Chapter Text
Dean’s flirted his way into bars, clubs, and even the backstage of a gig. He’s flirted his way into people’s pants and their beds. He takes great pride in being able to flirt into—or out of—any situation he damn well wants. Which is why he’s almost tragically offended when he moves into a new apartment and despite his absolute best efforts he can’t win more than a smile from his devastatingly handsome neighbour.
“Have you tried just asking him out?”
“Sam you literally could not be more useless. Ask him out. Are you insane?”
“Well what’s the worst that could happen?”
They’re sitting in the poky lounge room and Sam is offering life-ruining ideas under the guise of helpful advice.
“He could say no, for one.”
“But he might say yes.”
“Sam you’re not listening. He might say no.”
Sam sips his organic pharmy-shwarmy tea and shrugs. “Well at least then you’ll know.”
“That’s hardly any help.”
“You can’t just sit around moping after him on the off chance he doesn’t wanna bang you, too.”
“What would you know about banging,” he sulks. He throws himself over the side of the couch to sprawl like one of the dramatic-ass damsels in Cas’s art books. He just needs a gigantic goblet of wine and half a dozen naked babies holding crossbows and then he’s set.
“If he says no I’ll lose my reputation,” he tells the upside-down face Sam is making at him. He flips back upright to grab Sam’s arm. “If he says no I’ll never be able to show my face ever again.”
“That might be an improvement honestly.”
Dean chucks a pillow at him. “I have no brother,” he mutters.
Sam smiles into his tea and shrewdly stays silent. The clock on the microwave dings to announce the hour and Dean groans. 4pm is his favourite time of the day but it also always heralds another afternoon spent in anguish. He rolls to his feet and slumps to the door.
“Use protection!” Sam calls cheerily after him.
“Dude, go to hell.”
He’s nine kinds of mopey but by the time he reaches Cas’s door he’s already perking up. So what if Cas is oblivious to his charms? Their afternoons together are still the best part of his day.
He knocks on the door and lets himself in. He’s instantly assailed by the drowsy smell of weed and he follows his nose to the kitchen where Cas is wearing an apron and nothing else. Dean wolf-whistles behind him and Cas turns toward him with a dazzling smile.
“Dean! You’re here!”
“Same as every day, hot stuff. Nice apron.”
Cas remains steadfastly unaware of Dean’s patented let’s-fuck smoulder and straightens his apron. “Thank you! Would you like a brownie?”
“I’m not taking your medicine,” Dean scoffs, even though he’s done it before. “Besides I don’t want to get too high and miss your handsome face.”
That one blows over Cas’s head, too. Cas just beams and cuts himself a slice, bringing it to the study where he paints every afternoon. As usual the place is an absolute mess, but it’s the only room where Cas absolutely refuses to let Dean do any cleaning. There’s a still-wet smear of blood orange on one of the walls. The two furthest walls are mostly glass, to let the most amount of light in, but they have their fair share of paint smudges, too.
“How do you want me?” he asks.
Cas considers it like an actual question instead of the double-entendre Dean obviously meant it as.
“If you stand in front of the window then I can get the balloons going past, too.”
Dean looks out at the bustling city outside. The sun is low in the sky and everything is golden. “There aren’t any balloons going past, buddy.” Sometimes Cas sees things that aren’t really there.
Cas squints out the window again. “Really?” He shrugs. “What a shame. You would look good with balloons.”
“I’d look even better without a shirt.”
Cas smiles benignly. “Okay then. Without a shirt. By the window. No balloons.”
Dean strips easily and drops his shirt to the side. He reclines against the windowsill, finding a pose he can hold for a while. Most of the time Cas ignores how he’s posed, anyway. He focuses in on Dean’s hand, or the hair above his ear. It was frustrating when he first started modelling for his eccentric neighbour, but now he mostly finds it endearing. Cas can switch from unfocused to hyperfocused and back again in the space of a single conversation, but he’s lovingly rendered every part of Dean’s body for weeks now and Dean’s so smitten he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He relaxes into his chosen pose and lets Cas get to work in the silence. Cas makes some broad strokes with a brush in one hand and his brownie in the other. Through half-lidded eyes Dean watches Cas as Cas watches him, getting angles onto the big page he’s chosen for the session. Dean can’t see what he’s painting from here but he’s more interested in Cas’s face, anyway. Sometimes Cas gets distracted by the weirdest things but here, in this room, he’s a craftsman.
“I’m going to be a famous artist one day,” Cas confides, as he sometimes does when he’s a little bit high and he’s got a brush in his hand. “I’ll have my own gallery, you’ll see.” He smears red paint into orange until he gets the colour he’s after.
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, a little sadly. He has no doubt that Cas will make it big someday, but he also knows that there isn’t any place for him in the big-shot world of fame and money. His own acting career had floundered before it had even started and he barely makes ends meet with modelling gigs.
But Cas? Cas is talented. And smart, and, fuck, so gorgeous Dean sometimes thinks he can’t be real. His hands are large but his fingers are long and sure where they grip the brush, twirl it delicately to get a new colour. They would do absolute wonders around Dean’s dick, but Cas is yet to show any sign of even knowing Dean's dick exists.
Time passes way too fast and suddenly it’s been thirty minutes. There’s a ding from the clock in the kitchen and, like always, Dean offers to stay. “If you want to finish I can hold this pose a bit longer. I don’t want you to miss my beautiful face.”
Cas smiles. Another missed flirtation. “No,” he says, “I think I’ve got what I need.”
Dean rolls his shoulders and stretches a little as he falls out of the pose. He should probably just give up with the flirty stuff but it’s like he literally can’t help himself around Cas. He walks around Cas’s back to see what he’s done.
Like always, it floors him.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah Cas it’s… it’s beautiful.”
Dean’s face is just a sketch, a barely-there hint of an outline. But his lips are parted and heated with colour. Orange and pink to match the sun that Cas has captured blazing behind him. There are blue and grey smudges of shadow beneath his chin, and in dots behind the outline of his face. It takes him a moment to identify them.
“I thought you weren’t going to include the balloons,” he says, laughing. They’re whimsical and airy and he’s glad, suddenly, that they’re there, right alongside the almost-coloured shine of Dean’s eye.
“I was right,” Cas says smugly. “You look good with balloons.” He uses a knuckle to smudge a line beneath the painted eyebrow. He does it so cautiously, like he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t miss, or like he’s trying to make Dean perfect there, too. The sun is lower, now, and it’s turning the side of Cas’s face golden. There’s a smear of red paint on Cas’s cheek and Dean’s caught on it. He wants to kiss it.
“Go on a date with me,” he blurts. Cas blinks up at him owlishly but Dean’s in too far to back out now. “There’s a bee farm out of town,” he says quickly, “and they’re open on weekends so I was thinking if you’re not busy you could…” he shrugs lamely, “go on a date with me?”
Cas squints at him. “Are you having an episode?”
“Am I having a—no? I’m trying to ask you out you idiot.”
“Whenever I act strange you ask me if I’m having an episode.”
“Cas I’m not acting strange. I want you to bring your stupid big easel and go to a bee farm with me and paint honey in my hair while I try to flirt. Is that so much to ask?”
“Can I have a moment to think about it? This is all so sudden.”
Dean throws up his hands. “I’ve been trying to ask you out for weeks, Cas.”
“Were you being subtle? I’m not very good at subtle.”
“You’re not very good at blindingly obvious, either.”
Cas scowls at him, but his scowl turns delighted. “Do you think they’ll let us watch the bees work?”
“Is that a yes? Are you saying yes to this date?”
“Are they native bees or European bees? We should get a—” he picks up his paintbrush then puts it back down and then abruptly walks out of the room and Dean’s left standing there with the sketched-out imitation of him.
“Did I just get snubbed?” he asks his portrait. His face gives nothing away.
Cas comes back in a minute later. He’s got his phone pressed to his ear and he pulls it away when he addresses Dean.
“Gabe wants to know if you like me.”
“You rang Gabe?” Dean sits on Cas’s painting stool and rubs his face. “Yes, okay. Yes, I like you, and I want to go on a date with you.”
Cas talks back into the phone. “He says he likes me.” There’s a muted voice on the other end and Dean watches dazedly as Cas nods at whatever Gabe’s saying. Then Cas hums and looks back at Dean. “Gabe wants to know if I like you.”
Dean stares back at him, halfway between laughing and crying. “Well… do you?”
Cas frowns at him. Opens his mouth. Goes back to the phone. “Yes, I like him.” Dean’s stomach flops crazily and he’s looking around for a slice of brownie before Cas hangs up and dazzles a huge grin at him. “Gabe likes the idea of a bee farm.”
“So we’re going? Why did you ring Gabe?”
“I thought maybe I’d imagined you asking.”
“You and me both, buddy.”
“You should give me more warning next time.”
“More warning next time I plan on asking you out? Yeah, whatever you say, Cas.”
“More warning when you want to do something unexpected, at least.”
“Would I have to give you warning if I wanted to kiss you?”
Cas frowns as though he’s considering it. “Maybe a bit of warning,” he concedes.
Dean grins, and steps off the stool. “Consider this your warning.” Cas’s eyebrows go way up, and then way down as he glances to Dean’s lips. The lips he had just spent thirty minutes painstakingly painting.
“Oh,” he says, soft and wondering. “Oh, yes, okay.”
Dean kisses the taste of chocolate and weed out of his mouth, and then keeps kissing him until he tastes just like Cas. Cas makes a surprised and delighted sound like it’s completely new to him, and Dean is never going to get tired of that. He smooths his fingers through Cas’s hair and rubs his thumb on the smear of paint on his cheek.
“You’re full of surprises,” Cas laughs, and Dean laughs with him.
“I won’t be subtle next time,” he promises, and kisses Cas again.