Work Text:
It was a bit of a social experiment at first.
Castiel was sitting in his psych stats class, wishing he were back at his apartment snuggled under too many comforters, while listening to the Ramones. The professor had veered off topic again, and Castiel was beginning to think he might never actually understand statistics. He had been tracing designs for a new tattoo into his notebook most of the class. He wanted something new for his left hip. He was considering some kirituhi design, but could not settle on anything. The summer he had spent in Thailand had been amazing, and he had an original sak yant to show for it spilling around his right elbow. But now he wanted to balance it out. The black feathered wing down his shoulder, arm and back on the right side mirrored the chromatic reptilian wing down the left side. They were his pride. He had tribal tats scrawling down his side, right hip and thigh, nearly to his knee. Kirituhi spiraled around his fingers, except for the small right finger, which was a simple, elegant black feather. He wondered if he should add some color. The only color he had now was a tiny speck of red in the outline of the feather on his hand, and the left wing.
When the pen slipped from his hand, he realized he had dozed off. He shook his head, and sat up stiffly to try to focus on the class discussion.
"But that's silly," Ava was saying. "I study economics and I'm pretty sure no one would see a benefit that would outweigh the cost."
The professor shrugged. "I studied economics too, and I say it depends on the cost. I ain’t saying it’s something I’m into. But it’s gotta be in demand someplace. Touch is a basic human need, and we know needs are met at a cost."
Ava was shaking her head.
Gabriel spoke up then. "I gotta disagree. I mean, from a sociology point of view," he laughed.
Castiel rolled his eyes. Gabriel had been entirely too stoned during his sociology classes to have earned an opinion. It was strange to take psych stats in the evening slot, because it was a mix of different majors, all of whom seemed to feel the need to announce their major every time they spoke aloud. It was also a very small class, and the psych professor who taught it never seemed to care much about getting through any actual material. Which was probably why Castiel was taking it for the second time.
"The cost would include more than just money," Gabriel was pointing out.
"Right," Ava confirmed.
"I mean, to open yourself up to a stranger? There's a social cost too."
"To what?" Castiel hissed at the kid next to him.
Ash opened one eye. "Charging for sex, I think. Zoned out. Wake me if actual math becomes the focus."
Castiel sighed. Ash had obviously had a rough night. At least he had shown up with pants on.
The guy on the other side of Castiel snickered at him. "Not sex. Hugs. Charging for hugs."
"How the hell did that come up?"
"No clue. I think Gabe was screwing with Dr. Singer. And of course it's now a full-blown discussion."
"I could be asleep right now," Castiel groaned.
But the conversation had stuck in his head, and even if it hadn't, Gabriel brought it up again back at the apartment. "I'm saying, he's wrong. There's no way you could make money off that."
Castiel shrugged, putting down his pen. "I don't know. What if you offered more than just a hug?"
"That's called prostitution, bro."
He shook his head. "No, not...I'm talking about like...cuddling."
Gabriel threw a bag of candy to his flatmate. "I'm listening, psych boy."
"I'm serious. I did that study year two about the effects of being touch-starved. I can't remember now exactly what..."
His friend popped a chocolate into his mouth. "You were stoned most of year two."
"Okay, but I do think there's a market for that service."
"Yeah? Well, then you need to start offering it, because rent's coming due."
"Me? Why me?"
Gabriel winked at him. "I was the prostitute last month."
Blue eyes rolled dramatically. "Working at a bar is not the same as prostitution, jackass."
But the idea had been seeded. It was three weeks later that he put up the fliers around campus. And it was two days after that he took his first appointment.
***
If he had not been coming off a bad breakup with Jess, he probably would not have been drunk. If he had not been drunk, he would not have been out with Dean's townie friends. And if he had not been out with his brother's friends, he would not have gotten drunker and needed help walking home. So he blamed Jess for stumbling into the quad and falling on his face.
"God, Sammy!" Dean was yelping, as he tried lifting the larger man to his feet. "Okay. I'm going to leave you here. You're too damn heavy."
"Screw you, Dean."
Pamela burst into laughter. "Come on, grumpy!" she teased.
"Just give me a minute. You start dragging me to my dorm and campus police will definitely notice that. Just...let me sit a second."
Dean crashed down beside him to wait, but Pamela began to wander. After a few minutes of Sam breathing deeply, he heard her cackle.
"What?"
She pointed at the row of bulletin boards next to the social sciences building. "This guy is offering a cuddle service."
"A what?" Dean tried to stand, then determined it wasn't worth it.
"The hell were you throwing back, anyway?" Sam grumbled. The happy part of the happy drunk had never kicked in tonight. He blamed Jess.
"I don't know, man. I think they're called purple nurples?"
"You're so stupid. And short."
"Cuddles!" Pamela was calling to them. "He offers a cuddle service."
"Okay. Sign me up," Sam called back miserably.
Dean and Pamela laughed.
"Sam? Is that you?"
Sam cringed. "Hi, Charlie."
The redhead veered from her original path between her library and her dorm, and stood in front of the inebriated brothers. "You pissed?"
"Pretty pissed," he confessed. "Wasted, even. Possibly drunk."
Pamela reappeared with a flier in her hand. She handed it to Sam. "There's your cuddly guy."
Charlie let her eyebrows shoot up. "What?"
"Dean, I want to get back. I promised Jo I'd do a tarot reading for her. And you owe Benny a beer."
Dean growled audibly as he struggled to a stand. "Why you think I'm not in a hurry to get back?" He turned to Sam. "I'll get you to your place first. C'mon, light weight."
Sam sighed. "I'll be okay. Charlie, you got time to hang till I can get my ass to bed under my own muscle?"
She shrugged. "Sure. You know me. Always happy to be the designated walker." Her eyes lit up. "I can tell you about my game!"
Dean looked unsure for a moment, then waved away the apprehension. "Anybody dumb enough to move on something as big and ugly as you deserves what happens to them. G'night, Charlie."
"Get off campus, bro," Charlie called. "No townies this deep into Academia-Land allowed, especially drunk ones."
The older man nodded. He had been tossed off campus by a police officer once before. He kissed Charlie's cheek, smacked his brother on the back, and let Pamela lead him into the dark.
"I'll say it again."
"Please don't."
"Your brother's girlfriend is hot. And I think I could take him."
Sam snickered. "Yeah? Then what? You think that will shock the hetero right out of Pamela?"
"Faint heart never won fair lady."
"Nothing fair about that lady. She and Jo are about to go con a whole bar full of marks with their tarot psychic routine."
Charlie shrugged. She took the paper from his hand. "Speaking of psychos."
"I know, right?"
Suddenly, Charlie began to frown. "I know this guy. He was the junior I had to help figure out his statistics project at the computer lab a few weeks back. Psych student. Lives with that guy, what's his name? Gabriel Arch."
"The pothead?"
"The absolute genius pothead. He's been in two of my calculus classes, and I don't even think he was registered for them. He just liked sitting in them."
"That's not weird. So who's this guy?"
"Name is Cas Novak."
"Casanova?"
Charlie batted him in the head gently. "Yeah. Casanova."
Sam sighed and his mind drifted in fog. "You talked to Jess at all?"
She frowned at him. "No. He's a douche, Sam. I'm not going to chat with him like nothing happened after what he did to you."
"I just want to know how he's doing."
"No. You want to go have drunk sex and pretend you're still a thing. Which you're not. And he would totally let you too. That's part of what makes him a douche. He doesn't speak to you for weeks at a time, then lets you crawl into his bed, then he acts like you should have known better the next morning. So no. I have not spoken to Jess."
Sam squeezed his eyes tight. "Every time I'm getting better, he leaves me a voicemail. Says he misses me."
"That why you're dripping tequila from every pore?"
"I want him. Bad."
Charlie sighed heavily. "You know what? No you don't."
Sam stared at her.
"You don't! You want someone, and Jess is a sure bet. You know you can go get used tonight if you want to."
The man cringed sharply, and felt a wave of nausea hit him. "I just want..."
"I know, Sam! But you can't let this guy string you along for the rest of year two. Okay? It's been months, and you're still referring to it as coming off a bad breakup! You carry a neon sign around that only nice guys can see that says 'don't touch me because I pack too much baggage!'"
"Charlie-"
"You're not even in love with him anymore. You haven't been for a long time. You're just so happy to go get used because it's easier than putting your heart out there again."
"Okay!" His voice was louder than he meant for it to be. "So what other options do I have? I can't have Jess, because he'll chew me up and spit me out, which I love, by the way, and I have too many issues to get into a new relationship. Right? So what other choices do I have? Better to go pretend like I mean something to a guy I was ready to spend the rest of my life with than to sit and feel my skin crawl all night."
Her hand touched his shoulder. "Come on. I'll walk you home."
"I should be walking you home."
"I'll crash on your bed. You can take the floor."
He pushed himself to his feet, and let her lead him across the quad. "Mike's out of town for the weekend to meet up with Lucy. You can stay on my bed and I'll take his."
"C'mon, Winchester. One foot in front of the other."
An hour later, Sam was snoring into his pillow on Michael's bed, still mostly dressed. Charlie had tugged two layers off of him, but was not about to try to peel him out of his tee or jeans. There were limits to how good a friend she would be. She was on his laptop, checking in with her raiding party on Guild Wars. When at last she started to close the computer to crawl into Sam's loft, her eyes caught the light blue flier abandoned on the desk.
"Casanova. Well, Sam, maybe there is another option after all."
***
"Who the hell is Sam Wesson?"
Castiel looked up. "I don't know. But he's already paid in full for a session."
Gabriel helped himself to the chocolate bar sitting next to his friend at the table. "Probably a creep. I thought you were after chicks."
Castiel shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm not having sex with him. I'm..."
"Yeah, that's the other thing," Gabriel laughed as Castiel's gruff voice trailed off. "You even know what you're going to do? No way this guy isn't expecting you to bang him."
"I'll be fine."
"Whatever. Your tats will probably scare him off."
"It's art, Gabe. It isn't meant to be intimidating. It's meant to be expressive."
Gabriel snorted. "You know what it expresses? I'm Cas Novak, and I like hot pain."
The blue eyes rolled, and he looked back at the emailed appointment alert. "I'm not into pain. I'm just not bothered by it. That's all."
"Dude, I've been running with you for three years. You're obviously into pain."
He frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Your love life, mainly. You get your heart ripped out more than any guy I've ever met."
"I do not."
"Anna. Meg. Balt."
Castiel stared moodily at the computer. "I left Balt. He didn't leave me."
"Yeah. And it still screwed you up."
He was silent.
"And who was that psycho one nighter you had? Raf and I called her The Reaper after what she did to you."
"I'm done talking about this. I'm meeting this Sam guy. And I'm making a bit of cash. You can't complain about that."
Gabriel put his hands up. "Oh, I'm not complaining, bro. Just be careful."
"Uh huh. You have a long night last night? I didn't hear you come in."
"Wild night. Lots of sex, if you catch my drift."
"Hard not to. I got a class soon. Gotta shower. I'll see you tonight, I guess. Want dinner?"
Gabriel held up his bag of licorice. "Got dinner. I'm going to study with Raf."
"Uh huh. Study what?"
He received a wink from one of the pale brown eyes. "Mostly planning on being-what was it? Multi-dimensional wavelengths of celestial intent for the night."
Castiel could feel his face flushing pink. "You know, I'm a freaking poet when I'm high, okay? Don't try to throw my words back at me. I'm a goddamn prophet."
Gabriel's laugh carried all the way to the bathroom, and was only drown out by the shower. Castiel stepped inside the warm stream. He let it spray over his inked skin in rivulets, soaking into his muscles. Castiel was slender, but exceptionally toned. He was an extremely kinesthetic and tactile person, and he was always aware of his body, how it moved, what it needed, how to make it into what he wanted it to be. He was athletic and graceful, strong but delicately featured.
He had stopped smoking months ago. It was expensive, and he had realized very suddenly that it was disrespectful to his body and mind to so casually manipulate them. His music and books were enough to pacify his need for illusion. Of course, his friends would never let him live down some of the more inspired poetry he had rocked while less than sober.
It was after he had dried off and began staring into the mirror at his bare hip, wondering about his next tattoo, that he realized he was excited about his appointment. What had begun as a social experiment and a chance to bring in a few bucks was now a reality.
Gabriel was wrong. It was not pain that interested Castiel. It was touch. It was skin. He had studied the ways humans experienced touch for years; it fascinated him. He wanted to ultimately get himself a position as a research assistant to a professor who studied such things. Touch, and the lack of it, was such an incredible motivating force. Self-gratifying coping techniques like chewing on one's lip or tapping fingers provided a stimulation some humans needed more desperately than others. It was all so amazing.
Castiel brushed his long fingers down the ink on his arms, as if he could paint them further this way. The feel of it washed through his whole body. Castiel had always been like a cat when it came to touch.
The question remained, of course. What kind of person needed touch so badly he was willing to pay for the chance to cuddle a stranger?
He shivered and smiled to himself.
***
Sam just wanted the day to be over. He had a date with his bed. He had intended to snore apologies and promises to it about not neglecting it ever again. Michael was probably back from his days off with Lucy, but he didn't care. They barely grunted at one another anymore anyway.
But then Charlie had told him what she had done. Wonderful, well-meaning Charlie had gone and signed him up for the cuddling thing. What the hell had she been thinking?
Sam ran his fingers down his arms gently, and felt his skin crawl with painful want.
He had promised Charlie he would try it, since she had already wired money to the guy's PayPal account. But his stomach was in a knot, wondering what kind of person sold touch by flier.
And here he was. Sam loomed large in the hall, waiting for his knock on the door to be answered. He felt awkward and enormous. He wanted to disappear into the wall behind him, but it had been years since Sam could hide anywhere, except behind his hair. He let it fall in front of his eyes now.
When the door opened, Sam was shocked into a stupid silence. The man who stood in the doorway was stunning. His eyes were a bright, beautiful blue, full of curiosity, like a cat observing his human. He was tall, and not awkwardly so as Sam felt he himself was. No, this man was graceful. He could tell immediately that this guy was entirely in control of every gorgeous inch of his own body. His hair was dark, and messy in a way that reminded Sam of gripping a man's hair during sex and letting it brush his knuckles...
Sam was beginning to tremble.
Then there was the ink. Sam had never been into tattoos before. But he could see several elegant designs creeping from the edges of the guy's tee. He wanted badly to touch them.
Touch.
The guy was smiling at him with pink lips. "You're Sam Wesson?"
Thank goodness Charlie had not used his real name. What if this guy ended up being a stalker or a murderer or...Those were some amazing hands.
Sam blinked. The guy was trying to shake his hand. He felt the first blush of many tear across his face. He gripped the hand, feeling the strength in it, but also the way his hand completely covered the long fingers.
"Uh, yes. Sam."
The man smiled warmly, with a bit of amusement in his eyes. "I'm Cas. Come on in."
Sam felt his legs carry him after Cas, but he was staring at the ink peeking out of the back of his neckline. What was that?
"What's the tattoo on your back?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Cas turned to grin at him. "You like ink?"
Sam flushed pink. "No, I...I'm just curious."
The man continued to smile as he turned and lifted his shirt for Sam to see. "Wings," he explained unnecessarily.
Sam gaped at the vision. The tattoo was amazing. But the man's muscular back was...beautiful was the only word he could think, so he said it aloud.
Cas seemed pleased. "Thanks," he said, rolling his shirt down again, though not before Sam got a peek at his belly.
He took in a sharp breath involuntarily. Beautiful.
"So do you want to tell me about you? It's okay if you don't, but I'd like to know something about you."
Sam swallowed. "I'm pre-law," he muttered automatically. "A sophomore. From Kansas, but my brother and I moved here so I could get in-state tuition."
Cas nodded, but somehow seemed disappointed in this answer. "Okay. I'm from up north. Name is Castiel Novak. I'm a junior psych major."
Suddenly, Sam knew why Castiel was disappointed. Those were the words everyone used. It meant nothing. It revealed nothing. He knew no more about Castiel than before he had spoken.
"And I'm a writer. I write fiction in my spare time. Fantasy stuff, mainly."
Castiel raised an eyebrow then. This seemed to be closer to what he wanted to know. "Yeah? Like what? Tell me about that."
Sam was very conscious of the man's inked hand taking hold of his and leading him to a couch to sit. He licked his lips carefully. "I have this stupid storyline I've been writing a really long time, since I was a kid. It's dumb, but I've kept it up for years. Two brothers crisscrossing the country, looking into urban legends and hunting ghosts and monsters. I'm not a great writer, but it's fun. My dad and brother and I road tripped my whole life, so I guess this was my way of...dealing."
Castiel was nodding encouragement. He sat apart from Sam, but his hands slowly moved up Sam's large hand, and began to stroke his wrist and forearm softly.
The touch made Sam flinch.
"You okay?" Castiel asked quietly.
"'Course," he lied. "Just...been a while since..."
"Keep talking to me," he soothed. "And don't worry about anything. I'm not going to hurt you. And I'll stop at any time you're not comfortable."
Sam considered that ship having sailed. This was probably the least comfortable he had been in his whole life. But it wasn't because of what Castiel was doing. He had to admit the man was exceptionally gentle, despite his tough appearance.
"Keep talking. Tell me your stories."
Sam had never told a soul about these stories, except Dean. Charlie knew he wrote, and Jess had known, but he had never trusted anyone with details before. Now, he heard himself pouring out the whole story, about ghosts and wendigos and demons, about pagan gods and reapers.
All the while, Castiel was touching. He found that he could not watch, so he closed his eyes tightly, and talked as if the story were an anchor. Castiel stroked his arms, and touched his face with gentle fingers. Before Sam knew it, he could feel the man's heat alongside his whole body. He was breathing all wrong, and his heart was racing. But Castiel was speaking now.
"You need an angel," he breathed. With that, he pulled Sam's body toward his, and wrapped his arms around the large man, taking the trembling into himself, steadying Sam. "Your story. It needs an angel."
"You, uh...you don't think that's a bit too...fluff?" Sam was struggling to control his breath. His body was thrilling with the contact. How had he not realized just how starved for touch he had become?
"No, not a tree top angel. A warrior of Heaven angel. They're badass."
"Angel," Sam murmured weakly, and it was the last thing he could say for several minutes. To his utter horror, he could feel a sob in his chest, and he was powerless to stop it.
"Shh," Castiel cooed. "It's all right. Whatever you're feeling is all right. Just let me hold you."
The tears flooded his cheeks, and he felt humiliated. He had not cried since...he could not even remember.
"You don't have to do anything here, Sam. You're not expected to give anything. Just let me hold you and take care of you, just for a while. Just feel for a little while. Stop trying to push it away. Just let yourself be."
Under the instructions coming from that impossibly deep voice, Sam felt himself relax. His eyes remained closed, and he felt the warmth and weight of the other man with pleasure. He let down his guard as he had never done, and it was such a profound relief.
Minutes passed in content silence. Castiel's hands were soft and right, and his arms were strong. Sam felt drowsiness fill him. Finally, the exhaustion from the nerves, the touch and the want took him, and he dozed in Castiel's arms.
***
Castiel watched the large man give up the battle with fatigue. The man was incredibly good-looking, he smelled fantastic, he had a wonderful voice, and obviously possessed a smart sense of humor, judging by the stories he told. How had a man like this come to be so touch-starved?
Castiel enjoyed helping people. It was why he studied psychology in the first place. But he had never helped anyone quite like this. It was amazing. He had worried that he would not know what to do, but soothing Sam with caresses had been the most instinctive thing he had ever done.
It took almost two hours for Sam to awaken, and Castiel was busy the entire time. He ran his fingers through the man's hair, stroked his face and arms, and massaged his hands, all while holding him safe.
When the hazel eyes opened, there was obvious disorientation there. He spoke quickly. "Sam, it's Cas still. I really enjoyed this. Very much. I hope you'll do this again."
Sam blinked at him for a few moments. Then he smiled sheepishly. "I fell asleep."
"It's all right. It was nice."
The words seemed to make Sam happy. "It was nice," he repeated. "I can't remember sleeping so well."
"Then you'll come again?"
"I think so. I don't even know how much it costs. My friend signed me up."
Castiel smiled warmly. "You're only meant to pay for the initial session," he lied. "After that, it's free if we both benefit from it."
The man chewed on his lip, smiling shyly. "Then I guess I can afford it."
He nodded.
Sam looked into the blue stare quietly. "You're kind of an amazing human, you know that?"
At last, Castiel laughed. "What makes you think I'm human?" he teased.
Sam sighed happily. "No, you're right. Badass warrior of Heaven."
He grinned. "I'm named for an angel, you know. Castiel. He's an angel."
Hazel eyes sparkled, and the man nodded thoughtfully. "Angels. I'm suddenly inspired."
"You have my number. Or your friend does. Text me and I'll respond with my availability. And if you decide not to, I'm glad you were here today, and you can change your mind and call me anytime."
"Thanks, man."
Castiel closed the door behind the giant, and ran his hands down his own arms. He was smiling, eyes closed, as he leaned against the door. His phone pinged, and he reached for it on the small table.
"It's Sam Winchester, by the way."
Castiel stared at the text for a full minute, then began to laugh as he stored the contact in his phone under the name "Amazing Human."
***
Charlie looked up from her screen, where her character was deciding which armor to sell. She glanced down at her phone briefly.
"Charlie? I love you so much," Sam's text read.
She laughed quietly to herself, and texted back, "But we're both still gay, right? 'Cause that could get awkward."
She received an emoticon of a blushing smiley face as a response. She giggled and went back to her game. "Casanova, huh?"
***
It wasn't a session. That is, Sam did not have an appointment. But he had found himself walking the distance from his dorm across the road into the apartments. Michael had Lucy over. The two were inseparable. No one would know she went to a school two hours south of them. And there was very little Sam liked less than hanging out in the room while they were there. Especially after the last time Lucy had drunk too much and suggested a threesome while Michael wasn't listening.
On top of that, Jess had texted him, inviting him to come spend the night. Jess had the incredible ability to make it seem as though he were doing Sam a favor by allowing him in his presence. It was infuriating, and anyway, he knew Charlie would string him up by his feet if he gave in to Jess after all this time.
So now he was wandering, feeling a sort of gravity pulling him toward Castiel. It was no longer the thick blond hair and chocolate eyes he wanted. He remembered loving Jess. He had. And for a time, Jess had loved him too, had been good to him. But his dependency on Jess had poisoned him long after the breakup, so much so that he had forgotten what it was like to feel good after being touched. Until Castiel.
Castiel's touch came with no guilt, no shame, no desperation. There was only gentle, tender kindness, mixed with ceaseless curiosity. He wasn't sure how many sessions they had enjoyed by now, but after each time, Sam had felt more sated and less needy. He loathed feeling needy. Castiel made him feel like there was nothing wrong with him, that he was not too much.
Sam had felt like too much most of his life, especially when his growth spurt had come upon him like an assailant late in high school. Overnight, he had lost his ability to hide behind his big brother. He ate too much during that year, couldn't stop, and it was everything Dean could do to keep groceries in their apartment. One of the most painful things he had ever known was overhearing Dean forced to ask their father for money over the phone when he realized Sam had outgrown his jeans and shoes for the fourth time that year. Dean's voice had sounded defeated, humiliated that he could not provide for his brother. He knew his father was barking out I told you so's, could tell by the look on Dean's face as he leaned into his hands. He never knew Sam had been watching as angry tears filled his hero's eyes, as he told his father in a stone cold tone, "Send me two hundred bucks or I'll sell Mom's ring. I'm taking overtime at the garage, and I'm getting work at the roadhouse on weekends. I just gotta get through this month. I'm never gonna ask you for anything ever again. You can count on that. You got a week or I'll go to a pawn shop. I ain't letting Sam down."
Too much.
The memory swam in his head. He had always felt too much. Dean had let him be growing up, especially once the older boy had turned eighteen and insisted on taking Sam in to get him off the road. He had told Sam to pick a state and a city, and he had moved them into a studio apartment. It was two years before they could afford the one bedroom place Sam thought of as home. Dean had given the room with walls to him, insisting that he didn't need the privacy like Sam did. Somehow Dean had always known Sam needed space, needed somewhere to hide when the feelings got to be too much. Dean never knew quite what to do with Sam's tumultuous emotions, but he accepted them and let him be.
The only other person who had ever done that was Castiel. That first day, when he had told Sam that whatever he felt was all right...
His long legs had carried him all the way to the building Castiel and Gabriel lived in before he realized it. It was dark, but there was a street light overhead glaring down at him. Sam ran his hand through his hair, suddenly wondering what had made him show up here unannounced. Castiel might not even be at home.
It was Gabriel who answered the door. He smiled in that arrogant way of his. "Hey, Sam. Cas is upstairs."
Sam frowned. "Upstairs? Upstairs where?"
"On the roof. He reads out there at night."
"Why?"
"Because he's a freak." Gabriel continued to smile at him. "But I know he wouldn't mind if you joined him. Go down the hall and up the stairs past the fourth floor. It's easy."
He was unsure. "If he's on the roof, that's probably an indication he wants to be alone."
"Yeah?" Gabriel mused. "Maybe. I think it's an indication he's thinking about you and doesn't want me teasing him about it."
Sam felt his eyes widen and his face flush dark red.
"Go on. He's reading, not bathing."
The walk up the stairs seemed to take longer than the entire walk to the apartments. When at last, he came to a door that was propped open, he had to take several breaths before walking through it. He was glad he had, because a moment later, he was finding it difficult to breathe at all.
Castiel was sprawled on a blanket awash in moonlight. His wings were bare to the night, a tee shirt tossed carelessly a few feet away. His jeans hung low on his narrow hips, revealing the exquisite curve below them. He was raised up on his elbows, staring down at his book with complete focus.
Sam allowed his gaze to paint slowly over the whole inked glory, down to the bare feet peeking out of the jeans. At last, he took a shuddered breath.
Castiel did not look up, did not even move, except for his smile and the way his eyes narrowed very slightly, in that catlike way of his. "Did I miss an appointment?" he teased quietly as he turned a page.
Sam licked his lips. "No. You know you didn't. How did you know it was me?"
The man chuckled, and Sam watched the wings ripple. "I know your sounds." It was a simple statement, but something about it made Sam's anxiety bubble to the surface.
"I was...just nearby. Thought I'd say hi. But you're busy, so..."
"I've read this fourteen times. I'm not busy," Castiel purred, and finally closed the book to turn onto his back.
Sam got the odd feeling he was crushing his wings. "Um. Catch-22. That's a wicked book."
"Gets worse every time you read it too. But books should make you uncomfortable. If they don't...there isn't much point."
Sam watched him. "I should get going."
Castiel looked at him curiously. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Sam?"
Without warning, Sam heard a laugh rumble out of him. "No, Cas. I do that entirely by myself."
He raised himself up on one elbow, and Sam could see his slender, soft stomach, could see the muscles which held him steady. It was practically an intoxicant. "Sam, the whole point is that I'm supposed to bring you comfort. If I'm not doing that, what's the point?"
The laugh returned. Sam lowered himself to sit cautiously. "So you're the opposite of a book."
Castiel chewed on that for a moment. "You know, I think I am. Or maybe it's two sides of the same coin. Books should pull you out of your comfort zone from beyond it. I like to just stretch your comfort zone from within it so that it extends further."
Sam shook his head. "So as a writer, I make folks uncomfortable and as a psychologist, you make them okay with that."
The man smirked. "Why are you here, Sam?"
"I'm lonely. And I missed you." It was far more than he wanted to say, and it hurt worse than he had expected.
The grace with which his angel moved was heartbreaking. In one fluid motion, the inked arms were around him, and he could feel Castiel’s skin touching his own. When he spoke, it was in a breath, and it caressed his throat and ear tenderly. “Then why are you still making appointments when you could be making love?”
Sam’s heart filled to bursting. “Cas,” he whimpered.
He could feel the smile at his neck. “You don’t have a session today, Sam,” the angel purred. “So let’s call this our first date.”
The rest of the world faded around them, and all Sam knew was the moon illuminating wings in all their glory, and their touch as soft as a feather.