a critical eye around but it was tidy enough. Cramped, sure. But no take out cartons or beer bottles lying around. Dean flung his keys onto the table by the doorway, peeled off his boots. By the time he’d made it to the kitchenette and flicked on the coffee maker, Castiel had slowly come into the room. He hadn’t taken off his coat.
Dean flattened his hands on the counter, breathing deeply. A wild hope was replacing the surprise of seeing Castiel on his doorstep. He ran through all the possibilities that might come to pass.
“Sam let you know about the address?” Dean asked as the coffee brewed. Castiel belatedly removed his coat.
“Yes.” Cas looked around before relaxing his stiff posture. “If the offer still stands…?”
The stupor that Dean had been caught in faded. “Yes. Of course.” He crossed the space between them, feeling the chill rising from Castiel’s skin as he came close. He didn’t leave a respectable distance between them. Instead he wrapped his arms around Cas, plastered his body against him. Their lips were a breath apart when he’d finished.
The hope Dean felt was reflected in Castiel’s eyes. “I can write from anywhere, you know.” Castiel’s voice shook as he spoke.
Dean let another yes slip loose as he pressed his lips to Cas’ pouring his want and hope and everything that he’d never say into the kiss. Castiel was just as fierce, holding Dean close as if to never let him go.
“Best Christmas present ever,” Dean said when they finally parted. He couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up inside of him. Castiel responded with a throaty laugh of his own, following Dean through to the bedroom. This year’s Christmas seemed to be shaping up to be the best one yet.