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The rain isn’t heavy per se, at least not anymore, but it was still enough to get your head wet. Dean’s hair is quite frankly a mess and his shoes, soaked from sloshing through the standing water on the sidewalk. He tugs his long coat tighter around himself but it doesn’t do much good at this point. Early in his walk it had been blown open by one of those gusts of autumn wind that they’d only just started to get this time of year. His damp clothes now clung uncomfortably to his chest and thighs. A drop of water slides from his hair down his neck and sends a shiver up his spine.
He’s walking to his brother’s law office to catch a ride with him down to their parent’s house for a weeklong vacation. The whole family hadn’t been together in what feels like ages. Dean checked his watch again.
Shit. Sam wouldn’t be done for another hour and a half. And on top of that, the rain was picking back up again.
He rounds a corner and cement turns to cobblestone, wet and shining beneath his feet. The long street slopes and the horizon opens up above the dipped tree-line. Raindrops catch and refract light from the sunset glow clinging in orange-yellow to the heavy, dark clouds.
It’s picturesque but Dean wants to get indoors.
He stuffs his hands deep in his pockets and splashes in the puddles as he speeds up his walk. Most of these shops are closed already – it’s seven on a Friday night, and it seems all the store owners have headed home to start an early weekend. But a soft glow emanating from inside a shop to his right gives him pause.
It’s too dim for him to make anything out through the glass of the window but he steps back and refocuses on the sign across the door: “Castiel’s Odds & Ends Greenhouse”
What the hell does that mean?
A flower shop maybe? The image of a bouquet beneath the words would suggest so.
A low rumble of distant thunder with a whip of wind that slants the rainfall convinces him to test the door despite the sign’s vagueness. He can buy something for his mom. She loves flowers and it’ll be a nice gesture to thank her for letting them stay the week with her.
The sunlight filtering through the shop’s window is gold and warm. Not that it does much to light the interior. Chimes clink together as the door falls closed behind him. He takes a step forward and then a sharp breath as if he were about to sneeze; the heady scent of herbs and incense hang thickly, mingling with the odors from the many flowers filling the room. Somewhere he thinks he hears the sound of a decorative waterfall. One of the small ones with artful, smooth stones at the bottom like the ones people keep in waiting rooms. He slowly moves forward, eyes straining in the dimness to make out the many and varied silhouettes around him. None of which appear to be an owner or employee.
The shop is quite … unusual to say the least.
A lot of people in Dean’s life appreciate flowers so he know his way around a bouquet and has his favorite spots for buying them in the hometowns of his friends and family.
He can’t say he’s ever come across any place like this before. Certainly none that sell flowers, or plants of any sort.
It’s jarringly dark – don’t flowers need more light than this? – save for the few spots around the room illuminated by candles. They range in size from votive to candelabra. Dean’s pretty sure that he even sees an oil lamp in one corner. The two lamps that are actually in the room look like they’re older than Dean himself is – bulbs huge and emitting a faint hum with the strain of remaining lit.
Dean swivels and is met with a grotesque angel-shaped candle holder covered in melted wax. It sits guarding a shelf with all a manner of knick-knacks. The shelf is not dissimilar to the other shelves lining the room.
They all bear flowers – vines and leaves and stems and petals crowding each other and draping off of ledges and up walls. But there were miscellaneous objects as well, and, Dean supposed, that must be the “Odds & Ends” part of this greenhouse.
He walks to the massive bookcase standing next to one of the walls. Dean is surprised that the shelves aren’t sagging with the weight they bear. Small vases, and jars labeled in a spidery scrawl, and geodes, and a treasury of crystals, and – holy shit, is that an animal skull there?
Dean’s attention is captured by the glint of a sliver knife with a beautiful hilt that sits next to small cloth and leather bags. Dean can smell that they’re filled with a variety of herbs. Little paper tags hang off of the knotted cord at the top of every bag, confirming his guess.
The next shelf holds bronze and crystal handled mirrors, enormous magnifying glasses, another animal skull that Dean chooses to ignore, and row upon row of stacked and splayed jewel cases.
Dean reaches out for one of the jars, fascinated, picking one with a weird symbol on the label, just to take a closer look.
“I don’t think it would be wise to touch that,” a deep, gravel rough voice says practically in his ear. Dean jumps, startled, which of course almost ends up with the jar broken on the floor. Dean fumbles with it for a moment before clasping it in both hands. He stares, mouth gaping in guilt and shock at being caught touching delicate merchandise.
“They spill and crack easily and unless you’re planning on purchasing it, I’d advise you to take precaution.” The man steps forward and takes the jar from Dean’s hands, “it also happens to be one of my more potent aphrodisiacs.” A smile looks ready to slip onto the man’s face and Dean blushes.
Thunder rolls outside. The man extends his hand, “Cas. Or Castiel.”
“You’re the owner?” Dean asks absently taking the offered limb, never letting his eyes leave Castiel’s face.
“Yes, and you’re the customer?” he asks cheekily.
“Oh, yes. Dean. I’m Dean Smith.” He drops Cas’s hand.
“And what,” Castiel takes a step forward, leaning so that their chests are nearly brushing together as he sets the jar back on the shelf, “can I help you with today … Dean Smith?” Dean can feel the words float over his own face.
“I’m –“ he clears his throat, “I’m looking to buy a gift for my mom.”
Castiel inclines his head towards the shelf with jars, “None of those then I suppose.”
“No! No. Flowers. I came in to buy flowers.”
Cas pivots and throws a look over his shoulder, beckoning Dean to follow, which he does.
“Not all the jars on that shelf are aphrodisiacs, but flustered is a good look on you and I couldn’t resist,” Cas tosses another flirty smile over his shoulder and makes a sharp turn that Dean almost misses.
Dean rounds the corner and finds Castiel rummaging behind a counter. When he surfaces, it’s with a leather-bound book. The cover is carved with intricate flowers and vines and leaves. Cas flips it open and starts turning pages.
“What did you have in mind?” The shop owner asks but Dean thinks that Cas might not even be wanting an answer from him.
“Nothing in particular.” He shrugs off the coat and lays it on the empty space of the countertop.
“Does she have a favorite flower?” Cas’s eyes skim the pages as he flicks expertly through them.
“Lilies, but she likes getting something different every time.”
“Alright. See what catches your attention.”
Cas slides the book across the counter and flips it for Dean to read, slowly turning the pages so they can look together. Detailed, colored sketches and lines of calligraphy cover every page. Descriptions, facts, and lore about each herb and plant are artfully crammed to the side of the pictures.
Marigold. “That one.” Dean puts his finger down on the page before Cas can turn it. He looks up to gauge the shop owner’s reaction and wow this counter is small, he’s practically up in Castiel’s face.
Cas looks down and shakes his head, “I don’t think so.” But he doesn’t bother explaining why, just turns to the next page.
Lily of the Valley. “What about that one?” Dean doesn’t touch the delicate paper this time, stopping Castiel mid-page turn with his words.
“It depends.” He goes back to turning pages.
“…On what?”
“Do you have a picture of your mother?”
“You need a picture of my mom before you let me buy her flowers?” Dean reaches for his wallet anyways. “Did I come to the flower whisperer?”
“Now I’d only be the flower whisperer if I got this invested in all my customers, not just the exceptionally attractive ones.”
Dean blushes again as he holds up the photo from his wallet. Cas peers at it for a moment then states, “Orchids.”
“Orchids?” Dean looks at the photo to see if he can read whatever Cas saw, but it looks the same as ever and Cas is already flipping rapidly through the pages again.
“Snowdrops?” Cas holds the page out for him to see. It’s the first thing he’s asked for Dean’s opinion on with any degree of consideration in his tone. Dean skims over the page and nods then Cas is flipping backwards through the book searching for something once more.
“There.” Dean stops him. Cas studies the image for a moment: Gladiolus. He nods, “Yes.” In the blink of an eye the book is tucked away again and Cas back out in the shop surveying his wares. Still staring at the flowers he says, “Hand me that toolbox, would you?”
Dean looks behind himself and sees the box beside the counter. When he turns back, though, Cas is gone. Some clattering accompanied by the clinking of glass, and the shop owner has returned with a tall crystalline vase.
He approaches Dean and swaps him the vase for the toolbox before he begins wandering about the room once more. Cas begins cutting and gathering up different plants into his arms.
Dean steps more towards the middle of the room.
“You’ve got quite an array of products here, Cas.”
Cas tosses a smile over his shoulder, “What caught your eye?”
Does this guy ever quit with the flirting?
“Uh, all of it, I guess. I’ve never seen a flower shop with such eclectic taste.”
“Then my goal has been achieved.”
Dean’s eyes flit from object to object, struggling to note the details of every item – each easily capturing his fascination. “Where do you find all of it?”
Dean watches Castiel’s shoulders shrug, “Yard sales, auctions, antique stores. A lot of what you were looking at comes from trips I’ve taken. Some from people who’ve brought me things they think I’d find interesting.”
Dean catches a flash of bright color bundled with green as Cas sweeps past him and back to the counter.
White orchids with pink and yellow centers, pink gladiola, and white snow drops are strewn atop the counter interspersed with varying shades of green filler stalks and leaves.
Cas turns away from the petals and stems before him and pulls down a box from one of the higher shelves on the back wall. He pushes aside decorative cigar boxes and a mortar and pestle to reach his prize. He fiddles with the box for a moment, back still to Dean, and the clacking-shifting leaves a space for something to be said.
“How do the plants even stay alive when it’s this dark in here?” Yeah, intelligent conversation. If Dean Smith, Director of Sales and Marketing knows one thing, it’s how to hold an intelligent conversation.
Of course, that was his impression before he realized Cas was rolling a joint. And also, coincidentally, before he was exposed to how enticing a cigarette could look when hanging from those pink lips.
Cas is standing facing the counter between them again but now he’s fiddling in a drawer until he comes up with a lighter. He speaks around the cigarette, “I use sunlamps during the day. But it’s almost night and I turn the lamps on before the sun actually rises. It evens out,” he shrugs. “Besides, this atmosphere is much more conducive to meditation.”
“You-you meditate?” Dean is so grateful that the other man doesn’t react to the way his voice cracks on ‘meditate.’
Cas nods, focus trained on the flowers, “Ever done it before?”
Dean shakes his head and tries not to get lost in the way that the smoke is collecting in the space between them.
Cas exhales and takes the joint out of his mouth, “You should give it a try.” His eyes flick up to Dean’s face then trail over what’s visible of Dean’s body above the counter. “It’s incredibly … relaxing.” Dean feels himself react with a full body flush. Cas pops the joint back into his mouth and glances back up to Dean’s eyes before refocusing on the bouquet.
“So I’ve heard.” How Dean manages to not stammer is unbeknownst to him.
“I teach classes and hold sessions after hours if you’re interested. Yoga too.” His fingers move with practiced ease, pushing and stacking the stalks between each other.
Dean perks up at that, “Yeah, I’d love to.”
After a moment’s pause, Cas glances up again. He sees Dean watching the smoke billow from his mouth and hang in the air. It’s with almost the same look that Dean’s been watching Cas’s lips.
“Want a taste?”
Dean’s eyes widen a bit, and to his own shock he actually considers the offer.
The strongest thing he’s ever had was four fingers of Absinthe which he almost immediately puked up. He can appreciate good liquor but drinking hard is not one of his habits and getting stoned has never been a pastime of his.
Then again, there’s a first time for everything.
It’s not like he’s the one driving tonight. And he won’t do a whole joint by himself or anything.
“O-Okay, sure.”
Cas reaches up to hold Dean’s chin by his thumb and forefinger. Dean’s eyes flutter shut when his slack jaw is tugged open further.
But Cas is still holding the joint to his own mouth.
“When I say to, inhale.”
Shotgunning – Dean thinks. He’s heard the term before, seen people do it anyways. And Dean thinks he can get down with this because he hadn’t fucked up ghosting the two times he’d tried a cigarette.
Cas leans forward the small amount it takes to bring them nose-to-nose and takes a drag, then murmurs in exhale against Dean’s mouth, “Breathe.”
He’s impressed when Dean takes a soft inhale in his surprise, rather than the sharp, choking gasp of shock that Cas could have expected. It’s obvious that he holds back a cough, though.
Dean’s eyes flutter open when he takes a clean, second breath and in a moment, he eliminates what distance remained between their lips.
It’s hot and earthy – their tongues slide easily against each other. Cas is a master of pressure and angle and Dean is trying his damnedest to not let those sorts of thoughts extend beyond kissing right now.
When they pull apart, they’re panting heavily and Dean thinks that maybe they’ve been kissing for hours. Dean doesn’t expect Cas’s pupils to be as blown as they are and assumes that his are the same, if not worse.
“Wow.” He whispers. The flavors and tingling are enough to overwhelm him even as leftover sensations.
Cas smiles and presses more kisses into his mouth before Dean interrupts with a demand of, “Again.”
He’s been rendered monosyllabic. Impressive. It’s a good thing it’s Friday; Dean thinks he’s going to need the weekend to recover and be able to form the complex sentences required of him at work.
Cas fits their lips closer together this time and cups Dean’s jaw in his hand. It comes easier the second time, but Dean still has to hold back a cough. The subsequent kiss is as languid as the first. Perhaps more so – eased with some sense of familiarity.
Dean asks for more; Cas complies and the smoke seems thicker this time. Dean sucks it all down. Doesn’t want to let a single particle escape from him.
Cas is like a lit stick of incense.
“Another,” Dean mumbles between the brush of lips. Cas kisses it into his mouth, forcing the cloud out in totality and leaving Dean able only to inhale smoke alone.
The lack of oxygen leaves them both dizzy but neither can bring himself to break the kiss for more than a moment.
Dean’s knows what being drunk is but this is true intoxication.
He fists the thin, rough material of Cas’s shirt to keep the shopkeeper close as he moves to get around the counter without having to break apart.
In his haste he knocks his coat onto the floor, obliging some part of him to remember what he came here for, even as he steps over it and clings to Castiel.
And he can’t be doing this, he doesn’t have time. He has to leave to meet Sammy so they can be on the road before –
A satisfied hum leaves Castiel as he runs strong hands up Dean’s back. It draws from the businessman a complementary moan when long fingers twine themselves in his rain-damp hair.
Cas tightens his grip and drives Dean back against the counter. He throws his arms around Cas’s neck. Momentarily, Dean wonders where the joint is but when his eyes slip open to check, all he sees is the wall. The shadows they cast contort in outlandish mockery. And then he’s letting his eyes fall shut again, lost in sensation.
He doesn’t know what compels Cas to do it but boy is he ever on board when the shopkeeper breaks the kiss to lave at Dean’s neck. Dean gasps and all he can taste is the lingering smoke in the air and sandalwood clinging to the head of hair under his nose. He relishes in the burn of stubble against his clean-shaven neck. Forget dinner – this is how Dean’s going to spend his week of –
A generic piece of classical music breaks the air.
“Sonofabitch.” Dean drops his head to Cas’s shoulder but the shopkeeper only buries his face in Dean’s neck.
The phone doesn’t stop ringing and Cas continues as well, possibly with more fervor than before. Dean can’t articulate. He – there’s something he needs to do. Either the ringing or Cas has to stop. Maybe both?
Cas scrapes his teeth lightly over Dean’s pulse point.
“Oh, god,” he groans into the side of Castiel’s neck. “I gotta –“ he pants, “gotta get that. ‘S my brother.”
Cas hums but doesn’t protest when he draws back. Dean lunges to reach his coat, where his phone is buried in the pocket, before it stops ringing.
“Sam?”
“Dean? Where are you?”
“I, uh, stopped somewhere.” He clears his throat, “It was raining cats and dogs.”
Cas snorts at the clichéd idiom. He begins fiddling with Dean’s tie and has managed to lock his gaze with Dean’s as the man attempts a coherent conversation with his brother.
“Wha-what, Sam?”
Sam sighs, “I said, it’s not raining now. I’m done early and I figured you’d be waiting on me. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”
“No, no. I’m barely a block from the parking garage. I can walk it.”
“As long as you can make it here in fifteen.”
“Yeah, Sammy. Will do.”
“Bye-“
He cuts his brother off so he can pull Cas into a rib-crushing embrace, and slot their mouths together once more.
When the pull away, Cas has a dopey grin on his face but Dean realizes that the expression matches his own. Cas’s expression tames itself into something else – a wry smile of observation, “You don’t do this often, do you?”
“What, smoke weed and make out with random store owners?”
Cas nods though, “Spoil yourself.”
Dean shifts his gaze to the mouth in front of him so he doesn’t have to look at Cas’s eyes. Hopes that it’ll make it harder for Cas to read him.
Cas doesn’t say anything so Dean feels like he has to.
“Not always. I mean sometimes but no, not like this sort of stuff.”
“Yet you did today.”
Dean shrugs, “You made it easy.”
This time when Cas doesn’t say anything Dean looks up to gauge the other man and finds the dopey grin back with a vengeance and featuring a megawatt smile.
“I’m always one to encourage indulgence.”
He stumbles out the door, still buzzed, with his bouquet and Cas’s number in his phone. Plus, he thinks with a thrill, the promise of an appointment for a private meditation session when he gets back from his trip.