Work Text:
One Month Until Valentine’s Day
Mid January was a frigid bitch this year. Dean stood at his window, watching the snow fall in the pearlescent pre-dawn light, sipping his coffee in socks, boxers, and a threadbare grey robe. He used to hate getting up early at his first job out of the culinary academy to make loaves of french bread at 3 am. The nutty whackjobs who loved it always baffled him. One guy, David, always cranked Bluegrass and shimmied around the kitchen, a skull covered do-rag on his head, his Dickies cut haphazardly at mid-calf and ridiculous socks with his Danskos. The guy almost always had a joint tucked behind his ear though, and was usually willing to share. It made the Bluegrass almost tolerable. After that place he got a gig baking cakes. That was fun for a while but the hours were brutal as well and he quickly learned he wasn’t content at his station piping royal icing all day long. A few chocolatier classes, an apprenticeship with one of the instructors - a gruff guy named Bobby who looked like a trucker but made melt-in-your-mouth fudge - and Dean scraped together enough cash to open a place of his own.
Dean went about his morning ablutions, his mind already thinking ahead to the day’s work downstairs in his little shop. It wasn’t much, nothing fancy. A tiny storefront, especially with the display cases and two tiny tables with mismatched chairs, a kitchen barely bigger than the one in his apartment upstairs, and a walk-in he could barely walk in, but he loved it. Sam, the big girl, had helped with decorating the place; he and Jess had scrounged up the tables and chairs for him, probably from a dumpster, but after a sanding and a fresh coat of paint, they were passable. Jess said they looked homey and charming, whatever that meant. The apartment upstairs was a boon, making it so easy to come and go as needed and feel connected to his storefront all the time. If the place had been across town, Dean would have been worrying all the time anyway, least this way he could keep an eye on his shop, Whole Lotta Chocolate. When patrons made the connection he gave them an extra truffle on the house.
His business was good, after a few years of tight books he was solidly in the black and the extra cash was going to Sam for school, fixing up the Impala, and buying ingredients for his experimental truffles. His raspberry torte truffle had gone over really well, enough that he added it to the regular offerings. Next on his list was a pecan pie-like truffle, he just had to tweak the filling enough that it wouldn’t ooze everywhere when you bit into it. With Valentine’s Day looming though, he’d be hard pressed to find enough time to give his recipe serious consideration. He had orders to fill and then there were the walk-ins who wanted to make up custom boxes. He had a good feeling about this year’s February 14th though. Six months ago a florist shop opened next door and he was pretty sure the combo was going to knock last year’s sales right off the map.
The building they were in was unique on this stretch of quaint storefronts and restaurants in an artsy district of Lawrence, Kansas, with the two store fronts downstairs and matching apartments upstairs. A narrow staircase led up the center from the back door, the front doors to the apartments at the top of it, opposite each other. Kitchen/Living Room in the back and Bedroom and closet sized bathroom in the front overlooking the street. The tenant who had shared this building with him before had been a psychic. Dean had spent a few nights over at her place before she moved on to greener pastures. He missed having Pamela around, mostly because they shared the same tastes in music and coming home at all hours of the night.
As Dean stomped his feet into his boots and threw his coat on to grab a bite at the diner around the corner, he threw open his front door just shy of 5 am to see his reclusive neighbor do the same thing.
“Hello, Dean”, the man said with a tilt of his head, his blue eyes still clouded with sleep. Florists kept better hours than chocolatiers, Dean was certain.
“Heya man. Castiel was it? That’s quite a mouthful. How’s about I call you Cas?” Dean had had a bare handful of conversations with this guy since he’d moved in, but a name like that stuck with you.
“If you prefer. However, please don’t call me Cassie. My brother does that and I find it infuriating”, Castiel growled out, his voice rough with sleep.
Dean chuckled, “Alright, Cas it is. What’s up man? You’re not usually up this early.”
In fact, Dean was sure this was the first time he’d seen the other man before 9 AM when his shop opened.
“I had hoped to speak with you about a little business proposition for Valentine’s Day. Seeing as how you are often already quite busy when I open for business, I thought that catching you early would be the smartest option.”
Dean laid on his best smile and said, “I’m off to grab breakfast around the corner if you’d care to join me. I don’t like to discuss business without a cup of coffee in me.”
He hoped Cas couldn’t smell the lingering odor of a single cup he’d brewed for himself with the Keurig coffee maker Sam and Jess had given him for Christmas. He only needed one cup to get him going in the morning before heading over to the Roadhouse Diner for breakfast. Ellen made better coffee any day, but that jolt first thing helped propel him into the shower.
He watched Cas’ brow furrow in thought as he contemplated his choices. Dean tried not to ogle, but Cas’ sweats and threadbare tshirt were starting to give him fits. He should get a medal for how well he had ignored the other man’s bare feet, his long, dusky toes, cover with sparse dark hairs, had totally not been the very first thing Dean had noticed when Cas opened the door. They were probably the second, maybe third thing after the sleepy, bedroom eyes and shock of dark hair sticking up in all directions.
“Come on man, a little breakfast won’t kill you and you’ll be back in no time. Maybe get some more shut eye before you gotta open up downstairs?” Dean said as the other man glowered at him. He could see the gears turning as Cas contemplated his offer.
With a grunt, Cas retreated into his apartment and slammed the door. Dean stood there a moment, confusion written all over his face, then turned to go, shrugging his shoulders and button up his jacket against the cold he knew waited for him at the bottom of the staircase.
Cas’ door flew open behind him and he turned on the stairs to see the other man slam the door and stomp down the stairs after him, disgruntlement etched in every line of his body. He’d thrown a tan trench coat over his pajamas and had added boots, a blue scarf, and a black knitted cap to his ensemble. All Dean could see of his face were his piercing blue eyes, made even more brilliant by the scarf.
Cas didn’t seem up for idle chit chat as they made their way to the diner around the corner, shoulders hunched against the cold, elbows knocking, their strides matching even though Dean had one or two inches on Cas.
Dean led the way into the diner, a bell jingling as he opened the door. He went directly to a booth and slid in without waiting for any waitstaff to appear. Cas sat opposite, tugging off his hat and scarf as perused the laminated menu. Within moments an older, middle-aged woman appeared at their table, a cup of coffee ready for Dean.
Dean gave her a big smile and said, “Ellen! How’s my best girl?”
Ellen grumbled at him but a smile threatened to appear in the tiny uptick in the corner of her mouth. She gave him a light smack on the back of his head goodnaturedly and said, “I thought Jo was your best girl. You ever gonna take her out like you promised?”
Dean laughed. “Why go for the copy when you’ve got the original right here?”
Ellen rolled her eyes and retorted, “Alright Smoothtalker. You gonna have your usual then?”
Dean nodded and she turned to Castiel, “And how about your friend here? You know what you want hon?”
“Coffee and bacon”, Cas said in that voice of his that was starting to do things for Dean.
Ellen blinked at him a few times and then shrugged and strode off. Dean sipped his coffee and watched Cas fiddle with his spoon for a moment before making eye contact. They held each other’s gaze for longer than was probably normal, but Dean felt oddly comforted. It sorta felt like Cas could see his soul or something. He snorted at that thought and Cas’ head tilted to the side, his brow knitted in confusion.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about Cas?”
Ellen reappeared, cutting off Cas’ response by dumping a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of bacon in front of Cas and a short stack, eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns in front of Dean. Cas sipped his coffee and gnawed on his bacon as Dean smothered his eggs and hashbrowns in ketchup and poured syrup on his pancakes. Dean tucked into his food, content to wait out the other man while he gorged himself on caffeine and pork.
A coffee refill later, and after their plates had been cleared, Cas cleared his throat and intoned, “I feel it would be in our best interests to have some sort of joint offer for Valentine’s Day. If someone buys roses from me, they get a discount on a box of your chocolates, and visa versa. We could split the cost of the advertising, say a coupon in the local paper for the next few Sundays and some flyers in each of our establishments for the walk in clientele.”
“That’s not a bad idea, Cas. I was planning on running something myself, but if joining forces will save me a buck or two, I don’t mind it one bit.”
They stayed another half hour discussing prices and discounts and design ideas for the coupon and flyers, Cas even had a sketch or two in the pocket of his coat, before Dean had to get into the shop and start setting up for the day. Dean paid their bill when Cas realized he’d forgotten his wallet in his haste, and they walked back to their building in much the same manner as before, this time their way illuminated by the sunrise instead of sodium lights. Dean turned to say goodbye to Cas, their hour long breakfast and business meeting the longest they had spent in each other’s company since Cas had moved in to the building, but the other man hadn’t waited before disappearing up the steps to the apartments above. Dean shrugged and unlocked the door to his kitchen. The guy was abrasive, but there was something about him that Dean liked. Thoughts of piercing blue eyes and soft, pink chapped lips were on his mind as he fell into the routine of his day.
Two Weeks Until Valentine’s Day
Business had picked up nicely with their little joint venture and Dean found himself busier than ever as January rolled into February. Even though Valentine’s Day was still two weeks away, he was seeing the heart-shaped box sets sell out in a matter of days, and his Strawberry Champagne Bites, Raspberry Torte Truffles, and Dark Chocolate Cherry Bombs didn’t last the day. He stepped up his production, getting up an hour earlier most days and working late into the evenings to compensate. The days started to blur together a bit, so he was surprised to see his brother looming over his display case one afternoon.
“Heya Sammy. Don’t you have class or something?” Dean asked as he boxed up an order for an older woman with a yappy dog tucked into her purse.
Sam heaved a huge sigh. “Dean, its Saturday. You’re working too much again if you can’t keep the days straight. You need help? You know Jess and I don’t mind filling in if you need a break.”
Dean laughed. “I don’t keep much straight these days Sammy.”
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. “Yeah right, you’re a regular upstanding bisexual these days.”
The woman gasped and tsked at them both. Dean returned her scowl with one of his own as he handed over the box of chocolates. She huffed a sigh, actually said, “Well, I never!” and stalked out of the shop.
Dean pulled his apron off and tossed it over the case into Sam’s face. He walked around the case and said, “Well now that you’ve cost me whatever repeat business that old bag would have brought me, you can man the counter for me for a few minutes while I take a break.”
Sam shot Dean one of his patented bitch faces and heaved a long suffering sigh as he pulled his coat off and donned the apron. Dean figured he had a good 30 minutes before Sam got restless or ran out of anything.
Dean ducked out his front door and walked next door quickly. The wind was picking up as evening approached and even a three foot walk felt too far without a coat. The door jingled as he opened it, and Cas looked up from where he was wrapping a bouquet at a work table. A customer waiting for the bouquet also glanced up and gave Dean a half smile. She had bought chocolates from Dean maybe 20 minutes prior. Any hope she had on her face died when he barely acknowledged her and said, “Heya Cas.”
Cas gave him a terse nod without stopping what he was doing. Dean watched him finished arranging the flowers, wrap them in tissue paper, and tie a ribbon around the stems. Dean didn’t know what flowers they were; he only recognized the basics, like tulips, daisies, and roses. The customer heaved a sigh and snatched the flowers out of Cas’ hand when offered. Dean watched her leave and turned back to Cas. “That’s the second woman to be mad because I paid more attention to a guy than to her.”
Cas gave him one of his trademark head tilts, something Dean was quickly beginning to find much too endearing and sweet. His eyes narrowed slightly, and Dean felt a subtle shift in the air, almost as if Cas was reconsidering his initial impressions. Dean cleared his throat and the moment was broken as Cas blinked and turned back to his workstation to clear the detritus from assembling the bouquet. Dean glanced around the shop, taking special notice of the bee wallpaper nearly obscured by overflowing displays and a large walk in fridge full of flowers. Tucked in amongst vases and pots here and there were more bees; a stuffed one, a porcelain one, a vintage looking honey pot, honeycomb shaped soaps, and even a jar of honey with honeycomb inside. “So, I guess you like bees then?” Dean teased.
Cas looked up from the buckets he was scrubbing. “Bees are very integral to our survival. Without them we won’t last very long.”
“Well that’s a happy thought, man.” Dean shook his head and peered around Cas through the door behind the counter. He caught a glimpse of green and ducked around behind Cas and through the door. “Oh wow man! You have quite the setup back here!”
Where Dean had a fridges and stoves, Cas had two long tables with plants covering every square inch in pots. Some were flowers, but others were green leafy plants. The overhead lights were bright to stimulate the plants. There was another walk in fridge back there similar to the one out front.
“I have a delivery service for the bulk of my business, but I like to grow things so I keep a small supply of my own plants as well. I find it very soothing when I can’t sleep to come down here and tend to them all.” Dean was startled as Cas spoke, having not heard the other man approach. Dean turned to find him standing close enough that he could feel heat radiating off the other man’s body. His breath caught in his throat as Cas swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He'd been attracted to plenty of guys over the years, but never quite this fast. He had barely noticed the guy for six months and then they have a surreal breakfast and Dean found himself imagining blue eyes while he touched himself in the shower.
His gaze flicked to Cas' lips and he let out a tiny groan as the tip of Cas' tongue flicked out and Cas bit his lower lip lightly. Dean unconsciously mimicked him and swayed forward. The sudden jingle of the bell on Cas' shop door snapped the tenuous thread between them and they sprang apart, spines rigid. Dean was shocked to find his fist still knotted in the front of Cas’ apron and Cas likewise gripping Dean’s shirt as if his life depended on it. He dropped his hand and muttered something about getting back to help his brother at the same time Cas grumbled that his customer had better buy two dozen roses or he was throwing them out. They stared at one another a moment more before Dean turned and fled out the back door, leaving Cas to deal with the customer with the worst timing of a human ever.
Dean threw the back door to his kitchen open and slammed it behind himself, not caring whether customers could hear him or not. Sam stuck his head around the corner to find his brother with his back against the wall and his hands over his face. “Everything ok Dean?”
Dean dropped his hands, exposing cheeks tinged with pink and a sheepish grin on his face. “Yeah Sammy, everything’s just fine.” He pushed away from the wall, grabbed a second apron, and got back to work.
One Week Until Valentine’s Day
Business had picked up for Dean enough that he had Sam and Jess there every afternoon manning the counter while he made chocolates in the back, and he figured this last week would be no different. The double offer coupon had taken off much better than hoped for, especially as they were coming down to the big day itself. He hadn’t seen Castiel since they almost kissed the week before. He had thought about knocking once or twice as he made his way up the stairs, but bone deep exhaustion and a nagging fear that it was a bad idea to start anything days before Valentine’s Day, with his neighbor no less, had him bypassing the door and crashing on the couch with a beer and bad TV. Valentine’s day held too much stigma, too many expectations. Dean always told Sam, Valentine’s Day was unattached drifter christmas. He prefered to keep things light when it came to relationships. His longest relationships, Lisa in high school, and then Aaron right after culinary school, had both ended painfully, at least on Dean’s end. He never liked it when people left and things ended, but then who did? Dean had begun to figure that if it was always going to end up the same then what was the use in trying? Keeping things light and fun were the secret.
Then why exactly was he lying in bed in the dark, his mind restless with thoughts of a man he had barely spoken to and nearly kissed only once. Dean threw the covers back and slid his feet to the floor. It was just shy of 2 am, but he knew sleep was not going to come tonight. Shuffling through the dark apartment, Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge and flopped on the couch. He flipped channels for a while, hopeful for a distraction, but nothing remotely interesting was on. He shut off the set and drained the rest of his beer. In the sudden silence, he could hear a murmur through the wall. Cas was up too. Sometimes he played music at night. Dean wondered if the same thing that was keeping his up was also disturbing Cas’ sleep tonight. He felt an itch under his skin, a yearning he hadn’t experienced in years.
Without bothering to throw on a shirt, Dean grabbed two beers and knocked on Cas’ door clad only in thin grey lounge pants. He waited an anxious few minutes before Cas’ door flew open. Cas was wearing a dark tshirt with holes in the shoulder, a pair of boxer briefs, and a scowl. Dean held out the beer as a peace offering. Cas glared at it for a moment before swiping in from Dean’s hand and walking away. Dean took the open door as an invitation and followed after, closing the door behind him. Cas’ place was much the same as Dean’s in layout. He had no TV in the front room where Dean’s would be, rather a threadbare sofa and bookshelves lining the walls. Dean glanced at the nearest one and found horticultural books, books on beekeeping, murder mysteries, and surprisingly, knitting. Cas was downing his beer fast, his head tilted back, and the line of his neck quickly garnered all of Dean’s attention. Deciding that maybe it was a little too soon to just walk over there and bite down on the tendon standing out on the side of his neck, Dean cleared his throat and looked away again, suddenly unsure of what exactly he was doing in his neighbor’s apartment in the middle of the night. His hands betrayed his nerves, fingers tapping, the bottle rolling between his hands in between long pulls. Desperate to break the tension, he said, “What music is this?”
Cas finished his beer and set it down on a side table, unconcerned about water rings. The table was only one of a few that looked like more marks were the least of their worries. Cas took Dean’s hand and led him into the bedroom where a record player was set up against the wall. Dean studiously ignored the large bed across the room. “This is Edith Piaf. You might know her most famous song, ‘Non, je ne regrette rien’. I’ll play it for you.” He went to the player and stopped the record. He flipped it and replaced the needle. A few moments later the sound of horns filled the room and a woman’s strong voice began singing in French. Cas took Dean’s beer from him and drew him into a dance as the song played. Dean, flummoxed by the gesture, stumbled a bit before he found his footing. “What is she singing about?” he asked.
“She is saying that she regrets nothing. Not the good things, nor the bad things. I like that. I figure everything that happens to us is meant to, as a learning experience. You are who you are because of those things, so why waste time worrying about them?”
The song ended abruptly and only the sound of the needle bumping on the record could be heard. Their dancing swayed on in the silence. Dean’s hands were on Cas’ waist while Cas rested his on Dean’s bare shoulders. Dean chuckled softly. “That’s sort of what was keeping me up tonight. That and the realization that I’ve never had a date for Valentine’s Day. Always been too busy.”
Cas pulled Dean infinitesimally closer and bumped his nose against his shoulder. He laid his cheek against Dean’s chest, his stubble a little scratchy, but Dean didn’t mind, especially not with the tiny kiss he bestowed on his collarbone.
Cas spoke again, breaking the comfortable silence. “You almost kissed me last week.”
“Yeah?” Dean asked eloquently.
“I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
“Yeah?” Dean asked again, his voice much rougher the second time. His fingers flexed on Cas’ hips, his grip tightening around handfuls of the soft cotton.
They bumped chests and noses as Cas surged up and captured Dean’s mouth with his. He slid his hands up Dean’s shoulders, one up into the short hairs at Dean’s nape and the other splayed against his back. Dean returned the kiss, shifting the angle and sliding his tongue against Cas’ waiting one. Cas tasted earthy and sharp, and while he knew it was probably the beer, Dean was reminded of the plants growing downstairs.
Dean broke the kiss long enough to pull Cas’ shirt over his head and toss it aside. He cupped Cas’ face in his hands and suddenly the kiss was light and achingly tender, their lips rubbing together more slowly as he backed Cas’ toward the bed. His knees hit the end and Cas sank down, his long, lean fingers gripping Dean’s wrists. Cas slid back onto the bed and Dean followed, peppering his torso with kisses as he made his way back to sink into another heady kiss. This was much more tender than he had imagined it would be, but Dean was content to see where it would take them. Thoughts flew out of his head as Cas’ hands slid up his sides and then down his back to dip below his waistband, squeezing his ass. Dean settled more fully between Cas’ legs and felt the other man’s hard on slot alongside his own. He groaned at the feeling, his hips undulating slowly to prolong the delicious friction. The kiss grew more frenzied and Dean found himself bracing his upper body away from Cas to add pressure below. Suddenly Cas slid a hand lower, his fingertips questing between Dean’s cheeks to press against his hole. He slid a finger tip in dry, up to the first knuckle, and Dean’s hips stuttered. He came with a low cry and collapsed bonelessly, his arms shaking from the exertion. Cas slid his hands up and down his back soothingly. Dean chuckled, rubbing his cheek alongside Cas’.
“Usually I last a lot longer than that,” he muttered sheepishly. “I guess it’s been a while.”
Dean pushed himself up, eyes searching Cas’ face. “Did you…?”
“It’s not important Dean,” Cas replied.
“Like hell it isn’t!” Dean captured those plush lips with his own and slid a hand under Cas’ waistband to wrap his hand around Cas’s cock, tugging the elastic behind his balls. He jacked him slowly at first, thumbing over the slit to pick up precome to slick back down to the base with a twist of his wrist. He picked up speed as the way became smoother and leaned back a bit to watch Cas’ face. He had his lower lip clamped between his teeth and Dean licked at it before Cas’ mouth fell open, his breathing labored. Panting intermingled with hisses and groans filled the room as Cas arched up, the line of his neck drawing Dean in to lick and suck at the pulse point lightly. With a guttural cry of “Fuck, fuck, Dean, shit,” Cas spilled over his hand. Dean gave him a few more strokes, prolonging the pleasure until Cas hissed at the sensation. He braced a hand against Dean’s shoulder and pushed him back to pull his boxers off and wipe up the mess on his belly and Dean’s hand. The soiled boxers went on the floor. Dean added his pjs, and tangled his legs with Cas’, his head pillowed on his shoulder. Cas ran his fingertips up and down Dean’s back languidly until they both fell asleep, sated and content.
Valentine’s Day
The final week leading up to the big day was a blur. Dean barely had time to sleep it seemed and Sam and Jess were practically there around the clock. It seemed that word of mouth had really given them a boost and a few times there was a line out the door of both shops. Dean had a record number of sales, blowing his previous years completely out of the water. He hadn’t had a moment to spare to think about Cas or how he had snuck out of the man’s apartment as the sun had risen the morning after their night together. If he’d had a second to think about it he probably would have felt bad about it, but he barely remembered to eat if Jess wasn’t shoving a PB&J into his hand every few hours. Bustling Sam and Jess out of the shop with threats if they didn’t go off and enjoy their own Valentine’s Day, Dean flipped the Open sign to Closed with a happy flourish. His shelves were bare, he’d have to work hard over the next few days to replenish inventory and supplies, but all in all it was worth it.
All he really wanted was a shower, a six pack, and maybe a pizza, but cleaning up took precedence. It was another few hours before he made his way up the stairs to his place. He held the last remaining heart-shaped box, one he’d tucked away and meant to give to Sam and Jess as just the first of many offerings of thanks for their help. In all the rush and clamor he’d forgotten all about it, but an idea had formed as he scrubbed down his prep tables. He told himself over and over that he didn’t want to open himself up to the rejection, but the few moments he’d spent with Cas in the last month had been better than any he’d spent with anyone. Maybe it was time to take a chance again, and hell, what better day to be a total sap than on valentine’s day.
He reached the top of the stairs and bent to place the chocolates on Cas’ door mat. It read ‘Bee Sweet and Wipe Your Feet’ and cartoon bees with big googly eyes completed the ridiculous thing. As he was straightening up, the door flew open again and Dean found himself staring at Cas’ feet, clad in socks with a big toe sticking out of a hole. He stood up the rest of the way, his mouth watering a bit at the sight of dark blue corduroys and a grey sweater with a wolf on it. The wolf was a little silly, but Dean was quickly learning that this man was nothing if not quirky.
He thrust the box at Cas just as the other man whisked a bouquet of red roses from behind his back. “Will you be my valentine?” he blurted out.
Dean threw his head back and laughed. Only a month ago he had barely known this abrupt, abrasive man he shared a building with and here he was feeling like a total sap over the guy and not giving a shit about it. Dean threw his arms around Cas and planted a big smacking kiss on his lips. “I’d love to,” he said. He laughed again as Cas’ brow furrowed and he figured he better act fast before Cas thought he was laughing at him. Dean kissed him again, this time slow and soft.
“All I want is you, a shower, pizza, and beer. I’ll let you decide on the order of things Cas.”
“Mmm, lets try those first two together,” Cas mumbled against Dean’s lips before tossing the chocolates and flowers on the couch. They stumbled after each other, clothes flying every which way on the way to the bathroom. Dean figured it would be a while before he saw that pizza or beer, but the wait would be worth it.
Fin