(A/N: Rated M for mature content and language.

The random mental image of Dean in only a Stetson and cowboy boots is responsible for this. Heh.

Warnings: AU. MalexMale slash. Hints o' smut. Language. (And I feel it important to note I'm by no means an expert in anything to do with horses/riding, merely a casual hobby when I was younger, so please forgive any glaring errors you might notice.)

Enjoy! :))

Castiel Novak slowly walked down the wide airport corridor, dragging his carry-on behind him as he looked around. The airport he was in was tiny, at least by comparison to the one he transferred at in Chicago. And hadn't been remodeled since the 80's, at the earliest. He thought the over abundance of faux wood tones was meant to be homey, but it just hurt his eyes. And the faded teal splattered about didn't help matters. He felt like a snob, but he nearly shuddered with revulsion.

He knew where he was because he'd read his boarding pass as his mother pushed him towards the check-in at the airport but he was still having a hard time taking in the fact he was in North Carolina as truth. It was just so... odd. Not to mention he was still pissed off at the forced vacation he'd been sent on with not even an hour notice.

Honestly. His mother was too involved in his life to think she had the right to force him to—as she put it—relax and unwind. He snorted to himself, as if she even knew how to do those things. Then again, how bad off was he when his mother, of all people, thought he was too tightly wound and in need of a life outside his students and airless university office? He still didn't think he was in a rut, or whatever his mother had said as she kissed his cheek and herded him around like a child, but he hadn't a chance to protest before the TSA agent was patting him down and ferrying him forward with the crowd.

As his gaze swept around the nearly empty lobby, he stopped when he caught sight of his name. He smirked at the cliché of someone awaiting him with a sign and slowly approached the person holding the sign. His eyes traveled up and his steps nearly faltered when he looked at the man behind the sign. Good god, he was going to have to thank his mother—he just knew it.

Castiel really, really tried to keep his gaze in a swiftly moving pattern, and meet the stranger's eyes like a civilized person, but it kept stopping on various detours of the man in front of him. He looked like he came out of a fetish magazine, in all honesty, and he really didn't know what the hell his mother had been thinking.

The man was wearing boots on his feet; honest to god cowboy boots that looked like they'd seen better days. The darkly tanned material was tooled into a swirling, but masculine pattern. A pair of dark washed, yet crisp and new looking, denims were tight enough to highlight slightly bowed legs and a generous roominess in the crotch area (as much as he wanted to linger, he skipped the man's groin all together). His gaze paused on the ridiculously large golden belt buckle that appeared to have some sort of deer (or maybe a horse?) molded in stark relief staring boldly out from his waist. A light green and grey simply patterned flannel shirt with pearl snap buttons covered a toned chest (he refused to admit it might have made him drool—just a little).

His eyes kept going up and he nearly stopped walking again. A handsome, lightly tanned face with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen were just visible past the wide brim of some sort of hat. Light brown hair stuck out in small tufts just under the hat's brim by his forehead and ears.

"Mister Novak?" the tall stranger asked as Castiel approached. Then he smiled, making Castiel pause for a fraction of a second.

Castiel's brow furrowed briefly at the formal name and tone of voice. He hated being called Mr. Novak; it reminded him too much of his father. Not that he wasn't a good man, but they had little in common and people that knew his father expected things of him that he rarely could deliver on.

"Yes," he responded, nodding sharply, trying not to sound anything but bored and put out. He was not at all thrilled to be sent on a forced holiday and he had a feeling this man was an accomplice and probably quite deserving of the bitchy attitude.

Even if the first impression of the man was... quite pleasant.

"Hi," the cowboy said cheerfully and stuck his hand out, waiting patiently for the other man to shake it. He ignored the neatly pressed suit pants and button down the man wore, deciding not to comment on the oddness of such attire. He marveled that the guy had just come off a plane and didn't looked wrinkled (but doing a really good job of giving him a mighty bitch face, though). Even if it looked weird and out of place, the get-up did fit him nicely. He tried not to stare and he was pretty confident he did a reasonably good job of it, too.

Castiel just stared at the outstretched hand for a few moments. With a put-upon sigh, he shook it briskly. Once. It was warm, firm, slightly calloused, and sent a tingle through his body. He had to fight to let go and scowled at the man in front of him. The man hadn't gripped harder or refused to let go but he found himself unwilling to let go and it was very annoying. He raised an eyebrow when the man made no move to introduce himself. Where were his manners?

"And you are?" he asked, hating to be at a disadvantage. Plus, he was irritatingly curious.

The other man gave a forced smile as he inclined his head, pulling on the brim of his hat slightly. He was rather surprised the suit asked; most people barely looked at him twice and just treated him like hired help. He actually preferred that at times... He tried to ignore the annoyed, pursed lips and slightly narrowed eyes (a lovely blue, hey there) of the man in front of him and squared his shoulders. "Dean Winchester," he said and tipped his head.

Castiel tried to fight his reaction but his eyes widened without his permission. "No," he said in disbelief, his blue eyes flicking all over the man in front of him again. This could not be the fucking owner of the place he'd been forced to visit. "You've got to be kidding me."

Out of habit, he turned his phone back on and simply held it, not really giving it much attention as he stared at Dean and trying to figure out if the man normally picked up guests or if his mother was involved and had demanded special treatment. (Either way, it took most of his efforts not to groan in embarrassment.)

"'Fraid not," Dean said with a hint of amusement. He wasn't surprised by the reaction; it wasn't like he made a habit of picking up guests from the airport, after all. He eyed the other man from under his hat, mostly just to look. He grinned when the guy's phone jingled and vibrated, making him jump and nearly drop the phone. "You might wanna get that now," he said, nodding at the guy's palm with his chin. "There ain't cell reception where we're goin'."

He removed his hat, remembering his manners much later than he was comfortable with. He'd spent entirely too much of his time and attention in trying to discretely ogle the dark-haired man. "Really, Mister Novak," he said, when the guy made no move to do it.

Castiel sighed. "Please, call me Castiel."

Dean nodded, a little taken aback. He hadn't expected that, even if the guy seemed aware of who he was. He offered a small smile and suppressed an urge to laugh when blue eyes widened a little and Castiel suddenly found his phone fascinating. The chimes repeated in a quick succession, at least three of them. He wasn't all that surprised, lots of people turned their phones off on a flight and got swamped by messages. He rocked back on his heels and let the guy have a few moments to get his shit together.

"For fuck's sake," Castiel muttered under his breath. His mother sent him three messages, all of them asking if he arrived in one piece and demanding a response the second he was able. She made the damn reservations for the flight and had to be aware of when he'd be landing. He sent a quick, tersely worded reply that he was alive and about to be abducted by a cowboy and taken into the mountains for kinky farm animal orgies. Luckily, his mother knew him well enough not to call the local police and just sent 'Good! :) Have fun! xoxo' in reply. Horrible woman...

"My mother," he said, lifting the phone for a moment, at Dean's questioning look when he sucked his teeth softly in annoyance. "I don't know what she was thinking with this trip. You'd think she'd be very aware of my arrival time and all that," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Castiel rolled his eyes when he read a message from his brother, Gabriel, wishing him happy trails and instructions how to hog-tie a (preferably naked) cowboy. At least now he knew which of his siblings to kill for helping his mother plan this horrible ordeal. He merely sent his brother a link for step-by-step instructions (complete with illustrations, how handy) on how to self-fellate. There wasn't a reply so he figured Gabriel got the 'go fuck yourself' message. Or he'd distracted his brother enough the world would be safe from his influence for about a week. Two, if he was lucky.

He briefly considered sending a message to his sister, Anna, in case she tried (and failed) to contact him in the next few weeks but he was too irritated. He'd probably say something rude and she (probably) didn't deserve that. He hoped his mother would send word around, if she hadn't already.

"Thanks," Castiel said, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

Dean chuckled. "Welcome", he said merely out of habit. Castiel looked anything but grateful for the chance to check his messages. He looked around the dark-haired man. "Luggage?" He only saw the one carry-on bag and frowned thoughtfully. It really wouldn't hold enough for a week, let alone three.

He was pleased that Castiel didn't ask about where they were going or anything like that. He'd been given express instructions from Mrs. Novak (who, he was slightly relieved to discover, was the gorgeous man's mother and not his wife) not to divulge the exact nature of Castiel's vacation until he was safely at the ranch. Safely behind the fences and in the middle of no where. He understood the instructions now, after talking with the other man and seeing how he held himself.

Dean grinned to himself; this was a man that would stomp off in a hissy fit. It would be refined and most likely very subdued, but a hissy fit nonetheless.

Castiel could feel his eye twitch with annoyance. "No," he huffed and crossed his arms. "I packed what casual clothing I had." He nodded at his single bag and shrugged a shoulder. He hadn't been given much (read; any) notice and he had no idea what to expect. Now he almost wished he had at least one pair of denims; he was feeling decidedly over-dressed.

"'kay, follow me then," Dean said with a shrug, turned on his heel and strode out of the airport. He angled his hat down as he stepped outside and made his way to the ranch's pick-up. He glanced at Castiel and chuckled when he saw the other man gape openly at the car. He knew exactly how the run-down old pick-up looked and he really wasn't offended. He took the bag from Castiel's hand and carefully placed it in the bed of the truck on his way around to the driver's side.

"Hop in then," he instructed and climbed in behind the wheel.

Castiel glared at the iron death trap and growled lowly in annoyance. He was going to give his mother an earful as soon as he could. How dare she! There was more rust than iron on this thing and he silently prayed it made it to... wherever they were going. He climbed in and looked around the interior, a little surprised it was so nice inside. He eyed the dashboard dubiously, unsure why there were finger shaped indentations in it.

"Buckle up!" Dean said cheerfully as he buckled his own seat belt. He didn't normally bother but he got the impression Castiel wouldn't appreciate his normally ambivalent attitude towards seat belts.

Castiel tried not to roll his eyes and strapped himself in. As soon as the device clicked, the vehicle took off with a squeal and he was thrown back into the seat, swallowing the startled noise before it could come out as he grabbed at a nearby handle molded into the door. "Maniac!" he muttered under his breath, holding onto the molded handle in the door with a white-knuckled grip. His only response was a chuckle that made his scowl deepen.

After almost 10 minutes of nearly uncomfortable silence, Dean tried to get Castiel talking but his efforts fell flat with one word responses from the other man and he'd given up, settling for just the noise of the truck as it rattled softly and the sound of the rotating wheels. He couldn't help wondering what the guy was thinking, but he didn't want to press. It was obvious he was still adjusting to the idea of being on vacation.

Of course, he'd taken many opportunities to sneak a few glances at the dark-haired man as he drove. He was just as attractive in the sunlight as he was in the glaring fluorescent lights of the airport. He tried not to ogle too obviously, he didn't think the guy would appreciate it. The interest now on Castiel's face as he peered out the window was, hopefully, a good sign. By the time they were off the highways and making their way up the more rural roads, Castiel was back to looking pensive.

"Where are we going?" Castiel asked, looking at the surrounding woods with something akin to trepidation. He'd seen enough horror movies to know that rural woods were rarely good places to go with complete strangers (even if, or maybe especially, they were rugged and sexy).

"Just a few more minutes," Dean said instead of giving an actual answer. He ignored the glare aimed at the side of his head, turned on the radio and immediately started tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. He sung softly under his breath, stoically ignoring Castiel's glare once again as he started making the turns to get them to the ranch.

"Oh shit," Castiel breathed, sounding horrified as they passed a large wooden archway. "She didn't," he groaned as they passed numerous paddocks and open fields. Horses (he stopped counting at 23) stood in groups, watching with bored expressions as the truck passed. "Oh, god. Please, take me back!" he said just as Dean put the truck in park.

Dean clucked his tongue and shook his head once, trying not to smile. "I'm 'fraid I can't do that. Your mother paid in full and made it clear she expects you to enjoy yourself." He smirked, probably enjoying Castiel's pale face and stricken expression a little too much. It was a change from the stoic, blank expression from earlier.

"Enjoy myself?" Castiel scoffed and glared out the window at all the... dirt. And farm animals. "She's completely insane. Fuck, she needs to be sent to a damn asylum," he muttered to himself watching a pack of deranged wild dogs burst out of a nearby barn and made their way, loudly, towards the parked truck. He cringed when one leapt up, barking, and placed its paws on the door and slobbered all over the window.

Dean tried not to laugh at Castiel. He'd been leery of dogs for years, never really being a 'dog person', and didn't blame the man for being a bit intimidated. The dogs were huge (friendly, but huge) so he could understand the guy's wariness. "Yup," he said brightly, answering the first part but silently agreeing with the second, and hopped out, slamming the door behind him. He made his way to the front of the truck and greeted the group of dogs at his feet, rubbing various body parts as the dogs all clambered for his attention.

He looked back at the dark haired man still in the truck and rolled his eyes, circling around and opening the door for him. Castiel looked like a big toddler; his bottom lip was slightly pooched out in a pout and he had his arm's crossed over his chest as he stared straight ahead.

"You can't leave. So you might as well make the best of it."

"Why can't I?" Castiel demanded hotly. He was still sitting in the truck but he had angled his body towards Dean, but only so he could glare at the man better. Who did he think he was to keep him prisoner here? If he wanted to leave, he should be able to!

Dean crossed his arms as well. "Fences," he said simply. He unfolded his arms and held a hand out to Castiel. He patiently stood there, his hand out as the dark-haired man huffed and glared. "I wouldn't try to leave on your own. They're high and there ain't nothing for miles," he informed Castiel with a wink.

Mostly, the fences were there to protect the animals but on occasion (such as this one), they came in handy to keep things in as well as out.

"Fences," Castiel repeated dryly. He allowed Dean to help him from the truck, ignoring the warm hand holding his firmly as he stepped down and looked around. Ugh, what was his mother thinking? He saw the fences and his eyes widened; even from this distance, he could see they were higher than he dared to climb. And topped with razor wire. He glared when he heard Dean chuckle as the man turned on his heel and headed towards a large barn.

Dean tilted his head towards the barn, "C'mon, I'll show you around."

For over an hour, Dean led Castiel to various barns and buildings, pointing out things that Castiel supposed the other man thought he'd be interested in. "The kitchen is open all the time, but there are three meals a day in the main mess hall. The times are posted in your cabin."

"Cabin?" Castiel repeated, sounding faint and trying not to grimace.

Dean nodded. "Yup," he cheerfully replied and continued in his tour, giving Castiel a brief run-down of the daily activities planned. "And there are lessons, twice a day."

"For what?" Castiel asked slowly, already having an idea. There were horses everywhere, so...

Dean grinned. "Ridin' a horse, of course. We'll start with the basics—grooming and tack. Then lessons on riding. Evenin' lesson is a group lesson, but the mornin' lesson you've got me all to yourself." He grinned at the dark-haired man and winked when Castiel glared, surprised to see his pale cheeks tinted lightly with pink a moment later. He couldn't tell if it was from irritation or... what, but filed the response away, anyway.

"You been on a horse before?" he asked, looking at Castiel curiously. He could guess the other man had taken lessons like any proper young gentleman. It was obvious the guy came from money.

"Of course," Castiel replied, crossing his arms and lifting his chin slightly. "I took lessons for years when I was a child." He wanted to glare when Dean only nodded with a knowing expression. His expression turned into confusion when they went into the back room. Looking around, he vaguely recognized what might have been saddles. They were made of a lighter colored leather than he was used to and there was a horn type object protruding outwards from a painfully inconvenient spot.

"Western or English?" Dean asked, an amused smile back on his face. He didn't know why he bothered asking; obviously the guy was trained in English style. Probably dressage and all that. He snorted when Castiel confirmed it in a pained tone. "Well, this is different. You'll see," he said lightly and walked back out of the tack room. As they left the barn, he pointed to various other buildings, even if Castiel didn't seem interested. "End of the tour," he said as he lead the dark-haired man towards his cabin.

"Oh, fuck this," Castiel muttered, glaring at the log cabin. Made of actual logs. How... rustic. He stared at Dean with incredulity and crossed his arms again. "I refuse these... accommodations. This is—" He broke off, unable to articulate how much he didn't want to be in a damn cabin and waved a hand at the cabin. He vaguely wondered if they had some other way of communicating with the outside world in this place and made a mental note to ask since Dean hadn't included anything of the sort on his tour. He'd grovel for a pay phone at this rate...

Yes, he was going to have quite the conversation with his mother. He normally wasn't such a priss, but this was just one thing too much.

Dean laughed; he couldn't help it. "Just save the dramatics until you've been inside," he smirked when Castiel sputtered indignantly. He unlocked the door and gestured the other man in ahead of him. "After you."

Castiel walked past Dean with a glare, but his expression blanked completely and his arms flopped down to his sides when he looked around the cabin. Regardless of how the exterior looked, the inside resembled a 5 star hotel suite. He sighed with relief, and a little happiness, when he took in the rooms. He ignored the small kitchenette since he didn't cook (he could barely even make a cup of coffee). His eyes roamed the furnishings with glee, noting the soft leathers, and smooth, cool silks.

"Bedroom?" he asked, eagerly.

Dean chuckled, smothering the urge to say something really inappropriate, and just pointed to a partially closed door across the room. He laughed outright when Castiel hurried towards the door, not even bothering to hide his excitement.

"Oh," Castiel breathed as he opened the door. Everything was done in pale blues, cream and shades of silvery grey. The bed looked like a cloud, overflowing with pillows and soft looking blankets. He eagerly crossed the room, sighing again as he peeked into the en-suite bathroom. He jumped and spun around when Dean spoke from directly behind him; somehow, he'd actually forgotten about the other man.

"I assume the accommodations are acceptable?" Dean asked, trying not to laugh at Castiel's stunned expression. He hadn't meant to surprise the other man, he hadn't even snuck in. He'd never seen someone so excited by a pillow-top memory foam bed before.

"Yes," Castiel said somberly and lifted his chin slightly in an effort to hide his embarrassment. "Acceptable. Thank you," he mumbled quietly.

Dean grinned, tilting his hat and winking. "Welcome. Well—" He checked his watch and clapped his hands together. "Settle in and enjoy. Dinner's in an hour."

Castiel nodded blankly, his mind already set on luxuriating in a hot bath. "Right, an hour."

Dean snorted softly, noting the far-away look in those blue eyes and turned and left. He vaguely wondered if Castiel remembered where the dining hall was but shrugged as he left the key on the entry way table. "Key's by the door," he hollered, not even waiting for a response as he closed and locked the door. He sauntered off, whistling.

...

By the third day, Castiel was cursing his mother again.

He had to buy a new wardrobe that he'd probably never wear again. Of course, the jeans and assorted T-shirts he'd ended up buying were more comfortable to wear than anything he had packed. And if he noticed the appreciative glances he got from a certain cowboy, well... it almost made the expense worth it. (And almost had him re-thinking demanding repayment from his mother.)

But the worst part; he took care of the horse he rode.

Himself.

He was finally getting used to the process, grudgingly finding it rather relaxing and almost as soothing as the horse seemed to find it. He'd been mortified the first time he found himself talking to the beast as he worked the curry brush over the shiny hair and felt his cheeks heat up as he'd looked around to make sure he hadn't been heard. Thankfully, Dean had been on the other side of the building and didn't seem to have overheard.

Castiel didn't stop himself from talking to the horse again, but did keep his voice soft and quiet after that.

Also, his body ached in the worst spots imaginable after the first few riding lessons. He never thought himself 'out of shape' before. His ass felt used and sore, and not in the pleasant way he'd prefer. Muscles that he didn't even know he'd had ached. The only saving grace was the large soaking bathtub and the foam mattress in his cabin. He'd sighed with nearly orgasmic bliss when he sunk down and the mattress seemed to mold around his body like a firm cloud.

He spent way too much time with Dean Winchester, as well. The man was a natural on a horse and usually left Castiel feeling clumsy and awkward in a way he'd never experienced before. He kind of hated it. He was generally the picture of poise and grace. He consoled himself with the knowledge that on the ground—on two legs—he was still graceful. It would have been better if Dean could at least be a bumbling idiot on his own feet (even if it would still turn out being infuriatingly attractive) but he couldn't be that lucky.

It was also rather annoying that the man frequently brought Castiel out of his lustful staring (or that regrettable time he'd been completely distracted by the sprinkling of freckles across the man's cheeks and nose, his eyes roaming as his brain tried to count them) with a smirk and a chuckle.

Honestly, how was Castiel supposed to concentrate with Dean riding around looking like sex on a horse? It was unfair and impossible, really.

He nearly sabotaged his first lesson. Dean had helped him on his horse, making Castiel forcefully suppress a shiver as the man's hands circled his waist. It was a shock to him that the other man would be so strong, but it was true and hit him right in the gut, making the sizzling heat pool low in his belly. After he was helped onto his horse, Dean had walked beside the horse, holding onto his knee, correcting his form and posture every so often. He wasn't able to play dumb long since he had (like a fool) told Dean he had riding experience. Posture and form wasn't that different between the two styles, though this one being rather more relaxed than what he was used to, he really only had to not slouch (which a Novak didn't do) and keep his heels down.

He both hated and looked forward to the twice daily lessons. In the evening, he annoyed himself by wishing the other people in his group would just fuck off so he could be alone with Dean as they took their group trail ride. In his one-on-one lesson, he annoyed himself by wishing he wasn't alone with the other man because his thoughts always wandered to dangerous places. He usually spent half of his lessons imagining Dean completely naked or riding him. It generally left his body in such a state, Castiel was close to risking trying his luck with those fences...

He ended up sore from the ride and frustrated beyond belief from watching Dean and spending time with the man.

It was such a bittersweet experience and he didn't know how he'd survive another 18 days.

...

Dean grinned as he walked into the barn, easily spotting Castiel's back, behind and messy dark hair in the isle. He stopped, leaned against the doorway and just watched the other man as he rubbed the chestnut gelding down with easy grace and finally looking comfortable in the task.

He'd been pleasantly surprised to see how easily Castiel took to taking care of 'his' horse; it was part of how he did things and it really helped people get more comfortable around the horses and more confident in themselves and helped with their lessons. After he assumed the other man's snarky attitude came from him not knowing what to do (Castiel had admitted to him that he had people to do such things growing up and never attempted it before) and he showed him how to do everything, Castiel fell into the task like a natural. He was glad he wasn't the only one that found the time with the animals and repetitive actions soothing.

His gaze focused on the jean clad ass for a long moment, feeling free to look since no one else was around. He absently wondered why the dark-haired man hadn't deigned to wear such casual clothing before. He looked spectacular in everything he'd managed to buy this past week (and it was almost unfair).

"And that, dear Pickles, is why you should thank your equine stars you aren't a human," Castiel murmured to the horse, running a brush through the horse's mane. He jumped slightly when Pickles nickered softly in greeting to someone behind him. He turned and hid a smile when he saw Dean sauntering over towards him. He hadn't heard the man enter the barn and the thought that Dean had probably been standing there watching him made him flush warmly.

He plastered a scowl onto his face before turning back to brushing out Pickle's mane. "Didn't your mother teach you it was rude to sneak up on people?"

Dean's smile wavered, and was pained at the edges but he did chuckle a bit, surprised. "No, she died before I would have needed such lessons," he said in a quiet voice. "My uncle never bothered." He made air quotes around uncle, only because Bobby wasn't related by blood. But it didn't keep the older man from taking on the role of father (and occasionally mother, even if it embarrassed the hell out of all of them whenever it happened).

Castiel's hand stopped and he slowly turned towards Dean, his expression wary and contrite. "I— I'm sorry. I didn't know..." He didn't know if he should also add how sorry he was for Dean's loss but kept his mouth closed in case his foot wound up in it again. He felt like a complete bastard and Dean's soft chuckle didn't lessen that feeling one bit.

"It's alright, I know you didn't mean anything by it," Dean said softly. "I'm not surprised you didn't know, though. Around here, people seem to know my life story better than I do," he said, shaking his head a little and snickering under his breath. It seemed nearly everyone knew the name Winchester, regardless of their opinions on it, and the soap-opera that was his life story.

He focused his gaze on Castiel's butt again as the other man went back to rubbing down his horse, his body swaying slightly with the effort. "I don't really remember my mom and my dad hadn't been a round much before he passed away a few years ago." He watched as Castiel nodded, showing he was listening. "Sammy comes around occasionally, but he's happy enough being a big-shot lawyer." He smiled, as he usually did, thinking of his brother. He resembled a partially shaved Big Foot but no one seemed to be bothered by it, especially his fiancée, Jess.

The corner of Castiel's mouth quirked as he tried to suppress a smile. It had only been recently that Dean talked about things other than reins, saddle maintenance or horse behavior during their lessons and he found himself listening intently. He snuck a peek over his shoulder and noticed the far-off look on Dean's face and the tiny, but warm, smile on the other man's face as he thought about his brother. It wasn't hard to figure out there was a close bond there.

"Ah, well, I apparently do not know enough about you," he said, turning back to brushing Pickles in an attempt to hide his face. He could feel the warmth in his face because when Dean looked at him, the smile didn't dim at all. Nope, it grew and those damned green eyes practically sparkled at him.

Dean grinned. "S'okay," he said casually, shrugging a shoulder. "Not many people do, at least the important stuff." He was used to people asking and he usually evaded personal questions. So he didn't know why he was offering such information to Castiel. The guy looked interested, and it was obvious he'd been listening intently even if he wasn't looking at him, and it left him feeling oddly warm and fidgety.

He shook his head a little and stroked a hand down Pickles' neck, patting the muscled shoulder fondly. "Nearly ready there, Cas?" he asked after another long moment of silence. He'd been looking forward to his solitary lesson with Castiel all morning and he wasn't sure why. Most of the time the dark-haired man complained like a spoiled child or completely spaced out instead of listening to his instructions.

He also didn't get the best jokes he told, the guy's blue eyes squinting as he cocked his head in confusion. Did the dude never watch a decent movie or TV in the last 15 years? It was almost sad and he mentally compiled a list of must-see movies and making Cas watch them.

But still, it had quickly become his favorite time of day. "I think we'll try a nice easy canter today."

Castiel shrugged carefully, not commenting on the nickname earlier. He'd never had someone call him anything but Castiel before and... well, he kind of liked it. It really suited Dean, as well. Anyone else, he'd think it was just a lazy thing, unwilling (or unable) to say his whole name. It almost seemed affectionate coming from Dean and he had to shake off the urge to do something embarrassingly inappropriate.

He walked over to the saddle stand, lifting the saddle onto Pickles' back and strapping it on with careful movements. He checked the buckles and sighed, smoothing a hand down Pickle's flank. He didn't say anything when Dean silently handed him the bridle and reins. He eased the bit into Pickles' mouth with practiced moves and bit back another sigh when he realized there was nothing else left to do; no other way to dawdle. "Ready."

Dean lead them out towards the area he left his horse, smiling when the two horses nickered at each other. "Impala seems to be the only horse Pickles doesn't want to take a chunk out of," he said, turning to Castiel with a grin as they entered the fenced area. Most times during the evening class trail rides he had to stay close to Pickles and Castiel (not that he minded one bit) to keep the duo out of trouble since Castiel was quick to mouth off when people complained about his horse's behavior.

He gave Impala's black and white spotted neck an affectionate pet before turning to Castiel. "Leg up?" he asked, squinting into the morning sun as he looked up.

"Alright," Castiel said offhandedly, trying to ignore the annoying way his heartbeat sped up at the thought. It was ridiculous, really; the contact was so brief and he barely felt it but it thrilled him none the less. He really could avoid the whole thing by using the cut log at the side of the gate, placed there for just this purpose, but he never bothered and he wondered why Dean never pointed it out. He held his breath as Dean bent slightly, his fingers laced together, and lifted his foot.

As soon as he was in the saddle, like every morning, Dean patted his calf twice and moseyed over to his own horse. He watched the other man slide his foot into the stirrup at a height that should have looked awkward and easily hopped up without any aide. Castiel watched the fluid move with equal parts envy and desire, his eyes practically glued to the well muscled thighs and ass of the other man as he lifted and settled himself. He shifted in the saddle and willed himself to calm down; it was awkward enough in the damn thing normally, he didn't look forward to the new pain of riding with a semi.

Dean clicked out of the corner of his mouth and Castiel started when both horses immediately got into motion, Pickles moving in behind Impala without him even twitching the reins held loosely in his hands. Dean turned to Castiel, "The canter is pretty fast paced... You ready?"

Castiel gulped, unsure and wondering how to phrase such a thing without sounding like he was wimping out or outright refusing the lesson Dean had in mind. "Warm up first?" he asked instead, gripping the reins in his hand tightly. At Pickles' annoyed ear flick, he loosened them and patted the horse in apology. Christ, what was wrong with him to make him nervous about a stupid riding lesson?

"Alright," Dean said slowly, looking at Castiel for a moment, curious. "It's not a big deal, Pickles is very surefooted," he said cautiously, not wanting to irk the dark-haired man. He was well aware how prickly Castiel could be on occasion when he felt slighted or off balanced. "He won't go too fast."

Castiel nearly scoffed and said something rude but he closed his eyes briefly and managed a small smile. "I'm still getting used to being up in this—" He waved a hand at the saddle. "I feel like I'm going to smash my balls," he muttered, leaning in towards Dean as if it were some important secret the horses shouldn't overhear.

Dean leaned back and laughed, thoroughly amused. "I can understand that. That's why you don't just flop around, you've got to move a bit with the horse, yanno?" He grinned and winked. "No smashed balls, I promise." As much as he wanted to, he didn't offer to help ice said smashed parts should it happen. That would probably be inappropriate. Or awkward... Or... something.

"Alright," Castiel said tightly, looking away so Dean couldn't see the blush on his face he could feel. Why did the man have to have such a nice laugh? Or wink at him like that? Fuck.

"We'll ease into it," Dean said, confused and a little annoyed when Castiel looked away. He clicked his tongue again and watched as Pickles picked up into an easy trot right alongside Impala. "Good," he said, noting how Castiel moved fluidly with Pickles. He cleared his throat and angled Impala into the middle before telling Castiel to encourage Pickles into a canter. He relaxed in the saddle and just watched as Castiel got more comfortable with the increasing pace. By the time Pickles was moving in a fast canter, Castiel was actually smiling and miming waving a hat above his head.

He didn't really keep track of how long they worked together so he jumped a bit when his watch beeped. "Time's up," he called out.

"Oh," Castiel huffed a little, slightly out of breath from his lesson. He eased Pickles to a walk, at once grateful for the reprieve from bouncing around and completely bummed out the lesson was over. He hadn't realized they'd been at it for an hour. "That went fast."

"I know," Dean said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He smiled and slid off his horse, opening the gate a moment later. "You alright rubbing him down?" he asked as Castiel passed, still on Pickles. He was curious, but didn't ask why he hadn't dismounted. Usually they had time enough they both walked back to the barn, both of them leading their horses as they walked side-by-side.

"Yes, I can handle it," Castiel replied, keeping his focus on Pickle's rotating ears until Dean's back was to him. He sighed quietly and not for the first time wondered if Dean noticed him as anything other than a student. He didn't look away quick enough and fought a blush when Dean caught him staring.

(A/N: Edited August 2015. I wanted to split it up into chapters and clean it up a little.)