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The white-collar sitting in front of him blinks owlishly. Like she's too slow to get what he's saying. “I apologize. I meant nothing by it.”
Dean sneers. Yeah, right. What, this office dyke is gonna hit on his femme, but sure, she means nothing by it?
And. Okay. The thing is- him and Lis are kinda on the “off” part of the on-and-off relationship they’ve got going on, but still. They’re bound to be back on soon, and suddenly someone else is flirting with her?
He might be a little drunk. Not relevant.
“Right,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you ain’t got the guts to back it up?”
Lisa touches his elbow, and he pulls away from it in anger. He knows it's not a big deal, okay, he knows Lisa’s just fine, but- it's about the principle of the matter, alright?
The butch in front of him presses his mouth into line, frustration creasing his eyebrows closer together. She's still wearing office attire, black slacks and blazer with a white button-up, her tie loosened just slightly. Dean- hell, he wouldn't say he's into other butches on a regular basis, definitely not enough to make it a habit, but this one’s. Not bad to look at. Really pisses him off, though.
“Alright, alright, enough with the dick measuring,” Ellen says, snapping Dean into focus. “If you're gonna fight, do it outside. Not in my bar.”
Dean looks around- they've got eyes on them, him and this mystery dyke. He can pick out Sam, Jess, Charlie, and Jo looking at him with concern, and he can hear Lisa murmuring in his ear to calm him down. He looks back at the suit- she's still seated, with her eyes downcast now, like she's trying to avoid a fight. Coward. Then, don't hide those shiny blues from me. Fuck.
“Whatever,” Dean says with a scoff, turning around and heading for the door. “I’m going for a smoke.”
He lets the back door slam on his way out, but it doesn’t even register in his brain. He pulls the cigs out of his back pocket and searches his pockets for a lighter, swearing under his breath as he does so. Goddamnit. Just his fucking luck-
“Do you need a light?”
The voice startles him, and he flinches back as he turns his head towards it. He hadn’t even heard the door open and shut again. He lets his shoulders relax once he realizes who it is, but the glare on his face stays put. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Of course.” Office butch gets up in his space to hold out his lighter, silent as he holds it to the cigarette dangling between Dean’s lips. He tries to tamp down on the blush rising to his face. “We got off on the wrong foot. I wanted to apologize.”
“Wrong foot.” He scoffs, takes a drag of smoke. “That’s what you wanna call it?”
“I told you,” she says. “I meant nothing by it. Truly. I’ve never…”
“Never what? ”
She looks around, then leans in close like she’s really got a dark secret to tell. Dean leans in, too, holding his breath when they get close. “I have never been to a dyke bar before.”
He honest-to-God laughs. Throws his head back and laughs, holding his stomach as he does so. “Fuck,” he says, grinning and slapping her shoulder. “I haven’t laughed like that in years.”
She’s blushing now, but a smile’s twitching up on her lips. It looks good on him. He offers over the cig and she takes it gratefully. He tries to tear his gaze away from her lips wrapping around it.
“Man, if you thought that was a secret… ”
“It is really not my scene,” she mutters. “I don’t- I work quite a lot.”
“Uh-huh,” he says. “You ain’t one of those white collars that think you’re better than us working-class folk, are you?”
“Of course not!”
“Good. Name’s Dean.”
“Castiel.”
He makes a face at her, and she tries to hide her amusement by looking back at the sky. His eyes, though, God. Not even just the color- Dean didn’t know anyone could make fucking eye crinkles look so good. “ Castiel? What, you pick that one out yourself?”
She breathes out smoke and hands the cigarette back. “I did not,” she says. “I don’t know if anything else would suit me.”
“Uh-huh,” Dean says. “What about Cas?”
She smiles again. “I like that.”
They stand in silence for a while. It’s nice outside tonight- the September air isn’t too cold yet, but it’s much better than the heat they’ve been bombarded with all summer. If Dean had his way, though, there’d be bars a little further from the city- let the stars come out to play, away from all these big city lights.
Cas looks at the sky like he sees somethin’ out there, though. Dean thinks maybe he can see the moon reflected in her eyes if he looks hard enough.
“I truly was not flirting with her,” he says. Looks at Dean with those big blues, like it’s something he really needs him to know. Fuck, when did his mouth get so dry? He tears his gaze away, searches the sky for whatever Cas looks to be finding up there.
“Sure,” he says.
“I’m not…” She clears her throat. “I don’t go for, ah. Femmes.”
He looks at her like she just told him she’s got a bomb in her suit pocket. The air feels a little hotter, and he resists the urge to tug at the collar of his t-shirt.
Okay. Reassess. It’s not that he’s never had a good ol’ roll in the hay with another butch before, alright? It’s just. Not really something people admit out loud. Certainly, you don’t admit you’re only into other butches to another butch.
Jesus. Sam would kill him if he told them he was thinking any of this. Something like Dean, heteronormativity is a real problem in gay and lesbian bars, you don’t need to contribute to it and on and on and on . Kid goes to some damn liberal college and comes back spouting essays. Shit . He needs to get his head on straight.
Come on, back to the present. Cas isn’t looking at him anymore, but he’s got this knowing smirk as he leans his head up against the wall. Dean uses this as an excuse to look at her- really look at her. Strong nose. Eye bags that look like more of a feature than an after-effect. Her hair’s longer than his, but it’s still short, and disheveled in that nothing can keep me down sorta way.
Goddamn fuck hell holy shit. She’s hot.
Okay. Get it together. She’s got a head start on him, catching him off guard and flustering him like this- god, been awhile since a femme could do that- but he can flirt right back. It’s basically second nature to him. He’s got this.
“Jeez, Cas, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re hitting on me.”
“Would that bother you?” Her voice, fuck , Her voice. She asks it like she’s hitting on him, sure, but also like she’s genuinely concerned.
“Not at all, sweetheart,” he says. He darts his tongue out to lick his lips, and watches Cas’ eyes follow the movement.
“Good,” Cas breathes, inching forward to lean in close again. He follows her, meeting her in the middle, he can feel her breath on her face-
The back door slams open and he jumps back, startled. “ Dean! There you are! Dude, we thought you killed him!”
“Sam,” Dean groans, slapping his forehead. “You have the worst fucking timing, dude. Seriously. ”
Cas is blushing now, lips parted, and god fucking damnit he looks so good. “I should… go,” he says, starting to push herself from the wall and walk away.
“Wait!” Dean grabs her forearm. “Um. Come back next Saturday, alright? Will you?”
She nods, a little smile playing up on her lips, and walks away. Dean sighs and leans back against the wall, covering his face with his hands.
“Dude,” Sam says.
“Shut up.”
“ Dude ,” they say again, a shit-eating grin on their face. “No way.”
“Shut up!”
“No, come on, let me have my moment,” they say. “You’ve been on-and-off with Lisa for, what, a year? One butch comes by and you’re all, come back soon !”
“I’m gonna kill you,” Dean groans, but there’s no bite to it. Then, “Do you think she’s gonna wear a suit again?”
Sam just laughs and drags him back inside.
***
“She’s not coming.”
“It’s only 8 o’clock, Dean, get a grip.”
“You and I both know she’s probably got a 9 to 5!”
“Yeah, well, maybe he’s a workaholic. And just ‘cause you come straight from work to here doesn’t mean everyone does.”
Dean groans and sets his forehead against the bar. Sam’s got a point, he knows it, but still. Still! He’s seated with Sam at the bar, looking up every time the door opens- but no dice. He’s been here for an hour and Cas still hasn’t showed. Hell, he’s gonna be pissed if she doesn’t show, considering he even put in the effort to look nice- if his least grease-stained t-shirt and some jeans that hug him in all the right places counts as looking nice.
He’s starting to worry. Sure, they never said a specific time, and the night is still young, but. What if she got second thoughts? First time she’s ever been to a dyke bar and she got a butch threatening her and trying to kiss her within the same hour. Gotta be a turn off.
“I’m gonna go dance with Jess, alright? Don’t die over here,” Sam says. He shoots them a thumbs up and goes back to his self pity.
He can’t remember the last time he was this worked up about someone. Cassie, maybe, but that was years ago. If he’s honest with himself, Lisa was a flame that died even before Cassie that they just kept poking at.
Cas is. Different. Definitely different. He got under Dean’s skin and refuses to crawl back out. All he can fucking think about at night is how he wants to grab him by the tie and pull him in close-
“Hello, Dean.”
“Jesus Christ,” he swears, lifting his head. He didn’t even hear her walk in. A smile finds its way onto his face before he can even think to hide it. “Hey, Cas. Didn’t know if you were gonna show.”
“Apologies,” Cas says, sliding onto the stool next to him. She’s wearing slacks again, but she lost the jacket, her tie loosened and the top two buttons of her shirt undone. God. That’s unfair. “I got held up at work.”
“Let me buy you a drink?”
He smiles. “Please.”
He calls Ellen over, who looks between the two of them with an amused smile. Doesn’t say anything, but Dean knows it’s something along the lines of you almost start a fight in my bar and now you’re drinking with that same dyke? She gets them a beer each.
“So, what do you do for work?” he asks.
Cas frowns a bit, picks at the label on her bottle. “I edit for a newspaper.”
“Don’t seem too happy about it.”
“It’s not necessarily anything I’m passionate about. Often, it’s things I downright disagree with.” He shrugs. “I’d rather be writing.”
Dean nods sagely. “Sorry to hear that.”
Cas offers him a small smile, and he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t pick up a little. God, what is he, a teenager? “What about you?”
“Mechanic,” he says.
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Hell yeah. I bounced around factories for a while, then construction, but I’ve always been into cars. My uncle taught me everything I know.”
“Not your father?”
“Naw,” Dean says, taking a pull from his beer and reveling in the way that Cas’ eyes fall to his lips. “The old man wasn’t too happy about havin’ two dykes for daughters.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“‘S no big deal. Old shit. Besides, that’s a little heavy for a first date, don’cha think?”
Cas smiles and turns his head. God, Dean could stare at his side profile for fucking hours. He looks like one of those old Greek sculptures. If Dean had an artistic bone in his body, he thinks she’d make a good muse. He’s got a camera back at his apartment, though, and he considers the idea of photographing her. Wouldn’t that be a sight. “Is that what this is?” Cas asks. “I thought you were with Lisa.”
“Sure didn’t ask you to come back just to be pals, sweetheart. Me and her? We’re good as done. Me and you, though…” A smirk plays up on his lips, and he knocks his beer against Cas’ before he takes a drink.
Cas smiles and drinks with him. “I’m sure you make a good friend, but I would be disappointed if that’s all I got to experience.”
“Oh, I can give you plenty of experiences, Cas,” he drawls, and fuck, he doesn’t even have to be drunk to feel the heat rising to his face. Yeah, the worry that she was standing him up or that he was too weird has all melted away now, ‘cause she seems just as into it as he is. She looks at him like there’s no one else she’d rather be with. Like if she tears her eyes away he’ll disappear. Her hair is just as disheveled as it was last week, and he has the strongest urge to reach out and touch it. Reach out and touch her.
He’s such a goner.
“Who you got here, Dean?”
He whips his head around and and internally groans. “Charlie.” It’s not that he doesn’t like xer, alright- xe’s like a little sister to him. It’s more about the why does everyone keep being a cockblock thing. “This is Cas.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cas says, and really honestly holds out his hand for a handshake. Yeah, tell me you’ve never been to a bar without telling me? Charlie rolls with the punches, though, sticking xer hand out and shaking Cas’ enthusiastically.
“I thought you would be taller,” xe says, and Cas makes a face like what ? “And hell, Dean said you were a looker, but damn, bitch! You’re definitely out of his league.”
“ Charlie ,” Dean groans. “You and Sam need to start a club for this shit. Do you need something, or are you just here to terrorize me?”
“Right, yeah. Sam thinks Jess has food poisoning, or something, and they don’t want her walking home, so they’re wondering if maybe you could drive both of them back to their apartment.”
Dean sighs, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. He’s not mad at them- hell, how could he be? He doesn’t like that they walk home after dark in the first place, let alone when one of ‘em is sick. But they couldn’t have worse fucking timing. He fixes Cas with an apologetic gaze. “I’m real sorry, but I gotta…”
“Of course,” she says quickly. “Please, don’t let me hold you up.”
He stands, chews on his lip for a second while he thinks. “I’m prob’ly gonna head back home when I drop those two off, so if you want…” He offers her a little smile. “You got work tomorrow?”
“No.”
“You wanna come over?”
***
“So, uh, it ain’t much, but mi casa es su casa, or whatever.” He opens the door to his rinky dinky little apartment and grabs Cas’ hand to pull him inside.
“It’s wonderful, Dean,” Cas says, and he says it so earnestly that Dean thinks his legs might give out from under him. God. It’s one thing with flirting- he gets flirting. He’s been in the game for a while, alright? It’s another thing to have someone look him in the eyes and compliment him so genuinely with no motives behind it.
It makes him feel a little sick. A little dizzy. Real fuckin’ good, too.
“Thanks,” he says, leaning down to take his boots off, and if that happens to hide his blush, he’s not complaining. “You hungry? I got some pie in the fridge. Cherry.”
“If you’re offering,” Cas says, and it takes Dean a minute to take his mind outta the gutter and realize she’s talking about the fucking pie. Jesus, she’s gonna be the death of him.
“‘Course I am. Y’can make yourself comfortable on the couch,” he says. His apartment really isn’t much more than a kitchen/living room combo, a bedroom, and a bathroom, but dining tables are overrated when God made coffee tables and couches for a reason.
He pulls out the pie and a couple plates, throwing them in the microwave to nuke ‘em. Bobby used to tell him you there wasn’t anything more to courting than some good food, and damn if he wasn’t gonna take that advice right about now. If he’s real lucky, Cas’ll get some filling on her cheek and Dean can lean in close to wipe it off.
Fuck. Go back. If he’s real lucky? Usually that means sex, not fucking wiping pie off someone’s goddamn cheek. God, this butch is doing something to him.
He thinks he likes it.
“Here,” he says, handing Cas a plate and a fork and sliding onto the couch next to her. Probably a little too close. Cas doesn’t seem to mind.
Cas takes a bite of pie and honest-to-fucking-God fucking moans , and Dean barely resists the urge to make a shitty joke about this only being the first date. “This is delicious,” she says.
“Aw, shucks, Cas, you’re gonna make a girl blush,” Dean says, grinning. “Made it myself.”
“You made this?” He’s looking at Dean like he went through some big feat, just feeding him some reheated pie. Christ, she’s real. Honest. Fucking genuine. She’s gonna break him. Dean nods. “You’re very talented.”
“‘S just pie,” he mutters, and shoves some in his mouth to shut himself up and keep himself from spouting something stupid like you’re gorgeous and nice to me and I’ll do anything to get you to spend the night.
God. When did he get so desperate?
“Just pie,” Cas repeats, shaking his head. “Baking is a science, is it not? It’s very impressive. And delicious.” Dean blanches, sputtering over his response, because impressive ? Fixing his car back to mint when his dad totaled it was impressive. Making a pie out of a recipe book really isn’t. But hell, he’ll take what he can get. ‘Specially if that comes in the form of a hot butch complimenting him.
Cas turns out to be a very neat eater. Doesn't get any on her face, not even on her white shirt. Can't blame a guy for dreaming though, right?
Dean offers Cas his collection of VHS tapes. She chooses The Princess Bride, and Dean pretends to grumble about it, but he doesn't actually mind. He even pulls the oldest trick in the book and stretches his arm around the back of the couch to hold him. He immediately leans into it and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, whose brain short-circuits for the next ten minutes.
“Cas,” Dean whispers. Cas groans and buries his face in Dean’s shoulder and yeah, he’s gonna be the death of him. “C’mon. You binding? Let's get you outta that and into bed, sweetheart.”
Slowly, he coaxes her up off the couch. Hands her a spare t-shirt and sweats and stands outside the bedroom door like a gentleman, and changes his own clothes. When Cas opens the door, he says, “I apologize for intruding. Do you have extra blankets? I don't mind sleeping on the couch.”
“No way,” he says. “You're my guest. You can sleep in my bed, I’m cool on the couch.” She looks so nice like this, in his clothes.
“Dean,” she says firmly (he could listen to her say his name all freakin’ night). (And not even like that .) “While I appreciate the sentiment, it is your bed. I promise you I will feel just as much hospitality on your couch.”
“Well, neither of us are gonna give up, and my bed’s big enough for both of us,” he says, grinning at her.
Dean can't remember the last time he just cuddled like this, without the prefix of post-coital. It takes a minute for Cas to relax, but when he does, he rests his head on Dean’s chest and Dean wonders if you can still get butterflies in your twenties.
God, what is Cas doing to him? He hasn't even kissed the guy yet and they're fucking snuggling in his bed. “I’m sorry for intruding,” Cas says quietly, like that matters when Dean is holding her close and rubbing circles on her arm. Like he could possibly be upset about this.
“Don't be,” Dean says. “Hell, Cas, hope you don't mind me sayin’, but I’m more into this than I would be about a hookup.”
“I’m glad I haven't disappointed,” she says, and Dean just chuckles and pats her back.
***
Waking up next to Cas is a little like waking up next to a cat.
A really tired, angry cat, who immediately wraps his arms tighter around you and pushes his face into your chest the second you try to move.
“Hey, buddy,” Dean chuckles, carding his fingers through her hair. “Morning.”
“Not yet,” Cas grumbles, his voice gravelly and thick from sleep, and good lord . Dean could get used to hearing that in the morning. And yeah, maybe that’s a little presumptuous, considering they met a week ago, went on one date, and haven’t even kissed yet, but they did just sleep together. Technically. Shut up.
“I’ll make you breakfast?” Cas loosens her grip a little bit. “Coffee?” She lets go and rolls onto her back, cracking open her eyes to peer at him.
“Acceptable,” he says. Dean grins and swings his legs over the side of his bed, padding into the kitchen to start the coffee machine. Soon as it brews, Cas comes trudging out, like the smell wafted to the bedroom and she picked her up to float down the hallway. “What time is it?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.
“Just about eight o’clock,” Dean says, pouring a cup and setting it on the counter. Cas picks it up almost as soon as its put down. Cat-like, Dean muses. “You want eggs?”
“If you’re already making them,” Cas replies, like its a burden to make a beautiful guy breakfast. He rubs at his bleary eyes, hair sticking up all over the place. Dean’s shirt is just a little too big on him, and his heart is gonna swell out of his chest if he keeps looking at her, so he gets started on some eggs. “I apologize if I intruded last ni-”
“No way,” Dean says, cutting her off before she can even finish the thought. “First of all, I’m the one that invited you over, alright? So, if you regret it, that’s my fault. I for one ain’t gonna be mad about sleeping with a hot butch all night.” The wink he gives Cas turns his whole face pink. Hot, yeah- fucking adorable, also hell yeah.
“Hey, by the way, what’s your last name? Wanna make sure I can find you in the phone book.”
Cas goes quiet. Sips her coffee. Avoids his eyes. Dean frowns and turns away from the stove to look at her. “Cas?”
“Um.” He’s stalling and it’s more than a little concerning. She’s still averting her eyes, suddenly extremely interested in picking at her nails. “Novak.”
“Novak, alright,” Dean says, absently scratching his collar as he turns back around. Novak. It’s weirdly familiar, but he can’t just can’t place it. Where has he heard that before? He pokes at the eggs while he thinks.
Wait. “You said you’re an editor.”
“Yes,” Cas responds nervously.
“Dude,” Dean says, incredulous. “Are you a nepo baby ?”
Cas groans and covers her face in her hand. “I got fired from the last newspaper and they’re the only ones that would hire me!” she says, blushing. “If it makes you feel better, they pay me minimum wage.”
Dean grins and punches his shoulder. “Relax,” he says. “I’m just yankin’ your chain.” Cas glares at him, but it’s accompanied by one of those frown-smiles, and Dean just smiles harder.
The phone rings, pulling them both from each other’s eyes, and Dean scrapes some eggs onto a plate before he goes to answer it. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Dean,” comes Sam’s voice. “Thanks for dropping us off, for real. Jess is feeling a lot better than last night.”
“Aw, Sammy, I’m glad to hear your little girlfriend’s feeling better.”
“Jerk.” Dean swears he can hear Sam’s smile over the phone. “How’d your date with Cas go last night? Spare me the gross details.”
“We slept together.” He hears Cas choke on her eggs behind him, and he can’t help grinning. Technically true, and still gets to her. Score.
“ Dude, I said spare the details.”
“No, I mean, like, literally,” Dean laughs. “No, we, um…”
“What?”
“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Dean mumbles, hushing his voice to keep Cas from hearing.
“ Dude ,” Sam laughs. “You? You had a first date with someone without kissing them? Wow.”
“Shut up.”
“No, Dean, really, that’s gotta be a new record.”
“I’ll hang up on you, bitch.”
“Bye, Dean!”
Dean scoffs, pulling his head back to make a face at the phone before he slides it back into place, trudging back over to where Cas stands at the counter. Maybe he should get a table.
“Was that your sibling?” Cas asks.
“Yeah,” Dean says, grabbing a fork and scooping some scrambled egg off Cas’ plate. She doesn’t seem to mind. “Called to say their girl’s doing better, and to ask about you.”
Cas nods, smiling. It hits Dean just how fucking domestic this is- waking up together, making coffee and breakfast for her. It’s good. He used to have this with Lisa, but it didn’t feel the same. There was always an undercurrent, both of ‘em knowing they were using each other for the rebound.
He’s staring, he realizes. But he doesn’t pull away, just content to keep looking. The window above the kitchen sink is letting early sunlight in, and Cas’ eyes are fucking sparkling. He’s beautiful. “You’re beautiful.”
“So are you,” Cas says, before Dean even realizes what came out of his mouth. He’s staring right back at Dean, now, looking at him like he’s got tunnel vision. Like Dean’s the only thing that matters.
Dean’s moving closer before he knows what he’s doing. It keeps happening like this- like his body knows what he wants before even he does. Cas stays still, like she’s drawing him in, like a magnet, those brilliant blues flicking between his eyes and lips. “Cas,” Dean murmurs, sliding a hand onto his cheek.
“Dean.” It leaves his mouth just a second before Dean kisses him, and yeah, that’s all she wrote. He doesn’t wanna say sparks are flying, but there are some definite fucking sparks.
After a few moments, Cas pulls back, sighing and resting his forehead against Dean’s. “We should do that again,” she says.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean says. “We’re gonna.”
Sparks, man. Sparks.