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Dean's passion for photography often leads him to the most beautiful places in the world. Some days it's a reclusive, crystal clear river, flowing through the woods on a sunny Spring morning. Some days it's by the shores, by the frothy white waves, by the dim evening sun, the orange sky and the pink clouds.
But the most beautiful place it has led Dean to, by far, is to Castiel.
There's something so animated about his movements when he dances in the abandoned, open arena, the one with broken pillars, miles away from the chaos of the city. Something so innately expressive. His eyes, blue and stunning, remind Dean of the deep, bottomless depths of an ocean when he's dancing to something morose, a melody so heartbreaking Dean has to pause to simply watch. On days where he does dance to something more upbeat, his eyes are bright and electric, glimmering with mirth when he twirls around the floor of the empty arena.
With every new move, Dean notes the way he moves. With grace, with elegance, with fluidity so natural, it's as if the music were made for him, and not he for the music. He hasn't seen Dean yet, no, Dean doesn't know what he'd say if he found out some strange man has been watching him for weeks, clicking pictures of him every time he breaks into a grin, or when his eyes widen to the tune of the music, or when a soft, crimson hue paints his face after a particularly intense piece.
It isn't until Dean finds himself back at the arena for the countless time that month, does he begin to question whether it's the pictures he's really here for, or the young man who seems to be in each one of those. Castiel, he knows the name solely because he sneaked a glance at the man's bag once, and read the word Castiel on it. It suited him. A magical name for a magical being.
Part of Dean knows he's far gone on Castiel, completely immersed in love with the way he manages to speak, without uttering a single word, only moving his body in ways that bless Dean's dreams every night.
Scrolling through his camera roll, he only finds pictures of Castiel, in various poses, in the midst of several different moves. Some have a smile accompanying them, his eyes beaming with eloquence and warmth as his hand veils the lower half of his face. Some are taken from a distance, not zoomed in, simply pictures of Castiel, his arms stretched above his lithe body. Some are simply pictures of Castiel laughing when he messes up a move.
It's a beautiful, cold Autumn evening when Dean reaches the arena. Much to his surprise, it's empty. Completely devoid of any traces of Castiel. This is strange, since Castiel always visits the arena for an hour long session on Wednesdays, around five in the evening. It's only a few minutes past five, yet no sight of Castiel. With rising desperation, Dean steps out from behind his hiding spot near a large, still standing pillar, one that appears to obstruct Castiel from ever seeing him.
The seconds tick by, and yet, there is no sight of Castiel. Annoyed and defeated, because what if Castiel had to attend to something else that evening? Dean settles on one of the tapering stone steps, camera hanging from his neck and his head in his hands.
"You know," A voice starts from next to him, and Dean looks up at once, only to meet bright blue eyes twinkling with mischief, "- I'd love to see some of those pictures you take."
It's him, it's Castiel, sitting right next to Dean, with his fluffy black hair, his big, blue eyes, soft pink lips, smiling with evident mischief, as if he knows exactly what he's asking Dean, and then the scent of him, of his breezy, misty cologne.
"You?"
"What? Think you're being very sneaky with those, are you? It's hard to miss movement, mister, especially when we're the only two people in the arena."
Now that Dean notices Castiel's voice, he notes how low, gravelly his voice is, a complete contrast to the youthfulness he exudes.
Their eyes meet for a moment, before Dean caves in, and shifts closer to Castiel.
"Castiel."
At that, the boy seems taken aback.
"You know my name?"
Dean smiles, and finds his gaze wandering down to Castiel's lips, where they glisten, pink and soft, so inviting.
"Read it on your bag."
"That's not frightening at all."
At once, Dean's demeanor change, and he falters, simply attempting a coherent explanation for why he is not a creep.
"I- I- I- I didn't mean to-"
"It's alright. I'm just playing with you. I think I can tell for myself when someone is a threat or not."
Castiel chuckles, and shifts over to press against Dean, his thick thighs pressing warm against Dean's own, and Dean wants to do nothing but lean over and press himself against Castiel, feel him, touch him, taste him.
"Would you show me? The pictures?"
Would Dean show him? Every single picture in his camera is filled with pictures of the man sitting right next to him. If anything, Castiel is only going think less of him. What sane person does something like this?!
"I-"
"Please?"
There's something so innocent, so expectant about Castiel's voice, Dean finds it hard to refuse the boy. With a sigh, he gives in, slinging his camera from around his neck and settling it in Castiel's hands, who lights up with a wide, wondrous smile.
"How do you turn this on?"
Castiel asks, eyebrows furrowing, the action so endearing Dean has to pause to simply smile. He shifts closer, shoulders pressing together, as he reaches an arm around Castiel, holding him close when he covers Castiel's hand with his own, and presses the button that whirrs the camera back to life. If Castiel sense their extreme proximity, he doesn't say anything.
"Alright, so you click on this," Dean says, and guides Castiel's thumb over another, small round button, and at once, the screen changes, fading to black, before displaying one of Dean's most recent pictures. It's a picture he took on his way to the arena, of a cat with her kitten hanging from her mouth. It had been a beautiful moment, the mother, obviously, trying to help her kitten up a slippery rock, and the kitten, so trusting, between her mother's teeth, as they strutted along.
"Where did you take this?"
Castiel asks, his voice quiet and wonder-filled.
"On my way here."
"It's so beautiful... Hold on," Castiel looks to Dean, their lips mere inches apart and for a fleeting second, Castiel's eyes linger on Dean's lips, before meeting his gaze, "-I don't know your name, but you know mine. I think it's fair for you to tell me, isn't it?"
"Dean. My name's Dean."
"Hello Dean. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Castiel grins, amusement shining in his eyes as he turns, and at once, they're close, too close, their breaths mingling, eyes gazing and lips parted. As if being shaken from a dream, Dean falters, and tries to digress.
"Sorry, uh-"
His eyes fall to the screen of the camera, and Castiel's gaze follows his own. Castiel presses the button to roll the image forward. Now this picture, this is Castiel. A very recent picture, from Sunday itself, when Castiel dances his best, most freely, and for hours at end. The image is of him laughing. He'd ended up making a miscalculated jump, which ended up with him landing right on his bottom, and a few moments later, he'd been laughing as he rose from the ground. That's when Dean had snapped him.
A gasp slips past his plush lips as Castiel stares down at the image in awe.
"That's... That's me."
"It is."
Dean breathes, and his arms, heavy and draped around Castiel's shoulders, pull Castiel in closer, allowing Dean to press the next button.
Cas. In the midst of a twirl.
Next button. Cas. His hands framing his face.
Next button. Cas. Blue eyes deep with emotion.
Next button. Cas. Sitting down with his legs stretched and hands massaging his ankle.
At a certain point, Castiel pushes the camera away, an inscrutable expression written all over his face as he turns to Dean.
"These are all me... Why are these all me?"
Castiel asks, and although there's nothing accusatory about his tone, he sounds astonished, more than offended about the fact that someone has been taking pictures of him against his own volition.
"Couldn't find anything more beautiful when you were right there."
In a split second, Castiel's electric blue eyes regard Dean, and then, soft, thick lips brush over Dean's own, and although it takes him a second to catch up with what is happening, he finds himself melting in Castiel's arms.
A kiss. He's being kissed.
The kiss ends just as soon as it has started, a mere peck, hesitant and experimental, and Dean finds himself breathing in deep, wide breaths as Castiel, his eyes shut, eyebrows knit and lips parted, glazed with spit, waits for his own breath to steady.
"I'm sorry, was that too forward-"
Castiel asks, retreating away from Dean, a glint of regret in his dark blue eyes, right as Dean pulls him closer, sliding his hands up Castiel's sharp jaw.
"Hey, hey, it's alright, Cas, it was, it was perfect."
"Really?"
"Really."
Castiel only waits a moment, before diving in for another kiss, and this time, Dean welcomes him with open arms. Both literally and metaphorically.
As he said before, Dean's passion for photography often leads him to the most beautiful places in the world.
And this time, the place just so happens to be in the arms of a beautiful, young man.