Castiel has worked in the research and development department of Shurley Industries for two years, which is approximately the same amount of time he’s been nursing a crush on the head of marketing, Dean Winchester. In a remarkable coincidence, it’s also the same amount of time he’s been utterly terrified that he might be asked to work with Dean on a marketing plan for something directly under his supervision.
With a mix of relief and envy, he sees person after person chosen to work with Dean, but he always manages to dodge the bullet. Until, that is, Castiel looks up to see Dean standing in the doorway of his office watching him work.
"It’ll be fun," Misha cajoles, his chin rested on Jensen’s shoulder as he wraps his arms a little tighter around Jensen’s waist.
"Yeah, but, fun for which one of us?" Jensen asks. He turns his head and squints to see Misha’s grinning face; Misha takes the opportunity to kiss his jaw.
"For everyone," Misha answers a moment later. "It’ll be fun for me, the students, and you.”
Jensen snorts and turns in the circle of Misha’s arms, leaning back against the counter as he does. His face is a mask of curiosity and calculation and Misha tries not to smile too enthusiastically at the prospect, instead letting his hands settle on Jensen’s hips, pads of his thumbs rubbing little circles on soft muscle.
"What about.. "
Jensen gestures down his body when his sentence drops off. The curiosity is being edged away by a furrow of brow as the realization that “nude model” means “naked in front of a bunch of strangers” becomes apparent on his face.
No matter what position they go to sleep in, Jensen always seems to wake up with one arm and one leg thrown possessively over Misha’s body. It’s comfortable to know he’s so close, so warm and supple against Jensen’s body.
It’s still mostly dark when he opens his eyes on a lazy Saturday morning; Misha’s breath is still coming slow and even when Jensen yawns and burrows closer. Jensen briefly considers clinging to consciousness and dragging his sleeping bedmate along, but the sleep-warm scent of Misha’s neck and the peaceful softness of his body make convincing arguments for going back to sleep instead. A smile curls Jensen’s lips as he nuzzles into Misha’s warmth and lets himself drift again.
I don’t have any more AU requests to write, so I thought I’d give you one. Please feel free to pick this up and run with it if you want to; whether you think you’re a ~good writer or not. I’d love to see what you come up with. <3 (also feel free to delete this italicized bit if you’d like)
Dean Winchester is the sheriff in Dodge City and the only thing that stands between his beloved hometown and lawlessness. He’s known far and wide as tough lawman who doesn’t give second chances, but when the infamous Castiel “Angelface” Milton rides into Dodge….
Thank you, Anon. I appreciate your faith in me. *u*
As if running half an hour late to the club wasn’t enough, Castiel doesn’t find out until he gets there that the band he was supposed to be photographing canceled at the last minute anyway. The manager lets him in, though, so he takes a seat at the bar with his camera bag and orders a glass of whiskey while he weighs his options. Two calls to his boss, Naomi, have gone unanswered and Castiel is seriously considering just driving the four hours back to St. Louis and calling it a night when someone takes the barstool next to his.
"Hey, do you know who’s playing tonight?" Castiel asks the question without looking up from the phone in his hand, flipping between the map’s projected routes back home.
"Nah, no idea. Probably some asshole nobody’s ever heard of," comes the answer in a man’s voice, low and rich. Castiel looks up from his phone to see a tanned and freckled guy with short hair and an easy smile sitting next to him. He’s immediately taken with the sparkle in the man’s green eyes. The thought crosses Castiel’s mind that he should defend whichever poor sap will be stuck with playing for a crowd that didn’t come to see them, but his train of thought is derailed by another voice.
Thank you, Anon. <3
Castiel feels awkward and out of place more often than not, but one place he always feels at home is in the kitchen. His love for cooking started in childhood then blossomed in his late teens alongside an unwavering belief that it was what he was always meant to do. While everyone around him seemed to be planning to be doctors and lawyers, all Castiel ever wanted was to be a chef.
He was nineteen when he entered the Institute of Culinary Education, where he met Dean, an aspiring pastry chef. The two became fast friends and from there, what started as no strings attached sex to take the edge off stress caused by the intensity of their respective programs and their instructors’ constant scrutiny soon blossomed into a full-time relationship. They graduated from the Institute a month apart, Castiel with a double diploma in culinary arts and management and Dean with a diploma in pastry and baking arts.
Somewhere around the middle of their fresh-out-of-school internships, they decided that one day they’d have their own restaurant where Cas could concoct experimental recipes to his heart’s content and Dean could wow patrons with his own take on his mom’s closely guarded apple pie recipe. Through terrible jobs with long hours and no respect, through ancient rat-infested apartments where the heat barely worked, the satisfaction of knowing they were getting closer to making that dream come true one paycheck at a time kept them going.
I don’t know enough about it to write a convincing players!au, so..
Dean doesn’t usually go into sports bars, but he has a couple of hours to kill and it seems to be the only bar in Albany that’s not packed, so he makes an exception. Aside from the bartender - who introduces herself as Anna - there’s only one other person in the place. He’s tall, broad shouldered, and cursing at the soccer game on the big screen that takes up half of one wall.
"He’s.. enthusiastic," Dean says when Anna brings his first beer. She laughs and looks fondly toward the man, who’s now on his feet, clutching at his own hair growling "come on, come on, come on!"
"That’s just Cas," Anna says with a little shrug. "He gets excited."
"Is he a regular?" Dean asks nonchalantly. By his calculations, he’ll be in Albany for at least a couple of days and there’s nothing wrong with making local friends. He looks back over to see Cas sprawled in a wooden chair with his hands over his face as the game announcers chatter excitedly about whatever just happened.
I would love to do an AU where Castiel works in a flower shop. <3
Dean first met Castiel when the soft-spoken, blue-eyed man knocked on his front door by mistake. After an awkward, stammer-filled conversation and a lot of Cas tugging at his smudged green apron and rechecking his paperwork Dean had pointed him to the home of Missouri Moseley who lived next door. Cas delivered the rose bushes from his gaudy green Milton’s Garden & Floral delivery van and that had been that.
Except it hadn’t.
With a sudden interest in planting flowers, Dean spent the next two weeks bugging Missouri for gardening tips (“Well, you could start with watering your lawn, boy.”) and poring through website after website of plant hardiness zone maps and flower catalogues to figure out what he could even plant so late in the spring. After much deliberation, he’d decided on roses and hydrangeas, ignored the fact that Milton’s Garden & Floral was on the opposite side of town from his house, and went to the shop to place his order. Only to find that Castiel was out on a delivery.
Now, three hours later, Dean is fidgeting in his recliner and starting to despair that anyone will ever knock on his door again. He’s all but given up hope when he finally hears three evenly-spaced knocks. He practically jumps out of his chair, tripping over himself in his hurry to get to the door and refusing to think about what a twelve-year-old with a crush he’s turned into in two weeks time. After a quick check of his hair in the mirror by the front door and a test of his breath in his hand, he swallows down the butterflies that are hovering in his windpipe and opens the door.
Misha has been thinking kissing Jensen since the first time he laid eyes on the smooth, plush curve of his lips. He’s a patient man; happy to dangle the prospect of stolen kisses in front of Jensen like the juiciest carrot and wait for him to take it - or not.
Take it he does, at long last, late one night when too little sleep has made everything hilarious and a shot of liquid courage has steeled both their nerves. Jensen moves closer on the couch, the air between their bodies nearly vibrating as he licks his lips, wipes the spit away, and licks them again. Something curls up deep in Misha’s stomach, warm and squirming and stealing his breath until all he can do is stare, transfixed by Jensen’s lips. They’re pink and soft; the bottom one caught between the perfect lines of his teeth.
Jensen has been on edge all week, waiting for Misha’s prank payback. The more innocent Misha looks the more certain Jensen is that he’s up to something big. Something impressive. He’s so sure Misha’s going to do something that he spends the week obsessively protecting his phone and his notes. Every time he stands up, Jensen checks to make sure his wallet is in his pocket. He doesn’t go anywhere without his backpack. When he absolutely can’t avoid taking his hat off, he checks it for whipped cream or God only knows what else every time he puts it back on.
By Friday night, he is exhausted from not only his directorial duties but also from trying to stay one step ahead of anything Misha might have been planning. He’s also extremely pleased with himself for managing to ruin Misha’s prank - whatever it was - so, in the spirit of no hard feelings and nice try, bucko, Jensen invites Misha back to his apartment for a beer once the set has cleared.
A shared six-pack later, they’re sprawled half-naked on Jensen’s couch, trading lazy kisses since neither man has the energy for more than that. Jensen tugs at the curls that fall in a line across the back of Misha’s neck and traces a finger around the curve of his ear. Misha shivers and gives a playful grumble and another kiss. They’re both smiling when they pull apart a moment later
"What were you gonna do to me?" Jensen asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"When?" Misha’s brow furrows.
"Any time. This week," Jensen presses a kiss to Misha’s chin, another to his lips. "I know you were up to something."
"Was I?" Misha’s voice has that too-innocent-to-BE-innocent tone again and suddenly Jensen can think of a million pranks that could be sprung right this second.
"Yes?" He says worriedly, the statement coming out as more of a question. Misha grins and blinks slowly before shrugging one shoulder and leaning in for another kiss, pulling the full length of Jensen’s body against his at the same time. By the time they break apart again, Jensen has almost forgotten what they were talking about.
"I didn’t plan anything," Misha admits in a conspiratorial whisper before nipping at Jensen’s bottom lip. A smug smile settles on his face as he continues, "But I had a blast watching you try to anticipate what I might have planned.”
"You bastard,” Jensen says with a little more awe than he intends to when the full impact of the prankless prank hits him. An embarrassed heat creeps up the back of his neck as Misha laughs and pulls him into a long, lazy kiss.