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The guy is beautiful, and Dean is nervous.
It’s an awkward situation. Possibly the most gorgeous person Dean’s ever laid his eyes on is handing him a small plastic cup and handful of dirty magazines.
The nurse’s eyes are even bluer than his scrubs, his shoulders stretch out the fabric. His waist is slim and his thighs are… fuck. Dean would die for a chance to get crushed between them, and his stomach squirms at the thought.
“Could I get, uh. Dude magazines too?”
The guy doesn’t blink, doesn’t blush.
“Of course.”
He’s gone and Dean realizes that it was a useless request. He should just ask for a recording of that guy’s voice reading the phone book and he’ll be done for.
He’s soon back with glossy pages of naked men in enticing positions. He hands them to Dean.
“Do you want me to take those back?”
He points at the women’s mags. His fingers are slender, a bit knobby. His skin is tan and Dean can see the clear definition of muscles in his forearms.
“Um. No. That’s fine. I like both. Y’know.”
Castiel -- as per his name tag -- gives him a little smile.
“Do you need anything else?”
“Are you offering me a hand?”
It came out before Dean even realized he’d opened his mouth. He blames the nerves, the slight shaking of his hand, the pounding of his heart. He flirts when he’s nervous, that his default state, that’s how he gets out of things. He flirts all the time and his brain hasn’t quite caught up with the fact that this is not the time nor the place to pick up a hot nurse. A really hot nurse, who’s even more attractive with a delicate blush on his cheeks.
“Shit, I’m--”
“That’s highly inappropriate.”
“Shit, I know, I-- I didn’t mean --”
“Didn’t you?”
Dean has no idea how to interpret Castiel’s face. Safe for the blush on his cheeks, his expression is completely blank.
“I flirt when I’m nervous. It’s a reflex, I’m sorry.”
Finally, a crack in his façade. Castiel's lips quirk up in a little smile and Dean stares at them. They’re… really something.
“I understand that this is stressful. It’s not exactly a sexually arousing environment.”
“Wouldn’t say that.” He’s giving Castiel an automatic once-over before he catches himself again. “Shit. Fuck. I’m--”
Dean digs his fingers into his eyes, thinking about gouging them out. He hears Castiel laugh and it gives him goosebumps. He takes a deep breath, trying to pretend he’s not melting inside at the sight of Castiel’s smile. It’s blinding, warming, breathtaking.
He looks down at the magazines in his hands, the still images of fantasies. That really does nothing for him.
How can someone’s laughter be more arousing than actual porn?
“There’s also a computer in there, with the internet,” Castiel says as if he can read Dean’s thoughts.
“There a picture of you on it?”
“You really have no control over your mouth, do you?” Castiel retorts. His eyebrows have drawn together but Dean can see him fighting a smile.
“You’re welcome to take--” Dean bites his tongue, so hard tears well up into his eyes. At least he managed to stop before inviting Castiel to take full control of his mouth. “You should leave. ‘Cause this isn’t gonna stop.”
Castiel’s eyes have a spark in the but he nods before exiting and closing the door.
Dean throws the magazines to the ground and unbuckles his belt thinking about Castiel’s glorious ass so snug in his scrubs.
Getting out of the room is somehow even more scary. The cup is warm in Dean’s hands, thankfully not transparent, but Dean hands were a bit sticky when he screwed the lid back on and despite wiping it with tissues, he just -- this is weird.
He dreads facing Castiel most of all. He didn’t pick up the magazines, didn’t even turn on the computer. He thought about Castiel’s lips, pink plump and shiny when he ran his tongue over them. He thought about Castiel’s throat, the dip of his collarbone taunting under the V neck of his scrub.
He thought about those shoulders, those legs, thought about long, nimble fingers filling up a syringe. He thought a lot about a tight, firm ass in blue scrubs, and that’s what got him over the edge.
He walks out on wobbly legs, holding the cup with shaky hands. He attempts to smile at Castiel, who’s waiting at him at the nurse station, but fails. In the moment it felt inevitable -- he had to reach hardness and orgasm despite his nervousness, and thinking about this handsome smiling stranger was the only thing getting any kind of stir.
But the reality is that Dean jerked off to a real, actual person, a professional doing his job just a few feet away. Castiel doesn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be used like that, nor did he deserve any of the disgusting things Dean said to him because of his lack of filter and his nervous brain.
“I’m, uh. I’m really sorry.”
Castiel doesn’t lift his eyes when Dean gets to the counter, but there’s a definite blush on his cheeks again.
Dean just came to mental pictures of the guy, yet he’s still floored by how much more gorgeous Castiel is in real life, breathing and existing and standing there all serious and stubbled and with a stethoscope around his neck.
Dean puts the cup in front of him.
“It’s, uh, full. Y’know.”
“I’m sure your partner will be very pleased,” Castiel says, his cheeks hot pink, avoiding Dean’s eyes.
“I don’t have -- she’s a lesbian.” Castiel’s eyes jump up. He frowns. “My friend, the one I -- I’m -- she asked me to, y’know. For her and her wife. They’re lesbians. I’m not with them.”
Castiel just stares at him, and Dean wonders if he’s wearing contacts. His eyes are so impossibly blue, impossibly deep.
“Again I’m -- so sorry. For the… inappropriate flirting, an' all that.”
Castiel nods and then offers a small smile.
“You are forgiven.”
His eyes flick down to Dean’s lips.
“I’m Dean, by the way.”
“I know, your name is in your file.”
“Right.”
There’s a silence while Castiel types on the computer.
“D’you, uh, d’you like working here?”
Dean’s eyes are met with a squint. To be fair, he’s cringing inside from how pathetic is attempt is right now.
“It’s alright.”
He should stop. He should shut up, and definitely not do what he’s about to do, which is try to pick up the nurse collecting his semen sample.
“What does your partner think of you handling jizz and stuff all day?”
“Is that your really weird way of asking if I'm single?”
Dean shrugs, looks at the floor, picks at a pamphlet near the register, all in an attempt to appear breezy. Even though he’s really really not.
“Maybe.”
He spies another little grin on Castiel's lips as he pretends to fill up some papers.
“I’m single, but I have a daughter.”
“Cool. I love kids.”
Castiel picks up the cup and writes something on it. His fingers are shaking and Dean grins. He has an effect on Castiel, no matter how much he’s trying to play it cool. Maybe he’s in with a chance after all.
“So… D’you like to eat?”
“Dean." Castiel's eyes flick up to meet his, and Dean's breath hitches a little. "Stop flirting with me while I’m holding your semen. It’s disgusting and inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate because you’re at work or because of my prime deposit in your hands?”
Castiel tilts his head. “Both.”
“Yet you still wish you’d seen me come, don’t you?”
Castiel’s eyes bulge out, his mouth falls open. Dean stares at him with a wide, shit-eating grin.
“No, I don’t,” Castiel finally says. Dean can see him try very hard to not return Dean’s smile.
“I’ll make up for it if you come to dinner with me.”
Castiel scoffs but he’s smiling, and his blush has travelled down his neck, and Dean’s heart is full of hope.
“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met.”
“Is that a yes?”
Castiel rolls his eyes and it might be the cutest thing Dean’s ever seen.
“Yes.”
Dean writes his number on the pamphlet and slides it right next to the cup. Castiel rolls his eyes and scoffs again, but folds it and puts it in his pocket.
Dean hasn’t even made it to his car before his phone buzzes.
Unknown number
>Your "prime" deposit is now in a safe place.
Dean
<please tell me it’s the fridge, not your mouth
Unknown number
>You’re the filthiest person I’ve ever met
Unknown number
>Are you free tonight?
Dean
<fuck yes