Dean Winchester met Castiel Novak on an unseasonably hot Portland Tuesday afternoon, as they both stood in line for soup dumplings at 10th and Alder. Dean had been staring at his phone, reading over his lesson plan for the afternoon, when something solid bumped into him.
“I’m so sorry,” a voice like gravel under his tires said, and Dean turned to find a gorgeous set of blue eyes staring at him. He did not miss the solid once-over blue eyes gave him, and smiled invitingly in return.
“Guess you’ll have to make it up to me,” he grinned, hoping this guy batted for the same team he did, “and give me your phone number.”
Blue eyes’ entire posture changed. He visibly relaxed, cocking one hip as his crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “And if I say no?” he asked teasingly.
“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life mourning ‘the one who got away’,” Dean informed him. “It’ll be sad and everyone will feel bad for me. I’ll spend the rest of my life thinking, what if? What if I had gotten that beautiful man’s phone number? I guess I’ll never know.” Dean pulled a pathetic hang dog expression.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t give it to you,” Blue Eyes said, mirth obvious in his voice. He held out his hand. “Cas Novak.”
“Dean Winchester,” Dean said, happily taking Cas’s hand. “Now, how about those digits?”
“You got my name. You don’t need my number.” The twinkle in Cas’s eyes, belied his statement.
“But how can I call and ask you out if I don’t have your number?”
The food truck called Cas’s name and he stepped forward to grab his order. “Well, Dean Winchester, I guess you’ll just have to meet me at Pok Pok Friday night at eight for fish sauce wings. You really want my number?” He leaned in so close Dean thought he was about to get kissed. “Work for it,” came the hot whisper in his ear.
Dean’s cheeks flamed, and before he could formulate a response, Cas had disappeared into the midday crowd with his dumplings and the poor dude in the food truck had to call Dean’s name four times before he heard.
Sitting at the bar at Pok Pok on Friday night, Dean couldn’t stop fidgeting, sure that Cas was going to stand him up. It was after eight and there was no sign of gorgeous blue eyes, or sexy mussed dark hair, or that shit eating grin--
“Hello, Dean.” A gravelly whisper in his ear, and Dean almost fell off his stool.
“Hi,” Dean decided to throw caution to the wind and kissed Cas’s cheek. The other man looked pretty pleased with this development.
Not long after, they found a table, and between drinks and wings, they talked about everything under the sun, from Dean’s job as an elementary music teacher to Cas’s as a store manager at Powell’s books. They talked for so long, the hostess had to politely ask them to leave.
They walked out to the street, hand in hand and still talking a mile a minute.
“I live about a block that way,” Cas informed him, pointing down the street, “on 17th. Want to come up for a nightcap?”
Everything in Dean wanted to say yes, but it was like cold water dumped over his head. “Yeah, I’d love to, but I have an early morning. Raincheck?”
“Oh--of course,” Cas said, doing his best to hide the disappointment in his eyes. “But I’d love to see you again.”
Against his better judgement, Dean smiled at Cas. “Yeah, me too.”
“Give me your cell.”
Dean passed it over without argument, watching as Cas programmed his number in. “Call me,” he smiled, leaning in to kiss Dean, and as he did, he slid the phone into Dean’s back pocket.
Feeling dizzy as Cas pulled away, Dean watched with a half smile as Cas strutted off down Marshall.
A smart man wouldn’t call. But Dean did. And then did again. Five dates in and he knew he was in trouble. He’d been so careful, but dammit--he’d gone and fallen for the guy and now they were gonna have to have that conversation about why they hadn’t had sex yet. Cas kept inviting him over after dates and Dean kept deflecting.
He was having an amazing time with Cas, hell, he might be in love, but…
There was a conversation he needed to have. And that conversation had ruined his last few attempts at a relationship.
“You’re a million miles away,” Cas reached across the table to take Dean’s hand as they sat on the deck at Irving Street Kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m falling for you. Like--hardcore, probably in love and shit.”
Cas cocked an eyebrow. “And this is bad, why?”
“Because I don’t like sex.” There. Put it on the table in all it’s ugly reality. “Believe me, I try. I have tried. I just...I can’t get into it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. And Cas, you’re amazing. And I think I might be in love with you, but now…” Dean trailed off, staring down at the table, his eyes burning with unshed tears.
“Dean,” Cas said softly, “do you know what asexuality is?”
“Will you look at me?”
Dean raised his head, finally meeting Cas’s eyes. There was no judgement in blue depths, no pity, just the sweet kindness he always found in this man.
“Hi there,” Cas smiled.
“I like you. I like you a lot. I’m probably falling in love, too. But I’ve been--scared.”
“Mmmhmm. Because I want to hold you, and go on trips with you, go grocery shopping with you. I want to cook meals with you. I want to cuddle you close at night and wake up with you in the morning.”
“I want to take showers with you. I want to drive out to Manzanita with you. I want to send flowers to you at school. But do you know what I don’t want to do with you, Dean?”
“What?” Dean whispered, afraid to hope.
“I don’t want to have sex with you. I don’t want to have sex with anyone. Because I’m asexual...and I think you might be, too. Dean. first of all, there’s nothing wrong with you. Or me, for that matter.” Cas gathered both of Dean’s hands in his and squeezed them tight, “What it comes down to, is that I think in reality, we might be a perfect match.”
Dean sucked in a shuddering breath. “Really?”
“Really. Now, will you come home with me tonight? I want to make you breakfast in the morning.”
Grinning wide enough to split his face, Dean couldn’t help the little giggle that bubbled up in his throat. He was just so damn happy. “Fuck, Cas, I’d love that.”
And when morning came and he woke up in Cas’s fuzzy bumble bee jammie pants as the man offered him a cup of coffee in a Good Morning Sunshine mug , Dean couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d finally found the happiness he’d been denied for years.