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Dean doesn’t like to think of himself as a mercenary. He’s a knight, for fuck’s sake. He has a trusty steed and his own armor. He has a noble name and has served as squire to great heroes like Cain and Singer. He has his own titles from tournaments won and enemies defeated. He’s bested men and demons alike. Every sort of monster to be found in the woods on the eastern border of the kingdom has fallen under his blade. The only type of creature he has yet to encounter and fell is a dragon, and he hopes very much to find the opportunity to do so while he’s still young and foolish enough to think it more fun than dangerous. By any man’s judgement, he is a highly skilled and highly esteemed knight.
A knight who happens to need money to pay for his brother’s schooling and impending nuptials. Dean promised Sam he would take care of the expenses, and though the wedding with Lady Moore will cost quite a bit of coin, Dean is determined to follow through on that promise. That, of course, is how Dean finds himself as a sword for hire. He is still in service of the king, but the king has no need of his army at the moment. It’s a peaceful time as far as he’s concerned, which really just means the king isn’t at war with some other king at the moment, and all the conflicts are internal ones between lower lords and merchants.
There are plenty who appreciate Dean’s skill with a blade, hiring him to fight their meaningless battles and defend their lands from other lords or bandits. Crowley especially always has work for Dean; he’s the richest Duke in the province and has a knack for stirring up trouble. Not that the trouble ever amounts to much more than a light skirmish or a show of force or occasionally cleaning out a vampire nest, but it’s enough to keep Dean’s pockets filled with gold, his glass filled with ale, and his armor and sword in good condition.
And admittedly, there are other perks to his current position. Namely, the handsome blacksmith who services his weapons and armor.
Before, Dean’s childhood friend Benny had been the only blacksmith he’d trusted to get things done right. When Benny’d hired another blacksmith to help with the workload associated with having a band of knights living in town, Dean had reluctantly given him a chance and allowed him to repair his sword.
Castiel is a work of art when he works at the forge, fire illuminating his tan skin and bringing to light all the wonderful contours of his face. The strong jaw covered in stubble, the chapped lips, the hair clinging to his brow… It’s breathtaking. And that’s just while he’s stoking the fires. When Castiel steps to the anvil and starts hammering, though, that’s when Dean has to adjust his pants.
The other blacksmiths always keep their shirts on, but not Castiel. Oh no. He claims the tight fabric doesn’t allow him to fully swing his hammer down on the hot iron and steel. He doesn’t like the way it clings to him when he’s soaked in sweat. Which is fine by Dean. It gives him the chance to stand nearby and watch the play of muscles across Castiel’s back as he moves. The way his arm flexes as he pulls the hammer up and swings it back down. And then there’s the sweat, dripping down along plane of his back, starting between the shoulder blades and cascading down his spine to bunch at the small of his back. If Dean’s lucky, his pants will hang lower than usual, giving a hint of the dip of Castiel’s crack. Oh the things he’d love to do to that ass-
“Here you are, Sir Knight,” Castiel says as he dips the blade in a barrel of water. Steam rises as the sword cools and Dean blinks back into the present. “Your sword is ready for battle once more.”
“Thank you, Castiel.” He hands over the purse of gold, reveling in the feel of his fingers brushing along Castiel’s palm. “I appreciate your services, as always.”
Castiel nods as he accepts the money, not bothering to count it out as he drops it on his workbench and retrieves his discarded shirt. Dean suppresses a whine as Castiel puts it back on, hiding that beautiful body under a layer of cotton. After awkwardly standing there a few more moments to enjoy the last few moments in Castiel’s company, Dean takes his sword and slips out with a shy wave.
It should come as no surprise that Dean breaks his swords with startling frequency. Each time, he stays and watches Cas work. And each time, he has to rush back to his room at the local inn and stroke himself to completion with thoughts of getting that beautiful back beneath him. Or over him, Dean isn’t picky. Not so long as he gets to touch and lick and kiss to his heart’s content.
Five broken swords in so many weeks, plus a chipped helmet, a new breastplate, and a fine dagger with a silver handle, and Dean wonders how Castiel could have failed to notice Dean’s interest. Sometimes Castiel sways his hips as he walks from forge to anvil, bends a little farther over than necessary, or flexes his back needlessly. In those moments, it makes Dean think that he does know and, furthermore, that he enjoys teasing Dean.
Yet whenever Dean tries to flirt with him, asking Cas to accompany him to the tavern for ale or offering to take Castiel by horseback to see the nearby castles, Castiel smiles politely and declines. He’s always much too busy, or so he claims, and doesn’t want to impose upon Dean’s free time. Resigning himself to an unrequited crush, Dean still indulges in seeking Castiel whenever his equipment needs repair.
Or to needlessly purchase new equipment.
Once again, he finds himself with a broken sword. Not terribly surprising, given that lately he’s taken little or no care to hold back the fury of his blows. He should probably be more careful, or he’ll find himself without a sword in the midst of battle, but the more recent skirmishes have been child’s play in comparison to what he saw in the king’s army.
“Oh no, how terrible,” Dean says to himself with a smile on his lips, sheathing the bottom half of the blade and wrapping the other part in a wool cloth. “Guess I’ll have to stop by the smith’s again.” There’s a definite spring in his step and he can’t help but whistle as he makes his way there.
It’s the beginning of summer, and he hopes Castiel will already have stripped down to bare his chest. The man never cared for the moderate spring heatwaves, and Dean can’t wait to see him drenched in sweat once summer hits in full force. He’ll have to remember to bring a flask of spring water to cool off the poor blacksmith. How lovely his adam’s apple would look, bobbing as he swallows down the contents of the deerskin.
“Morning, Benny,” he calls as he steps into the front of the shop.
All of their wares are on display here, everything from arrows to plow heads to fine silver and gold jewelry. They don’t make much in the way of armor or swords unless asked specifically, but there are a few pieces nestled in the corner. Dean does no more than wave at Benny as he continues through to the back where the the forge is kept and all the metal working is done. The back room is only partially enclosed, open to the air to keep it from overheating but covered to keep the snow and rain at bay.
“He ain’t here.”
Dean stops dead in his tracks and backs up. “What?”
“Castiel. He ain’t here. Went back home to visit his family for a week. So for now it’s just me.”
“Oh.” His heart is beating rapidly from when Benny said Castiel had gone back home, only recovering slightly when he heard it would only be for a week. He stands there long enough that Benny coughs to draw his attention and Dean blushes.
“You’re really into him, aren’t you, brother?” he says knowingly.
“Wh-what?” Dean stutters. “You’ve got it all wrong. He’s just good at his job, is all. And I know you’re not a fan of doing swordwork.” Benny is indeed a pacifist, but he’s never once let that interfere with his work. They both know that, but it seems as good of an excuse as any to explain away his preference for Castiel.
“I love working with swords,” Benny answers flatly. “I don’t much care for how they’re used, but there’s an elegance in the weapon itself. If you need me to fix your blade, I can do it for ya.”
“Oh, right.” He’d hoped Benny wouldn’t call him on the obvious deflection. Swallowing thickly, he tries again. “Well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. With Cas out of town, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of extra orders to take care of.”
“Dean, give me the sword.” He starts to reach out for it, but then pulls back and smiles broadly, “Unless of course there’s some other reason you’d rather have Cas do it.”
Dean stands there rigidly, trying to find some way out of this, but soon his shoulders slump in defeat. “Yeah, fine, I like Cas, you happy?” Once the confession’s out of his mouth, he can’t stop the flood that follows. “I like watching him be all sweaty and hot as he works, and god, those arms. I train every day, but I still feel he could give me a run for my money, manhandle me into any position I want. And oh god, Benny, his ass. He gets all sweaty and I just wanna lick every last inch-”
“Okay okay,” Benny interrupts with an eye roll. “I get the idea. If you want, I can hold onto the sword for you and send word when Cas is back and has taken care of it.”
“Thank you.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. Though he won’t get to see Cas in action, there’s no way he’s willing to entrust the sword to anyone else. He’ll just have to take the week off from battle until it’s done, or maybe take up Crowley’s offer to clear his moat of its grindylow infestation. It’d distract him from Cas being gone and he could probably handle it with the weapons he has on hand.
“No problem, brother.” The smile Benny shoots him is genuine, if not condescending. “I’ll see you in a week.”
A week passes and there’s still no word from Benny. That’s fine, Dean’s been busy and he can’t begrudge Cas extra time with his family. Then one week becomes two, and Dean starts to wonder if something’s wrong. The easiest thing would be to go back and check in with Benny, but he’s still embarrassed from their last encounter. One thing to admit he has a passing physical attraction to the other blacksmith. It’s a completely different matter to hover like a lovesick teenager and indicate that it might be something more.
By the gods, it’s so much more.
Eventually, there’s a message waiting for him with the innkeeper. Written in Castiel’s neat handwriting, far too legible and precise for a blacksmith, the note asks for Dean to come to the shop at his earliest convenience and that he has a surprise for Dean.
Unbidden, Dean’s imagination runs wild at the word ‘surprise.’ His dick and brain both agree that the best surprise would be Castiel completely naked and bent over his anvil, wiggling his ass in invitation for Dean to do whatever he likes with it. Then reality comes crashing back in and he acknowledges the likelihood of that scenario playing out are almost zero.
But add it to his growing list of Cas-related fantasies.
He’s intrigued but doesn’t want to seem over-interested, so he goes about his regular morning routine. He has breakfast at his favorite tavern, checks in with his commander at the camp, and spends some time at the market to get himself a new pair of boots. It’s not until midday that he feels that he can justify rushing over to the blacksmith and asking about his ‘surprise.’
No one’s in sight at the shop front, so Dean heads straight on through to the back. His heart leaps to his throat when he catches a glimpse of Cas’ tan, soot covered skin as he works at the smelter.
“Heya, Cas. Long time no see.”
The other man jumps slightly, then blue eyes are turned on him as Cas flashes a devastatingly beautiful smile his way. Dean is so totally head over heels in love with this man, it’s not even funny.
“Hello, Dean. Glad to see you’re looking well.”
Dean smiles back shyly before coughing and breaking the staring match between them. “Got your message. Said you wanted to see me?”
“Ah, yes.” Castiel move to his workbench and collects a rather impressive looking longsword. “I made this for you,” he says as he hands it over with a broad grin.
Cautiously, Dean accepts the gift. It’s made of fine ebony steel, dark and perfectly beaten into a perfectly smooth sword. There are sigils carved along its blade, from where it meets the silver handle all the way down to where it tapers to a point. Dean tests its sharpness and immediately nicks his finger on it. Next he tries out the feel of it in his hand; the weight’s perfectly balanced and the grip fits perfectly, as though made specifically for Dean’s hand. Probably because it was made just for him.
“Wow, Cas,” he says in awe. “It’s a beautiful sword.”
“You like it?” There’s unparalleled excitement in his voice as he steps forward. He motions for Dean to hand over the sword, and he gladly does so. “The sigils are Enochian, a special configuration my family uses to ward against demons and monsters. Your enemies won’t stand a chance against you.”
“Is that why you went home?”
“Yes.” Dean tries not to read into that too much, but it’s hard not to. “My brothers are more familiar with the sigils than I am, and I wanted to consult them before etching them into the blade.”
“Wow, Cas. How much do I owe you for it?”
“Huh? Oh, don’t worry about it. You’ve singlehandedly kept me and Benny in business these past few months. Consider it a gift, from one friend to another.”
“Thank you.” And he means it. This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him. Then, to diffuse the emotion bubbling up inside of him, he adds, “It’s uh… it’s probably the most badass sword I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Castiel grabs the scabbard from the bench and sheathes it. “I forgot to mention the best part.”
“There’s something better than a sword warded against monsters and demons?” Dean asks incredulously as he attaches the sword to his belt.
“You no doubt noticed the dark steel?” Cas waits for Dean’s nod before continuing. “It’s leviathan steel, mostly for its ebony color. What people generally don’t realize is that once the metal’s been cast, it’s nigh unbreakable.”
“Unbreakable?” Dean repeats dumbly.
“Yes, unbreakable. It won’t rust or become dull, either. You won’t have to come get your sword repaired each week like you’ve been doing.”
Dean’s smile freezes in place. He won’t have to come in anymore. Is Cas trying to get rid of him? Cas made a point of saying this is a gift from one friend to another. Is this Cas letting him down easy?
“Oh. That’s uh, that’s great Cas.” The words can barely work past the lump in his throat, but he forces them out anyway. “Thanks. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”
He’s already retreating, wondering if he should head to the field and find someone willing to spar with him to work off this nervous energy, or maybe instead he should go back to the tavern and drink til he forgets how shitty he feels right now.
“Feel free to stop by with any other weapons or armor repairs you have,” Cas calls after him, something unreadable in his voice. “Or if you want to come in and just… talk…”
Dean’s not really listening though, his need to get the hell out of here overriding everything else. “Yeah, I’ll do that Cas. For sure.”
He doesn’t.
His breastplate splits in half, and he stuffs cotton in the cracks and wedges it shut with the tar.
His helmet gets smashed so that it doesn’t quite fit on his left side, an inward bulge rubbing annoyingly against his temple. He borrows a hammer from someone at the camp and tries to knock it back out himself. It doesn’t quite work, but it’s manageable.
He loses a gauntlet in a swamp while fighting a water spirit. Instead of going in for a new one, he borrows an extra from Garth. It’s far too small and cuts off circulation to his fingers if he wears it too long, so Dean only puts it on right before a battle and takes it off immediately after. It’s very tedious to do, but there’s no way he’s going in for a new one.
But as promised, the sword doesn’t break or rust or lose its edge at all.
A month goes by without him stopping by to see Castiel. Or Benny, for that matter, and he knows his old friend doesn’t like it - he’s cornered him at the inn a few times to force him to share a meal so they can catch up. He can’t bring himself to go back. It’s cowardly of him, to refuse to go back and see the man who’d declared himself Dean’s friend. They were friends, but the sting of losing the potential for more is still too much for Dean to ignore.
Which is why he’s completely taken by surprise when he’s drinking himself to incoherency one evening and none other than Castiel sits down next to him.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” he tells the barmaid as he settles in. “Hello Dean.”
Dean gapes at him for a few seconds before he recovers. “Hey Cas. Long time no see.”
“Indeed. You haven’t been into the shop in some time. Since you’ve obviously declined my invitation, I thought the only way I’d get to see you again is if I came to you.” A dark porter is placed in front of Castiel and he nods his thanks to the barmaid as he takes a sip. “Why haven’t you been by, if I might ask?”
He can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Uh, because you gave me an unbreakable sword? What do I have to go there for now?”
Castiel sighs deeply as his fingers drum along the bar. Dean’s worried his surly behavior will scare off the other man - and good riddance, the bitter part of Dean says, let him know what it’s like to be sent away - but Cas doesn’t seem at all discouraged.
“Benny may have indicated that I didn’t do a good job of conveying the motivation behind making you that sword.”
The idea that Benny and Cas have talked about him has him wincing. “You didn’t want to see me around the shop so much,” Dean grumbles into his tankard. “Don’t worry, I got the message loud and clear. You don’t gotta say it or anything.”
“No that’s- that’s not why.” Cas shifts nervously in his seat as he wrings his hands. His demeanor has completely changed from the confident though somewhat annoyed man who’d approached him moments ago. This show of nerves has Dean raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Dean, I wasn’t trying to get rid of you. I just want you to be safe. You’re always out fighting, and your sword breaks far more often than it reasonably should. I was concerned it’d break in battle and you’d be hurt. Or worse. I spent a lot of time on that sword, making sure it was perfect, just to make sure you were as safe as possible. I-” He looks pained and his voice drops to nearly a whisper. “I would be devastated if I ever heard you’d gotten injured or killed, especially if there was something I could’ve done to prevent it.”
Oh. That’s… really sweet. No one aside from his brother had said such things to him outloud, admitted that it’d pain them if he got hurt.
“Of course,” Castiel continues, voice no longer open and vulnerable as anger creeps in, “the fact that you haven’t stopped by to have your equipment taken care of is infuriating. I know how hard you fight and how banged up your gear gets, which means I can only suspect how in need of repair it is. You’ve been deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way because you have willfully misunderstood my intentions.”
“Your intentions to keep me safe?”
“Yes. Don’t try to avoid addressing my concerns. Is your armor okay?”
“Well…”
“Dean.”
“I’ll bring it by tomorrow for you to look at, you happy?”
Castiel grins victoriously at him. “Yes. Though there’s something else.”
Too nervous to actually say anything, Dean nods and braces himself for what might come next.
“Benny also suggested that I’d… been wrong in assuming you were indifferent to me. Sexually, I mean. You’ve of course always been open and friendly, but I didn’t think you thought of me as anything more than a friend until Benny told me otherwise. I’d apparently misread your offers for companionship as purely platonic when they were actually flirtations. I’m… I’m not good at noticing these types of things.” He takes in Dean’s grimace and starts to backtrack, looking adorably flustered. “Unless Benny was mistaken and I’ve just overstepped-”
“No!” Dean quickly interrupts. “Benny, he’s uh, he’s not wrong about that. I’m interested.”
“In having intercourse with me?”
A nearby barmaid giggles at them and Dean blushes. “Fuck, Cas, keep it down.”
Castiel grins at him. “But you do want to have sex-”
“Yes, I very much want to. I don’t think it’s possible for me to think about blacksmithing without getting hard. I’ve dreamed about getting you into my bed since the moment I met you. Now please stop talking so loudly, let me pay for our drinks, and let’s go back to my room.”
“Agreed.” In a rush, they both finish off the rest of their drinks. Castiel finishes first, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he lays some coin on the counter and starts marching toward the door.
“Slow down,” Dean laughs and pulls at Cas’ sleeve to keep him from rushing off. The bad mood he’s been harboring since Cas gave him the new sword is gone, replaced with anticipation for the night to come and no small amount of affection for the man before him. “We’ve waited this long, I don’t think a few more minutes will kill us.”
“I’ve wanted to feel your cock inside me since the moment you walked into the shop and asked me to handle your sword. A few more minutes might not kill us, but forgive me if I don’t want to waste any more time.”
“... You know, for a guy who doesn’t understand flirtations, you have a filthy mouth.”
Castiel leans forward, taking Dean’s empty tankard out of his hand and entwining their fingers. “Let me show you how right you are.”
And so began the best thing that ever happened to the knight Dean Winchester.