Chapter Text
A butterfly. If Dean had a dime for every butterfly he’d tattooed on the ankles, shoulders or wrists of college girls, he’d been rich. The twenty year old girl currently lying on his table was getting one on her ass. Her giggling friend was flirting outrageously with him and he was flirting back, because that’s what he did.
It was Sunday, the shop wasn’t open, but he had a cryptic message left on the machine last Monday. The deep, raspy voice told the digitally recorded voice that he wanted an appointment with Dean Winchester. When Dean called the number the guy left, he told the guy he had an opening towards the end of the month. Dean explained that one of the other artists could fit him in sooner, but no, the guy wanted Dean. Then he shocked Dean by offering to double Dean’s usual fee if he could fit him in on a day the shop was closed.
That’s how he got stuck doing the stupid butterfly. He made the mistake of turning on the open sign and leaving the door unlocked. He came in early, so he could work on a couple of designs and look over the books since he was going to have to be here anyway. The shop didn’t get a lot of walk-ins, but these two girls were at the coffee shop across the alley and apparently decided a tattoo would be fun to have. Turning away the two girls would not have been cool because more than half of his work came from the campus of the University of Kansas. He could do a butterfly with his eyes closed.
The bell over the door rang and he grimaced. He hated the damn thing. Charlie said it was nice to know when someone entered the shop. Dean just grumbled that he never needed it before.
“Just have a seat and I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” Dean called out, not bothering to look up. He heard a reply but couldn’t pick out the words. He applied the protective ointment and bandage after he let the girl see it in the mirror. He led the way to the front of the shop and after enduring the hugs from both girls, he closed the door behind him. That’s when he saw the man sitting on the couch looking through his portfolio book.
“Are you Mr. Novak?” The guy told him his first name when they talked, but Dean couldn’t remember it. It was something weird. When the man looked up, Dean’s breath caught. He was beautiful. Vivid blue eyes, strong jaw, nice features, perfect lips and hair that Dean wouldn’t mind holding onto while he…
The client stood up and extended his hand. “Yes. Castiel Novak.”
Dean grasped the outstretched hand and shook it firmly. He eyed the man’s suit, blue tie and trenchcoat. So, Mr. Accountant wanted a tat. Probably his very first. His wife’s name over his heart or something equally domestic. “What did you have in mind?”
Novak unfolded a sheet from a sketchpad and handed it to Dean. Dean took it and whistled. “You want angel’s wings on what? Your bicep? Shoulder?”
Dean did a lot of angels and angel wings, usually as a memorial to someone’s passing away.
“I want them to cover my back and extend down my arms.”
“Whoa.” Dean was surprised. “Okay, sit down and let’s talk about some stuff.”
Dean waited until Novak was sitting on the couch again and Dean brought a stool out from behind the front desk. “First things first. Ink like this will be expensive and take four to five sittings. The sittings will be painful and you’ll be in the same position for a few hours at a time. Maybe you should start with something smaller.”
“I’m aware of the time it would take. The cost should not be a concern for you.”
Dean stared at the man, brows together, frowning. The man stared back, unflinching. “Alright. Since you want something this big, today will just be a consultation. I’ll look at your back and take some measurements. Then I’ll work up a transfer sheet. I can work you in on Sunday afternoons, if that will be okay?”
“That will be fine.” The man stood up again and removed his coat. He laid it on the couch and then removed his jacket. “Are we going to do this here or in the back?”
Dean shook himself out of his dirty thoughts. The man’s body looked almost skinny in the trenchcoat, but in truth, it was just lean with broad shoulders and a narrow waist.
“The back. Let me just…lock the door.” Dean turned off the neon open sign and locked the door. He led the way to his station. “Go ahead and take off your shirt and cop a squat on that stool. I’ll get what I need.” Dean kept his back to the man while he got his measuring tape. “Did you want me to use the exact picture you brought or did you want me to use my own design?”
“Whatever you think is best.”
Dean turned and couldn’t help the gasp. He bit his lip and coughed to cover the sound that had escaped. The guy’s body was perfect. Chest muscular without being buff, flat stomach, hipbones that Dean wanted to put his mouth on and dusky nipples. One had a mole right next to it, but that’s not what drew Dean’s attention. The man’s left upper chest had a beautiful tattoo of the tree of life morphing into birds flying up to his shoulder. He had a colorful orange and white koi on his right side below his rib cage, the tail disappearing into the waistband of his slacks. On one of his forearms, he had the words ‘Carpe diem’ and on the other in a courier font was the quote, ‘Every saint has a past, Every sinner has a future’.
When Dean could finally find his voice, he whispered, “Awesome”. The corner of the man’s mouth quirked.
“As you can see, I’m not a novice.”
“Guess not. I know better than judge people by their looks, but seriously, you rock the sexy accountant look.”
The man smiled and Dean loved how it reached his eyes. It made the blue seem bluer somehow. Dean wanted to ask about the meaning behind each tattoo, but some people didn’t like to share. He usually waited until he got them in his chair and they usually opened up on their own. “How many?”
“Seven.”
“That’s pretty awesome. Your koi is really beautiful. Who did it?”
“Ami James.”
“No fuckin’ way. Seriously? He’s one of the best. He did my sleeve.” Dean held out his arm and raised the sleeve of his t-shirt. The man walked closer, right up in Dean’s personal space and Dean stopped breathing. He used his fingertip to trace the outline of the phoenix rising out of ashes.
“Why is it holding a gun in its talons?”
“That’s a Colt. My family had one passed down from my great grandfather. I’d heard stories about it my whole life.” Dean didn’t tell him about how his drunk-assed father lost it in a card game. The man’s touch made his pulse quicken. Dean took a step back and motioned towards the stool. “Go ahead and sit down.”
Dean waited for the man to get comfortable and then he took his tape and began to take measurements. Dean let his own fingers graze across the warm skin of the man’s back. He looked down at the table where he’d laid the drawing Novak brought. “This picture is very good, but I think I can do better. I’d like to extend the wings down your arms.” Dean picked up his sketch book and a pencil. He began a quick sketch. Novak turned his head to watch. “I’ll have more detail, but this is the way I’d like it to look. You’ve got some great definition of muscle here.” Dean touched the center of the man’s back on both sides of his spine.
“You’ve come highly recommended and I was told I could trust your judgment.” Novak’s eyes found his and drew them in.
“Uhm…who…who…uhm…recommended…me?” Dean had to shake these nerves. The guy might think he held his needle like he talked.
“Ami.”
“Ami? You…like…know him?” Ami was one of Dean’s idols. He got to work under him for a few months in New York. Ami James had forgotten more about tattooing than most artists knew.
“Ami is a fan of my work, as I am of his.”
“Your work? What do you do? Are you a tattoo artist too?”
Novak chuckled. “No. I’m a writer.”
“Really? What do you write?” Dean loved to read. The name Castiel Novak didn’t ring any bells though.
“I write a series called Angel Blades, but the one that Ami liked was a standalone title called, ‘My Guardian’.”
“I’m not familiar with your stuff,” Dean confessed.
“It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. ‘My Guardian’ is very graphic horror.”
“I might have to see if I can find them. I read Vonnegut, Heller and I just got into Robbins.”
“Ah, I just used Cat’s Cradle for one of last semester’s discussions.”
Dean looked blank for a second, then he asked, “You’re a teacher too?”
“I teach literature at the University.” If Dean had known there were professors at the University of Kansas that looked like Novak, he may have gone to college.
“You’re an interesting man…” Dean didn’t want to butcher the guy’s name so he paused to think.
“Castiel. I was named for the angel of Thursday.”
“An angel, huh? So, are you one?”
“Am I one what?” Novak looked confused.
Dean laughed. “An angel.”
Novak tilted his head sideways and furrowed his brow. “Not in the least. Far from it, I’m afraid.”
“I lean more towards being a demon than an angel myself.” Dean grinned and the man returned it with a ghost of a smile.
Dean put his tape on the table and stood. “Okay, I’ll work on the design and you can come back Sunday around the same time. If you like it, we can start on it then.”
“That is acceptable.”
Dean watched him stand and pick up his shirt. It was a shame to see that body covered. Dean wondered if all professors talked like Cas…Castiel. He was a man of contradictions, that was for sure. Dressed like an accountant, talked like an upper crust snob and had the body of a sex god.
“What is your usual hourly rate?” Dean was so focused on the man himself that he failed to talk about money. Novak was slipping on his suit jacket and somehow Dean thought the reverse striptease was sexy.
“I charge two fifty per hour.”
“As I said on the telephone, I will double your fee.”
“Look, you don’t have to do that…”
“You come highly recommended and are working me in on your day off, I think that constitutes a higher fee.”
Dean chuckled. “I love the way you talk, Cas.”
He gave Dean a look of confusion, but didn’t comment. “I will see you next Sunday at one o’clock.”
“Bye, Cas.” Dean locked the door after him and watched him walk down the alley, trenchcoat slung over his arm. Dean still had some paperwork to do, but he lost interest quickly and grabbed his leather jacket. He locked up the door and walked across the alley to Sweet Java. The coffee shop was just one of the five businesses in Pirate’s Alley. The alley, near the center of downtown Lawrence, was prime real estate. Dean moved his shop in four years ago. Sweet Java, a coffee shop specializing in fancy pastries moved in last year. The other shops included a bar, a vintage clothing store and a small bookstore.
The coffee shop wasn’t crowded and Dean walked right up to the cash register. “Hey, Gabe, can you give me a coffee and one of those baked apple things?”
“Coming right up, Dean-o.” The short proprietor picked up the carafe and poured black coffee into a disposable cup. When he sat it on the counter, he said, “My baby brother is pretty, isn’t he?”
“Huh?” Dean looked up from the showcase where all the pastries were calling his name.
“Castiel…your new client…”
“Cas? Cas is your brother?”
“Well, well, you’ve already given him a nickname. That sounds promising. Then again, you aren’t his normal type.”
Dean couldn’t come back with a sarcastic reply.
“Cas got your tongue.” Gabe laughed at his own joke. “God, I’ve got to remember that one.”
“Can I just get my order?” Gabe’s humor ran from irritating to downright fucked up. Dean wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
“Fine. Be that way.” Gabe boxed up the apple dumpling and sat it next to the cup. “$4.85.”
Dean slapped a five on the counter and took his purchases. “Later.”
“Ta ta.”
Dean took the smaller alley that ran next to Hell’s Bells, the bar owned by his friend Crowley, out to the parking lot behind building. He got into his Impala and headed home. So, Cas was Gabe’s brother. Interesting. Was Gabe insinuating that Cas was gay? Or was it just wishful thinking on Dean’s part? Not that it mattered. Dean would bet money that Cas’ normal type was a Harvard graduate, not a high school dropout.
He pulled into his driveway and looked up at his house. Dean loved coming home. After the fire that killed his mother when he was young, his father sold the house. As luck would have it, five years ago, it went on the market and Dean bought it. It was a fifteen minute drive to the shop and only ten minutes over to his brother’s house. The house was too big for one person, but Dean wanted a family one day.
Dean kicked back in his recliner with his apple dumpling and moaned at its flaky goodness. It was the next best thing next to pie.
***
Castiel left the shop and congratulated himself on not drooling on Dean Winchester. When he’d seen Ami the week before in New York at his shop, the well known artist and reality television star told Castiel that Dean was one of the better artists in the Kansas area. Castiel wanted Ami to do his wings, but the other man was booked solid.
He found it humorous that Dean assumed he was an accountant coming for his first tattoo. Gabriel said Dean was a nice guy and kept a clean shop. His brother failed to mention the man could have been a model. Not that he would ever let on to Gabriel he found Dean attractive. Gabriel would use the information to make Castiel’s life a living hell.
Letting himself into his condo, he tossed his keys on the table by the door and hung up his coat. It was early yet and he did have to grade some of the essays from his American Romanticism course, but instead he felt like baking. Gabriel wasn’t the only one in the family that loved to create desserts. In fact, the apple dumplings Gabriel carried in his shop were Castiel’s own creation.
An hour later, Castiel pulled the black cherry tarts out of the oven. He ate one for his dessert and boxed the rest up for his brother. Then he settled down at his dining room table and began to read the essays. He was marking up a mediocre paper on Dickinson when his cell rang. “Hello, Alastair.”
“Castiel, you were supposed to call me this weekend. I’m beginning to think you don’t want to see me again.”
“I was busy with a deadline. I believe I told you that when you called on Thursday.” Castiel didn’t want to see the man again. He’d met him at a club and they’d gone out for drinks. Alastair was charismatic and intelligent. Alastair invited Castiel back to his home and things escalated much too quickly for Castiel’s taste. The man’s kisses were punishing and he didn’t like to take no for an answer. Castiel left his house with bite marks and bruises. Castiel didn’t mind rough sex on occasion, but Alastair’s version was almost sadistic.
“All work and no play makes Castiel a very boring boy.”
“Alastair, I don’t think…”
“You enjoyed my lovemaking, Castiel. I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you. Surely you can take a break.”
Castiel sighed. He hated confrontation. Castiel may have achieved an orgasm, but enjoyed was not the word he would have used. “Alastair, I do not think we have enough chemistry to continue seeing each other.”
There was silence on the line and Castiel thought for a moment Alastair hung up. Then his voice, cold and angry, said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. You will come to your senses and I might find it in my heart to take you back. Just don’t wait too long.” The line went dead. Castiel carefully laid his phone on the table. That would teach him to pick up a stranger in a bar. He knew better.
He stared at the words from the essay, but his thoughts turned to Dean. Was it his imagination that Dean reacted to his touch on his arm as he traced the outline of the phoenix with his fingertip? Probably.
The next morning, Castiel packed the tarts into his car and drove to his brother’s shop. He glanced over at the tattoo shop. It was dark and the neon sign was off. Why would it be open at seven in the morning anyway? Gabriel grinned at him. “What did you bring me today?”
“Black cherry tarts.”
“Yum.” Gabriel took the box and opened it. He inhaled the aroma and sighed. “You are almost as good as me, Baby Bro.”
Castiel watched Gabriel put the tarts in the case and helped himself to a coffee. He added cream and sugar and then put the cap on his travel mug. “I’m off.”
“Have a good day, Teach.” Castiel was almost to the door when his brother said, “So, Dean’s doing your tat?”
“Yes.”
“Well, do you think he’s hot?”
“I didn’t notice his looks, Gabriel. We discussed my tattoo. That’s all.”
“Liar.” Gabriel was still laughing when the door swung shut behind him.
The English Department was quiet when Castiel arrived. A few other professors walked the halls, but students were not in the building this early. Castiel went to his office and sat at his desk. His first class was at 8:45. That have him almost an hour to write. The eighth book in the Angel Blade series was due to be submitted in six months. All he had was an outline. Maybe his ideas had dried up. The homoerotic series about angels on earth fighting beside humans had crossed over from gay paranormal romance to mainstream about four years ago. Most of his fans were now women. He wasn’t complaining, but he was still perplexed by it.
His protagonist in this book was Cael, a flaxen haired angel who falls in love with a human soldier. Castiel stared at the screen. Backspace…backspace…backspace. Cael was now a brunette with ginger highlights in his hair. He had green eyes and his wings were a dark ginger color. Even though the soldier was dark haired with blue eyes, it was not based on himself…not at all.
The words flowed through his fingertips and he was at two thousand words when his TA knocked on his door. “Professor Novak, your class is waiting.”
“What?” Castiel looked down at his screen. It was 8:48. “Thank you, Kevin.”
He quickly saved his work and closed it before grabbing his materials and rushing from the room.