Archive of Our Own

Dean tossed his pen onto the workbench, glanced up at the little crowd gathering by the open garage bay, and squinted. “It’s for charity?”

Lisa swept her hair over her shoulder and grinned like she just scored double prizes at the arcade.

“Yep! Calendar fundraiser for the community centre. You’re going to be our big selling point, Dean. I’m thinking.. Mr. July.”

He smirked, playing it up. “Mr. July, huh? Can’t say I’ve ever posed for a calendar, but I guess I could make an exception for a good cause. Gonna need a lotta cold drinks if I’m going to be your summer spread, though.”

Lisa laughed, the sound echoing off the garage walls as she handed over a clipboard and a form. “Just fill this out. Need your height, favourite snack, star sign, the usual.”

Dean scribbled his name then glanced up. “So who else you got? Or is this just me oiling up alone in front of a camera?”

Lisa hummed, tapping her pen against her clipboard. “Let’s see.. Gordon Walker signed up - he’s Mr. January. Victor’s taking March. And Benny agreed, so he’ll be October, I think.”

That caught Dean’s attention. “Benny? The chef down at the gumbo shack? He’s doing it?”

Lisa nodded, smiling slyly. “Yep. I had to promise him free ad space in the newsletter, but he’s in.”

Dean tried not to look too interested, but Benny was easy on the eyes (and the everything else). He made a mental note to put in an order for a calendar. Hell, maybe two.

Lisa scanned her list again, frowning. “I’m still short for a couple months, though. Guys keep backing out. I need, like, three more. You got any ideas?”

Dean snapped his fingers. “Lee works at Swayze’s. He’s always showin’ off anyway. Bet he’d love an excuse to get his shirt off.”

Lisa rolled her eyes so hard Dean thought they might stick. “Lee’s an asshole. Last time I asked, he offered to pose with nothing but a shot glass.”

Dean barked a laugh. “Sounds like Lee. Didn’t realise it was so small it could be covered by a shot glass.”

Lisa grinned, gathering up her forms. “Well, I’ll keep hunting. You just make sure you’re ready to bring the heat, Winchester.”

He watched her go, then picked his pen back up, twiddling it in his fingers, already imagining the calendar. Yeah, he’d definitely need to order a copy, purely for community spirit, of course.

-

Dean cruised down Main with the sun reflecting off the hood of the Impala - he’d been sure to put an extra coat of wax on her this morning. He pulled up to the little studio on Magnolia and checked the address twice, because this place looked more like a repurposed bakery than anywhere you’d get your picture taken half naked. Guess that was small town glamour for you.

He parked out front and took a quick glance in the rearview, running a hand through his hair. Not bad, Winchester. He could still see the fresh line of his jaw from shaving that morning, and a little colour in his cheeks from the gym. He flexed his arm, watched the muscle jump, and smirked. Yeah, he was ready.

Grabbing his duffel from the back seat, he did a mental inventory - tight white tee (the one that made his shoulders look huge and showed his perky nipples), overalls (for that ‘aw shucks, just a mechanic’ look), faded Dickies, and a flannel he could ditch halfway through. He’d even done a couple extra push-ups in the garage before leaving, just to make sure his muscles would be pumped for the camera.

It was all for a good cause, sure, but if he was being honest, he had an ulterior motive. The girls told him he’d be sharing his session with Benny - Mr. October. Benny, with his easy smile and arms the size of Dean’s thighs, who always made Dean feel about fifteen percent more bisexual than strictly necessary. Dean had already run through a dozen scenarios in his head, most of them ending with Benny’s hands on his hips and Dean making noises he’d never admit to in daylight.

Flirt with Benny, look good doing it, then absolutely kill it in front of the camera, maybe with Benny watching - that was his plan. If he played his cards right, he might even talk the guy into coming home with him and railing him into next Tuesday. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday, all things considered.

Dean hopped out, slung his bag over his shoulder, and swaggered up to the door, already grinning. Things were looking up.

-

..Things were not looking up.

Dean popped the door to the studio with his boot and stepped in, running a hand over his hair just in case Benny was already waiting, arms folded with a warm, inviting smile. But no, there was only one person standing by the far window, next to a mess of buckets and a crate of flowers.

Cas Novak.

Dean blinked, and for a second he wondered if he’d walked into the wrong building. Cas looked up, his blue eyes sharp and a little wary, lips set in a line Dean remembered mostly from awkward transactions when he needed to apologise with discount roses. Cas wasn’t the chatty type, and had maybe said ten words to Dean his whole life, half of them probably “That’ll be ten dollars.”

Dean stood there, trying to make sense of it, before finally venturing,

“Uh. Hey, Novak. You, uh.. you the photographer?”

Cas stared at him, deadpan as ever. “No. I was asked to model for the calendar.”

Dean opened his mouth, thought better of it, then closed it again. He took another look around, but there were no signs of anyone else - no big Cajun chef, just Cas and a lot of flower buckets. Not exactly the fantasy he’d been playing out in his head in the car. Before he could say something stupid, a new voice piped up from behind a folding screen.

“That’s me, sweetcheeks.”

A man in an aggressively bright shirt and too tight jeans strutted into the room, sucking on a cherry red lollipop. He grinned wide as he approached Dean.

“Name’s Gabriel. I’ll be your photographer, director, and - if you’re lucky - cheerleader for today. You must be Dean. And Cas, you brought your props. Love it!”

Dean just stared for a second, his plans for the day dissolving like sugar on his tongue. Maybe this wasn’t going to go exactly how he’d pictured. Gabriel clapped his hands, already bouncing on his heels.

“Ok, boys, give me two minutes to set up my equipment. Gotta find the right lens to make all this,” he waves vaguely at Dean, then at Cas, “look calendar-worthy. Don’t touch anything unless you want it to explode. Be right back!”

He strutted off, lollipop clacking against his teeth, leaving Dean standing in the awkward silence of an empty studio with Cas Novak and a sea of wildflowers. Dean dropped his duffel by a battered old chair, trying not to let the letdown show on his face. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for, he wasn’t even sure what he’d signed up for anymore. He risked a look at Cas, who was quietly sorting through buckets, fingers brushing over petals, utterly focused.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh.. how’s business?” It came out a little stiff, but he tried to make it sound friendly.

Cas didn’t even look up. “Oh, I’m thriving,” he said, completely flat. “Business is booming, especially now that we have a new supercentre selling plastic roses three for a dollar. Nothing people want more than to pay twice as much for something that dies in a week.”

Dean blinked, unsure if Cas was being serious or if he was missing a punchline. He hovered for a second, then saw the ghost of a smirk at the edge of Cas’ mouth. Oh. That was a joke. He almost laughed but caught himself, just in case it wasn’t, and settled for a lopsided grin.

“Guess you gotta have a real passion for petals, huh?”

Cas nodded, gravely. “And bees. Most people don’t understand the power of pollinators in the modern economy.”

Dean snorted before he could stop himself, picturing Cas in one of those big beekeeper suits. “Yeah, well, you ever need help wranglin’ a swarm, don’t call me. I’m allergic to lookin’ like an idiot in public.”

Cas gave him a sidelong look, his eyes glinting. “I thought that was your specialty.”

Dean barked a laugh, surprised at how quick the comeback was. He relaxed a little, drawn closer as Cas started arranging wildflowers with the kind of care Dean usually reserved for the women he slept with. Cas’ hands were steady, with long, surprisingly deft fingers, and Dean found himself watching, more interested than he’d expected to be.

“So.. you ever do anythin’ like this before?” Dean asked, nodding toward the setup as Gabriel banged around in the next room.

Cas selected a sprig of something purple and fragrant, and tucked it behind a mass of sunflowers. “No. But it was this, or let Lisa Braeden volunteer me for the kissing booth at the summer fair.”

Dean chuckled awkwardly. “Gotta say, Novak, you don’t strike me as the kissing booth type.”

Cas looked at him, dead serious. “You’d be surprised.”

Dean felt his ears go a little warm. He laughed again, genuine this time, and for a second he started to wonder if this day might actually turn out a hell of a lot better than he’d thought. Lingering a little closer, he pretended to root through his duffle while keeping one eye on Cas, who was busy decapitating stems with a tiny pair of wicked looking scissors. He cleared his throat, determined not to let the silence get awkward.

“So.. you do all your own arrangements?” Dean asked, realising suddenly he knew nothing about flowers.

Cas didn’t look up. “No, the elves handle it while I sleep. I just take the credit.”

Dean grinned, then caught the faintest quirk of Cas’ mouth. “Right. Makes sense. Didn’t figure you for the hands-on type.”

Cas plucked a blossom from the bunch. “Depends who the hands are on. And I find if you want something done properly, you have to do it yourself. Or threaten someone. Whichever’s faster.”

Dean blinked, almost missing that first part, then let out a quiet huff of laughter, drawn in despite himself. He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice. “Never pegged you for the threatenin’ kind, Novak.”

Cas finally met his eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

Dean smirked, genuinely delighted. “That a regular sales tactic, or..?”

Cas shrugged, straight-faced and unbothered. “Only if they ask for baby’s breath in November.”

Dean’s smile stretched wider, a little helpless. He was starting to realise Cas was funnier than half the people Dean knew, he just buried it under layers of dry delivery and a stubborn reluctance to actually look at anyone.

“Bet the supercentre doesn’t intimidate as well as you,” Dean said, nudging a little, unable to stop himself. “I hear you gotta be over sixty to work the register.”

“Plastic isn’t very threatening,” Cas replied, matter-of-fact. “But I wouldn’t eat their honey, if I were you.”

Dean laughed, that open, slightly embarrassed sound he usually reserved for first dates that went unexpectedly right. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cas just went back to his flowers, as if the conversation was already over, but Dean found himself wanting to keep going. Like maybe, if he stuck around long enough, he could figure out what else was hidden under that quiet, offhand confidence. But if Cas noticed him lingering, he didn’t say anything. He kept working, calm and unbothered, like he was completely immune to Dean’s orbit. Dean tried not to look like he was staring, but he wasn’t sure he was fooling anyone, including himself.

“So.. how’d you get roped into this in the first place anyway?” Dean asked, stuffing his hands in his back pockets so he’d stop fidgeting. “Thought you were more of a behind the scenes guy.”

Cas shrugged, the movement subtle, still focused on arranging blossoms. “Lisa originally threatened to put me down as the Christmas fair Santa if I didn’t volunteer.” He flicked a petal into the trash with disdain. “I don’t do holidays. Or hats.”

Dean grinned, picturing Cas in nothing but a Santa hat and way too much attitude. “I dunno, Novak. Could be a good look for you. Maybe get the bees in the festive mood.”

Cas deadpanned, “Yes, Because that’s what everyone wants for Christmas: honey under the mistletoe and a trip to urgent care.”

Dean leaned against the battered old chair, openly grinning wide now, feeling like a total idiot and not caring. “Never figured you for a comedian, Novak.”

“That’s because I’m not funny,” Cas replied, completely serious. “I’m just honest, and most people don’t expect it.”

Dean snorted, biting his lip. “Well, I like it. Most folks in this town, you ask ‘em how things are, they tell ya they’re blessed. Ask you, I get doom and gloom about the flower industry and sarcastic bee jokes.”

Cas arched an eyebrow. “Blessed? Well, I try not to brag but I’ve been told it’s noticeable.”

Dean outright giggled at that, surprised by the sound of his own laughter. He realised he’d started fiddling with the strap of his duffle, eyes flicking back to Cas every few seconds, waiting for another dry quip. Something in the way Cas’ mouth twitched made Dean’s chest fizz in a way that had nothing to do with anticipation for his shoot, and everything to do with the sudden, ridiculous urge to keep Cas talking for the rest of the day.

Of course that’s when Gabriel chose to walk back in the room. The door banged open as he swept back in, camera already hanging around his neck and the scent of sugar trailing after him. He clocked Dean immediately, lingering just a beat too long on the soft look Dean had probably been wearing without realising. Dean straightened, trying to play it cool, but Gabriel’s eyes flicked from Dean to Cas and back, and he smirked.

“Well, aren’t we cosy? Don’t mind me - just here to immortalise your best assets.” He set about attaching his camera to a tripod, humming as he worked.

Cas didn’t so much as flinch, still intent on sorting his flowers, immune to chaos and commentary alike.

Gabriel clapped his hands. “Alright! Cassie, you’re still building your little petal masterpiece, so Dean-o, you’re up first.” He pointed to a folding screen in the back. “Go change, champ. Give me your best Mr. July.”

Dean grabbed his bag and ducked into the makeshift changing room, heart beating faster than he wanted to admit. He tugged on the white t-shirt, tight enough to hug every line of his chest and shoulders, and wriggled into his overalls, checking the fit in the warped mirror propped against the wall. He ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it just so, then leaned in, biting his lower lip until it flushed.

This was supposed to be just a bit of fun, but now Dean found himself picturing Cas out there, unreadable and sharp as glass, maybe watching, maybe not caring at all. The thought made his pulse race, and he grinned at himself, cocky as he could manage.

“You’re gonna kill him, Winchester. Let’s see if he even blinks.”

With one last check, pulling his shirt a little tighter across his chest, flexing just to see the muscle pop, Dean slung his bag over his shoulder and strutted back out. If he couldn’t hook up with Benny, fuck it - maybe Cas would be even more fun. And from the look of those hands, Dean bet Cas could do a lot with a little encouragement. He stepped back into the studio, rolling his shoulders and giving Cas his best, most shameless grin.

“Ready for the main event?” he drawled, hoping Cas might look up, and hoping even more that, if he did, he wouldn’t look away.

He caught Cas’ eye for a second as he looked up from his flowers, gaze travelling over Dean’s frame in a slow, unhurried sweep, like he was weighing him up. It should’ve felt dismissive, but something in the way Cas took his time made Dean feel lit up, pinned under a spotlight. He smirked (well, tried to anyway) but found his throat a little dry. He liked the attention, more than he wanted to admit, but now he was a little rattled. Was Cas judging his outfit? His arms? His whole deal? Dean couldn’t tell. Gabriel snapped his fingers, breaking the spell.

“Dean-o, on the X, babe. Let’s see some summer heat!”

Dean ambled over, planting himself where Gabriel pointed. He tried to keep it loose and casual, but his eyes kept flicking back to Cas, hungry for another one of those slow, careful looks. Cas, though, seemed utterly uninterested now, methodically arranging stems. Gabriel started talking him through a few poses.

“Hand on the hip, chin up, c’mon, channel Mr. July! That’s it. Now turn, no, no, look at me, not over there. And try not to flex so hard you rip the shirt, Winchester, we don’t have insurance.”

Dean tried but every couple shots his eyes darted to Cas, hoping for a glance, a smirk, anything. Cas didn’t even seem to notice. He was fussing over a cluster of wildflowers, face blank, expression almost bored. Dean, feeling desperate, started dialing it up, leaning, arching his back, popping his hips, even tugging his shirt up just enough to flash a little skin. He caught Cas’ eye once, mid-pose, but Cas just looked away, nonplussed. Gabriel groaned, lowering the camera.

“Dean, honey, I know you’re dying to impress the florist, but try seducing my lens instead. If you don’t start undressing, we’ll have to move you to December.”

Dean flushed but forced out a laugh. “Uh.. sorry.”

But he wasn’t sorry. He wanted - needed - Cas to look at him again. Needed his attention. And somehow, not having it just made Dean want it more. After what felt like a hundred poses and even more sideways glances, Gabriel finally lowered his camera and clapped his hands.

“That’s it! Perfect, I’ve got what I need for now.”

Dean blinked, attention snapping back to Gabriel after lingering (again) on Cas’ unbothered profile. “Wait, that’s it, really? Feels like you barely shot a dozen.”

Gabriel grinned, tapping his camera with a flourish. “I got plenty for now, sweetheart. Next set’s on location.”

Dean frowned. “On location?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, like it was obvious. “Well, you’re a mechanic, right? Don’t you work in a garage? Gonna get you in your natural habitat. Grease-stained, hands-on, everyone loves authenticity.”

Dean huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really gonna make me pose at the garage? I’m not even gettin’ paid for this, you know.”

Gabriel winked. “You’ll thank me later. Go get changed if you want, we’ll set up for Cas.”

Dean gathered his things, casting one last look at Cas as he made for the changing room. Cas was grouping wildflowers, bouquet half finished in one hand, the other already reaching for a jar of honey in his kit. As Dean passed, Cas lifted the flowers to carry them over to Gabriel, glancing Dean’s way with a polite, neutral little smile, nothing like the piercing, appraising look from before, and Dean’s heart dropped. He couldn’t help feeling weirdly disappointed. What the hell did it take to get a real reaction out of Cas Novak?

He ducked behind the folding screen, peeling off the too-tight tee and swapping it for his regular clothes, trying not to dwell on the slight burn of embarrassment on his cheeks. He’d gone all out, tried every move in his playbook, and Cas hadn’t even blinked. Not once.

But there was still the garage shoot.

Dean grinned at his reflection, forcing himself to rally. Fine. He’d up the ante, go full grease and muscle next time, there was no way Cas would ignore him then. He shouldered his bag, and told himself next round, he was getting a reaction, one way or another.

He stepped back out, already working up a plan for the next shoot when his whole world screeched to a halt. Cas was splayed across a wooden bench in front of Gabriel’s camera, completely and gloriously naked, save for an explosion of wildflowers and greenery artfully arranged over his crotch and hip. One hand cradled a cluster of peonies, the other rested loose at his side, fingers trailing against the grain of the wood. A faint, dusty trail of hair disappeared into the petals, and there was a single, perfect freckle above Cas’ right nipple, one Dean hadn’t even known he wanted to taste until right this second.

His mouth went dry as all the air in the room disappeared, and he felt every drop of blood rush straight to his dick and nowhere else, leaving his brain hollowed out and buzzing. Cas reclined, his legs loose and shoulders thrown back as if nakedness was just another uniform. His face was unreadable, but something in the tilt of his mouth and half-lidded eyes made it look less like he was bored and more like he was smouldering.. or maybe that was just Dean, so wildly turned on he could hardly tell the difference.

Gabriel, entirely unfazed, circled the set with his camera, snapping photo after photo. “Beautiful, Cas! Give me more jawline, perfect, yes. Think ‘forest nymph with a vendetta’. Yas, queen. Love it. Yeah, baby, just like that!”

Dean could only stand there, utterly frozen, lips parted, watching as Cas calmly endured the flash, looking for all the world like he’d been born to be worshipped and only just now remembered. Dean tried to look away, but his eyes kept snagging on tanned skin, the way the light slid over Cas’ hipbone, the curve of thigh revealed by a careless spill of petals.

Cas caught his gaze, finally. It was cool and calm, and when their eyes met, for one electric second, Dean forgot his own name. He was so far gone he didn’t even care that Gabriel was already snapping shots of his expression too - mouth open, cheeks red, standing there looking like he’d just walked in on sin itself.

Dean barely managed a strangled, “Holy shit.”

Gabriel, ever the agent of chaos, lowered his camera and grinned. “Dean, come give us a hand, will you?”

Dean blinked, still staring at Cas, brain lagging a full thirty seconds behind his mouth. “Whuh?”

Gabriel gestured to the honey jar, grinning like this was all perfectly normal. “Can you pour some more honey on our lovely Cassie’s chest? I’d do it, but I don’t want to get my lens sticky, and Casanova here can’t exactly dump it on himself. Artistic integrity, Winchester. Come on.”

Dean’s brain short-circuited while his face went red hot. “You want me to.. pour honey. On him.”

Gabriel gave him a look. “Yep. That’s what I just said. Chop-chop, Mr. July.”

Dean stood there a second longer, trying desperately not to visibly tremble as he reached for the jar. His hands weren’t steady, but he forced his feet to move, every nerve shaking as he approached naked Cas, reclining like it was no big deal. Cas watched him approach, his eyes as cool as ever but just a flicker more focused than before. Dean paused, hovering awkwardly.

“Just, uh.. just here?” Dean asked, voice embarrassingly rough as he hovered the honey over Cas’ chest.

Cas nodded, the barest ghost of a smirk appearing on his lips, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Wherever you like, Dean.”

Dean swallowed, trying to play it off, but his hand still wobbled as he tipped the jar, letting a slow, golden ribbon of honey spill over Cas’ collarbone. It trailed down over his sternum and along that dusting of hair, and the whole world seemed to narrow to that small, sticky, shining line.

Cas glanced up at him, his voice as dry as the desert. “You should try it.”

Dean sputtered, heat jumping straight to his cheeks. “Try.. try what?”

“The honey,” Cas said, completely innocent, but the way he held Dean’s gaze made it feel like something else entirely. “It’s delicious. Here-” He nodded toward the little dipper had left out with the props. “You can use that, if you want.”

Dean’s brain, already halfway to picturing himself on his knees licking Cas clean, did a backflip. “Oh.. yeah. Yeah, ok.” He scrambled for the dipper, his face burning and heart hammering. He dipped it into the jar, careful not to look at Cas, and tasted the honey. It was sweet, wild, and somehow impossibly golden.

“Thanks,” he managed in a voice too high and a little breathless. He ducked away, every nerve buzzing as Gabriel started snapping photos again, the sound of the shutter clicking way too fucking loud.

Dean had never felt more like a confused, horny teenager in his life. And Cas looked like he’d known exactly what he was doing. The honey was gleaming in slow rivulets across the taut planes of his chest, catching the light and sliding down the hollow of his stomach muscles. Dean lingered at the edge of the room, pretending to busy himself with his bag but really just watching Cas. Flash after flash lit up his honey-covered skin, the flowers vivid and a little wild against him. Cas’ face stayed steady and composed, almost bored, but somehow the set of his mouth, the confidence in his posture, made him look absolutely in control, like he could snap his fingers and have the whole room at his feet.

The longer Dean watched, the less it felt like a photoshoot and the more it felt like some private performance, just for him, a display he could never admit he wanted to see. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding and his mind spun off on its own, to Cas, naked and unbothered, inviting Dean to kneel down, to taste the honey from his skin, to beg for more. The thought made Dean’s hands tremble and he bit his lip, desperate not to look as wrecked as he felt. Gabriel was practically buzzing, camera shutter clicking a mile a minute.

“Beautiful, Cas, baby! More, yes, gorgeous! Let’s have a bit of vulnerability, just a little - no? Ok, that’s perfect, yes! That’s the money shot, right there!”

Dean barely noticed Gabriel moving until he called over, “Dean, babygirl, you don’t have to hang around. I’ve got everything I need from you. I’ll give you a ring about the garage shoot, okiedokie?”

Dean realised he’d just been staring with his mouth slightly open again, so far gone he almost forgot how to leave. He grabbed his bag, cheeks burning, and managed a half hearted, “Yeah, ok. Uh, thanks, Gabe.”

He turned to go, pausing for one last look, and Cas met his eyes with perfect calm, that unbothered, dangerous energy radiating off him. He didn’t smile, but something flickered in his gaze, maybe just an acknowledgement of how thoroughly Dean had been wrecked. He tipped his head, his voice soft but rich.

“I’ll be seeing you, Dean.”

Dean swallowed, hope and heat tangled up in his chest. “Yeah,” he managed, a little breathless.

He really fuckin’ hoped so.

He made his way out, the image of Cas all golden, sticky, and unshakeable burning behind his eyes all the way home.

-

Dean was jittery, bouncing his knee as he sat on the hood of the Impala. He’d checked his hair in his side mirror three times already and kept tugging at the straps of his overalls, making sure they were sitting low and loose enough across his hips, showing just enough skin, sweat, and grease. If he was going to be immortalised for July, he was damn well going to make it count.

The worst part was that he couldn’t stop thinking about Cas. About that photoshoot and the way that honey dripped down golden skin, wildflowers spread across strong thighs, and that calm, unbothered face. Dean had jerked off to the memory more times now than he cared to admit. He wasn’t proud, but he also wasn’t sorry.

Today, he was determined. He was going to pose like his life depended on it - sexy, filthy, all bare chest and oil-stained muscle. And, yeah, he’d fantasised more than once about Cas walking in, seeing him stretched out over the hood of a car, and finally giving Dean that look, the one that said, I want you. And then he’d make Dean fucking squeal.

He checked the time again. Ten minutes late. Dean rubbed his palms on his thighs, barely able to sit still. Where the hell were they?

A roar and a flash of garish colour announced a bright yellow Chevy Silverado with red flames painted over the hood that screeched to a stop out front, and Dean stared, incredulous.

“What the actual fuck..”

The door flew open and Gabriel emerged in all his glory, aviators, skin tight jeans, a fresh lollipop wedged between his teeth. He slung a camera bag over his shoulder and sauntered up to the garage like he owned the place.

“Dean-o!” he called, spreading his arms wide. “Looking unreasonably fine. You ready to get down and dirty for July, or what?”

Dean slid off the Impala, glancing over Gabriel’s shoulder. “Uh, yeah.. sure. But, uh, is Cas coming too? Thought maybe you’d be shooting us together.”

Gabriel snorted, popping the lollipop out of his mouth with a click. “Why would Cas be here? We’re in a garage. This shoot’s just for you, sweetcheeks.”

Dean blinked, a little thrown. “Oh, I just.. never mind.” He couldn’t help glancing back at the parking lot, his stomach dipping with disappointment. He’d spent all morning working himself up for Cas’ eyes on him, for some kind of reaction, and now it was just Gabe and a camera. He hadn’t even thought there was a chance Cas wasn’t going to be here.. Made sense, he supposed. Why would a florist be in a garage?

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder, eyes twinkling behind his shades. “You’ll live, Deanie Bean. Now c’mon, let’s make you a legend. Lose the shirt, grab that wrench, and let’s make every church lady in town wetter than Niagara Falls.”

Dean forced a grin, shoulders rolling back as he stalked toward the car. Fine. If Cas wasn’t going to be here, he’d still make damn sure these photos were good enough to get a reaction, eventually.

-

The garage shoot turned out nothing like Dean had hoped. From the second Gabriel set up, it was clear the man was on a Cas Novak high. Every five minutes, Gabriel found a way to circle the conversation back to the last shoot.

“Honestly, Dean, you wouldn’t believe it! Cassie was a natural. Never modeled before in his life, but the camera just loved him. Some people just have it, y’know? That presence. He just owned it. Ooh boy, the way he held still, the confidence, the smoulder, man, you should’ve seen it-”

Dean gritted his teeth and tried not to scowl, not wanting Gabriel to see how much the constant praise was getting to him. It wasn’t just that Gabriel seemed more impressed with Cas; it was that Dean hadn’t been able to work any of his usual charms, not when the only person he wanted to impress wasn’t even there. He’d gone from hyped and cocky to sullen and annoyed in record time, ruining a couple shots when Gabriel caught him with his jaw clenched and his mouth drawn tight. Gabriel, of course, just kept snapping.

“That’s it, give me mood, give me intensity!” he crowed, circling Dean like a shark. “Though if you glower any harder, I might need to shoot you for November. Relax, would you?”

Dean tried, but his mind kept drifting back to Cas, to the feeling of his hand trembling while pouring honey over Cas’ chest, to the thick sweetness slowly dripping down. He couldn’t stop imagining what it’d be like to lean in to lick every last drop from Cas’ skin while Cas dragged his fingers through Dean’s hair and told him to keep going. Dean was pretty sure he’d grown a half chub thinking about it, shifting his hips and praying Gabriel’s camera didn’t pick up anything below the belt. By the end, Dean just wanted it over. He’d spent the whole shoot simmering, annoyed at Gabriel’s constant praise of Cas, frustrated at himself for caring so much, and more desperate than ever to see Cas again. He just hoped at least one shot turned out decent, because he wasn’t sure he’d been able to hide everything he was feeling.

Gabriel finally clicked the last photo, humming to himself as he started packing his camera gear away while Dean stretched his arms overhead, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders, trying to shake off the frustration that had settled deep in his chest.

“Hey, Dean-o,” Gabriel called over his shoulder, tucking his camera into its padded case. “You know, if you want some tips on how to really smoulder for the camera, you should hit up Cas. Guy’s a menace. Bet he’d be happy to give you a few pointers, maybe even a private lesson, if you ask nice.”

Dean snorted, doing his best to hide the sting. “Was I that bad, dude?”

Gabriel shot him a cheeky grin. “Oh, don’t worry - these’ll still sell. But Cas? He’s got something special. You could use a little of that, sugar. Might do you good to loosen up.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Seriously, give him a call. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Dean rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gabriel hoisted his bag, strolled out to his neon nightmare of a truck, and flung the door open. As he fired up the engine and swung the truck around in a wide, showy arc, Dean caught sight of the back. There, in bright pink letters, the words PUSSY WAGON.

Dean just stood there with his arms crossed, watching Gabriel drive off with a shake of his head, a smile on his lips. 

-

A few days later, Dean found himself sprawled across his worn sofa, phone in hand, knee bouncing so hard the whole couch shook. He’d finally talked himself into calling Cas’ shop, Graceful Greenery, with the excuse of asking for ‘modelling tips’. Maybe, he thought, flirting would be easier over the phone, with no eyes on him. Maybe Cas would even be glad he called. The line rang twice before someone picked up, a woman whose voice sounded amused and just a little bored.

“Graceful Greenery, how can you be helped?”

Dean straightened, caught off guard. “Uh.. hey. Is, uh, Cas around?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Cas? Cas, are you available?” she spoke out, not bothering to muffle the receiver.

From somewhere very close, Dean heard Cas’ unmistakable deadpan.

“Meg, you’re well aware I’m currently preoccupied between your legs. Can you take a message, please?”

Dean shot off the sofa, pacing hard, his mind going blank. What the fuck? The words slammed into him as disappointment hit like a punch to the gut. He’d built up this whole thing in his head, thought maybe there was something there, something mutual, but now it sounded like Cas was.. with a woman? With a woman, right now?

Meg returned, her voice sweetly dry. “Sorry, Cas is.. busy. Who’s calling? Can I take a message?”

Dean scrambled for words, the reason for his call falling away beneath a rising tide of jealousy and confusion.

“Uh.. it’s.. Dean. Dean Winchester. I was just.. calling about the, uh, the calendar photoshoot. No big deal.”

Meg’s tone turned sly, like she knew exactly what she was doing. “Dean Winchester, about the calendar. Got it.” Dean could hear her repeat it aloud, the words almost taunting as they hung in the air. There was a shuffling sound, then a pause. Suddenly, a different voice came on the line, lower and a little confused.

“Dean?”

Dean froze, his heart thumping so hard he thought the phone might pick it up.

“Uh - hey, Cas.” He tried for casual, but it came out a lot thinner. “Sorry, didn’t mean to.. interrupt anything. Just.. had a question about the, uh, shoot.”

“The photo shoot.” said Cas, dry as ever.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to recover. “Yeah, sorry, Gabe said I should get in touch with you for, like.. pointers. Modellin’ tips, or whatever.” Even as he said it, Dean cringed. He sounded like a kid trying to find an excuse to call his crush. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to call while you were.. entertaining.”

There was a brief silence on the line where Dean second-guessed absolutely everything in his life, before Cas replied.

“I’m not entertaining anyone, Dean. My friend Meg’s getting married tomorrow and I’m pinning her into her dress. We’ll be using real flowers, so she’s currently standing on a stool while we place where they’re all going. Not exactly.. well, whatever you were thinking.”

Relief crashed through Dean, his shoulders dropping as he let out a sheepish chuckle. “Fuck, sorry. I.. yeah, I thought something a lot, uh, dirtier was going on.”

He could almost hear the smirk in Cas’ voice. “Are you disappointed?”

Dean’s breath caught, and for a second he couldn’t help it as his brain instantly supplied an image that was raw and all too vivid: Cas, still fully dressed, kneeling in front of someone on the shop counter, his mouth pressed between their thighs, long fingers digging into their hips, that calm, unbothered look never wavering as he made them squirm. Dean’s stomach twisted with a dark and hungry jealousy. He imagined standing in the doorway, forced to watch Cas with someone else, the mess and the noise, Cas’ voice low and coaxing. The thought was a gut punch, so wrong and wildly unfair, and Dean knew with absolute certainty that he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want anyone else getting that ruthless attention.

“No.. I mean, I-uh.. never mind.”

Cas let him flounder for a moment, then cut in, cool as ever.

“So, about the photo shoot. What do you need tips for? The shoot’s over.”

Dean slumped back onto the sofa, his grand plan dissolving, and he pressed his palm over his face.

“Yeah.. Guess I.. didn’t really think that through. Just.. Gabe wouldn’t shut up about how good you were, and I figured maybe I could get some advice. Doesn’t really matter. Thanks anyway, Cas.”

Cas hummed, low and soft. “See you around, Dean.”

“Yeah, see ya, Cas.”

Dean ended the call, letting his phone fall onto his chest. Another plan failed, and he was no closer to figuring out how to get what he really wanted. 

-

A week later, Dean decided enough was enough, he needed to stop scheming and just do something. If Cas wasn’t going to throw himself at Dean, then maybe Dean would just have to take the leap himself. In-person flirting was always easier, anyway. You could gauge someone’s mood, flash a smile, maybe even charm your way into the back room for a private lesson in.. pollination. Dean snorted to himself, feeling stupidly optimistic as he parked the Impala on the curb. He crossed the sidewalk, trying to project confidence, only to pause as he got closer.

Cas’ shop was practically bustling. There were folding tables with bright tablecloths lined up out front with banners flapping in the breeze. Dean recognised a few of the crafters from church bake sales, but it looked like the entire freaking town was out, poking through jars of preserves, soaps, and knitwear.

Dean hesitated at the door, heart dropping into his boots. The last thing he wanted was to get caught up in a crowd, or, worse, get caught obviously flirting with Cas in front of half the PTA. He turned, ready to slip away before anyone noticed, when a familiar dry voice called out.

“Dean?”

He looked up as his heart stuttered. Cas stood in the shop doorway with a furrowed brow, but there was a spark of pleased there too that made Dean’s breath catch. He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward, but forced a grin.

“Hey, Novak. Didn’t realise the whole town would be here. I, uh.. figured I’d.. try something new.”

Cas’ mouth twitched in amusement, or maybe a challenge. “Is that so? Well, if you’re into new experiences, you should try one of my infused honeys.” He nodded toward the little table, where an array of glass jars glowed gold in the sunlight. “Lavender, lemon, and wildflower. All from my own hives.”

Dean moved a little closer, mouth going dry for a whole new reason. “Yeah? You make all these yourself?”

Cas nodded. “Well, my bees helped a little.”

Dean caught the gleam in Cas’ eye and bit back a smirk. “Guess you’re the expert in pollination, huh?”

Cas’ expression didn’t change, but his voice was pure velvet. “You could say that. Want a taste?”

Dean nearly choked on the answer he wanted to give. Instead, he grinned, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

Cas selected a few jars, lining them up with precision on the table in front of Dean. He unscrewed the lid on the first one, offering Dean a little wooden spoon with a drop of golden honey glistening at the tip.

“This one’s lavender,” Cas said, his voice softer now, but alive in a way Dean hadn’t heard before. “The bees feed on the bushes. It’s a bit floral.”

Dean tasted, and Cas was right, the flavour was light and perfumed like summer fields. He tried the next: lemon, which was bright and tangy and lingered on his tongue. The last, wildflower, was complex and heady, thick with sweetness.

“Damn,” Dean said, grinning as he sucked a smear from his thumb. “That’s good, Cas. I think the wildflower’s my favourite.”

Cas’ lips quirked. “A classic. That one always sells out.” He seemed more animated than Dean had ever seen him, with loose shoulders and bright eyes, the sort of quiet passion that made everything he said feel important.

Dean tilted his head, leaning in. “What about you? Which is your favourite?”

Cas looked at him, a sly expression sliding across his face, and Dean felt it all the way down.

“My favourite’s the one I always keep stocked in the shop. You want to try it?”

Dean’s throat felt tight. “Uh.. Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Cas led him inside, out of the noise of the craft fair and into the cooler hush of the shop. There was no one else in there, just the soft creak of the floorboards under their boots. Cas slipped behind the counter, retrieving a smaller jar from beneath the display. He twisted it open and handed Dean a clean honey stick.

“Orange blossom,” Cas said, watching intently. “It’s delicate and sweet, but not cloying.”

Dean dipped the stick and tasted. The honey was soft and bright, like citrus flowers in spring, floral and light with a warmth that made him hum in delight, and his eyes fluttered closed for a second as the flavour lingered on his tongue.

“Damn, Cas,” he breathed, “that’s incredible.”

When he opened his eyes, Cas was watching him intensely, gaze fixed on Dean’s mouth. For a heartbeat, Dean felt the world narrow to the two of them in the quiet of the shop. Dean’s lips tingled with the lingering sweetness of honey, the bright citrus note still curling over his tongue. He barely had time to catch his breath before Cas’ hand came up. Dean’s eyes widened, caught on the way Cas’ thumb pressed against the corner of his mouth, swiping up a sticky golden smear before it to his own lips, eyes locked on Dean’s, tongue flicking out to taste the honey.

The world shrank to the charged inches between them, and before Dean could say a word, Cas leaned in to close the distance. His mouth caught Dean’s in a hungry kiss, Cas’ lips dragging Dean’s open, deepening the kiss with a tilt of his head, tongue tasting faintly of that sweet orange blossom.

Dean gasped, feeling dizzy, hands flying to Cas’ hips like he needed something to hold him up, and Cas crowded closer, his body heat pushing Dean back against the counter, a solid line of muscle pinning him there. Cas’ mouth was relentless and demanding, not giving Dean a chance to think, just take. Dean made a needy, desperate sound as his hips stuttered forward, and Cas caught it with a low, pleased hum, his teeth scraping Dean’s lower lip, biting down just enough to sting. Dean shuddered, shamelessly grinding into Cas, and for a second, he was nothing but the want of please, right here, right now.

Cas broke the kiss just long enough to murmur too close to Dean’s ear in a voice that was gravel rough, “You always taste this sweet, Dean?”

Dean’s cock immediately thickened in his jeans. “Fuck, Cas-”

Cas’ hand slid up under Dean’s shirt, his palm feeling hot on bare skin, fingers spreading wide as he mapped out Dean’s ribs possessively, almost rough. Dean arched, his mouth open and desperate, chasing more of Cas’ mouth, more of his touch, the honey still dancing on his tongue. It was shameless and filthy, and Dean wanted Cas to ruin him right there, pressed against the counter, in the middle of the damn flower shop. And Cas looked at him like he was considering just that.

His grip tightened on Dean’s waist, fingers digging in, and his other hand found Dean’s jaw, holding him steady for another kiss that was deep enough that Dean lost track of everything but the wet slide of Cas’ tongue and the way he pressed right up against him, pinning him to the counter. Dean’s brain barely worked. He couldn’t believe how commanding Cas was, how easy he made it look, the way he took and took and then gave Dean just enough to keep him begging for more. When Cas broke the kiss, his lips shiny and kiss swollen, he leaned in close, mouth brushing the shell of Dean’s ear.

“You want me to keep going?” Cas’ voice was low and so intimate Dean felt it in his bones. “You want me to bend you over this counter and fuck you so everyone out there can hear how desperate you sound for me?”

Dean let out a helpless, wrecked noise, eyes fluttering shut, cock straining desperately against his jeans. “Cas, fuck.. please-”

Cas smirked, his breath hot on Dean’s neck. “You keep making those sounds, Dean, and I’m going to have to put something in your mouth to keep you quiet. Would you like that?” His hand slid lower, skimming the waistband of Dean’s jeans, fingers tracing just above the button. “You want to be good for me? Let me have you, here, now, with the taste of my honey still on your lips?”

Dean’s thoughts were static and his body burned. “Fuck, yes, please - whatever you want, Cas-”

Cas kissed the corner of his mouth, then dragged his tongue over Dean’s jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. “That’s what I thought. Good boy.” He pressed his hips in,  letting Dean feel just how hard he was through their clothes. “You going to let me take you apart, right here? Let everyone know who you belong to?”

Dean was gone, dizzy, hands clawing at Cas’ back. “Yes, yes, fuck, Cas, please.. want you to wreck me, want to be yours..”

Cas chuckled, the sound so low and wicked, and nipped at Dean’s throat, his voice dark and velvety. “I’m going to make you mine, Dean. You’re going to come for me, right here in my shop, and then I’m going to keep you - every sweet, filthy part of you. Understand?”

Dean could only nod, already half undone by those words alone, wanting nothing more than to let Cas ruin him exactly the way he promised. One firm hand stayed on Dean’s waist, the other wrapped around his wrist as Cas tugged him toward the back room like he’d already decided what was going to happen. Dean followed with a helpless stumble, the world narrowing to the heat of Cas’ grip and the pounding in his ears. The door swung shut behind them with a quiet click, and before Dean could even look around, Cas had him pressed against it, caged in by the solid weight of his body.

“Hands up,” Cas murmured in a voice low enough to vibrate through Dean’s ribs.

Dean’s arms shot up immediately, like his body responded before his brain even caught up, and Cas gave a pleased hum, mouth curving in something dark and approving. “Good boy.”

Dean’s knees went weak at the praise as Cas leaned in again, kissing him slower and deeper this time, like he wanted to savour every sound Dean made. His hot and hungry palms slid under Dean’s henley, pushing the fabric up until Dean’s skin was bare to the cool air and Cas’ mouth. He kissed down Dean’s throat in slow, claiming drags of lips and tongue that made Dean whine, his hips arching forward without permission. Cas smirked against his skin.

“Sensitive,” he murmured, his voice rumbling. “I like that.”

His fingers found Dean’s belt, but didn’t undo it. Instead, he hooked a knuckle under the leather and pulled, bringing Dean’s hips flush against his own.

Dean choked on a needy and broken sound. “Cas.. please-”

Cas dragged his mouth down Dean’s chest, teeth scraping lightly, tongue following the path of every tremble. His hands roamed everywhere - up Dean’s ribs, over his stomach, down the V of muscle that vanished beneath his jeans, touching but not quite giving, teasing him to the edge. Dean’s head fell back, hitting the door with a soft thud. He could barely breathe or think, every inch of him burning.

“Cas, just.. tell me what you want. I’ll.. do anythin’.”

Cas’ lips paused over the fluttering beat of Dean’s heart. He looked up, his eyes dark and sharp, and Dean felt it all the way to his toes.

“I know you will,” Cas mumbled, fingers sliding over the bulge in Dean’s jeans in a slow, devastating stroke that had Dean’s hips jerking. “That’s why I brought you here in the first place.”

Dean whimpered helplessly as Cas bit gently at his hipbone, tongue pressing heat into the sensitive flesh. Then Cas whispered against the soft skin.

“I want to make you come without even taking your clothes off.”

Dean’s legs buckled and Cas caught him easily, one hand gripping his hip, the other sliding between Dean’s thighs to cup him through the denim with a firm pressure that made Dean gasp loudly.

“Shh,” Cas murmured, sucking a mark onto Dean’s lower stomach. “Let me make a mess of you.”

Dean’s entire body trembled, pushing into Cas’ hand, his mouth falling open as his eyes glazed over. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, could only let Cas touch him, guide him, fucking ruin him, because Cas was in control and Dean had never wanted anything more.

“You’re mine right now,” Cas whispered, stroking him slowly. “Say it.”

Dean’s voice broke. “Yours, Cas, ’m yours.. please-”

Cas smiled against his skin, all wicked confidence and slow, burning intent. He pressed Dean harder against the door, hips pinning him, bunching the fabric of the henley beneath Dean’s armpits until his entire chest was bare to the air. Dean’s nipples peaked instantly in the chill, but Cas didn’t give him a second to adjust. His mouth latched onto Dean’s left nipple, sucking slowly, flicking his tongue, then dragging teeth over the sensitive bud until Dean arched with a ragged gasp.

“Fuck, Cas-”

Dean’s head knocked back, his whole body arching to get more, to chase the maddening heat of Cas’ mouth. He felt Cas’ other hand cupping him firm and rough through his jeans, palm grinding in tight, slow circles that made Dean’s knees shake. Cas switched to Dean’s other nipple, swirling his tongue, teasing and sucking until Dean was whimpering, his hips stuttering forward in helpless, frantic little thrusts. Every drag of Cas’ mouth sent a bolt of pleasure straight to Dean’s cock, already painfully hard, leaking in his jeans, desperate for more friction.

“Look at you,” Cas murmured, voice gone hoarse and breath hot against spit-wet skin. “Fucking gorgeous, all strung out for me. You want to come like this? You want me to ruin you with my mouth and my hand, right here?”

Dean couldn’t even form words, just a needy, broken moan, and Cas’ fingers tightened, his thumb pressing in just the right place through the denim, grinding hard, fast, and relentless now while his tongue flickered over Dean’s left nipple. Every sound Dean made seemed to drive Cas further - biting, licking, tormenting Dean’s nipples while he whispered filth into the slick heat of his skin.

“That’s it,” Cas growled, nipping at Dean’s chest as he stroked him rougher, “let go for me, Dean. Come in your fucking jeans, be my good boy. Let everyone outside wonder why you’re making such a racket in here.”

Dean’s whole body snapped taut, heat rushing up his spine as he jerked into Cas’ hand. His eyes rolled back and he came, hard and helpless, into the denim, gasping Cas’ name, the world narrowing to the sticky warmth spreading in his jeans. Cas held him through it, his mouth gentle now, hand soothing, stroking over Dean’s oversensitive chest. He pressed a kiss right over Dean’s racing heart.

“So fucking good for me,” he whispered.

Dean slumped against the door, ruined, panting, completely and utterly owned, still trying to catch his breath, brain barely piecing itself back together. Cas’ hands smoothed down his sides as they looked down, taking in the obvious, wet patch darkening the front of Dean’s jeans. Cas grinned with sharp, smug delight.

“You made a hell of a mess for me, Dean.” His voice was a low and wicked purr. “Hope you enjoyed that, because you’re about to walk past half the town with that badge of honour on display.”

Dean’s cheeks went crimson, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to throttle him. “You’re a son of a bitch, Novak.”

Cas just arched an eyebrow, glancing around the back room. He grabbed the biggest potted plant in reach and shoved it into Dean’s hands. “Here. Carry this. Maybe no one will notice the evidence.”

Dean glared, but he couldn’t help grinning back. “Wow, you’re all heart.”

Cas leaned in, his voice a dark, velvet promise. “Let’s make a deal. If you can keep that plant alive for a week - just one week, Dean - I’ll come to your house and finish the job. Properly.”

Dean’s eyes went wide, heart thudding. “As in..”

Cas’ smirk deepened. “As in, I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name. I’ll make you beg for it, Dean.”

Dean’s answering grin was pure, delighted filth. “Deal. I’m gonna water this thing every hour.”

Cas laughed, “I suggest you google some care instructions for a Calathea, Dean,” and swung open the shop door, gesturing grandly for him to exit.

Dean shot him one last look, still clutching the massive plant, and caught the dark promise in his eyes as Cas mouthed, one week. Dean nodded, then bolted for the sidewalk, the leafy shield doing its best to hide the proof of what Cas had just done to him. As he hurried away, he couldn’t stop smiling, already counting down the days, and planning just how alive he could keep a stupid houseplant.

-

By the time a week crawled past, Dean’s apartment had never been so clean, and neither had he. He’d spent the afternoon scrubbing, tidying, and casting anxious glances at the houseplant perched on his kitchen table. The poor thing looked as exhausted as Dean felt, clinging to life by a single stubborn leaf, but technically it was alive. Rules were rules.

He’d taken a long, hot shower, scrubbing himself everywhere and making sure he was smooth where it counted, he even broke out the fancy body oil he had originally planned to regift, just in case Cas wanted to get really up close. Dean picked out the best pair of panties he owned. A baby blue pair with soft white trim that hugged him just right, making him feel sexy and a little bit pretty, the way he wanted to feel for Cas. They barely covered him, framing everything in a way that had him half hard just looking in the mirror. He kept pacing as his heart thumped in his chest, checking the time every two minutes. Any second now..

The buzzer rang and Dean nearly dropped his phone in his scramble to answer. He fumbled the receiver, trying to sound casual.

“Hey-uh, yeah, Cas, come on up. I’m open. I mean- Door’s open.”

He hung up and did one last nervous check, tugging his shirt down, smoothing his hair, making sure the plant looked at least somewhat presentable. As footsteps sounded on the stairs, Dean’s stomach twisted in anticipation, a sweet ache already curling low in his belly. He wanted Cas to see him, wanted Cas to take him, wanted to be ruined all over again. And tonight, he was ready for it.

He swung the door open and Cas stepped in, all composed calm, a little smirk already ghosting his mouth. He took his time, pausing just inside to glance around, his sharp gaze sweeping over Dean’s tidy living room, taking in every nervous detail. Dean stepped back, hovering by the kitchen, fussing with the plant, babbling about anything to fill the silence and distract from the way his heart was pounding. Cas barely responded as his eyes moved over the space with quiet curiosity before drifting to the little plant on the table, its lone green leaf quivering, clinging to life. He strolled over and reached out to run a thoughtful finger along the wilted stem. His eyebrow quirked as he looked at Dean, expression deeply amused.

“Well. I’ll give you this - technically, it’s alive.”

Dean did his best to look proud, though his smile wobbled. “Hey, a deal’s a deal, right? It’s all about the fine print.”

Cas’ mouth twitched, something darker sparking in his eyes as he left the plant behind and closed the distance between them with an easy, almost lazy stride. Dean barely dared to breathe as Cas stopped right in front of him and reached up, fingers warm and steady as he tilted Dean’s chin up, their eyes locking. For a moment, Cas just looked at him, searching his face, gaze flicking down to Dean’s lips and then lower, tracing the line of his body beneath his clothes.

“Good thing I’m a man of my word,” Cas murmured, voice rich and close enough that Dean felt it in his bones. 

Dean swallowed, pulse roaring in his ears, a shiver running all the way down to where the panties hugged him tight. “Yeah?” he managed, voice barely more than a whisper.

Thank god for technicalities.

Cas let his fingers slide down, trailing just under Dean’s jaw, thumb teasing at the soft skin behind his ear and Dean’s cheeks flamed.

“I hope you’re ready,” Cas whispered, his breath hot and full of filthy promise, “because I intend to make good on every part of our deal.”

Dean’s knees went weak and his body practically hummed with anticipation, desperate for whatever Cas had planned. Cas’ eyes glinted, his smirk widening as he leaned in, lips brushing Dean’s ear as his hand slipped down, fingers hooking just beneath the waistband of Dean’s jeans. He paused, with brow raised and lips curving in a pleased, knowing smirk as his fingertips brushed the soft edge of lace instead of cotton.

“Well, well..” Cas drawled, pretending at innocence but letting his thumb drag deliberately across the delicate fabric. “Did you wear something special for me tonight, Dean?”

Dean flushed as blood rushed to his cheeks and down, his whole body burning under Cas’ touch. He stammered, “I-I just thought.. maybe you’d-”

Cas cut him off with a gentle, wicked laugh. He tugged Dean a little closer, voice low and warm in his ear. “Did you wear pretty panties for me, Dean?”

Dean bit his lip, barely able to nod, his eyes lidded with embarrassment and want.

Cas’ gaze was molten, every word thick with praise and command. “Show me, sweetheart.”

Dean hesitated, his nerves jangling, but Cas took his hand and led him over to the sofa, moving slowly. Cas sat down, sprawling back with the same lazy confidence, eyes fixed on Dean, a king waiting for his offering. He patted his knee, voice gentle but brooking no argument.

“Come on, pretty boy. Strip for me. I want to see what’s mine tonight.”

Dean’s breath shook as he fumbled with his henley, slowly dragging it up and over his head. Cas watched with dark eyes and a small smile of approval on his lips. Dean’s jeans followed, button popped, zipper pulled down, each move more desperate and clumsy as anticipation built. When Dean finally slid his jeans down his thighs, the baby blue panties hugged his hips, the lace delicate against his skin, framing the hard, needy cock beneath. Dean stood there, exposed and trembling, biting his lip as Cas let his gaze wander.

“God, Dean..” Cas said, his voice rough and thick with hunger. “You look fucking perfect. My pretty little treat.”

Dean’s skin tingled with pride and want, every nerve tingling as Cas beckoned him closer, eyes promising everything Dean had been fantasising about all week and then some.

“Now turn around.” Cas’s voice left no room for doubt. “Let me see all of you.”

Dean turned, cheeks hot, back arched a little to show off the curve of his ass in those tight, soft panties. He heard Cas’ breath hitch, a tiny sound but it made pride fizz up through his embarrassment. Dean felt gorgeous, and Cas wanted all of him.

“Good,” Cas said, and there was satisfaction in the word. “Now flex for me, just a little.”

Dean did, feeling his nerves bubble up, playing along and loving how Cas’ eyes went heavy lidded and greedy. His hand drifted down, fingers lazily rubbing himself through his own jeans as he watched Dean pose, every movement for Cas and only for Cas.

“Arch your back. That’s it.” Cas’s eyes were hungry and dark. “Touch yourself a little. Over the panties.”

Dean’s breath shuddered, but he obeyed, one hand drifting down, cupping himself, pressing into the soft fabric. His knees nearly buckled at the sensation, every bit of him tuned to Cas’ gaze and the way he looked ravished just watching Dean obey.

“Look at you,” Cas murmured, stroking himself now, his own control starting to fray at the edges. “So fucking beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Dean whimpered, the humiliation bubbling into excitement.

Ok, calm down. Don’t embarrass yourself, you absolute slut.. 

He bit his lip at the dizzy pleasure as Cas leaned forward.

“I want you to remember this, Dean. Every time you wear something pretty for me, every time you pose just like this, know I’m thinking about how good you’ll look when you come apart for me. When you’re begging for it. When I finally let you have what you want.”

Dean’s thighs trembled as heat rolled through him, and all he could do was nod, biting his lip, desperate for Cas’ hands and praise.

Cas crooked a finger. “Come here, sweetheart. Time to let me see how pretty you sound, too.”

Cas’ finger was an unmistakable summons, and Dean’s breath caught. His legs moved before his mind caught up, stepping between Cas’ knees, trembling with anticipation he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to.

“Sit in my lap,” Cas murmured, voice dipped in a dark warmth.

Dean’s pulse jumped. He let Cas take his hips, guiding him down until Dean was straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions, their bodies close, heat rolling between them. Cas settled back into the sofa, his hands gripping Dean’s waist with quiet possession, the kind that made Dean’s whole body buzz. Dean braced himself on Cas’ shoulders, breath stuttering out in a soft, shaky sound he couldn’t hold back.

“Look at you,” Cas whispered as his eyes dragged down, lingering on the baby‑blue lace stretched tight across Dean’s hips. “So pretty like this.”

Dean flushed under the praise. He felt Cas’ hands slide slowly up his spine, then down again, slipping around to hold him close, pulling him flush against him, every inch of contact making Dean’s stomach clench and flutter.

Cas’ mouth was warm and coaxing as he kissed him, his hand sliding to the small of Dean’s back, holding him in place while Dean melted into the kiss, fingers curling weakly in Cas’ shirt. Dean gasped softly when Cas tilted his head and slowly deepened it, as if savouring Dean’s taste. When Cas finally pulled back, Dean was panting, with kiss-swollen lips and glazed eyes. Cas hummed, pleased by the sight.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, thumb tracing the edge of Dean’s mouth, “you make the prettiest little sounds.”

Dean shivered as Cas’ hands drifted lower again, settling on Dean’s hips, guiding and coaxing him to grind in his lap exactly how he wanted him. Dean let out another soft, helpless noise, leaning into Cas’ touch as the heat under his skin bloomed bright and needy. Cas’ lips brushed his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, light, barely-there kisses that sent sparks racing down Dean’s spine.

“Good boy,” Cas breathed against his skin.

His hands tightened just slightly, guiding Dean in slow, maddening movements before his mouth found Dean’s again, kissing him like he planned to take his time breaking Dean apart. Cas’ hands were strong on Dean’s hips, thumbs pressing into the sensitive hollows just above the stretch of baby-blue lace. He held Dean there, letting Dean feel the shape of his own erection pressed up tight to Cas’ thigh. 

“Keep moving for me,” Cas murmured, guiding Dean with the faintest pressure, rocking him forward until Dean was grinding down harder, the friction making his head spin. The lace of the panties dragged so sweetly against Dean’s cock, the pressure perfect and cruel. Dean gasped and clung tighter to Cas’ shoulders, letting himself be moved and used, each roll of his hips sending a bolt of heat straight through him.

Cas slid one hand up, palming Dean’s chest, fingers brushing over a peaked nipple, thumb circling slowly until Dean shuddered, arching into his touch. The other hand slid between them, pressing up from beneath, dragging along Dean’s perineum before cupping his needy cock through the thin fabric that was now damp with precum, teasing him with just enough friction to make him bite back a moan.

“You like that?” Cas asked, his voice low and filthy, lips grazing Dean’s ear. “Like being touched while you’re all pretty and desperate for me?”

Dean whimpered, nodding helplessly. “Yeah, Cas, please.. want you..”

Cas kissed him deeply, tongue hot and claiming, swallowing every little sound Dean made. His hand never stopped moving - petting, squeezing, rubbing slow and steady, keeping Dean right there, trapped on the edge.

“Let them hear you, sweetheart,” Cas whispered, teeth nipping at Dean’s jaw. “I want everyone in this building to know who’s making you feel this good.”

Dean rocked harder, panting desperately, the heat building until his whole body trembled and his thighs shook as pleasure crested sharply. Cas held him close, murmuring praise, thumb circling just right until Dean finally let go, coming hard, spurting into his panties with a broken cry, hips stuttering as Cas held him through it.

Dean sagged, his face pressed to Cas’ shoulder, the world gone sweet and hazy around the edges as Cas stroked his hair.

“That’s my good boy. All mine,” he mumbled, his voice soft but edged with pride.

Cas’ eyes dragged down Dean’s body, pausing at the damp spot blooming through the pale blue of his panties, tongue flicking over his lower lip like he was savouring the view before the first taste.

“Show me,” Cas said, his voice a little ruined at the edges, promising a thousand careful devastations.

He manoeuvred Dean to stand, their bodies brushing making Dean’s knees wobble just enough for Cas to notice and smirk. He gestured for Dean to show him toward the bedroom. Dean’s heart thudded so loud he was sure Cas must have heard it, and his skin prickled with anticipation, nerves already singing, his sensitive cock rubbing against the soft lace. When Cas nudged him through the doorway, Dean went willingly, breath hitching as Cas guided him to the bed and nudged him down to sit at the edge where Cas knelt in front of him, hands braced on Dean’s thighs leaving hot fingerprints. He dragged his palms slowly up, coaxing Dean’s knees apart, spreading him wide enough to make him blush. Cas pressed a kiss to the inside of Dean’s thigh, teeth just grazing skin, and Dean’s hips twitched, desperate for more.

“Stay just like this,” Cas murmured, and there was iron behind the gentleness as his hands slipped up, fingers tracing over the damp spot on the blue fabric, dragging his thumbs along the outline of Dean’s cock. He let the anticipation build, mouth so close Dean could feel the heat of every breath.

“You wore these for me,” Cas said, barely above a growl, pride and possession tangled in every word. “I want you to remember how good you look like this. How much I want you.”

Then Cas finally hooked his fingers under the waistband, dragging the underwear down so slowly it felt like a striptease, eyes never leaving Dean’s, wanting every shiver, every flush, every ragged exhale. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the base of Dean’s soft cock, then looked up.

“Lie back. Let me take care of you.”

Dean lay back on the bed, heels digging into the soft comforter, chest already flushed and rising fast. Cas slicked his fingers with the lube Dean had left out in hopeful anticipation of the evening’s events, never breaking eye contact, and Dean’s thighs trembled with anticipation. Cas’ other hand settled on Dean’s thigh, fingers spreading possessively. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin above Dean’s knee, let his teeth scrape just enough to make Dean gasp, then dragged slow kisses up, closer and closer to where Dean was already aching. He shivered as Cas’ free hand traced up his inner thigh, thumb stroking absentminded circles as if he couldn’t help but soothe.

“Breathe for me,” Cas murmured, his voice all dark velvet. “Let me see you relax.”

Dean tried, let the air shudder out of him, his body loosening bit by bit as Cas’ fingers found their way between his cheeks, cool with lube but steady as stone. The first touch was feather-light as a single fingertip glided over the tight ring of muscle, testing, teasing, drawing a shaky, desperate whine from Dean’s throat. Cas paused, waiting until Dean’s hips pushed up, asking for more, before pressing in just a little, the slick glide smooth and patient.

“There you go,” Cas coaxed. “That’s it, sweetheart. God, you’re so good for me.” His other hand stroked Dean’s hip as he slowly worked his finger inside, easing past resistance, watching Dean’s face for every twitch, every bitten-off gasp.

Dean’s hands fisted in the sheets, white-knuckled with the effort to stay still. His breath hitched with every shallow thrust, every stretch and curl of Cas’ finger. Cas moved with aching patience, sliding in and out, coaxing him open, adding more lube as he worked deeper.

“You feel that?” Cas rumbled, mouth pressed to Dean’s thigh. “Let me know what you need. I want you perfect for me, Dean. I want you begging.”

He added a second finger, relentless and slow as they scissored gently, opening Dean wider. The stretch was a perfect burn, any pain replaced with pleasure, stoking Dean’s arousal until his desperate cock perked up with renewed interest and started to fill out, leaking onto his stomach. Cas shifted closer, pressing his mouth against the inside of Dean’s thigh, sucking a mark into the skin.

“Look at you. Spreading so sweet for me. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” His voice was thick with hunger, every word sliding over Dean’s skin like oil.

Dean whimpered, hips rolling down against Cas’ hand, desperate for more. “Yeah. Please, Cas, please.. need you.”

Cas hummed in approval, fingers curling just so, brushing against Dean’s prostate. The jolt ripped a ragged moan from Dean and his back arched helplessly off the bed. “There it is,” Cas whispered. “Let me do it again.” He stroked that spot until Dean was gasping, a ruined mess beneath him, trembling with every pass.

The lube was slick and cool but Cas’ fingers were warm and he took his time, never rushing, letting Dean adjust with every movement, working him open until he could press a third finger in, slowly and carefully stretching him wide.

“You’re taking me so well, baby,” Cas praised, biting a line of kisses up Dean’s inner thigh. “So perfect. So ready for me.”

Dean couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the desperate noises spilling out. He was gone, dizzy with want, cock throbbing, skin tingling everywhere as Cas pressed deeper, thrusting his fingers, slowly scissoring and curling, fucking Dean with his hand until he was sure Dean could take him.

“Can you feel how open you are for me?” Cas rasped, his voice now thick and rough with need. “I could slide right in. Fill you up, just like you want.” He twisted his fingers one last time, drawing out another broken cry, then withdrew gently. “Turn over for me,” he murmured, voice steady and commanding, full of gentle authority. “On your hands and knees.”

Dean’s breath caught, something about the way Cas said it made his whole body thrum. He shivered and let Cas guide him, strong hands helping him roll over, knees sinking into the mattress, palms flat against the cool sheets. The air felt different like this, charged and intimate, as if every shadow in the room was watching. He heard the faint, snick sound as Cas reached for more lube.

“Good boy,” Cas murmured, and Dean felt himself melt at the praise.

Fuck, he loved this. Loved the sure way Cas touched him, the way Cas’ hands moved like they owned him, completely in control. He’d never known he wanted this so much, but now he couldn’t imagine ever giving it up. He wanted to be whatever Cas wanted, to show off for him, spread out and open, perfect and eager. Dean buried his face in the crook of his arm, biting back a smile, a moan, a helpless laugh.

Look at me. Bent over for him with my ass in the air. Fuck, I’d do anything he asked. Anything to keep hearing that voice, that praise. 

He felt Cas’ hands settle on his hips, thumbs tracing idle circles as he pressed a line of slow, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of Dean’s spine. The bed creaked with every shift and movement, and Dean’s body hummed with anticipation.

“Look at you,” Cas breathed. “So eager. So ready for me.” He slid his palm down between Dean’s thighs, cupping him, fingers squeezing just enough to make Dean’s arms tremble with effort. “Tell me what you want.”

Dean’s voice was ragged and strangled. “Want you, Cas. Want you inside me. Please-” He broke off, gasping as Cas’ slick fingers pressed inside again with expert strokes, making sure he was ready, every movement calculated to draw another broken sound from Dean’s lips. Cas’ control was the kind of steady dominance that felt like a gift, as if he could read every need Dean had and was determined to fulfill them, one by one, drawing out the moment until Dean thought he might shatter from wanting.

He could keep me like this forever, Dean thought, dizzy and grateful, and I’d beg for it. 

He pressed back against Cas’ hand, aching for more, desperate for the push and stretch and burn. Cas leaned over him, breath hot against his ear.

“You’re mine, Dean,” he murmured, drawing his hot and heavy cock out, rubbing it against Dean’s thigh.

Dean whimpered, a shiver racing through his entire body, and braced himself as he felt Cas slick his cock, guiding the tip to Dean’s entrance, waiting for the last thread of permission. And Dean gave it, every thought and every muscle, heart thundering, ready to be filled, taken, owned. He pushed back against the blunt head of Cas’ cock as it pressed against him, slick and hot, teasing at his entrance. Cas rubbed slow circles, making Dean gasp, making him wait. Dean almost sobbed as he arched his back.

Guy gets a little confident and suddenly he’s the fuckin’ king of England. Please, your majesty, just-

Cas started to push in, inch by slow, relentless inch, and the stretch was fucking everything - sweet, almost too much, burning just right. Dean’s mouth dropped open in a moan, his brain misfiring, every nerve ending sparking as Cas gripped his hip tighter.

“You’re doing so well, Dean,” he rasped. “Let me in. Just like that.”

Dean’s voice stuttered out as a groan, head dropping, forehead pressed to his forearm. He felt Cas’ cock slide deeper, filling him in a way that made his whole body clench around it. It felt like a goddamn religious experience.

This is why people go to church. They’re all just looking for a Cas to ruin them on a Sunday morning.

Cas bottomed out with a low moan as his hips pressed flush against Dean’s ass, the heat of him searing. He stilled, one hand splayed on Dean’s lower back, thumb tracing idle circles, waiting for Dean’s breath to steady.

“Ok?” Cas murmured, and Dean nodded, probably a little too fast and eager.

“Yeah. Perfect. Better than perfect. If I die now, put that on my headstone.”

Cas huffed a soft, incredulous laugh then rocked his hips, just enough to make Dean keen and his arms tremble. The stretch, the fullness, the goddamn pressure, every slow drag in and out was a perfect punch, scraping pleasure over every inch inside him.

Cas set a slow but deep and claiming rhythm. His hand slid up Dean’s spine, pushing down between his shoulder blades, making Dean arch into it, open wider, take him deeper. Every movement was the kind of steady dominance that said, Mine. Mine. Mine.

This is it. This is how I go. Death by florist cock. Should put that in my obituary. Sorry, Sammy, I died doing what I loved - getting absolutely railed by a secret dom. Look after my porn collection, buddy. And don’t you dare drive my Baby.

Cas leaned forward, his lips at Dean’s ear. “So fucking perfect. I could fuck you like this forever.” 

His hand snaked around, fisting Dean’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Dean could barely hold himself up, moaning with every stroke, every thrust, his thoughts a tangled, frantic mess.

Should thank him. Maybe bake a cake. ‘Thanks for rearranging my guts, Cas.’ Wonder if Hallmark makes a card for this.

He pushed back, meeting Cas’ rhythm, desperate for more. “Harder,” he gasped, “C’mon, Cas.. want it, want you..”

Cas obliged, hips snapping harder, pace ruthless now, the bed rocking beneath them. As his rhythm built, his hands locked tight on Dean’s hips, pulling him into every deep, hungry thrust. Dean’s mind was just a blur of desperate, greedy need. Then, right as Cas pulled almost all the way out, hips snapping forward again, he brought his palm down in a sharp, stinging smack to Dean’s ass.

The sound cracked through the room like a perfect, filthy punctuation mark. Dean yelped, his head snapping up, startled, wide-eyed, and breathless. He felt the sting bloom bright across his skin, mixing with the deep, perfect ache inside him.

“Fuck, Cas-!” he barked, his hips jerking back for more before he could even think to hide it. The heat went straight to his cock and made him throb, desperate for whatever Cas wanted to do.

Cas’ hand lingered where it landed, stroking over the red mark, his voice low and wicked in Dean’s ear.

“You like that,” he growled. “Didn’t think you could get any sweeter for me, Dean.”

Dean bit down on a whine, his body singing with every sensation.

Definitely didn’t see that coming. Or maybe I did, and that’s why I wore the good underwear. Either way, ten out of ten, would recommend. Fuck, he can do that anytime.

Cas rocked into him harder and Dean moaned, shameless and eager. “D-do it again. Cas-.”

Cas landed another sharp, perfect smack that made Dean’s eyes roll and left him dizzy with how much he wanted it, desperate to see how much he could take. Every line of control from Cas made him want to give up more.

Best. Decision. Ever. Dean thought, grinning through the haze.

Cas’ palm landed again, a little harder this time with a sharp smack that echoed through the room and set Dean’s nerves alight. Dean sucked in a breath, his hips jolting from the sting but also just from how goddamn good it felt, how it made everything inside him tighten. He couldn’t help it as a cocky, breathless laugh tumbled out of him.

“That all you got, Cas?” he taunted low and reckless, glancing back over his shoulder with a wicked, challenging grin. “C’mon. Don’t go soft on me now.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed, a dangerous heat flickering in the blue. “Careful,” he warned, his voice dropping into something dark and velvety. His hand stroked over the fresh red print blooming on Dean’s ass, gentle for a moment, and then another smack, even sharper, the sound sweet and filthy. Dean gasped as the sting raced up his spine, making his cock leak against the sheets.

“Fuck, Cas, just like that. Don’t.. Don’t you wanna leave a mark? Wanna feel it tomorrow. Show me what you got, big guy.”

The challenge in Dean’s voice seemed to light something wild in Cas. He leaned in, teeth grazing Dean’s shoulder as his hand came down again, this time a flurry of quick, rhythmic smacks, each one punctuated by a moan or gasp. Dean’s body arched into every strike, greedier with every touch.

“You’re impossible,” Cas growled, lips pressed to Dean’s ear. “Insatiable.” His voice was rough, wrecked, full of pride and hunger. “But you’re mine. And you’re going to remember it every time you sit down.”

Dean bit his lip, a broken laugh bubbling up. Gonna be walking funny for days. Can’t wait for the bruises. Hell, I’d ask for a handprint if I wasn’t too busy drooling on the sheets.

“Gimme another,” Dean begged, shameless now, pushing back into Cas’ palm, showing off just how much he could take. “Bet you can’t even make me beg. Or are you gonna let me win this one?”

Cas’ answer was another perfect slap, each one sending sparks of pleasure-pain ricocheting through Dean’s body as Cas thrust harder and deeper. Dean’s cock was throbbing, mind blown wide open, every thought reduced to raw sensation - heat, ache, the sweet stretch of Cas inside him and the bright, blooming sting on his skin.

“You want to beg?” Cas rasped. “Go on, Dean. Let’s hear it.”

Dean’s head fell forward, laughter and moans tangled together. “Please, Cas.. Please.. harder. Don’t stop. Want everyone to know I’m yours. Want to feel it tomorrow. Fuck, make me scream.”

Cas’ control slipped and he started thrusting harder, spanking and fucking Dean in perfect rhythm, chasing every plea and every cry, his own voice unravelling with it.

“You’re lucky I’m already fucking you, Dean. Because next time you’re a little brat I’m going to spank you raw, mark you with my handprint, then leave you desperate.”

Dean could barely breathe or think, burning with pleasure and pride. He wanted to be marked, wanted to be claimed, wanted Cas’ name written all over his skin, carved into his freaking ribs.

Best decision I ever made, Dean thought, grinning through the tears, was signing up to be Mr July. And if I can’t sit tomorrow, I’ll just have to remind Cas whose fault that is.

The room was nothing but heat and noise - skin slapping, the crack of Cas’ palm, Dean’s desperate moans, every sound louder than the last. Cas was gone, breathing harsh as his hips snapped, every thrust harder and deeper, every slap rougher. His voice dropped to a rough, possessive growl.

“That’s it, Dean, let everyone hear you. Let them know you’re mine.”

Dean couldn’t hold back or even muffle the way he cried out. “Fuck, Cas, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop, harder, please-” The words dissolved into a helpless wail as Cas angled his hips, driving in deep and hitting that spot that made Dean’s toes curl and his whole world spark white at the edges.

Cas’ hand snaked around, fisting Dean’s cock again, stroking him in time with every thrust, the rhythm relentless, filthy, and absolutely perfect. Dean bucked into his grip, sobbing, the ache in his ass delicious, his skin hot where Cas’ marks were blooming.

Cas slammed in deep one last time, his whole body shaking as he spilled inside Dean with a guttural, half broken shout. He barely pulled out in time to let some of the hot, thick spurts paint Dean’s back, dripping down his spine and over his skin in messy, possessive lines. Dean was gone, every sound torn out of him noisy and desperate as Cas slid back in. Dean’s walls clenched around Cas, his own cock pulsing as hot ropes spurted onto the sheets, stars bursting behind his eyes as the world blurred at the edges.

They collapsed together, Cas still gasping, both of them sticky and shaking, Cas’ come smeared across Dean’s skin like a signature. The room echoed with their ragged moans and laughter, and Dean could barely move. 

“Holy shit, Cas.” He managed in a hoarse yet delighted voice as he turned his head, a dopey, satisfied grin stretching across his face. “You ever need to prove your point again, just, y’know, use me as a canvas. Worked like a charm.”

Cas laughed then pressed a line of kisses down Dean’s spine, his lips gentle on every messy, ruined mark. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, voice still frayed with lust and pride. “Absolutely perfect.”

Dean basked in it all - the ache, the mess, the fact that he could barely feel his legs and didn’t care at all. They stayed tangled for a long, blissful minute, the only sounds their shaky laughter and the uneven thump of their hearts. Dean’s face was pressed sideways into the pillow, grinning so hard it hurt, totally spent and still catching his breath. Cas was draped over him, chest sticky, arms wrapped around his waist, head tucked into the curve of Dean’s shoulder. Dean tried to lift his head and instantly winced. His ass stung, his thighs trembled, and he was pretty sure his spine had forgotten how to function. He snorted, voice muffled by the pillow.

“So, uh.. should I expect you to try walking me on a leash next?”

Cas just hummed. “If you ask nicely,” he said, far too satisfied, and let his hand slide over the bright, warm marks on Dean’s ass, thumb rubbing slow circles into the bruised skin. “Or I could just carry you everywhere, since I don’t think you’ll be walking much for a while.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but the smile wouldn’t leave his face. He managed to flop onto his side, legs tangled with Cas’, staring up at him with wide, mock-innocent eyes. “Yeah? Hope you like your men extra floppy.”

Cas traced lazy patterns on Dean’s belly with two fingers, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Mine now,” he said, simple and smug, like it was a done deal. “All of you. Covered in me. Marked up so everyone knows.”

Dean’s cheeks flamed, he couldn’t even pretend to hide it. “Damn, Cas, possessive much?” He tried for coy, but it just came out dopey. “You know you don’t have to do all that. I’m not.. ‘m not goin’ anywhere.”

Cas just arched an eyebrow, gaze sweeping over every inch of ruined skin, every sticky patch. “No,” he agreed, his voice low and rich, “but I’ll enjoy reminding you.” His hand slid down, squeezing Dean’s sore hip, thumb pressing into a fresh handprint. “And you like it too. Don’t even try to pretend.”

Dean barked a laugh, hiding his face in Cas’ chest. “You don’t know that.”

Cas leaned down, his mouth brushing Dean’s ear, voice all heat and certainty. “I do. I could feel you clenching every time I spanked you. You begged for it, Dean. Loud enough for the neighbours to take notes.”

Dean groaned, mortified but grinning, and half-heartedly swatted Cas’ thigh. “Yeah, yeah, all right, don’t let it go to your head. You got me. I’m-” He hesitated, laughter trailing off into something softer, a tremble of truth. “ ’m yours.”

Cas’ hand cupped Dean’s cheek, thumb stroking his jaw. He pressed a gentle and grateful kiss to Dean’s lips, full of everything he wanted to say. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not giving you back.”

Dean just sighed, boneless and happy, letting himself be held. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then,” he mumbled, trying for flippant but failing completely.

Cas grinned, brushing hair off Dean’s forehead. “Guess I am. Good thing you’re perfect. My perfect little bratty good boy.”

Dean snorted. “My ass is gonna be lopsided for a week.”

Cas smirked, eyes glinting. “Worth it.”

-

After that first night, Dean hadn’t bothered pretending he wanted anything less than Cas’ hands on him from then on. They just fit together. Cas knew exactly what Dean needed, how to command, how to pull every filthy, desperate sound from Dean’s mouth and make him beg for more. Dean, for his part, took to submission the same way he took to cars: with freaking gusto. Sometimes they’d barely make it to the back room at Graceful Greenery before Cas had Dean up against the wall, kissing him breathless, hands tugging Dean’s jeans down just enough to leave him exposed and needy while the scent of flowers clung thick in the air. Dean got a thrill out of the risk, the two of them pressed together behind the half closed stockroom door while customers browsed just feet away, Dean muffling his moans into Cas’ throat as Cas whispered filthy promises against his skin.

But home was where Cas truly let himself play, where he could sit back on the sofa, legs spread, a glass of honeyed tea in his hand, and order Dean to perform just for him. Dean would appear in the doorway, already flushed, wrapped in whatever Cas had picked out that night: delicate lace, sheer mesh, sometimes nothing but soft thigh-highs and a smile.

“Show me, sweetheart,” Cas would murmur, and Dean would obey, sometimes posing, arching his back and showing off every curve Cas loved. Sometimes Cas would have Dean slide a hand between his legs, touch himself slowly while keeping eye contact, waiting for permission to go faster, to let go. Those nights always left Dean dizzy and limp, his voice gone hoarse from begging, his skin burning with the memory of Cas’ praise.

Other nights, Cas got creative. He liked to put on music and have Dean dance for him, hips rolling, thighs shaking, moving for Cas and only Cas. Dean always started shy, but Cas’ dark, hungry gaze would strip every ounce of self-consciousness away until Dean was lost in the rhythm, desperate to please, desperate for Cas’ approval. By the end, he’d end up sprawled across Cas’ lap or pinned to the nearest surface, gasping, panting, out of his mind with want, Cas’ mouth everywhere, murmuring what a good boy he was.

It was filthy and beautiful and sometimes so tender it made Dean ache. He’d never known he could want someone this much. With Cas, he did. And Cas, in turn, took care of him, praised him, and gave him all the safety in the world, even when he had Dean writhing and desperate, panting his name and shuddering with pleasure.

They were, Dean figured, a pretty perfect fit: the mechanic and the florist, Mr July and Mr May.

-

Dean pushed through the glass door of Graceful Greenery just as Cas was turning the sign to closed. The last rays of evening sun filtered through the window, spilling gold across the floor, catching in Cas’ hair as he looked up and saw Dean standing there, grinning like he had a secret. Cas’ face softened into that private smile Dean had come to crave.

“You’re a little early, sweetheart.”

Dean shrugged, feigning innocence as he stepped forward, hands behind his back. “Couldn’t help myself. Brought you somethin’.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. “Mm? What is it?”

Dean pulled his hands forward to show off The Calendar, and he waggled it in Cas’ direction. Cas’ eyes went wide with delight as he came out from behind the counter.

“Oh, my God. We finally got copies?”

“Hot off the presses,” Dean said smugly, handing it over. “Have you not looked at it yet?”

Cas gave him a sideways glance. “Not yet. Have you?”

Dean tried for a straight face and failed. “I had a peek at Benny.”

Cas fixed him with a flat, dangerous look. “Did you.”

Dean held up his hands, laughing. “Kidding.”

Cas’ mouth curved in a smirk as he leaned in, pressing Dean back against the counter for a lingering kiss. “You’ll pay for that later,” he murmured against Dean’s lips, his eyes glinting.

Dean bit his lip as the hunger stirred. “Fuck, I hope so.”

Cas took the calendar, flipping it open to July. His grin faltered, replaced by a dark, satisfied groan as he took in Dean’s photo: Dean standing by Baby, bare-chested and gleaming with sweat, streaks of grease on his pecs and stomach, overalls hanging sinfully low on his hips, his mouth a perfect, smouldering pout.

Cas’ hand found Dean’s neck, pulling him in for another heated kiss, voice low and needy in his ear. “I need to come watch you work more often, sweet boy.”

Dean laughed. “Pretty sure I’d get fired if I showed up to work like that.”

Cas hummed in agreement, trailing fingers down Dean’s chest. “Health and safety would have a field day.”

Dean nudged Cas with his hip and flipped the calendar to May. He stopped, his eyes going wide, all the breath leaving his lungs. Cas’ photo - Cas - was sprawled among the wild riot of flowers, honey running in golden rivulets over his chest, long legs artfully stretched, flowers covering just enough. But it was his face - those heavy-lidded, commanding eyes, lips parted just a touch - that nearly knocked Dean over.

Dean audibly gasped. “Fuck me.”

Cas smiled, pleased and predatory, closing the calendar with one hand and catching Dean’s wrist with the other. “That’s a fantastic idea, Mr July.”

Dean grinned, his pulse racing as Cas tugged him gently toward the back room, the calendar left forgotten on the counter.

*