A/N: So, this is utterly late, and I suck completely for that. Seriously. D: I'm sorry Tasia.

But here it is! I hope you like it.. I laid a lot of ground work for the sequel, if you're still interested.

Um, enjoy?

Rated M for my bad attempt at porn.

Track List;
'Drive By' - Train
'Little Talks' - Of Monsters and Men
'Anything Could Happen' - Ellie Goulding
'Locked Out of Heaven' - Bruno Mars
'Bat Out of Hell' - Meatloaf

[EDIT 12/10/12 - Sooo, if anyone sees any more debilitating errors - such as me swapping the 'u' for an 'i' in shutting, please let me know? I try to screen my stories as much as possible, but things do slip my radar...]

Warm vapor drifted past his lips, curling and waning in the cool morning air. The strings of his academy hooded sweatshirt bounced as he jogged down the quiet street, running shoes quiet over the cracked sidewalk. It was early morning, just past sunrise. The only ones awake were early risers like himself, and the roosters.

His coworkers at the station would tease him about it later; he was the only one in the small task force to actually rise early, even on his morning off. But why should he let himself fall from his idiosyncrasies he'd had since his academy days, just because his co-workers didn't see his way of doing things?

As much as his commanding officer tried to bribe him to bring him in sweets while still on shift.

Moving to this quiet town had been quite a shock to his system. To say that Castiel hadn't had dreams of working for a large police unit in a big name city would be a lie. He'd been transferred out to this small unit a few months ago when they'd been short-staffed once Michael had gotten his big promotion and had transferred up to the Big Offices. (He'd caught Gabriel muttering his first few days about how 'dicks of a feather fly together'. He didn't quite understand that reference.)

But this little suburb, with a population under three hundred—including dogs, cats, and the occasional bird—was slowly growing on him. Very slowly.

He slowed down as his house came into sight; a small thing he was currently on a month-by-month lease for. With his sudden move from the bigger city to the smaller town, it was all he could get on such short notice. There wasn't even anything notable about the house; it was small, clinically clean, and barely furnished.

Simply put, it wasn't home.

Castiel bypassed everything on his way to the shower, eager to strip off the sweaty clothes and scrub the grime of his run away. The hot water was a blessing, and if Castiel lingered a few moments under the spray, nearly purring in content (if anyone were to see him in this state, he'd never live it down) at the steady tattoo of water pounding at the knots in the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

Though he had to pull himself from the heat eventually, drying meticulously before wandering to his room to change. A pair of off-black sweats and a soft grey t-shirt later, and Castiel found himself back in his kitchen, prodding his coffee maker to life.

His small kitchen table was still piled with case folders, records he'd been given to study and memorize. It was a high profile case; a man had been on a massive streak, four states wide and growing, with a longer list of charges trailing after him. It sickened him down to his core; rape and murder were at the top of the list of charges. This sick fiend had to be caught, before anyone else could be hurt.

His unit had been given files of potential prospects, as the last hit from the serial attacker had been only two counties over. They could be next.

Pouring a fresh cup of coffee—he still hated most technology, but loved his Keurig with a passion—he eyed the latest intel as he sipped at the hot liquid. The latest case report from the neighboring county was a good length, as most of the files were. The victim had helped to narrow down a rough, amalgamated sketch of the attacker. Though it was only a black and white image, and too undefined to pinpoint (as there were no outstanding traits of the man to match with), they were, essentially, looking for a piece of hay in a haystack.

With a sigh, Castiel settled back against his counter, and buried himself in rereading case material.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Evening rolled around quickly, the dusky hues settling over the town. It painted roads a gentle red and lush orange, making shadows stretch and lunge across yards of golden-tipped grass. The faint buzz of crickets helped to cradle the transition between evening and night smoothly, though they fell silent as Castiel walked past them, eyeing the longer grass as he passed.

The town was beautiful, idyllic even.
But it was missing something.

A large hole in his routine, in his life. One he wasn't sure in what shape, or what filled it. All he knew was it ached every time he walked the streets, listened to the small bucolic town morning and night. Some mornings, he didn't like looking at an empty kitchen table, or waking to cold sheets. Solo dinners, with no company but the radio.

Or at the very least, he thought bitterly as a shiver raced up his spine, someone to remind him to put on a coat before walking to work when his head was in the clouds between work.

Castiel let out a grateful sigh as he ducked into the station, nodding to Uriel as he passed him. They would be relieving Gabriel and Balthazar, taking night watch. Though Uriel would be on patrol and he at the station, and this would likely be the only time he saw his 'partner'.

"Gabriel wants a word with you." He muttered as he passed, his pace never slowing as he breezed out the door.

Great.

Checking his superior's office, he found him as he was getting ready to clock out. "You requested my audience, sir?"

Gabriel glanced up as he slid on his off-green jacket and grinned. "Castiel! Yes; just the man I wanted to see." Sitting on the edge of his desk, Gabriel pushed his longer hair back out of his face. "You know the big case the boys upstairs have been having trouble with?"

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed; what about the entirety of the case seemed at all jovial to his superior? "Yes, sir."

"Cassie," Gabriel gave an exasperated sigh. "I'm off duty already, quit calling me sir. And, ah—" He pointed a finger at Castiel as he opened his mouth to argue. "My say, goes." Shrugging, Gabriel stuffed his hand back into his pocket. "We've got a guy in holding who fits the bill. The boys in blue won't be by until morning to pick him up. So, you'll be babysitting him tonight."

A cold weight settled in the pit of his stomach, and quickly froze him over. They had... A suspect... In custody? His eyes fringed to the corner, through the window, able to see a figure lounging on the cot kept in the holding cell. But he wasn't able to make out any features.

An arm suddenly framing his shoulders startled him back into the present, to find Gabriel talking. "He's booked already. There's leftovers in the fridge, just warm them up. Make sure he's fed, watered, walkies if he needs it." Grinning, he squeezed Castiel's shoulders briefly. "I'm out."

He made no move to acknowledge Gabriel as he left, not moving until well after the door closed. The man potentially responsible for all those crimes and murders, hurt men and women. He was right there; lounging on the flattened cot like he didn't have a care in the world.

Smothering down the bile that threatened to rise, Castiel stalked out of his superior's office, slamming the door with a bit more gusto than necessary. The figure glanced up, looking around before his eyes landed on Castiel.

"Well, hi there." The man grinned, sitting up and stretching his arms out. The soft voice was Castiel's first impression of the potential killer, a soft southern accent that registered in the back of his brain. "I guess you're the night guy?" Castiel remained silent, his hand lingering on the brass doorknob as the man's smile fringed on flirtatious. "My name's Dean, though you probably already know that."

Castiel's hand clenched around the brass, made warm by his palm. He would not let this man get to him. He would not.

"I gotta say, you're cuter than the last cops. Do you have a name Officer, ah," His gaze flicked down to the name tag pinned to Castiel's chest. "Novak?"

A flare of embarrassment washed up his neck, along with a small spike of indignation. "You're being held on charges pertaining to one of the largest cases, spanning over five states." The grin lost some of its vigor, and Castiel felt a small inkling of almost pride. "With a long list of charges trailing after—including murder, rape, and arson—and you're flirting with me?" It was hard to keep the indignation out of his voice. Who did this man think he was?

The cocky grin had fully slipped from Dean's face, leaving him blank for a brief moment. Castiel knew his outburst had been unprofessional. But this case was getting to him. It was too much; too much pain, too much suffering.

And they had the suspect in their holding cell, and the 'suits', as Gabriel loved to call them, wouldn't be bothered to pick him up until the morning.

"You know what, Officer Novak? What makes me different?"

Castiel's eyes sharpened on the man staring right back at him. "What would that be?"

He could guess the cockiness, the give-'em-Hell attitude he oozed. Or—

"I'm innocent." Castiel remained silent, waiting for him to continue. "I'm innocent, and I won't be charged for crimes I didn't commit."

The conviction in his voice made the officer falter. Sure, he's heard marvelous liars and wonderful actors truly believe what they said. But Dean was stressing on his knowledge in not being charged. Like he held more belief in the law not convicting an innocent man, than of his own innocence.

Strange.

Before he could potentially ask more, dig a little deeper—Dean lay back down, facing the wall. It was the end of discussion for now.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Dean was quiet for a few short hours after that, Castiel quietly observed. Still lounging against the old bed like he owned it, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded behind his back. The only noise to fill the small station was the gentle scratching of his pen as he filled out paperwork in between eyeing the holding cell inmate, and Dean humming some song under his breath.

Unfortunately, it was getting late in the evening, and Castiel knew protocol.

He slid out from his chair, vaguely aware of eyes following him as he wandered out into the break room in the back. Gabriel said there were leftovers in the fridge... His eyes nearly lit up at the wrapped burgers nestled in the back of the mini-fridge. He'd have to thank Gabriel some other time. With a smile, he piled two on a plate and set them to warm up, carrying his spoils back into the main area.

"They aren't fresh. But they're good, if you're hungry." Dean stood up, wandering over to the bars as Castiel approached and, for the first time, Castiel got a real good look at the suspect up close. A sun-kissed complexion, from spending so much time under the golden rays; sun-bleached brown hair that spiked up off his face; the most vivid green eyes he had ever seen. This didn't look like the face of a serial killer-perhaps a person who's seen a lot of stress in their life. But he didn't look like a killer...

But, his personal opinion couldn't change anything. Only get himself into trouble.

"Yeah, man. Starved. Thanks a lot." Dean gently took the offered cheeseburger through the bars, lips twitching in an almost gentle smile. "You ought to smile more."

...what?
"What?"

The man shrugged as he unwrapped his cheeseburger. "You came in here beamin' like you won the lottery. You ought to smile more—or, you know, anything other than that 'I Hope You Spontaneously Combust on the Spot' look you've been giving me for the past two hours."

Castiel didn't know whether to gawk at the compliment, or at having been caught glancing at him.
Instead, he settled back at his desk, nibbling at his own burger instead of demolishing it like he normally would have.

When he was halfway through, Castiel murmured after swallowing down a bite, "Castiel."

"What?" Those green eyes were fastened straight at him.

"Castiel. Castiel Novak," Castiel amended softly, glancing up from the staring contest he was having with his wrapper. "It's my name."

He missed Dean's smile, but heard him say, "Nice to finally meet you, Castiel."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Dude, why won't you at least turn a radio on? Or something?" Dean gripes from his cell, rolling over onto his stomach for the fifth time. "Seriously, I hate that it's so quiet in here."

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, counting backwards from twenty-five. He had started at counting backwards from five originally, adding on five each time he grew aggravated and counted again. Needless to say, it was escalating quickly.

"This is not a stay in a hotel. You are not meant to be in the complete lap of luxury, in a holding cell." Castiel deadpanned, staring at Dean from his desk.

The man sighed loudly, laying his chin over his crossed arms. "Can we at least talk?"

Raising an eyebrow, "Without a lawyer?"

Dean met his challenging stare at full force—which was ridiculous, because acted near a child, lying on his stomach on the cot. "I don't need one. 'Sides, which, I know these places are bugged to the extreme. If I said anything that could be 'incriminating', you'll hand the tape off when the suits pick me up."

The sarcasm was so heavily-laden in that last statement Castiel almost wanted to say something. But it made his soft accent reflect more and, as strange as it was, he found he quite liked how the gentle lilt rolled over softer vowels. Maybe, maybe he would just talk. It wasn't like he had anything to do-with his paperwork done; he'd just been shuffling around files and papers, never quite able to keep his full attention on anything for quite long enough.

"Okay," He admitted, keeping his head turned until he felt he could repress his smile. It was hard, when Dean was practically beaming at him. "What would you like to talk about?"

"How about we play a game?" The incarcerated man sat up, leaning against the bars and grinning like he won the lottery. Castiel just frowned. "You ask a question, I answer and then I get to ask a question."

"And what if I don't want to answer your questions?" Dean's smile faltered, and then frowned lightly. Somewhere deep in his mind, Castiel didn't like how the negative emotion looked on him.

"Then I won't answer yours." He shrugged, as if it were that obvious. "An answer for an answer."

Castiel wanted to remind Dean that he was the one to suggest this little talk and game. He wanted to say he had no interest in getting to know a man who would be shipped off to State in the morning. A man that was a suspect in a supremely high case. A man he would never see again.

What he did, however, was sigh, lean back in his chair, and waved a sign of agreeance at Dean. "If you so wish."

Dean looked like Christmas came early. "Sweet; you want to go first? Or can I?"

With absolutely no questions that came to mind, it having blanked at being on the spot suddenly, the officer nodded at him. "It is your game. You may go first."

"Hmm..." Trailing off in thought, Dean grinned in a near Cat-ate-the-Canary fashion. "Are you a virgin?"

Castiel nearly choked on air. "E-excuse me?" What kind of first question was that? Perhaps he made a mistake in this game...

The man winked, chuckling at the flustered officer. "Nah, I'm just kidding. Save that one for later. Real question this time; favorite color?"

That question was certainly easier...
"Green." And, maybe, just to keep the question material in a lighter direction, "And yours?"

"Original question, Cas. Blue. Boxers or briefs?"

"I'm not answering that."

"So, commando?"

"Dean..."

-/-/-/-/-/-

In the end, they played the innocent question game for well over two hours, more often then not trading real answers. Dean mainly led the game, as Castiel often parroted the question he'd been asked. Not out of any sort of lack of original questions, but because somewhere along the line he generally wanted to know Dean's answers to the ones he'd been asked. And, somewhere along the line, they went from more innocent questions, like, 'Favorite animals'—Castiel's was an Abyssinian cat; Dean preferred herding dogs, like cattle aussies—to 'favorite foods'—Castiel's was, obviously, cheeseburgers; Dean had a love of pie, but admitted cheeseburgers were just as awesome—to deeper, more intimate questions.

Castiel found out that Dean had a younger brother, Sam—who was off at college in Stanford, studying to be a lawyer. The kid was apparently a brainiac, as Dean built up the image of his baby brother being the best thing to walk the halls of that college. Dean called often and visited occasionally, sending money when he could.
(Truthfully, Dean had gone on a tangent about his younger brother, supplying more information than the question had asked. But the soft look in Dean's eye, paired with a softer voice-Dean loved his brother, and Castiel didn't have the heart or will to stop him from chattering on. Plus, Castiel's short answer had left an awkward pause in conversation-he had no siblings.)

They traded bleak parental stories; Castiel's, who only rarely ever called to ask him about the job and to recently gripe about his transfer to a small department, and Dean's, whose mother died in a house fire and his father who died in a line of duty.

The reason Castiel was in this small town, this line of work was because the service was so ingrained into his family, he didn't know what else to be. But he enjoyed his work, enjoyed seeing justice served to those who deserved it.

The reason Dean was here, well, had been in town, while his brother was in Stanford, was that he had no home, not a real one since his mother died. He lived in his car—a 1967 Chevrolet Impala that Dean was quite attached to, if his observation about how Dean talked while referencing the car had any stock—and traveled all over the continental US by himself. A lonely life, but Dean said he liked it. His father had gone into the service after their mother died. Dean idolized him, wanted to become a cop just like him. He wanted to help people, like his brother always planned to, as well. A family business. But his father died brutally, saving a woman while off duty. The experience scarred him from pursuing the dream further.
(Dean hadn't verbalized the last notion, but it was definitely hinted at. This did explain Dean's trust in the legal system, and his extensive knowledge of it as well.)

Finally, Dean managed to pry the answer from his first question out of Castiel—"I am a virgin, but I have dated before."

Those green eyes glittered mischievously and, dare he say, almost joyful? "Aw, haven't found the right girl yet?"

Drawing himself up an inch, Castiel met Dean's gaze confidently. "No; I've merely not found a man I believe I could give a piece of myself to."

The mischievous look evaporated quickly, meeting his stare almost blankly. But there was a hint of awe, and, perhaps he was looking into the man's facial emotions too deeply not, but he swore an inkling of hope.

Dean coughed uncomfortably, staring down at the floor. "Can - uh - we take a coffee break? I could use it."

Glancing up at the clock, Castiel grimaced. It was getting late. "Perhaps I ought to let you get some rest, Dean."

"No!" They both were taken back by the sudden outburst, but Dean quickly recovered, shaking his head. "I highly doubt those dicks in suits will be as fun to talk to as you—unless you'd rather not talk to me anymore?"

"No, I - I quite like this game." Castiel admitted, smiling gently. Dean smiled back. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black, two sugars. Please."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Sometime around midnight, Castiel found himself smiling more than he had in quite some time. The dark pit in his stomach had all but disappeared in the space of the hours he'd already put in. Dean was enjoyable company, and the more time he spent talking to him, he found he liked Dean's company more and more.

He'd moved from his desk over by the wall, to leaning against the desk—Samandriel's, not like it mattered at the moment—across from the holding cells, while nursing his own coffee. They'd strayed from heavier topics for now, instead an unspoken cue to keep questions on the lighter end of things. From favorite movies, to happier memories. Dean was appalled at Castiel's lack of pop culture knowledge after telling him a story of how him, his brother, and his father had dressed up as characters from Star Wars one Halloween, and they'd spent so long playing around the apartment that they'd actually missed the neighborhood's begging hours. John had bought them bags of candy, and they snacked and watched horror movies until they all fell asleep.

"Dude, you seriously have never seen any of the Star Wars movies?"

"No." Castiel cocked his head to the side. "I was never permitted to watch much as a child."

"Seriously?! We ought to watch them sometime—they're classics." Conversation lulled momentarily, as reality sank in-including the bars separating the two of them.

Castiel looked over the man in the holding cell, who refused to meet his eye. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, like he'd been slapped by the reality of his statement. He might never see Dean again, but...

"I would like that." Castiel admitted, smiling as Dean met his gaze with surprised eyes. "I would like that very much."

"Hey Cas?" Dean cleared his throat, glancing over the officer's shoulder, nervous to meet his eye. "If we met under different circumstances, would you - ah, uh - would you have ever taken a chance on me?"

The question surprise and, in the same instant, didn't surprise him. Would he? Why wouldn't he? Yes, Dean was attractive. His soft accent was rather nice on his ears. But Dean made him smile, made him laugh. How many prospects, how many dates had succeeded in that? The answer; none. Dean seemed to like in him what others did not. His bluntness was matched by Dean's own, he played and teased at his formalness unlike anyone ever had before. It was strange, new; dare he say it, enticing. "Dean..."

How could he say it, though?

Apparently, he had taken too long to answer, as Dean suddenly looked away, down at the floor of his holding cell. "Oh..."

If that didn't break his heart...

"Dean... We can not change the circumstances in which we meet people. They are final, and can never be altered or replicated. So, no, Dean Winchester," Dean's head snapped up quickly, staring at Castiel with wounded eyes. "I would not change the circumstances in which we met—I would not be the same, nor would you." Castiel smiled, but walked closer to the bars. "Would I prefer there were not iron bars between us? Yes. But this you, that I met tonight? I've started to become rather fond of him."

Dean's smile was almost worth the painful moment of seeing Dean hurt, seeing that pain erase away, as if it didn't exist moments ago. Castiel didn't allow himself to reflect on that thought for too long.

"That so?" Castiel merely smiled, giving a small nod in return. "I'm quite fond of this Cas, as well."

Leaning forward, he leaned against the wall of iron, smile still in place. "I'd very much like to kiss you, Dean. Would you allow me to?"

"What about the cameras, Cas?" Dean's eyes suddenly widen in realization. Their entire conversation was on camera. Castiel's admission was on camera. "Shit, Cas, you could lose your job!"

"Dean—" Castiel reached in, fingers skimming over Dean's hand to calm him. "May I tell you a secret, if you promise not to tell another soul?"

The panic settled some in those emerald eyes, as Dean leaned closer and nodded. "Sure."

"The cameras haven't been recording for over a week." A flicker of a shy smile curled over his lips. Dean looked every bit surprised. "I check in with Gabriel about the recording software, but nothing any technician does have been able to fix it."

Castiel rested his chin against the horizontal bar, the tiny window just being barely big enough to frame his face. A hand slipped through the bars and slid up his neck slowly, fingers splaying out on the exposed flesh of his neck beneath his collar, mapping the column of his neck. Dean suddenly came into his line of sight, smiling affectionately as he leaned in and they met in the middle, surrounded and separated by a web of iron. It was a perfect first kiss; sweet, affectionate; just a bit unsure yet sure in itself. It made his heart flutter and his brain short. It trilled of promises and of potentials. Yet, it felt almost like coming home.

Slowly, they pulled away, keeping but a hair's breadth between them. Dean smiled, letting his nose brush up against Castiel's affectionately. Castiel smiled in return, letting himself lean in once more, lips brushing against Dean's. A hand slid to Castiel's waist, thumbing the peak of his collar bone with his other hand. Castiel's grip tightened on the iron bar, coming up to wrap around Dean's neck in a futile attempt to pull him closer. They broke apart once more, panting lightly. Dean drew Castiel's lip between his teeth, giving it a sharp nip that elicited a whimper from the officer.

Drawing further away, Castiel stared at the man on the other side of the wall, his thoughts whirling around in his head. Pros and cons. What he could gain. What he could lose.

Was it worth it?

"Cas?" Dean eyed the officer almost nervously, reaching out as Castiel drew out of his arms. "What's wrong?"

Castiel just quietly strode over to his desk, picking the key ring off the top of the polished top. He crossed the distance once more while keeping eye contact with Dean, falling short of the door. The man watched him move, trying to figure out what he was doing. Surely Cas wasn't letting him go. But did he want to get closer than an iron wall would allow?

"My career would be terminated, if you ran." Castiel remarked slowly, fingers dancing over the old key. "I would be, disgraced, even. I don't think even a fast food establishment would hire me." His eyes lowered to the keys in his hand, continuing to fiddle nervously.

"Then why take the chance?" Dean slowly moved to stand in front of Castiel, watching. "You said it yourself; I'm suspect number one for one of the highest criminal cases in the state. Why chance on me?"

Castiel raised his eyes, meeting his gaze once more. "What reason have you given me to doubt you, Dean?"

"You open that door and that would be my ticket to freedom. Why would you take a chance like that?"

"Are you telling me not to?"

"No. I'm not —" Dean sighed, leaning back against the brick wall. "I'm not telling you to do anything you don't want to do. I just don't know why you would."

The officer remained silent, glancing between the lock, the key, and Dean. Keeping his eye on Dean, he slid the key home into the socket, turning it with a soft clink. Eyebrows raised as the door swung open, but otherwise Dean made no motion to head for the door, even as Castiel walked towards him.

"Why?" He asked softly, watching the dark haired man intently.

Castiel met his gaze head-on, confident in his decision but unable to hide that small undercurrent of nervousness. "Would a guilty man try to dissuade me from opening the door to potential freedom?"

Slowly, Dean closed the gap between them. He never made any attempt to even glance at the open door, having Castiel purely in mind. His hands slid slowly over his hips, sliding around his waist and drawing him close in over exaggerated slowness. He was giving him time to back out, to still pull away. Dean was still suspect to charges—he was letting Castiel take the orchestral initiative, and the sweetness of the unspoken gesture made him smile. Castiel's arms slid around Dean's neck, a hand sliding up into his hair as the keys fell to the floor. He knew what he wanted, using the bracket of his arms to tug Dean closer quicker, until lips crashed against one another's. This kiss was unlike the sweetness of the previous ones. It was still there, a silver note of affection. But there was heat and fire, a burst of golden sparks over dry kindling.

Castiel's back hit the stone wall, a chilling cold through the fabric of his uniform before Dean framed up against him, hips slotting together like puzzle pieces. His body was a bonfire compared to the chill at his back, but the two balanced off well. Though, it was hard to concentrate on the antithesis at the moment, with Dean nuzzling and alternatively kissing and nibbling at the expanse of neck as he worked at unbuttoning the collar of his uniform impatiently. Dean's mouth blazed the trail he uncovered, only hindered once reaching his undershirt.

Clutching the short tawny hair tight, Castiel gently tugged him back up for another searing kiss. Castiel's other hand slid from around his neck, gliding over his shoulder and down around the dip of his collarbone, switching between dragging his fingertips and feeling with the whole of his palm as he mapped out the lost frontier that was Dean Winchester.

His uniform was finally free, both working together to slide it from his shoulders until it fell with a flutter. Hot hands slid beneath his white undershirt, pulling until Castiel helped remove it, as well. Castiel pulled at Dean's shirt until the man pulled back slightly, pulling it over his head. He watched with near rapt interest as miles of tanned skin was revealed, unable to keep his hands from touching, leaning forward to kiss and nibble at his collarbone before Dean fully removed his shirt, it being discarded as well. One of Dean's hands threaded into Castiel's dark locks, giving a small tug before pulling him back in to kiss his lips, gently pushing Castiel back against the wall.

The coldness of the concrete earned a hiss out of the officer, flinching away from it and attempting to press further into the inferno trapped between Dean and himself. The man chuckled softly, moving to kiss his way down his body once more. His lips paused before brushing over an erect nipple, gliding his hand back up to brush over the untouched bud. Gasping softly, Castiel's head fell back against the wall as Dean took the bud into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers before switching to give the other fair treatment.

Dean continued his trek, lips grazing over his stomach until they reached the hem of his uniform pants and he settled on his knees. His fingers worked at unbuckling his belt, unsnapping the button before dragging the zipper down, keeping eye contact all the while. Slipping his hand up, he freed Castiel's length from beneath his boxers, only looking away to the task at hand. Wrapping his hand around the base, he slid it up the length of his cock, swiping his thumb over the tip before sliding back and gently squeezing.

Groaning, Castiel watched as Dean leaned forward, tongue curling around the contours of the head, the tip of his tongue dipping into the slit before capturing it into the moist heat of his mouth and sucking down. The dark haired man bit down a moan, fingers weaving back once more into Dean's hair as he fought the urge to buck into his mouth. It had been too long, too long, and he didn't want this, whatever insane thing this was, to end because he hadn't gotten off in so long... However, with Dean's skilled tongue working the crown of his cock with a lost art, he wasn't so sure on his staying power.

Green eyes suddenly flicked up to meet his, pupils blown wide until only a rim of bright jade was left. They utterly shimmered with mischievousness, keeping eye contact as he worked his way down slowly, pulling back a fraction before sinking back again. The sight had his skin burning, the sight searing it's way into his memory. Oh, the things he would do to this man...

Dean worked faster as Castiel's breath grew shallower, his hands reflexively clenching and pulling on his hair every so often. He enjoyed finding out what made the quiet officer make the most noise—for example, small licks along the underside of his dick produced breathy murmurings, most of which he wasn't able to decipher, while mouthing his heavy sack had earned him a loud shout. He was willing to guess his officer hadn't gotten off in quite some time, though he was happy to oblige and fix that. The fingers in his hair clenched once more, making him moan softly.

"Dean," Castiel tried to grasp at words, and was having the hardest time keeping a hold of them. "I- fuck, Dean, I'm— I can't—" Dean, the smug bastard, just hummed under his breath, pulling back to his the tip, and sucked down. Castiel came with a wordless shout, feeling himself buck and tremble with the sudden punch of his release. Dean swallowed everything that Castiel gave, suckling and licking gently until he went soft before pulling back and licking his lips clean. He helped Castiel slide to the floor, chuckling as the officer drew him in for a sloppy kiss that had both men smiling. Fingers were suddenly scrabbling at his belt, releasing it and the fly button before Dean laid a hand over Castiel's, stopping the motion.

"Cas, I'm fine."

The hand suddenly slipped from his own, cupping the aching erection straining against the zipper. "Sure about that?"

Dean buried his forehead into the crook of Castiel's neck, hissing slightly and bucking against his hand. "Fuck..."

Castiel chuckled, kissing his temple. "Maybe next time. But for now..." His fingers slid the zipper down, pulling his erection free from his boxers. Pale fingers slid over the hot, throbbing column of flesh with ease, rolling his thumb over the tip. Dean groaned, nipping Castiel's neck as he rolled his hips into his hand eagerly, fucking up into his palm. Castiel smiled, pulling Dean back in for an open kiss, working his hand into a counter rhythm opposite of the thrust of his hips until he came over his hand and stomach, moaning into the kiss.

-/-/-/-/-/-

They stayed together in the cell for hours, half drifting between sleep and consciousness, half exchanging slow, sweet kisses. Hands drifted and roamed, growing familiar of each others' angles and plains. They'd cleaned up using Castiel's undershirt, throwing out the open door before returning to the task at hand—mainly, Dean leaving dark marks all over Castiel's chest and shoulder blades, as reminders for the next few days.

They didn't talk about the case. They didn't talk about the trial.
They knew it was there. Just as they knew they would never likely see one another again.

They talked about movies and music, recommendations and half-real plans of seeing and experiencing them together, one day.

Until it grew to about six in the morning, when Castiel had to slowly remove himself from the cell. He cleaned up, both himself and the area around, afraid to look at Dean as he redressed himself. The heavy iron door swung shut, separating them once more. At seven, his shift ended. At seven, they would arrive to take Dean away. At seven, Castiel would never see the man again, potentially.

"Cas..." Castiel stared intently at his desk, as Dean called out to him. "Cas, look at me." The officer slowly turned, keeping himself steadily emotionless in the face of Dean's somber smile. "We'll see each other again."

"Dean... You know how unlikely it is..."

"Cas." Dean reached his hand out through the bars; Castiel didn't even hesitate to take it into his own. "I'm innocent. I know it. And, maybe..." He trailed off, cheeks warming up.

Raising an eyebrow, "'Maybe...'?"

Dean bit his lip, drawing Castiel's attention momentarily to it. "Maybe... I could come back here... If there's be something left for me to come back to..."

The statement stunned Castiel, but not into silence. Dean wanted to come back? For.. him? Smiling, the officer squeezed Dean's hand, lifting it up to kiss his knuckles one by one. "Dean... Of course."

Dean lit up like the fourth of July. "Really?"

"Well, a proper date might be nice, first..." He teased gently. To his surprise, Dean didn't rise to it, instead smiling softly.

"I'd like that."

-/-/-/-/-/-

In the end, Michael came to pick Dean up at exactly seven. He had gone willingly, throwing jokes whenever he could. But as he passed Castiel on his march out to the transfer car, his expression softened; he smiled, winked, and mouthed something Castiel missed. But his heart warmed, and he found himself smiling even as Michael drove the car off.

It took him ten full minutes to realize Dean left his jacket in the holding cell.

Dean would be released within a week into his Holding and Questioning, or so Castiel had been informed. Another house had been hit, with the same M/O, same pattern. Dean had been in custody at the time, so he had been cleared. Three weeks after that, they would finally catch the sick bastard. The trial was a slam dunk, with miles of matching evidence against him. He'd be going away for a long, long time.

Castiel smiled at the TV in his living room before shutting it off. He'd made lengths to make it decently lived in—new furniture, a few personal affects here and there. The potential of the room sang to him now, with so much room and so many potential things to put in it.

The officer tightened the laces of his running shoes, flexing slightly and stretching as he headed towards the door but not before diverting to the new coat rack in the corner. He smiled, running his hand over the old leather of the only coat hanging on the brass fixture.

All he needed now was patience.