Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’d do anything (to make you stay): 

You are the hole in my head
You are the space in my bed
You are the silence in between
What I thought and what I said

You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it’s clear
When it’s over you’re the start
You’re my head, you’re my heart 

- No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine

Now: 

The university is unnaturally quiet at night. Halls echo more than usual. Buildings settle in as the lights flicker off one by one. Students and professors alike head off to their various destinations, leaving only ghosts behind them. 

As a student, Castiel often thought of these nights as liminal spaces: places where the cracks in time begin to show, and everything starts to merge together. Where you feel watched – something unseen stalking you in the echoes of your footsteps. The exhale of your breath. 

As a professor, he’s too used to late nights to feel their sinister hauntings. Kevin waved his goodbye several hours ago, and Castiel tries not to begrudge the young man his evening activities. Kevin is one of the best teaching assistants he’s ever had, and deserves to go have some fun for once. Besides, it’s not Kevin’s fault that Castiel is currently trapped in melancholy. 

His hands shake around the paper he’s holding, each breath falling quickly on the heels of the previous one, and somewhere in his head, he’s thankful no one is here to witness this. Tears curl in the corners of his eyes, and he swallows harshly to try and keep them at bay. No reason he should feel this upset about a simple drawing. No reason at all. 

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” Dean teases, startling a laugh from Castiel. 

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the other man’s cheek. 

“You’ll have to strip for me first,” he murmurs, delighting in the pink hue that slides across Dean’s nose in response to his words. 

It’s not one of his better art pieces – nothing but a rough sketch of lines arcing and curling around each other, each swipe of the pencil revealing more and more of the beautiful man splayed out before him. A moment captured in time by simple graphite. It doesn’t show Dean’s passion for life, or the way his neck arcs back in ecstasy. It doesn’t show the vulnerabilities whispered into Castiel’s ear curled around each other at night, or the confessions Castiel presses against Dean’s skin about how unworthy he feels. It doesn’t show the way Dean curls into himself to try and look like less than he is, or how Castiel came to appreciate the slow evenings spent in near silence together – Dean reading or playing on his phone while Castiel graded. It doesn’t show how they’d been starting to build a life together – an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, an emptied drawer in the bedroom, the kitchen actually starting to fill up with cooking implements.  

He’d intended to throw it away or burn it after everything that's happened, but…

Here it is. 

And he can’t breathe with how much he misses the life they were building. How much he craves Dean’s laugh and quirked smile. How incomplete he feels without the other man’s hand in his own. 

He’s not dead, but he may as well be if how they parted is any indication. Even now, he isn’t sure what he did to set Dean off, but it’s too late to take back the words they’d shouted. The accusations they’d hurled at each other. The arrows that hit their targets and the hurt they left behind. 

It’s been three months since Dean left and took all of Castiel’s heart with him. Three months of radio silence and empty evenings and late nights at the office. Three months of brushing off concern from his friends, and trying to pretend everything is fine. 

He needs to find a new nude model for his Life Drawing class, which is why he’s in past folders. And he thought he was numb enough to do this. 

The paper shakes in his hand as he starts to break down. The lights in the building go out one by one. The halls echo with past steps. 

Alone and hurting in his office, Castiel finds himself haunted by the ghost of Dean Winchester. 

No light, no light
In your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent
A revelation in the light of day
You can’t choose what stays and what fades away
And I’d do anything to make you stay
No light, no light (no light)
Tell me what you want me to say.

**--**--**

Nine months ago:

Castiel has been teaching art for years. Long enough that he no longer stumbles through the explanations of his Life Drawing classes or hesitates to instruct a model to shift or change a pose. There’s a stigma about the whole thing, other professors and students that pass his office often titter about the “nude modeling” business, but he’s used to it enough to ignore them. 

In reality, this whole thing isn’t meant to be salacious, so Castiel is very careful about who he chooses as his nude models. There is a lengthy interview process, a background check (something Castiel does because of the behavior of a couple of previous models), testing out some poses, and then they work with his graduate students first. He has one undergraduate class of seniors, but he waits until he knows a model will work out before he allows them to work in that class.  

His current model sprawls across the raised block set out for that very purpose, looking to all the world as though he’s comfortably at rest. One leg raised, the other flat. His arms stretched up above his head, which is turned to the side, exposing the long line of the model’s neck. He has one hand wrapped around the other wrist, and his lower back arches off the block a little. It’s not meant to be a particularly enticing pose, but it captures the curve of the man’s bow legs, and a three quarter perspective of the face, as well as the stretch of his arm muscles and shifts in his shoulders. (It also shows off his ridiculously long lashes as they lay against his cheek, but that’s neither here nor there; it’s his job as an artist to notice these things – nothing more.)

He walks around the room, quiet save for the dry scratching of pencil and paper, studying the art and his students.  

His graduate students are older and more mature than their undergrad counterparts, but most of them are still fairly young, at least comparatively. He tries to see what they see: the ones who blush and duck their head in embarrassment or arousal or interest. The ones whose breath quickened when the model lowered himself to the block and stretched out. The ones sketching now with an intense fervor that isn’t always art related. 

He only occasionally allows himself to study the model, making sure his eyes don’t linger too long despite his interest in the man’s form. It’s not the typical features that Castiel feels himself drawn toward. Instead: bright green eyes with a poorly hidden intelligent spark; the curves of his calves; the light dusting of freckles across his shoulders; the command he has over his body – like he’s comfortable enough with what it can do or what it can get him, but not with what’s inside. It makes something in him ache. 

His hands itch for his sketch pad. He wants to capture the hint of a smirk at the corner of his model’s lips, present even at supposed “rest”; the bones of his wrists; the curve of his hips. 

He’s never wanted so badly to sketch someone in his life. Which goes to show the kind of spell Dean has him under. The kind that tries to rob him of his objectivity. The kind that could get him in a lot of trouble if he can’t keep it under wraps. 

The thing is that he’s always admired the human form – and nude models provide a good opportunity to study aesthetics. As a professor, he’s had models of all kinds: their physical features far less relevant than a clean background check, age requirement of at least 21, and an interview that doesn’t leave Castiel feeling like he needs a shower from exposure. 

The gig pays well, though not ridiculously well, and he’s always clear that there will not be any “shenanigans”. That this is purely a business transaction, and he expects the models to be professional when interacting with himself and the students (though he discourages any interaction while they are modeling; staying still is one of the main job requirements, after all). 

In return, he assures them a hassle-free work environment, his own commitment to nothing inappropriate or “skeezy” (as Gabe would say), and a paycheck. 

He does have some that return, of course – some regulars who are always professional and good to work with. A handful of whom he can even claim to have a friendly relationship with. Meg in particular tries to rile him sometimes, but her comfort with nudity and his clear lack of interest have helped them settle. (It doesn’t help that she’s dating Bal, and therefore can’t avoid having her in his life. He isn’t complaining, however: the short, snarky, blonde has been immensely good for his friend. Though their combined sarcastic powers can be intimidating.)

Dean has been different from the beginning. Most who apply for a nude modeling position at least seem to understand the basics of what the work entails. But Dean appears to have woken up one morning and thought “let’s give being naked in front of strangers in a purposefully non-arousing setting a go”, considering the questions he asked. Castiel would have been a fool not to take advantage of hiring the man, considering. 

He’s never seen his students so focused before in the entire time he’s been teaching them. 

“Are you an exhibitionist?”

“Is being one a deal breaker?” Dean responds in the same pseudo flirtatious manner he’s had the whole interview – but there’s something vulnerable behind his eyes. 

After the last exhibitionist he hired? Yes. But in general…

“Not necessarily,” Castiel says gently. 

Dean has a way of capturing attention; features that are delicate and soft and feminine that in no way detract from the fact that he’s all muscle and fierce. The softer parts of him highlight the sharp places, and Castiel has never before wanted to explore someone with his tongue the way he wants to worship Dean fucking Winchester. 

He can’t help the observations that are starting to border on obsession, and he hates himself for acting like a pervert at the sight of Dean’s skin. So far he’s managed to pour his passions into after-hours sketches instead of masturbation, but it’s starting to not be enough. 

If he were any kind of decent person, he would remove himself and let Kevin take over the remaining class periods where Dean is modeling. But the idea of leaving Dean to the mercy of his students and TA burns angry through his chest. This would shock his students and fellow teachers, were he to reveal it: they all think of him as wooden or robotic – cool under pressure because there’s no passion there. 

They don’t understand how he can be an artist considering how dull they find him. 

Dean riles up a part of him he rarely shows, and while it has been amazing for his art, it’s slowly destroying any sanity he has remaining. 

It’s only been two months of working with the man, but already it seems that Dean has carved a hole into him that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to fill. He hates to admit it, but he might be well and truly fucked.

And it's all Dean's fault.

Chapter Text

“Hey, uh – Professor Novak?” 

Castiel looks up, startled from his intense study of his syllabus. (Something isn’t lining up the way he wants it, but he can’t figure out what it is, and it’s starting to throb behind his eyes.) For a moment, he isn’t sure what to do with the man who sidles into his office. His confusion clears as the green-eyed newcomer sheepishly holds up a flier – one of the ones Kevin posted advertising for a nude model for the Spring Semester of Life Drawing. Which is, coincidentally, the syllabus that is currently the source of his ire. 

“Please call me Castiel. You must be my three o’clock. Mr. Winchester?” Castiel says, working to push his frustrations aside. It wouldn’t be good to take his own issues out on a potential new hire, after all. “Come in, please.”

“Oh, uh, Dean’s fine,” is the response. Dean closes the door behind him after entering, eventually making his way over to the desk and settling awkwardly in one of the provided chairs. 

“Have you ever done any nude modeling before?” Castiel asks, pushing around the papers on his desk until he finds his current notebook under the syllabus disaster. 

“Not really,” Dean says quickly. 

There’s something hidden beneath his tone; something leading Castiel to believe there’s more to his response. He swallows the sigh building in his chest; it’s the third interview today, and the first two went so atrociously he doesn’t have anything left in him to believe this one is going to go better. (He can hear Bal’s voice in his head telling him those two weren’t actually that bad and he’s just skittish from what happened last year, but Bal doesn’t know what he’s talking about – he’s fine.)

He raises an eyebrow at the answer, a move his students call “the dom brow”, though they don’t know he knows that’s how they speak of it. He doesn’t particularly care as long as it gets the result he wants. It works well on students, and apparently nude model interviewees because Dean flushes and seems to flinch a little at the gesture. 

“I mean, I’ve got a photographer friend who wanted me to do some pics for her and stuff, so uh. I was naked for some of those. But I’ve never done any kinda modeling stuff.”

It’s actually kind of charming, the way the man in front of him stumbles through his explanation. Like Castiel is going to judge him for having nude photographs taken when he’s interviewing him to be a model for his life drawing class. He wants to shiver with the thrill of having pulled an answer from Dean so easily (with just a look), briefly acknowledging the deep and lonely part of himself he tries to avoid that whispers “how responsive”, before he ruthlessly bottles everything up that isn’t pure professionalism. 

“That’s perfectly okay, Dean.”

**--**--**

“We are going to take a break now,” Castiel says. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to command the room full of students. 

He also doesn’t need to look to know that Dean is pushing himself up out of the relaxed, languid pose, and wrapping himself up in a robe for the break. He forces himself to keep watching the students as they mill around, breaking off into groups to chat; some heading off to the restroom, and some stretching or shaking out their hands. The last session was a long one. They’ll do some short ones after the break as a kind of cool down before class is over. 

He does make the mistake of turning around to look at Dean before the man has finished drinking, and his breath catches at the long line of Dean’s throat as he swallows. 

The clothed sessions hadn’t presented nearly as many challenges as the nude ones, and Castiel has managed to maintain his professionalism by the skin of his teeth. Barely.

“We still on for lunch today?” Dean asks, having finished drinking while Castiel was trying not to stare and failing. 

He blinks and forces himself to start breathing again. 

“Yes, unless your plans have changed?” 

Dean smiles, bright and beautiful. It’s the kind of smile that would make someone swoon if they were prone to swooning. Which Castiel is not , thank you very much. He shoves at the butterflies trying to take up residence in his stomach. 

“Not on my end. You still up for that fusion place down the street?”

Castiel allows himself to smile back. Just a quirk of his lips, but he knows Dean catches it from the way his green eyes dance. 

“That sounds perfect.”

“Cool. You mind if I bring a friend? She’s been dying to try this place for a while now.”

It’s like plunging into a pool of ice water. A reminder that these lunches are professional. Like a boss taking out an employee. Nothing more. Dean is an attractive young man; of course he would have someone he is pursuing romantically. There’s no reason at all for Castiel to feel like he’s been punched in the gut. No reason at all for him to feel blindsided by this. 

“Of course, Dean. It will be nice to meet your friend,” he says, trying to sound normal. 

He manages to extract himself from the rest of the conversation quickly, pretending to spot a student who has a question. 

He shoves aside the way the lies sit bitterly on his tongue. It’s not like he has any sort of claim on Dean, and even if they were attracted to each other, it would hardly be fair of him to ask Dean to wait for him, considering the two months left in the semester. Or longer, if Dean wants to work for his Summer classes or even next Fall.     

**--**--**

 “What about, um, scars?” Dean asks 

“That’s up to you and your own preferences regarding disclosure”

Dean leans in close, a smirk dancing along his lips. “And what about hickies or bite marks – or marks from…other things.”

He feels his eyebrow arching up again – an involuntary reaction to the teasing lilt of this man’s voice. If he does choose to keep hire this one, he’s going to be a handful. The thought doesn’t terrify him. 

(He’s not thinking of the miles of green rope he has in his toy chest at home. He’s not thinking of how the man in front of him would look with wide, wet green eyes that can only be enhanced by that rope. He’s not thinking of the fire he could stir in the sweet soul before him. He’s not thinking any of that because he’s probably going to hire this siren-song of a man to work for him for the next semester and any thoughts like that, especially about his future nude model, would be the kind of inappropriate that gets one fired.)

“How you choose to decorate your body knowing that several classrooms of graduate students plus me and my teaching assistant will see all of it, is your own business. I do ask that none of those hickies or other marks come from any of the students while you are their model.” He tries to put as much disinterest in his voice as possible without falling over the line of shaming. Though from the way Dean’s face flames at his comment, he must have missed the mark. 

“Dude, I wouldn’t hit on your students or anything. They’re like…yeah, no. Do people…do the other people you’ve gotten for this gig do that?” 

Dean’s voice is earnest, and the blush makes more sense. Indignant that anyone would think ill of him. This bodes well for the remarks about marks to be more teasing than sincere inquiry. 

“Only one. And they were banned from any future jobs similar to this. At least as far as my influence goes, which is mostly just here.”

Lucifer was a nightmare. Although he should have guessed from the man’s name alone. He went by Nick, his middle name, and while there wasn’t anything in particular that stuck out at the beginning, enough happened that Castiel has since learned to trust his instincts. 

The problem here being, of course, that his instincts are going haywire for the freckled, muscular beauty before him, and that’s usually what gets him in trouble. “Nick” threw him off by being professional and going through several good, solid poses during the audition process. There was a similar flirty air about him that wasn’t revealed until part-way through the semester, but it left Castiel feeling slimy and off-put instead of warm. Usually, Castiel thinks of himself as a pretty good judge of character. He’s frustrated to acknowledge that misjudging one person that badly has rocked his self-confidence. 

“That’s good,” Dean says quietly. But fiercely. As though the idea of someone breaking the bonds of professionalism is a heinous crime. 

Castiel feels the same way, which bodes well for the future. 

“In that case, the only thing left is to have you test out some poses.” 

Dean’s own eyebrows climb into his hair. 

“You mean get naked? Like…now?” he practically squeaks. 

“I’d prefer you do these clothed, actually,” Castiel says mildly. “I know the flier advertised for a nude model, but some of the class periods will include clothed modeling as well. Today is just to try out some poses, so there is no need for you to disrobe.”

“Ah. O – okay, that’s…yeah. Thanks,” Dean says quietly, ducking his head and flushing a bit. 

Castiel tilts his head a little, studying the man in front of him. 

“I did not intend to make you nervous. I’ve been told my directness can make people uncomfortable.”

Dean shakes his head, mouth curving into a rueful smile. 

“Nah – I just didn’t…a friend told me I should try this out and I didn’t know what to expect, so it’s not you, not really,” he says quietly. “You’ve been great.”

**--**--**

The first few times Dean models for his classes, Castiel goes over some poses with him beforehand. Most people who apply to be models for his class have done some sort of modeling before, so Castiel doesn’t usually need to go over poses with them. But Dean…Dean looked over at him, green eyes glimmering under long lashes, and shyly asked for pose recommendations, and Castiel…

Castiel found it almost impossible to refuse. 

They try several out in the classroom before the students arrive. Castiel makes it a point not to touch the models in any way, and though his fingers itch to change that with Dean, he is a professional and keeps his distance. He instructs Dean through his words and modeling some of them himself for Dean to copy. And it’s almost too much. Dean is responsive and eager and responds to both instruction and praise beautifully, bending to whatever Castiel requests, and it’s…

Well, it proves it’s been far too long since Castiel has let the Dom in him out to play. He really needs to take Charlie up on her offer to accompany him to a local dungeon soon or he won’t survive this semester. 

He’s thinking about those early days as he walks back to his office before heading to lunch with Dean, and though he tries to pretend he doesn’t know why, he does. Dean is becoming more and more confident in his poses now that he’s getting used to being naked in front of a class of students and watched. Castiel is glad to see it. 

It isn’t something he can explain, the nature of art and life drawing and nude modeling. But it isn’t about someone being naked. It’s about the art. It’s about the play of muscles under the skin; the unique look of each individual; the way the body curves and bends. It’s like looking at a sculpture or a painting. It isn’t pornographic or sexual in any way. Though some try to make it that way, and those are the ones that Castiel puts on his ban list. 

And Castiel knows the difference. He loves the power dynamic of someone kneeling naked at his feet while he’s completely clothed. He loves peeling the layers of cloth off a lover like revealing pieces of themselves. He loves wrapping them up in ropes, bending them to his will and keeping them there; loves suspending his subs and eating them out until they’re hoarse from begging for more. He loves the play of bare skin under his hands, under his body, around his cock. 

But art is another matter entirely. And while Dean lights something up inside him, he hasn’t lost that separation. Dean is someone he’s hired. Someone who is starting to feel comfortable in his skin and it shows. Castiel is happy to be a part of that transformation. Truly. 

This little crush of his needs to be squashed. Hopefully lunch with Dean’s mystery friend will help quash it. 

That and taking Charlie up on her offer to go out on Saturday. It’s been far too long since he’s had someone in his ropes, or on his tongue, or at his feet. Time to rectify that.  

Chapter Text

He texts Charlie once he’s in the safety of his office. Tells her he would like to go out Saturday night to the dungeon she frequents with her wife, Stevie. She texts back an almost indecipherable string of emojis, but one of them is a thumbs up, so he figures that means she’s glad he’s coming. 

It helps take the sting out of going to meet Dean’s mysterious friend for lunch. He knows Charlie will have a million questions for him about this. He doesn’t usually do casual or hookups. She’s never teased him about being a romantic, though several of their mutual friends have. It’s why she knows that he doesn’t want to go to the dungeon to find someone to fuck, but to let out some steam with some non-sexual domination. She also knows that he’s more likely to strike out with that because of all those who show up who are looking for sex. It’s why he rarely accompanies her. 

It’s also why his reaction to Dean has been so surprising. It’s not unusual for him to see someone and want to tie them up, or to have an urge to dominate them. Usually accompanied by a need to take care of them. The times he desires sex, he usually prefers them to be on equal terms, though he has mixed sex and kink plenty; mostly because it’s hard to find someone to dominate without some sort of sexual component. Rarely has he found someone who ignites both the sexual desire part and the Dom part of his brain, and the last time he did, it ended in disaster. 

But he’s determined not to think about that. Shoves the thought away just in time.

Dean appears at the office door in his regular attire: jeans, some kind of band t-shirt, and a flannel over top. And Castiel has to force himself to act normal. His reaction to this man makes no sense. Castiel has seen the man completely naked several times now, so there’s no reason that the flash of a collarbone peeking out above Dean’s shirt should send something hot flashing through his veins. The sight of Dean’s bow legs in jeans shouldn’t make his mouth water. He shouldn’t want the slide of flannel against Dean’s arm to be his hand caressing skin.  

They make it to the restaurant. Somehow. Castiel inwardly cursing himself the whole way for being so off. He’s always prided himself on his self-control, but Dean has a special way of getting under his skin. He has since the beginning.  

**--**--**

“This is gonna be weird, isn’t it?” Dean laments. 

Castiel quirks a brow but doesn’t look up from the paper he’s reading. 

“This is pretty standard for art students, so it should be fine,” he responds. 

“Okay. So it isn’t gonna be weird that I’m gonna be naked in front of a whole group of people who are going to draw me. All of me. While I’m naked. Completely naked.”

Something in Dean’s tone catches Castiel’s attention, and he looks up into worried green eyes. 

“Oh!” he says. “You’re nervous. Because this is the first time you’ve done this.”

Dean swallows, embarrassment showing through the pink hue lighting up his face. He bobs his head in a quick nod. 

Castiel smiles in a way he hopes is reassuring. 

“Dean, it’s going to be fine.” He makes sure his voice is soft and soothing. “I usually don’t tell people this because people like to be seen for who they are, but in this class, you are something for them to study. They are going to focus on you because they want to get the anatomy of the human form right, not because of your attractiveness. In this space, as a model, you are a tool for their art. No one will judge how you look because they will be too focused on capturing your likeness.”

He watches Dean calm under his words, and it glows warm inside his chest.

“In addition, they will follow the rules we have set. No one will touch you, especially while you are nude. There shouldn’t be any interaction with you from the students, and they will leave you alone during breaks. If at any time you become uncomfortable, just let me know and we will rectify the situation.”

“Yeah, that…helps, actually. Thanks, Cas. Uh, Castiel.”

“You’re very welcome, Dean.” 

**--**--**

“What’s up, bitches!” 

Castiel looks up to see Charlie making her way over to where he and Dean are seated. Dean stands to greet her. 

“Hey, Charles! Glad you made it!” 

He kisses her on the cheek while Castiel tries to get his mind wrapped around the two of them knowing each other. 

He tries to wrap his mind around the fact that Dean has not brought a paramour to their weekly lunches.

He manages to get his legs working and wraps Charlie in a hug, mind whirring suddenly at all the knowledge she has about him – about his fledgling feelings – about his preferences and plans and the fact that he’s going to a dungeon with her and her wife this weekend, and…

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” he forces out, glad to hear his voice is steadier than his thoughts and his jackrabbiting heart. 

“We met through his hopeful future sister-in-law,” Charlie responds, taking a seat. 

Something clicks in Castiel’s head and he turns to Dean. 

“This is the person who took photographs of you?” 

The blush on Dean’s face would be enough of an answer, but he bobs his head in a nod anyway.

“Yup,” he says, popping the “p”. “It’s kinda a funny story actually. Sammy comes to me in a panic because his girlfriend wants him to volunteer to take some pictures for the professor, and he’s…well, he’s kinda a prude, so the idea of being even shirtless was a little much for him, I think. And he comes to me and asks if I’d consider it, and the poor kid’s so messed up about not letting this girl down –”

“Which she totally got pissed about later, because she wouldn’t have asked him if she thought he was going to be bothered by it,” Charlie interrupts, rolling her eyes. 

Castiel can’t help but be swept up by the easy flow of their conversation. 

“Yeah, well. Sammy’s always been a bit of a drama king. Anyway – he comes to me and what am I supposed to do about it? So I agree to meet this photography professor lady, and show up all pissed off about the idea of a teacher asking their students to take naked photos –”

“He barely gets through the door, all huffy and puffed up on ‘protective older brother’ fumes, before he starts trying to tell me what an awful thing to do to students and how he has half a mind to report me, and it was honestly super sweet once I figured out what the hell he was upset about.”

She smiles fondly at Dean before turning to Castiel. 

“It took a while to see through the bluster, but I think my response to all his anger was a little surprising.”

“She burst out laughing,” Dean grouses, but there’s an undercurrent of deep affection there. 

“She burst out laughing at me and tells me I’ve got the whole thing wrong, and that she would never ask her students to do this, which is why she asked them to pass on the information if they knew anyone who would be interested in this kind of stuff. And somehow that got translated to Sammy as ‘you need to do this for my teacher’, and got said to me like ‘I gotta get naked for this teacher or Eileen is gonna get in trouble, so you gotta help me’, and –” 

Dean pauses to huff out a laugh himself. 

“And anyway, we figured it out and she explained what she wanted, and…well…it didn’t seem like such a bad thing. And the money didn’t seem too bad either,” he adds quietly. 

Castiel’s grin starts to slip off his face at this, but he manages to keep it. Money troubles and the apparent care of a younger brother. Dean’s mentioned Sam (or “Sammy”) at their lunches before, but never in such a protective and parental manner. He’d mentioned being interested in the nude modeling gig because of primarily monetary reasons during the interview, though he’d interspersed it with plenty of bluster about showing off his body and how the ladies would be thrilled as well – luckily, Castiel is used to parsing whether such talk is real or an act, and while his self-confidence took a massive hit after Lucifer, he still prides himself on a few human social skills. 

“He was great,” Charlie says, grinning widely. Her eyes bore into Castiel’s like she’s trying to tell him something important.  

“Took to it like a natural, as you probably know by now. Takes instruction like a champ and those pictures were some of the best I took that year.”

Dean laughs, bright and beautiful, and Castiel wishes he were the one causing that sound. 

“It’s been a few years, Charles,” he says. “I’ve put on a little weight over the muscle since then. It’s been a few years since I’ve looked like I did then.”  

Castiel sees the knowing look in Charlie’s eye and decides he can play along. 

“I don’t know if he looks the same or not, but he definitely still takes instructions well,” he says mildly, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. 

The other man doesn’t disappoint, ducking his head a little and puffing up to protest in a way that Castiel has learned by now is all bluster and hot air to hide actual vulnerabilities. 

Damn it. He forgot for a moment that he’s playing with fire, here. 

And damn Charlie for putting the ideas of Dean following directions into his head.

“In any case, it is gratifying to hear that you aren’t soliciting your students for naked photos, Charlie,” he says quickly, changing the subject. “Seeing as I would be honor bound to report it.”

Charlie snorts at him. “Wouldn’t matter since Stevie would probably kill me first.”

“How did you two meet, anyway?” Dean asks, blush mostly faded from his face after the attention turned. 

Charlie launches into a long, winding tale of love and heartbreak and crazy antics that Castiel knows for a fact to be only mostly true. She leaves out the nights she spent on Castiel’s couch bemoaning her luck with women and how this newfound relationship was never going to work. She leaves out the nights at their friend Rowena’s dungeon, where Charlie and Stevie discovered themselves and found their way to making it work. She leaves out how she dragged Castiel to ten different jewelry stores before finding the perfect one, and how nervous she was to propose, even as he assured her that Stevie loved her and was bound to say yes. 

But what she keeps in is enough romance to fill a hundred storybooks: picnics and wooing and slowly peeling back the layers of each other until they couldn’t help but admit the mutual attraction. A story full of laughter and experiences: travel and bonding and two lives breathlessly entwining. A story of finding each other and losing each other and finding each other again. 

It’s one of Castiel’s favorites, and he basks in the pure love in Charlie’s voice.    

Dean does too, if the glances Castiel can’t help but take are any indication. 

After Charlie’s story, she coaxes Dean into talking about Sam and Eileen, and the way Dean’s eyes shine with pride and affection light something deep in his chest. The lunch passes in that way: stories and family and joy, and Castiel leaves it unsure of what exactly he’s feeling. 

All he knows is that he adores the look of happiness on Dean’s face as he talks about his brother. 

All he knows is that the warm glow in his chest only brightens in Dean’s presence. 

All he knows is that he needs something more than what he’s getting in his life. 

Dean waves and heads off. Charlie gives him a knowing look and a kiss on the cheek before taking her leave as well. 

In truth, all he really knows is that Saturday can’t come soon enough.