Chapter Text
Bright green eyes. Skin. So much golden skin; bare, sweat-slick. Freckles like dust in a beam of sunlight and Castiel’s hands slid hotly over them. A tongue trailed slowly over his bottom lip, and Castiel gasped for air. So good. God. He licked into Castiel's mouth and the brush of their tongues was fire and heat and longing so intense that Castiel shook from it.
Teeth nipped at his bottom lip and Castiel groaned; pleasure-pain-arousal-need pulsed through his veins rapid-fire, left him breathless. Tight, wet, heat. Everywhere and Castiel cried out. Lips curved in a smirk and green eyes-
Green eyes stared at him. Taunted him. And Castiel ached-moaned-begged. Please. Please. De-
Suddenly, Castiel woke, entirely unrested and entirely hard. Evidently Dean being a total asshole wasn’t enough to detract from how mesmerizingly beautiful he’d been on stage last night. Un-fucking-fair.
Briefly, Castiel debated which was the more pressing need: a shower, his usual morning warm up or jerking off. He could in theory combine two of those but since about half of his suite-mates had absolutely no problems with popping the lock on the door to the bathroom and letting themselves in, he nixed that thought immediately.
He’d prefer to warm up but he’d found that the pressure of his instrument against his... other instrument was never helpful when he was trying to let his erection go away on its own.
Choice essentially made, he yanked open the drawer of his nightstand to fish around for lube and tissues before he settled back and had what was likely the angriest jerk-off session he’d ever had.
Dean’s lips on his neck, his hand wrapped around Castiel’s cock, grip firm as he stroked up and down it's length. His thumb brushed over the head of Castiel’s cock and Castiel arched his back into the touch, his hips stuttered as pleasure tightened in his gut and he stared up into those fucking unreal green eyes as he came hard, spilled over Dean’s hand and painted both their chests with his release.
The only thing worse than the fact that he’d pictured Dean the whole time was the fact that he got off in record time.
Castiel cleaned up and made a quick trip to the bathroom before he headed back to his room and more importantly his cello. He sat down with every intention to run through his usual scales before he’d pick some quiet piece to get him off on the right track while still being kind to his suite-mates but, frankly, he was still pissed about last night and no less frustrated after the solo action.
And if anyone said it was because he wished it had been some other person’s hands playing him like a finely tuned instrument, Castiel would have gladly wrapped a metal string around their neck and squeezed.
So maybe he felt a little vindictive when his bow hit the strings and that might have been why instead of channeling Mozart it was AC/DC that flowed out. Sure, when he ripped the first notes of Back in Black from his instrument, his lips may have curled into a small smile but that was purely because of the joy music brought him and wasn't at all due to the fact that Balthazar would suffer the brunt of the noise because his room was the only one that shared a wall with Castiel's.
He’d only made it about halfway through the piece when the banging on his wall started. By the time it moved to his door, Castiel barely kept back his righteous laughter.
“Castiel Novak so help me...stop right now or I’ll come in and make you!” Balthazar’s irritation was a salve to Castiel’s own.
He could practically hear the hangover in Balthazar's voice. Castiel didn’t even pause in his playing; Balthazar let out a loud sound of exasperation and then Castiel did laugh.
When Balthazar made the most depressingly pitiful whine that he’d ever heard, Castiel finally relented.
“Okay, okay. I guess you’ve suffered enough.” Castiel said as he propped his cello up against his desk before he made his way over to let Balthazar in.
“What terrible thing did I do last night to deserve this?” Balthazar mumbled as he walked into the room and threw himself dismally onto Castiel’s bed. “I vaguely remember the band playing and then it's all jumbled. I think I might’ve made out with Hannah… or maybe it was Kevin. Honestly, it could've been a stranger, I don't really recall the details.”
Without sympathy, Castiel rolled his eyes, though he resisted the urge to laugh at Balthazar's predictable behavior. It was hard to stay irritated at someone who looked so thoroughly destroyed. Even if he had brought it on himself.
“It's fine. You just inadvertently made me an easy target for the lead singer. I'm being a bit petty.” Castiel admitted and Balthazar just barely lifted his head, his eyes open the tiniest bit to take a bleary peak at Castiel’s face in an attempt to judge his emotional state.
“What did he say? Do I need to track down the wanker and kick his bloody arse?” Balthazar grumbled without managing to sound the least bit intimidating.
It was difficult to sound threatening when a person was so blatantly incapable of following through. Balthazar had barely shuffled into his room and flopped onto the bed; he wouldn't be able to kick anyone's ass for quite some time.
“Nothing. Forget about it. And no. Definitely not. I just want to practice a bit before class. I suppose I'll be kind though, and do it in a practice room so you can sleep off your hangover.” Castiel offered generously.
“The pounding in my skull thanks you.” Balthazar said through a yawn, as he dropped his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes again.
“Tell it you’re welcome.” Castiel smirked. “Are you planning to go back to your own room?”
“You honestly expect me to move myself right now?” Balthazar asked incredulously, eyes still firmly shut against the light.
“Fine. Just lock the door when you go.” Castiel said before he grabbed his cello and headed for the practice rooms.
***
Eyes greener than grass burned dark with desire and Castiel couldn’t breathe. He wanted- needed- those eyes to stare into his as their skin slipped slickly together. Dean groaned as Castiel thrust into him hard, panted as Castiel sucked a mark into the side of his neck, just under his ear. Pressure-heat-lust-pleasure; Castiel was consumed. Hands ran roughly along his back, gripped his ass and pulled him forward to slam in harder. Fuck, it was so much better than anything he’d ever imagined. Slick, hot, perfect. So close. He was- he was-
Castiel woke with a frustrated moan. Again. It had happened a-fucking-gain. For the ninth time in as many damn days, he’d woken hard and wanting and he was so damn angry with himself that he didn’t even bother jerking off this time.
Dissatisfied, he ran an irritated hand through his hair and blew out a breath. Rolled out of bed, snatched up his towel and shower stuff and then stormed out of his room, headed to the bathroom.
He held his towel in front of his tented pants for modesty’s sake when he passed Kevin and Balthazar, who were sprawled on the couch watching tv. Neither of them dared to speak after Castiel leveled them with a deadly glare.
Once he got situated in the bathroom Castiel set the water to the coldest he thought he could stand. Still, he was unprepared for the sharp bite of it when he stepped under the spray and he let out an angry hiss.
It did the trick though and the remainder of his body’s betrayal quickly faded. Unfortunately, it did little to improve his mood; his thoughts were scattered and he didn't know how to calm them. His attempt to refrain from thinking about green eyes and tanned skin had taken up most of his mental prowess that morning.
Which is why he blamed the fact that he’d neglected to bring his clothes with him in his hurry to deal with his uncomfortable situation, on Dean. Of course, it was completely reasonable to blame a man he met once, over a fucking week ago, for why he forgot his clothing. That didn’t sound at all insane.
Momentarily, he contemplated putting his dirty pants back on but one look at the damp spot in the crotch changed his mind. Castiel cursed as he wrapped his towel around his waist.
“Well hello Cassie, what a-”
“Shut up.” Castiel punctuated his statement with the slam of his door.
He turned the lock before he headed to his dresser and grabbed a pair of boxers. Then hopped toward his cello while he pulled them on. Settled onto the stool as he retrieved his instrument, rested it against his bare skin and willed it’s familiar vibrations to soothe nerves.
Two hours went by as Castiel played through every hard rock song in his repertoire. One after another without pause, like that might stop his mind from rushing or burn off the excess energy that buzzed under his skin. It’d always worked before, and yet, as the final notes of an Iron Maiden song faded he still didn’t feel much better.
This was ridiculous. Why, why, was he so hung up on a guy who'd been nothing but an ass to him? Castiel didn't understand why the only thing that normally washed all his thoughts away and centered him was doing precious little for him right then.
He couldn't keep his temper in check and he was acting pathetically like a kid throwing a tantrum and the worst part was he didn't know why.
What the hell was so special about Dean that his subconscious had locked onto him? Castiel didn't know and didn't want to waste another damn minute thinking about him or dealing with the snarled web of emotions he’d been living with as a result of his dreams.
Dreams that had woken him increasingly early and kept him from restful sleep. He was tired, irritable, angry, annoyed and he had no outlet.
So, it was no surprise that when a timid knock sounded on the door Castiel’s first instinct was to yell, “Fuck off.”
The next knock that came was certainly more confident, as was the voice that filtered through the door.
“Now, Cassie, that wasn’t very nice. Poor Kevin is beside himself and all because he was trying to do me a favor. Let me in so I can discuss our plans for the day with you like a gentleman, rather than through the door. We’re not barbarians here.”
“My only plans for today are to practice until lunch and then practice some more until dinner. And to finish off the night, I think I’ll practice some more. Now since I’m sure Kevin told you exactly what I said you can kindly follow the same instructions.”
“Oh bloody hell, forget that.” Balthazar said as he picked the lock and opened the door before Castiel could even stand up.
Castiel quirked a brow at Balthazar, “I’ll never understand why someone as loaded as you needed to learn how to do that.”
“Had to get into Father’s liquor cabinet somehow.” Balthazar smirked.
With purposeful strides, Balthazar walked over to where Castiel’s cello case was lying and picked it up to set it on the bed. Then he reached over and grasped the cello around the finger board before tugging it from Castiel’s hands. Castiel watched as he settled the cello into it’s case but when Balthazar reached for the bow in Castiel’s hands, Castiel pulled it away.
“What exactly is it that you’re doing, Balthazar?” Castiel asked, unamused.
“We’re getting out of here. C’mon, Cassie.” Castiel hated it when Balthazar whined like that, it usually meant that he wasn’t giving in until he got his way. “You haven’t left the grounds in a week. It’s Saturday and it’s gorgeous out. Let’s go down to the park and get a little foursome going. Hannah and Kevin are all ready to go.”
Castiel sighed irritably, “Why can’t you call it a quartet like a normal person?”
“Whatever gave you the idea that I’m normal? You should know better after all these years Cassie. You’ve been in a hell of a mood this week and frankly we’re all tired of it. We miss our happy little overachiever. I don’t think I’ve even seen you smile once while you’re playing. That certainly isn’t like you.” Balthazar informed him.
Castiel finally let the tension slide from his shoulders, settled the hand holding his bow in his lap.
He knew he was being an asshole to his friends and he knew they didn’t deserve it. Quickly, he made up his mind that a distraction would be good, and Castiel handed off the bow to Balthazar before he stood and and moved to his dresser.
“You’re right. A break might do some good.” Castiel admitted with a glance over his shoulder at Balthazar’s self-satisfied grin. “Just let me get dressed.”
Then he paused and waited for Balthazar to shut the case and leave the room before he pulled out his clothes.
Castiel took a moment and carefully chose what he wanted to wear; In the end he decided on a pair of nice dark wash jeans, a crisp white fitted button up with grey pinstripes and a dark grey waistcoat.
He got dressed and studied his reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of his door as he threaded a wide black belt through the loops on his jeans.
Castiel knew he was overdressed, but he just couldn't bring himself to break the habit of dressing up whenever he played in public. His mother would probably have frowned upon his choice of jeans, but it was a small act of rebellion that he allowed himself.
When Castiel exited his room Hannah, Kevin and Balthazar were all huddled near the door where they looked for all the world like they were plotting out a battle plan.
That was what he’d caused his friends to do with his poor mood. Guilt pierced his chest before Castiel squared off his shoulders and forced himself to smile for the first time in too long.
“I thought we were heading over to the park to play, not to a funeral. Cheer up guys!” Castiel said warmly.
Effortlessly, Castiel grabbed the handle of his case and headed for the door. While his friends scrambled to follow behind him, surprised looks passed between them.
They swung into the dining hall to grab coffee and something to eat on the way. At which time, Balthazar insisted on calling for a car, of course, and Castiel took the opportunity to tease him about not getting enough exercise.
Normally Balthazar would’ve had a witty comeback but he was just too pleased at the change in Castiel’s mood to bother.
The foursome, damn it Balthazar just call it a quartet, were dropped off right near their favorite spot.
It was the only area in the park that had a decent amount of foot traffic but still had enough benches huddled together out of the way that they didn’t need to carry their own chairs too. They’d just started to warm up when a familiar voice rang out through the small crowd that had begun to gather.
“Well, look who it is! My very favorite second best cellist and his friends.”
Castiel didn’t even have to look up to know that it was Michael who was weaving through the crowd and as sure as the sky is blue, he had his own instrument in his hand.
“Sod off Michael, we were here first, fair and square. We’ve already got the best cellist in town there’s no room for you.” Balthazar replied with a flippant smile.
“Big talk Balthazar.” Michael goaded with a grin as he came to a stop in front of Castiel before he set his case down.
Castiel’s eyes travelled up Michael's body, from his well defined thighs, encased in tight, dark denim, over his fitted dark grey T-shirt that accented the muscled chest and shoulders beneath, caught on full pink lips, before they finally rested on hazel green eyes that smirked at him knowingly.
His hair was perfect, black, short on the sides, long on top, and his bangs swept diagonally across his forehead in a way that made Castiel want to brush them to the side. He steadfastly ignored that urge, though.
Michael reached out and slid his fingers down the strings of Castiel’s cello before he came to a stop on the bow with his fingers rested against the strings. He wrapped his hand around it and gently pulled the bow from Castiel’s grip. Showing off, as usual, Michael made a spectacle of examining it as he spoke to Castiel.
“But that does give me an idea. I want the spot; you want me to leave.” There was a glint of mischief in Michael’s eyes and Castiel already knew what was coming. Fire sparked low in Castiel’s belly. “Play me for it Castiel. Winner gets the spot, unless…” Michael lifted the bow up and gently ran the soft wood against Castiel’s neck. “You want to throw in some higher stakes to make it interesting.”
Goosebumps sprang up on his skin, but Castiel pushed the bow away. He knew this dance well. They’d been doing it ever since they started the same year and realized they were each other’s only real competition.
Hardly mattered if they were playing against each other for lead cello or if they were working in tandem on an assigned duet, the need to be better was always there.
The fact of the matter was that Castiel was just better than Michael, so Michael always resorted to these challenges and flirtations in an effort to throw Castiel off his game. But it wouldn’t work, never did.
“Spot’s good enough. I can outplay you any time, any where, and you know it Michael. Hell, I’ll even let you pick the song. Pick whatever you want and I’ll still make you my little bitch. You know I will.” Castiel challenged, lips upturned in a small smirk, glimmer of certainty in his eyes.
He wished he had that kind of confidence all the time. It would’ve certainly been handy after a particular concert last week. But it only seemed to flare to life when there was a challenge on the board.
Michael laughed, he clearly enjoyed the game. Then he leaned forward and spoke low enough that only Castiel could hear him.
“Generally I prefer to do the fucking so I’m pretty sure I’d make you my bitch.”
The fact that Castiel couldn’t hold back the blush that stained his cheeks only made him want to win that much more.
With a grin, Michael straightened up before he handed the bow back to Castiel and moved to open his own case. He pulled out his bow and cello and sat on the end of the bench nearest Castiel.
In turn Castiel shifted to the end of his bench in order to face Michael, which left only a little more than a foot between the endpins of their cellos.
“So Castiel, what do you say to a little Smooth Criminal.” Michael asked with a flirtatious wink.
Castiel’s smirk turned into a full grin. Michael didn’t know it yet but he’d already been beat.
At Michael's nod to him, they both started to play, like they’d practiced it together a hundred times though they’d never done this particular song with one another before. That often happened with him and Michael. After so many years of frequently being partnered, they could easily read each other.
Seamlessly, Castiel let go and relaxed into the music, let his fingers, arms and shoulders flow over well loved notes. In a quick motion, Castiel’s head snapped up when he felt Michael’s eyes on him, and their gazes locked, part challenge, part desire, at least Castiel knew that’s what his own gaze held.
Michael smirked widely when he noticed Castiel’s intense stare, just edged with hunger. And fuck he was hot like that, when he got so intense it was like he saw straight through Michael and there was something about the way Castiel moved when he played the cello that made Michael wonder how Castiel would look moving under him.
The moment stretched taut between them as they fought for the upper hand.
***
Without any real purpose, Dean had been wandering through the park for a while when a crowd that’d formed around some benches snagged his attention. He tugged his cap lower on his head and pushed his sunglasses up as his curiosity got the best of him and he walked over to see what was happening.
The last thing he wanted was to be recognized and spend the next half hour or more signing autographs. He'd had a long week, and he just wanted to go for a walk in the park; get a little alone time, but as he got closer, faint strains of music picked up and became increasingly louder, deeper, and he instantly recognized the song; Smooth Criminal.
Okay, that got Dean really frickin’ curious because he’d never heard it played quite like that and whoever was playing it was good. Really fuckin’ good.
Dean suddenly wanted to see who the hell was playing, figured maybe he’d drop a couple bills in the guy’s case. Support a fellow musician and all that. Heck, he felt downright charitable. It had very little at all to do with the fact that he wanted to see if the person who was playing so passionately was as tempting as their music was.
While the song picked up in intensity, Dean weaved through the crowd until he broke through near the front, and his lips parted at the sight before him.
That guy from the concert at The Pit last week, what was his name? Cassie? No, wait, Castiel. Castiel was sitting on the edge of the bench, cello between his legs, completely lost in the music and he was fucking hot. How the hell was that even the same guy? It was like night and day compared to last week.
Directly across from him was another fucking good-looking guy with a cello, and the tension that radiated between the two of them as their fingers and bows damn near flew over the strings was palpable. Castiel’s insanely blue eyes were locked onto the other guy’s and how could Dean have missed the intensity in those shockingly bright eyes last week?
Sure, Dean was constantly surrounded by beautiful, available people, but even he couldn’t have missed the heat in those eyes, could he? Castiel had just looked like any other awkward band nerd, but now? Jesus.
Castiel was staring at the other cellist like he wanted to fuck him and the guy was looking back at him just as seductively and suddenly Dean felt a flash of jealousy. He wanted to be on that other bench as Castiel stared at him like that. While he looked at Castiel like that. He could practically picture the scene in his head; Castiel there with his cello, Dean on the other bench with his acoustic guitar and those fucking perfect blue eyes staring into his like Castiel wanted to devour him.
Fuck. Dean really oughta stop imagining that or he was gonna give himself a boner in the middle of the crowd, but damn if it wasn’t hard to get the image out of his head.
Dean Winchester hadn’t regretted a lot of things in his life. He hadn’t gotten this far living on regrets, but right now? He definitely regretted that he’d been a dick.
Because if there was one thing Dean knew for certain: It was that he wanted Castiel. Biblically. Possibly musically too. Fuck, how hot would it be to get Castiel to collaborate on something with him? Because Castiel doing this in the middle of a power ballad? It’d be pretty frickin’ sweet.
Dean wanted to interrupt, wanted to get Castiel’s attention, but he held off. He already had one bad impression under his belt. There was no way he’d get anything out of Castiel if he started this off on the wrong foot too.