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1. At First Glance
“C’mon, c’mon, baby, you can do it. You can—GAH!”
Castiel frowned. That was not what he expected to hear as he exited the stairwell of his apartment complex. He turned the corner and saw a man in a bulky green-brown jacket swearing at the door opposite his.
Ahh. This must be the new tenant. Gabriel said Hael had finally found someone to take over her lease.
Cas shifted his briefcase in his grip. Normally this would not be something he would take notice of, but the new tenant’s apartment was directly opposite his own, which meant the boxes piled haphazardly in the hallway created a bit of an obstacle course.
He let out a silent huff of air through his nose, and began picking his way around the boxes. Some had things like “kitchen” and “books” scrawled across them, while one had an enigmatic “Moondoor.”
As Castiel twisted his body around another stack of “books” and “bedroom,” his briefcase caught on the edge of “linens,” twisting the box out of place until it teetered on the edge of the box below it (“games”). He scowled and tried to right it without making a bigger mess.
“Hey, whoa! Do you need some help there?” The man had apparently given up on the door for the time being and had finally noticed Cas’s presence.
Castiel froze, then straightened and turned his head to glare at the (attractive) man. “I would not need help if you had not clogged the limited hallway space with your”—he gestured wildly, briefcase swinging through the air and hitting the side of “cookbooks/kitchen” with a dull thud—“disaster!”
The man winced. “Right. Sorry, man. I would move it all inside, but,” he gestured at the door, “I just can’t seem to get the door open. I mean, the key fits, but I can’t get it to turn all the way.”
Cas sighed heavily, his jaw tight, and then relaxed, his frustration ebbing. It was not this man’s fault he had had a bad day at work. “Hael complained about it often. I believe there is a trick to opening it.”
“Right.” The man reached for Cas’s briefcase. “Let me help you out there. You’re right, I made a bit of a mess here.”
Cas handed it to him before bundling his trenchcoat tightly around himself and squeezing around the last tower (“DVDs,” “bathroom,” “music”). This close to the stranger, he could see that he had not been wrong in his assessment of the man as attractive. His freckle-laden cheekbones, tousled hair, and bright green eyes made for a very pleasing picture that had Castiel swallowing around a sudden dryness in his mouth.
A long moment passed as they stared at each other. Then the man cleared his throat. “Right,” he said again and held out his key.
Cas took it, breaking the stillness of the moment, and inched past the man to the stubborn door. “I believe the trick is in holding the door tightly against the frame, then turning the key,” he narrated. The key rotated through three-quarters of a turn and hesitated. Cas applied more pressure and the lock gave with a dull click. “Sometimes you need to wiggle the door in the frame to get it into position.” He turned the knob and pushed the door open. “There you are.”
The man grinned and Cas’s heart tripped and stuttered at the sight. “Awesome. Thank you.” He held out a hand. “Dean Winchester.”
Cas took it. “Castiel Novak. Most people call me Cas. I live across the hall.” He held out the key.
Dean took it and handed back the briefcase. “I guess I’ll see you around, Cas.”
2. I Saw You
There was a knock at his door. Cas frowned and tilted his head as he contemplated the sound. People did not usually knock at his door. Then again, people did not usually visit him at all. Perhaps he had imagined it.
The knock sounded again. Perhaps he hadn’t. Cas set his laptop aside and got up from the couch. It’s not like his research into the newest changes in the IRS’s tax code couldn’t wait.
He opened the door. “Dean?” he said in surprise. It was indeed his beautiful neighbor from across the hall. Cas hadn’t seen him since he had first moved in three weeks before.
“Hey, Cas.” Dean’s mouth spread into an easy grin. “Long time no see. Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”
“No, nothing,” Castiel reassured him, leaning against the door jamb. “Just a few things for work.”
“Yeah?” Dean looked intrigued and rested one hand on the opposite side of the doorframe. “What is it that you do?”
Cas gave a wry smile. “I’m a CPA.” Dean’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “A tax accountant,” he clarified. Dean nodded in understanding. “And you?”
“Oh, I’m just a mechanic. Do a lot of restorations and oil changes – you know, the usual.”
“I doubt that.”
Dean’s hand fell from the doorframe. He looked affronted.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Cas hastily added. “It’s just that I don’t think you could be ‘just’ anything.”
Dean’s face colored slightly and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Anytime,” Cas said. He caught Dean’s eyes. “I mean it.”
There was a long silence that neither appeared inclined to break. Then Dean seemed to recall what had brought him to Cas’s door in the first place. “Oh,” he broke eye contact, reaching into the front pocket of his jeans. “I almost forgot.”
He held out his apartment key. “I’m leaving tomorrow to visit my brother Sammy in California for a week. Normally I’d just let everything sit, but my friend Charlie gave me a plant as a housewarming gift, and I don’t want to look like an idiot for letting it die.” His grin was bashful now. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to stop by a couple times next week and water the thing?”
Cas gave him a smile in return. “Of course I can, Dean.” He took the key. It was still warm.
“Awesome. That’s the spare, so I won’t need it tomorrow. Thanks, again.” Dean shoved his hands in his jean pockets and took a half-step back.
“It’s no problem, Dean. I hope you have an enjoyable trip to see your brother.” Cas caught a last glimpse of Dean’s smile before he shut the door to his apartment.
Perhaps people did sometimes knock on his door. And as Cas left the spare key on Dean’s counter a week later before showing himself out, he realized that he really wouldn’t mind having many such interruptions in the future. Especially from Dean.
3. And I Couldn’t Help
There was something about the acoustics of the stairwell that carried Dean’s curses particularly well, Cas reflected. It was surprising, given the solid construction of the rest of the structure, that the architects would not have taken into account the amplifying nature of the hallways.
It did serve as advance notice to Castiel that his uncomfortably attractive neighbor was in the hall, though, and for that he was grateful. Over the last two months he had spoken to Dean a handful of times as they passed each other in the hallway, each time ending with Dean’s face pink, Cas’s stomach in knots, and a buoyant feeling of happiness that kept him warm all day. Their last such contact had been over two weeks ago, however, and Cas had found himself missing the man’s warm laugh and bright eyes.
Now Cas turned the corner and found Dean in front of his apartment door, coaxing and cursing the doorknob in equal parts, just as he had been when they had first met. The hall was clear of boxes this time, though Dean’s arms were full of two paper shopping bags, and he had two more reusable bags hanging from his arms.
He could see what the problem was. Dean seemed to be reaching for the lock with his key held awkwardly between two knuckles of his right hand as the rest of his fingers tried not to drop the six pack of beer he was clutching or the two grocery bags held tight against his chest.
“C’mon, c’mon…damn it!” The key slipped out of the lock where Dean had been trying to gently feed it in.
Cas chuckled lightly. Dean’s head swiveled to see who had found him in such a state. “Cas!” His face lit up as he saw Cas walking towards him. “Hey, can you help me out here?”
“Of course, Dean.” Cas set his briefcase down by his own apartment door and carefully took the key from Dean. “I see you are having a bit of trouble with the door.”
Dean gave a self-deprecating snort. “You can say that again.” Cas opened his mouth to repeat his statement, but Dean just chuckled and shifted the crinkling bags in his arms. “Not to be pushy or anything, Cas, but do you think you could get the door open before we chat?”
“Of course, my apologies.” Cas slid the key in the lock and held the door tightly as he opened it.
“Thanks, man,” Dean sighed as he stepped into his apartment and began carefully sliding the bags in his arms onto his kitchen counter. “These were just really heavy, and I couldn’t figure out how to set them down.”
“Why didn’t you take two trips?” Cas asked curiously as he helped Dean lift the reusable bags off his arms onto the counter.
He was answered with an embarrassed half-shrug and a wince as Dean straightened his arms. “Ow. I could have, I guess. It’s just not my style.”
“Dean,” Cas reprimanded as he set Dean’s key down on the counter next to a loaf of French bread. “You shouldn’t risk your health and safety like that. Carrying heavy bags up three flights of stairs is not beneficial for your back. And if I hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to get into your apartment at all.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean brushed off his comments good-naturedly as he started sorting through his bags and putting things away.
“I’m serious, Dean. You know I only have your best interests at heart.”
Dean looked up at that and met Cas’s earnest eyes. “I know, Cas. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
There was a long pause, broken when Dean cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Y’know, Cas. I was gonna make pasta tonight, but I always end up making too much, so would you maybe like to come over for spaghetti and meatballs later?”
“I would love that, Dean.”
Dean’s grin was smaller than usual and a bit tentative, but still there. “Great. So I’ll see you around 6?”
“It’s a date.” Dean’s face flushed, but he didn’t deny Cas’s words. Castiel threw him one last smile before stepping back into the hallway and collecting his briefcase. As he fished around in his trenchcoat pocket for his own apartment key, he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face.
4. But Love You
It wasn’t just Dean’s curses. The stairwell amplified everything, Cas was beginning to realize. The conversation between he and Dean seemed too loud, their footsteps too heavy on the metal treads. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he realized their conversation had trailed off into an awkward, expectant silence.
It had been a beautiful evening. After their first date when Dean made spaghetti and they had casually sat next to each other on the couch to watch Star Wars (“Dude, I cannot believe you haven’t seen this. It’s a classic!”), Cas had invited Dean over for their second. That one had involved Cas making a strawberry-rhubarb pie through sheer force of will and had ended with half a pie pan of leftovers pressed into his neighbor’s hands in exchange for a tentative kiss on the cheek.
They left the stairwell and turned into the hallway, still in lockstep. Dean hesitated as they approached their doors. This had been their third date and their first quote-unquote “official” one. Dean had caught Cas coming home from work three days before and asked if he’d be interested in exploring the city a bit that weekend. There was apparently a new burger place that Dean had heard was “awesome” and wanted to know if Cas wanted to go with him “on a date. A proper official date.”
This had caused some confusion, since Cas had considered the other evenings to be dates also and Dean had scowled and said that they didn’t count since they hadn’t had an “official” date with dinner out and a kiss at the end and everything. This had caused a slight flush, which had Cas agreeing before he knew it.
Cas came to a stop beside Dean, who was looking at the floor between his polished dress shoes and rubbing the back of his neck.
“So, I had a good time,” Cas tentatively offered.
Dean looked up, caught his eye, and smiled. “Me, too.” His arm dropped back to his side. He seemed to want to say something else, but wasn’t sure what.
“I’d like to do it again,” Cas said. “If you’re amiable, of course.”
“I’d love to,” Dean said a little too quickly. He was wiping his hands on the sides of his slacks. Cas could hear a metallic sound as the keys in his front pocket clinked together. “I mean,” Dean coughed and tried to fight the rising blush, “I would like to go out with you again, Cas. On a date. Another date. Like this one. I mean, not this date, exactly, but something like it. The burgers were good though, right?”
“Right.” Cas barely got the word in before Dean kept talking. He stuck his left hand in the pocket of his pants in an attempt at acting casual.
“There was something on them. Some sauce that was kind of tangy that I liked.” Dean pulled the ring of keys out of his pocket and started nervously flipping them over his fingers. “I thought it really brought the whole burger together.”
“That’s ketchup, Dean,” Cas said wryly as he gave a small fond smile to the flustered and beautiful man in front of him.
“R-right,” Dean stuttered. “Of course it was ketchup. I know it was—”
Cas kissed him and Dean fell silent. There was a soft thump as Dean’s keys hit the carpeted floor of the hallway. Their first kiss was chaste, slow and sweet, like sunlight filtered through a still pond or wildflowers scattered across a meadow. Cas pulled away and Dean swayed, following him, his eyes closed, lips slightly parted.
The hallway was silent.
Dean’s eyes fluttered open. His green eyes were dazzling. “That was…”
“Amazing,” Cas finished, a bit breathless.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, a lopsided smile blossoming across his face.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat at the look on Dean’s face. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and Dean’s eyes darkened. He swayed forward slightly and they were kissing again.
If their first kiss had been the sweetness of a sunny summer’s day, their second was the brash fierceness of a spring thunderstorm.
While their first kiss had been simple, a brief touch of lips, their second was hunger and grasping hands. Dean’s hands framed Cas’s face and he moaned at the sensation of strong fingers clutching his hips as Cas backed him against the wall.
Cas reveled in the overwhelming sensations. The scrape of Dean’s five o’clock shadow against his own stubble. The taste of the cherry pie they had split after dinner, still sweet on Dean’s tongue. The faint smell of engine grease and oil from the day’s work lingering on Dean’s skin, sending a shiver up Cas’s spine. Dean’s long fingers combing through Cas’s dark locks, his blunt fingernails scratching his scalp, forcing a throaty groan from his lips. The freckles sprinkled over Dean’s face like powdered sugar, visible from only inches away when Cas’s eyes fluttered open. The solidity of Dean’s form between his hands, pressed between Castiel and the wall.
They broke for air, Cas nipping kisses down the curve of Dean’s neck. Dean tilted his head back in turn to allow him better access, sucking oxygen in via ragged breaths.
The distant clatter of footsteps in the stairwell called a halt to the proceedings, Cas drawing back a step and reluctantly releasing Dean’s hips as they both fought to regain equilibrium. The footsteps continued up past their floor, but the immediacy of the moment had been lost.
Their eyes met. “Uh,” Dean tried, running fingers through his messy hair. “If I, uh…” He steeled himself. “If I ask you in for coffee, will you promise to still respect me in the morning?”
Cas knew his own hair must be beyond repair, but there was no point in spending any time trying to fix it while Dean was under the mistaken impression that that question was necessary. Castiel fixed his eyes on Dean’s and tried to impress the truth of his next words on him. “Of course, Dean. I will always respect you, regardless of the circumstances.”
There was a long silence, neither blinking. Dean swallowed.
Cas looked away and tried to inject more levity into his next words. “Though if your concern is appearing overeager on a first official date, I should remind you that by my count this was our third.”
Dean snorted, and a small smile slipped onto Cas’s face in response. “As long as you don’t tell Sammy we didn’t kiss until our third date. He’ll never let me live it down.”
“I thought it was terribly sweet of you. You were quite the perfect gentleman,” Cas teased.
Dean had no response to this, but his cheeks colored at Cas’s words and his hands slipped into his front pockets as he reclined back against the wall. He looked surprised for a moment before furrowing his brow, then chuckling in realization.
“What is it?” Cas asked, curious as to what could have elicited such a reaction.
“Forgot I’d dropped my keys,” Dean explained. “Couldn’t figure out why my pockets felt so empty.”
He pushed off the wall with his shoulders and began to reach down for the keys, but Cas was already there, scooping up the keyring and offering it to his date. “Allow me.”
“Thanks, Cas.” Dean took the keys and hesitated. “About that coffee. You still interested?”
“Always.” Cas met Dean’s eyes. “Whether that’s coffee or Netflix or staying the night. Always.”
Dean gave Cas a wink and a lopsided grin as he stepped past him to open the door to his apartment. No matter the results of the evening (and Cas had a feeling the evening’s activities would tend more toward the latter end of his spectrum), it would be time well spent as long as it was with Dean.
5. Please Be Mine
Are you still watching?
The “yes” button taunted them from the screen of Cas’s television. Dean groaned and threw his arm out from where he was lying on the couch under his boyfriend, reaching for the remote. Cas chuckled into his collarbone and Dean squirmed as Cas’s facial hair tickled him. “Dude,” he complained, arm still stretched out above his head groping for the remote.
Castiel relented with a put-upon sigh, then rolled off his boyfriend onto the floor. He winced as he landed with a thud on muscles that hadn’t moved in hours. He got to shaky feet and stumbled toward the kitchen, stretching and yawning as he did so.
“Where are you going?” Dean asked, craning his head to follow him as he walked away and licking his lips as Cas’s stretch revealed two inches of smooth skin above his sweatpants.
“Figured we should start dinner soon,” Cas explained, opening his fridge door and staring at its contents before shutting it again and turning around. “Unless you want to order take out?” he added hopefully.
Dean snorted. “That’d be the third time this weekend, Cas.” He rolled off the couch and landed on his feet, padding into the kitchen. “We should probably start fending for ourselves like adults.”
Cas made a face. “Ordering take out is adult,” he muttered under his breath. “Not like I could afford it in college.”
If he was expecting sympathetic capitulation, he was sorely mistaken. Dean just laughed. “Cooking’s not that bad, Cas. Let’s see what you’ve got here.”
He crossed to the fridge and elbowed his boyfriend out of the way. The bare shelves did not impress Dean. Really, all that was in his fridge was— “Ketchup, Cas? Really? That’s all you’ve got?”
Cas gave a half-shrug. “Not that much use keeping the whole thing stocked. I’m gone all day at work, and then I order take out for dinner.”
Dean’s reaction was an exaggerated shiver of disgust. “Good God,” he exclaimed dramatically. “How can you live like this?”
Cas rolled his eyes at the theatrics.
“But seriously,” Dean asked, “you don’t eat home-cooked meals?”
Cas shrugged again. “The last thing I made was that strawberry-rhubarb pie.”
“That was five months ago!”
“Oh, how the time does fly.”
Dean ran both hands through his hair before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and opening them again. “Alright. This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to start pulling out pans here.” He pulled his apartment key out of his sweatpants pocket. “You’re going to go get a pound of hamburger, lettuce, tomatoes…basically anything in my fridge you wanna put on a burger.”
Castiel took the key. “But not ketchup,” he pointed out. “I’ve got ketchup.”
Dean smiled through a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, Cas. You’ve got ketchup.”
They stepped around each other to start their respective tasks. When Cas opened the door to his apartment again, arms full of borrowed food, he could hear the sizzle as Dean fried slices of an onion he had found in the back of one of Cas’s cabinets.
Cas deposited the foodstuffs on the counter and greeted Dean with a kiss, dropping the key back into his pants pocket. “Thank you,” he told his boyfriend sincerely, taking the spatula over so Dean could start on the burgers. “It’s been a long time since anyone has shown concern for my diet.”
Dean hummed, taking inventory of the plunder Cas had brought back. He threw Cas a wink. “I guess I’ll just have to cook for you more often, then.”
Castiel shuffled the sliced onion around in the pan and looked forward to it.
+1. Til the Stars Burn Cold
Perhaps he had been too harsh on the builders of the apartment complex, Castiel decided. It must have been his nerves at the end of their date that had made everything seem to echo around the stairwell. Now, at two-thirty on a Thursday morning, the sound of his footsteps against the metal steps seemed muted. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to hear the noise.
While working as an accountant had its perks (reasonable income, steady work, consistent hours), it became the Job From Hell during March and April. Everyone within a hundred mile radius who had procrastinated on their taxes had chosen the second week of April to descend on Cas’s small firm.
It had hit them all hard this year – Hannah, Balthazar, Naomi, and the rest – but now that today was April 15th, Cas had a four-day weekend coming to him. He had somehow survived the dreaded Tax Day, even though his last recollection of a good night’s sleep was a hazy memory, as was anything more involved than a quick goodbye kiss with his boyfriend.
He rounded the corner and reached in his coat pocket. It had to be somewhere. There it was! With clumsy fingers he extracted the apartment key Dean had pressed into his palm that morning. “I want to see you,” he had said. “No matter what time you get in.”
Castiel squinted his bleary eyes and peered at the lock. The key went in on the second attempt, and he belatedly snagged the door handle with his other hand to pull the door tight, dangling briefcase banging against the doorframe. He really did not remember the last time he had slept more than three hours in a row.
Once inside, he dropped the key back in his coat pocket, too exhausted to try and find even the kitchen table in the dark. He dropped his briefcase and toed off his shoes, waving his hands sluggishly through the air to keep his balance.
As he stumbled towards the bedroom, he started stripping. His coat was the first to go, draped over the back of the couch. His tie was lost somewhere near Dean’s record collection. His suit coat was dropped haphazardly to the floor. By the time he half-flopped, half-crawled into bed next to a long, dark lump, his dress shirt was half undone.
He vaguely heard a murmured “Cas?” and felt an arm thrown over his waist before he succumbed to the darkness.
The faint clink of dishes and Dean humming something that sounded like “Stairway to Heaven” was what woke him. For a moment, Castiel just lay there, reveling in the knowledge that he had the day off and Tax Season was over for the year. The bedroom was dark, but he could see daylight trying to spill around the edges of the curtains. A glance at his phone told him that he had slept for nine blessedly uninterrupted hours. Dean must be making lunch.
Cas groaned and pushed back the sheet and blanket Dean must have covered him with at some point in the night. He was still wearing his dress pants and his belt, but at least he had taken off his suit coat. Cas stripped down to his boxers, folding everything and putting his dirty clothes and the coiled belt in the drawer he had commandeered after the third night he had spent at Dean’s. After a moment of consideration, he pulled out a pair of clean sweatpants and slipped them on. It was noon, after all.
Dean was at the sink in the kitchen, his back to the door of the bedroom. Cas hurried across the room to the bathroom, not letting his eyes linger on the width of Dean’s shoulders under a green t-shirt that Cas knew brought out his eyes or on the way Dean’s worn jeans hugged his ass.
When he stepped into the kitchen again, Dean looked up and gave him a small smile. “Good morning, babe.”
Cas didn’t answer, but quickly wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and buried his face in his neck, inhaling the smell of quintessential Dean. “I missed you,” he murmured.
Dean’s hands were a reassuring weight on the small of his back. “I missed you, too.”
They stood there for a moment, just reacquainting themselves with each other. Then Castiel’s stomach made itself known.
Dean pulled back with a chuckle. “I made waffles a couple hours ago, but you were still out then.”
Cas pouted a little. “You could have woken me up,” he complained. “I love your waffles.”
“You needed your sleep,” Dean said, combing the fingers of one hand gently through Cas’s hair. “Besides,” he added with a mischievous grin, “that doesn’t mean I didn’t save any for you.”
Cas groaned, leaning into Dean’s touch. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”
Dean’s grin softened and he pressed a kiss to Cas’s forehead. “I love you, too. Now why don’t you make yourself comfortable, and I’ll see what I can do about heating up a few waffles for us.”
As Dean started reheating the leftover waffles, Cas looked around, curious as to how much carnage his three AM stumble had created. To his surprise, Dean’s apartment looked as it normally did, not a misplaced piece of clothing in sight. His suit coat and tie were draped neatly over the back of a chair, his shoes ordered by the doorway.
When his gaze fell on his trenchcoat, hanging by the door, he remembered the spare key Dean had lent him, still resting in the pocket. He fished it out and set it down on the counter with a quiet click.
Dean glanced at it, then went back to heating syrup in the sink. “Keep it,” he said.
“Hmm?” Cas queried, not sure he had heard him correctly.
“Keep the key.” Dean pulled the syrup jug out of the warm water and started drying it off. “I mean,” he added gruffly, “it’s not like anyone else would use it. You keep borrowing it anyway. Makes more sense for you to just have one.”
Cas stared at him. Dean shifted under the weight of his gaze, then glanced up. Their eyes met. Cas wasn’t sure what Dean read in his expression, but the tension dropped from his frame, that same easy grin spreading over his features as a shy smile matched it on Cas’s. He reversed his steps to the door, pulling his own keyring out of his coat pocket and threading Dean’s key on next to his own. He admired it for a second before theatrically depositing the ring back in his coat pocket.
Dean watched him from the kitchen with a bemused smile. Cas turned and graced his boyfriend with a brilliant grin before striding towards him and pulling Dean into a firm kiss, his hands falling to rest low on his waist.
Cas tightened his grip on Dean’s hips and gave a small tug. Dean followed as Cas pulled him back across the apartment to the bedroom.
The waffles could wait a bit longer.