Harbor Lights 1b/?
Jul. 11th, 2011 01:54 am![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chartruscanTitle: Harbor Lights 1b/?
Author: chartruscan
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam,
Warnings: Abuse of reality, WIP
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1800
Summary: The Winchester brothers are a team to be feared by the criminals of Boston. Or, the one where Castiel is an asexual doctor who attracts insane stalkers amorous suitors and Dean pretends to be his boyfriend to scare them all away. Also, they fight crime.
The third week into the trial, a report of a foul smell coming from a car parked at a house near the Old Harbor, corner of L and Colombia, was received. Officers responded and discovered the decomposing body of Larry O in the trunk, two gunshot wounds to the back of his head.
The jury handed in a verdict of not guilty later that week. You at least dodged that bullet, Larry. Too bad it wasn’t the one that counted, Sam thought sourly.
Sam began working on a new case, as did Dean, and they gave up their nightly hobbies in favor of working too much or simply sleeping. Sam and his partners at the lawfirm were trying to build a case against the Lucci family from another angle, following leads that mostly ended up in dead ends and ghost stories. Dean worked the Lucci’s from his own side of things with the Organized Crime Division, haunting the docks and the warehouses, harassing the longshoremen and the pawnbrokers.
Sam rarely saw Castiel, and so neither did Dean. They tried to meet up for lunch at least once a week, although more often than not Castiel was called away before they’d had five minutes of peace or was recovering from a weekend rife with horrific accidents and assaults. The times Castiel got to “enjoy” his noon meal usually ended with him red in the face and Dean laughing like the jerk he was as Sam threw fries.
“Dean,” Castiel growled, “He is not my boyfriend. And he is persistent. I have tried to tell him all the many ways that there is no chance at us becoming romantically involved. This isn’t funny, Dean.”
Dean’s laughter cut off abruptly and he whispered, “Oh shit, he’s coming this way!”
“What are you, a twelve year old?” Sam asked. But Castiel’s face was frozen in abject terror, his whole body frozen, refusing to even turn around to see if Dean was joking. Any humor in the situation completely disappeared, making it easy for Dean to school his face, as footsteps approached their table. Castiel managed an expression not so akin to a deer in headlights, achieved mostly by directing anger in Dean’s direction.
An unwelcome hand landed on Castiel’s shoulder and he stiffened even more.
“Cassie,” the older man of Castiel’s nightmares said in a posh voice. Fit in a vain sort of way; Dean immediately disliked him, his pretentious voice, and his pretentious body. The nickname and the hand weren’t helping matters any.
Castiel looked up and managed to not growl, “Doctor Gottschald, I would prefer that you address me as Doctor Novak.”
“And I, Love, would love for you to call me Balthazar.”
“And you can call me Detective Winchester,” Dean said suddenly, jaw tight and eyes flashing. What a fucking sleaze. “You can also take your hand off my boyfriend before I charge you with assault.”
Balthazar retracted his hand as if burned and took a step back. “Oh, oh dear, how—How quite embarrassing. Please, Doctor Novak –Detective Winchester?-- I wouldn’t have –I didn’t realize you were involved. My sincerest apologies.”
Dean nodded curtly but made no verbal response as his eyes tracked Castiel’s latest admirer’s progress across the cafeteria, fleeing their table with as much dignity as he could muster.
Sam blew out a breath, rousing Castiel from the fog he was in. He glanced down and realized that Dean’s hand was clamped possessively on his thigh. He raised an eyebrow and Dean withdrew his hand, but not before giving Castiel one last squeeze with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.
“Boyfriend, huh?” Sam asked with a grin.
“Whatever.” Dean dropped the lecher act in favor of frowning. “Dude’s a sleaze. You work with this guy, Cas?”
“Technically, no. He’s a . . . he works in reconstructive surgery.”
Dean perked up, “You mean plastic surgery.”
“Now who’s the sleaze?” Sam accused.
Dean had enough grace to look chastised. Castiel looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Dean said, “So, Cas--” at the same time Castiel said, “Do you really--”
Castiel sighed in exasperation, then asked conspiratorially quiet, “Do you really think that you being my –that having a “boyfriend” will give me respite from the . . . the more ardent of my associates and acquaintances?”
Dean responded in a low voice so that the other diners couldn’t hear, “Honestly, Cas, I think what you’re doing now isn’t working, and Balls there seems like he was working his way up to a restraining order. Seriously, Cas, I know you’re a nice guy, but being honest and forthright and all that bullcrap --letting them down gentle-- hasn’t been working.”
“Dean’s right, Cas,” Sam said, shrugging, “And I don’t want to see you get hurt by one of these sick bastards. That Meg chick was unstable, but she weighed all of eighty pounds. Dr. Gottschald could probably bench press you.”
Castiel nodded, feeling irritated that he was considering lying in order to protect himself, angry that he was in a situation where having to consider it was even on the table.
“So, what do I do? What do . . . we do?”
Dean wanted to laugh at how earnest Castiel looked, so honestly lost.
“Actions speak louder than words, Dean,” Sam said quietly, doing a less than stellar job in hiding his own amusement.
Dean glared, then looked at Cas, “You’ve got a shitty friend there.”
Castiel, realizing what Sam was chuckling about, acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. “You’ve a rather shitty brother.”
“Hey!”
“Alright, Sammy, beat it.”
“Why?” Sam didn’t honestly think his brother would go through with it, considering how often he freaked when they were mistaken as a gay couple.
Dean rolled his eyes, not bothering to keep his voice low this time, “Because, I’m not kissing Cas in front of my crappy brother. No free show for you.”
“Just the whole cafeteria, and dude, I don’t need or want to be seeing that.”
Sure enough, Dean’s mention of kissing and resident sex fantasy Dr. Novak had interns, doctors, and nurses sneaking glances their way.
“I’ll see you tonight, Dean.” Sam gave Cas a dorky thumbs up and then clamped his hand over his eyes, peaking only enough to avoid walking into a table.
Before an uncomfortable silence could fall, Dean muttered fuck this and placed his hand over Castiel’s. It was dry and warm, and he could do this, take one for the team if it meant Sammy’s friend was a little safer. As he slid his hand up Castiel’s arm, he murmured, “Have you ever done this before?”
“What, kiss?” Castiel’s voice flat, conversational, maybe a little curious about the whole process. Maybe a bit nervous. Dean’s hand cupped his jaw, rubbing a thumb along his cheek. “Yes.”
He slowly leaned in, trying to telegraph what he was about to do so as to not spook Castiel.
“Did you like it?” His breath puffed softly against Castiel’s face. Dean didn’t understand someone who didn’t care about sex, although he was trying. He took Castiel’s hand with his own free one and placed it on his thigh. Castiel glanced down at the motion, curious. Dean rubbed his thumb along Castiel’s lips to get his attention back where he wanted --no, needed-- it to be.
“No,” Cas said quietly and simply, and completely without shame, watching Dean closely. “I didn’t find it pleasant, or pleasurable, in the least.”
“Hmm . . .” He tilted his head, sure now that Castiel wouldn’t bolt on him, “Maybe it was just a bad experience?” With that, he closed the final distance and placed a soft kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. Castiel found it difficult to talk with their faces so close together in that way, so he turned his head, bringing his lips closer to Dean’s ear. “My partner found it to be highly enjoyable.”
“Mmm, it’s different for everyone . . .”
He heard a huff as Castiel laughed quietly, felt it against his cheek. “I wouldn’t know.” Dean felt stubble scraping against his. Castiel’s hand squeezed his thigh, a sign of nerves, as he asked, almost too quiet to hear, “Have you ever kissed a man?”
Dean leaned back a bit, surprised by the question, met Castiel’s innocently curious gaze. He licked his lips, and Castiel, seeing his intent, did the same. Then he leaned in, hand cupping the back of Castiel’s head, lips flirting over parted lips. “Close your eyes,” Dean whispered, and was immediately obeyed. He tilted their heads so they could slot together better, his tongue licking along Castiel’s lower lip. God, what was he doing? He pressed more firmly, licked shallowly inside, and was met briefly by Castiel’s tongue. For a moment, Castiel kissed back, a slight pressure that sent little thrills down to Dean’s toes, because kissing was kissing, and Dean really liked kissing. When he pulled back, he grinned and said, “Yes.”
Castiel’s hair was mussed, his mouth damp, and adorably confused. “Yes, what?”
Dean leaned back in and whispered, “Yes, I’ve kissed a man.”
He was about to ask how he rated, because his ego could always use a little stroking, and by the way Castiel was flaking out him right then, he thinks he rated pretty good. Women everywhere would thank him if he managed to pull Castiel into the land of the sexed.
His cell phone rang, cutting off that line of thought. Victor’s name flashed, and he gave Castiel a quick kiss on the cheek --because that was what fake boyfriends did-- with a “See ya, babe” before he flipped open the phone on his way out to the parking lot.
Castiel realized that the cafeteria had gone quiet, had been quiet, and that he was the focus of dozens of openly curious gazes. This would spread like wildfire through the hospital, and he could only hope that Dean’s insane and spontaneous plan would work, and not cause him more trouble.
Continue on to Part 2a
Author: chartruscan
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam,
Warnings: Abuse of reality, WIP
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1800
Summary: The Winchester brothers are a team to be feared by the criminals of Boston. Or, the one where Castiel is an asexual doctor who attracts insane stalkers amorous suitors and Dean pretends to be his boyfriend to scare them all away. Also, they fight crime.
***
The third week into the trial, a report of a foul smell coming from a car parked at a house near the Old Harbor, corner of L and Colombia, was received. Officers responded and discovered the decomposing body of Larry O in the trunk, two gunshot wounds to the back of his head.
The jury handed in a verdict of not guilty later that week. You at least dodged that bullet, Larry. Too bad it wasn’t the one that counted, Sam thought sourly.
***
Sam began working on a new case, as did Dean, and they gave up their nightly hobbies in favor of working too much or simply sleeping. Sam and his partners at the lawfirm were trying to build a case against the Lucci family from another angle, following leads that mostly ended up in dead ends and ghost stories. Dean worked the Lucci’s from his own side of things with the Organized Crime Division, haunting the docks and the warehouses, harassing the longshoremen and the pawnbrokers.
Sam rarely saw Castiel, and so neither did Dean. They tried to meet up for lunch at least once a week, although more often than not Castiel was called away before they’d had five minutes of peace or was recovering from a weekend rife with horrific accidents and assaults. The times Castiel got to “enjoy” his noon meal usually ended with him red in the face and Dean laughing like the jerk he was as Sam threw fries.
“Dean,” Castiel growled, “He is not my boyfriend. And he is persistent. I have tried to tell him all the many ways that there is no chance at us becoming romantically involved. This isn’t funny, Dean.”
Dean’s laughter cut off abruptly and he whispered, “Oh shit, he’s coming this way!”
“What are you, a twelve year old?” Sam asked. But Castiel’s face was frozen in abject terror, his whole body frozen, refusing to even turn around to see if Dean was joking. Any humor in the situation completely disappeared, making it easy for Dean to school his face, as footsteps approached their table. Castiel managed an expression not so akin to a deer in headlights, achieved mostly by directing anger in Dean’s direction.
An unwelcome hand landed on Castiel’s shoulder and he stiffened even more.
“Cassie,” the older man of Castiel’s nightmares said in a posh voice. Fit in a vain sort of way; Dean immediately disliked him, his pretentious voice, and his pretentious body. The nickname and the hand weren’t helping matters any.
Castiel looked up and managed to not growl, “Doctor Gottschald, I would prefer that you address me as Doctor Novak.”
“And I, Love, would love for you to call me Balthazar.”
“And you can call me Detective Winchester,” Dean said suddenly, jaw tight and eyes flashing. What a fucking sleaze. “You can also take your hand off my boyfriend before I charge you with assault.”
Balthazar retracted his hand as if burned and took a step back. “Oh, oh dear, how—How quite embarrassing. Please, Doctor Novak –Detective Winchester?-- I wouldn’t have –I didn’t realize you were involved. My sincerest apologies.”
Dean nodded curtly but made no verbal response as his eyes tracked Castiel’s latest admirer’s progress across the cafeteria, fleeing their table with as much dignity as he could muster.
Sam blew out a breath, rousing Castiel from the fog he was in. He glanced down and realized that Dean’s hand was clamped possessively on his thigh. He raised an eyebrow and Dean withdrew his hand, but not before giving Castiel one last squeeze with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.
“Boyfriend, huh?” Sam asked with a grin.
“Whatever.” Dean dropped the lecher act in favor of frowning. “Dude’s a sleaze. You work with this guy, Cas?”
“Technically, no. He’s a . . . he works in reconstructive surgery.”
Dean perked up, “You mean plastic surgery.”
“Now who’s the sleaze?” Sam accused.
Dean had enough grace to look chastised. Castiel looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Dean said, “So, Cas--” at the same time Castiel said, “Do you really--”
Castiel sighed in exasperation, then asked conspiratorially quiet, “Do you really think that you being my –that having a “boyfriend” will give me respite from the . . . the more ardent of my associates and acquaintances?”
Dean responded in a low voice so that the other diners couldn’t hear, “Honestly, Cas, I think what you’re doing now isn’t working, and Balls there seems like he was working his way up to a restraining order. Seriously, Cas, I know you’re a nice guy, but being honest and forthright and all that bullcrap --letting them down gentle-- hasn’t been working.”
“Dean’s right, Cas,” Sam said, shrugging, “And I don’t want to see you get hurt by one of these sick bastards. That Meg chick was unstable, but she weighed all of eighty pounds. Dr. Gottschald could probably bench press you.”
Castiel nodded, feeling irritated that he was considering lying in order to protect himself, angry that he was in a situation where having to consider it was even on the table.
“So, what do I do? What do . . . we do?”
Dean wanted to laugh at how earnest Castiel looked, so honestly lost.
“Actions speak louder than words, Dean,” Sam said quietly, doing a less than stellar job in hiding his own amusement.
Dean glared, then looked at Cas, “You’ve got a shitty friend there.”
Castiel, realizing what Sam was chuckling about, acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. “You’ve a rather shitty brother.”
“Hey!”
“Alright, Sammy, beat it.”
“Why?” Sam didn’t honestly think his brother would go through with it, considering how often he freaked when they were mistaken as a gay couple.
Dean rolled his eyes, not bothering to keep his voice low this time, “Because, I’m not kissing Cas in front of my crappy brother. No free show for you.”
“Just the whole cafeteria, and dude, I don’t need or want to be seeing that.”
Sure enough, Dean’s mention of kissing and resident sex fantasy Dr. Novak had interns, doctors, and nurses sneaking glances their way.
“I’ll see you tonight, Dean.” Sam gave Cas a dorky thumbs up and then clamped his hand over his eyes, peaking only enough to avoid walking into a table.
Before an uncomfortable silence could fall, Dean muttered fuck this and placed his hand over Castiel’s. It was dry and warm, and he could do this, take one for the team if it meant Sammy’s friend was a little safer. As he slid his hand up Castiel’s arm, he murmured, “Have you ever done this before?”
“What, kiss?” Castiel’s voice flat, conversational, maybe a little curious about the whole process. Maybe a bit nervous. Dean’s hand cupped his jaw, rubbing a thumb along his cheek. “Yes.”
He slowly leaned in, trying to telegraph what he was about to do so as to not spook Castiel.
“Did you like it?” His breath puffed softly against Castiel’s face. Dean didn’t understand someone who didn’t care about sex, although he was trying. He took Castiel’s hand with his own free one and placed it on his thigh. Castiel glanced down at the motion, curious. Dean rubbed his thumb along Castiel’s lips to get his attention back where he wanted --no, needed-- it to be.
“No,” Cas said quietly and simply, and completely without shame, watching Dean closely. “I didn’t find it pleasant, or pleasurable, in the least.”
“Hmm . . .” He tilted his head, sure now that Castiel wouldn’t bolt on him, “Maybe it was just a bad experience?” With that, he closed the final distance and placed a soft kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. Castiel found it difficult to talk with their faces so close together in that way, so he turned his head, bringing his lips closer to Dean’s ear. “My partner found it to be highly enjoyable.”
“Mmm, it’s different for everyone . . .”
He heard a huff as Castiel laughed quietly, felt it against his cheek. “I wouldn’t know.” Dean felt stubble scraping against his. Castiel’s hand squeezed his thigh, a sign of nerves, as he asked, almost too quiet to hear, “Have you ever kissed a man?”
Dean leaned back a bit, surprised by the question, met Castiel’s innocently curious gaze. He licked his lips, and Castiel, seeing his intent, did the same. Then he leaned in, hand cupping the back of Castiel’s head, lips flirting over parted lips. “Close your eyes,” Dean whispered, and was immediately obeyed. He tilted their heads so they could slot together better, his tongue licking along Castiel’s lower lip. God, what was he doing? He pressed more firmly, licked shallowly inside, and was met briefly by Castiel’s tongue. For a moment, Castiel kissed back, a slight pressure that sent little thrills down to Dean’s toes, because kissing was kissing, and Dean really liked kissing. When he pulled back, he grinned and said, “Yes.”
Castiel’s hair was mussed, his mouth damp, and adorably confused. “Yes, what?”
Dean leaned back in and whispered, “Yes, I’ve kissed a man.”
He was about to ask how he rated, because his ego could always use a little stroking, and by the way Castiel was flaking out him right then, he thinks he rated pretty good. Women everywhere would thank him if he managed to pull Castiel into the land of the sexed.
His cell phone rang, cutting off that line of thought. Victor’s name flashed, and he gave Castiel a quick kiss on the cheek --because that was what fake boyfriends did-- with a “See ya, babe” before he flipped open the phone on his way out to the parking lot.
Castiel realized that the cafeteria had gone quiet, had been quiet, and that he was the focus of dozens of openly curious gazes. This would spread like wildfire through the hospital, and he could only hope that Dean’s insane and spontaneous plan would work, and not cause him more trouble.
***
Continue on to Part 2a
