Fics by c00kie (mabele) wrote,

Fic: Of Coffee and Cellphones

Title: Of Coffee and Cellphones
Author: c00kie
Rating: NC-17 for a bit of porn. Overall I'd say this is closer to PG-13.
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess, John/Mary AU, Schoomp, bit of porn.
Spoilers: None, AU. Spoilers though, for the movie New York, I Love You, which I based this on.
Warnings: Masturbation. A slight ripping of The Brothers Karamazov.
Word Count: 3471
Notes: A/N Based off of the film New York, I Love You, particularly the story of Dave(Orlando Bloom) and Camille (Christina Ricci) and kind of the story of The Writer and the the Filmmaker. Some of the lines are bastardized versions from the movie, because well, they're pretty awesome and I found them fitting.
Disclaimer: The boys are owned Kripke and Co. If they were mine, there would be a lot more tongue.
Thanks to bhsbaby and watermaline who I love dearly, and and to CHAT! for everything.
Summary: "The only thing Dean knows about Castiel is that he's male (obviously), unmarried, thirty four and has blue eyes."

Dean's dreaming about musical notes, particularly the G key when the loud buzzing of his phone wakes him up. He scrambles up from the floor, surrounded by keyboards, his computer and clothes all strewn over the floor. God forbid any girl comes over, or worse, his mother. It takes him a moment to find the phone between the cushions of his couch and he knows he sounds hungover when he answers with a grunt, "Hello?"

"Hello, Dean," Castiel's voice is soft and quiet on the other end, barley noticeable but Dean hears every word. Since the day they started working together, Dean's always paid close attention to Castiel's words. Maybe it was because he was liaison to Dean's boss, maybe it was because of the commanding respect Castiel demanded.

"Hey," he replies, ignoring the soft feeling in his stomach that always happened when Castiel called.

"Chuck has some notes about some of the lines."

"Okay," Dean yawns as he walks over to desk for paper. "Which ones?"

"Eight, Ten, Fifteen, twenty nine,"

Dean knows Castiel will go on if he doesn't stop him. "Okay, what about them?"

"He hates them."

Of course he does. Dean slumps into his chair. "Did he say why?"

There's a long sigh on the other end. "No, maybe you should speak to him."

"Maybe I will," Dean huffs. He can imagine Castiel, sitting wherever he is, rolling his eyes at Dean's immaturity. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" It says a lot that Castiel doesn't sound annoyed at Dean's sudden change of mood.

"What color are your eyes?" He doesn't know why he hasn't asked sooner.

"My eyes are blue," Castiel answers.

Blue, Dean thinks. Another piece of the puzzle.


It's not that Dean hates his job, it's just it's very hard to work for a man who doesn't know what he wants, and tends to speak through a guy with even less social skills. The first few conversations between Dean and Castiel had been particularly grating on Dean's nerves, what with Castiel never being able to give a straight answer.

There's also the fact that Castiel refused to meet Dean in person or even show Dean what he looked like. The only thing Dean knows about Castiel is that he's male (obviously), unmarried, thirty four and has blue eyes.

He knows even less about his actual boss, Chuck Shurley, but Dean's not as concerned about him, apart from that little bit about him being Dean's boss and not knowing what the fuck he wanted.

By the time he gets off the phone with Chuck, Dean's about ready to rip his own hair out.

He'll settle on a cup of coffee.

"Usual?" Sam asks from behind the counter as Dean grabs a paper with one hand and half heartedly waves at his brother with the other, uttering what might be a, "yeah," before sitting down in his usual booth near the window. He smiles at the guy in the seat next to him, even though the man's nose is in his book. While Sam makes Dean's Americano, Dean opens the classifieds, because he's pretty damn sure he's going to be unemployed very soon.

"That bad, huh?" Sam says as he puts down Dean's coffee and a blueberry scone that will most likely be on the house.

"The man won't ever say what he wants!" Dean shouts, attracting looks from the other customers. He blushes slightly and offers an apologetic wave. "I just don't get it," he continues, softening his tone. "One minute he likes something, the next he's babbling about how it's not Dostoevsky enough. What does that even mean?"

Ever the unhelpful brother, Sam shrugs, "Maybe you should read Dostoevsky?"

Dean just sips his coffee and groans as Sam goes back to to work. If he doesn't know any better, he could swear that the man beside him is laughing at him from behind the safety of Brave New World.


"Hello, Cas, it's me, your stalker."

"Hello, Dean," comes the reply as Dean walks down the street the next morning. "Did you talk to Chuck?"

"Yeah," Dean admits with a sneeze.

"Bless you," Castiel says automatically. "Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine," Dean answers, nodding at a random passerby who offers him a tissue.

"You sound caffeine deprived," Castiel informs him, sounding concerned.

"Maybe I'm just Castiel deprived," Dean says, passing by the coffee house. He looks in and sees Sam wiping off tables, but his silent buddy isn't there. He knocks on the window, waves to Sam who waves back and then keeps going.

"Dean," Castiel retorts harshly, but it's not in reprimand, but rather in the same tone Dean imagines the man uses during sex. It's sick, really, the way Dean lies in his bed at night, replaying Castiel's voice mails while he curls his hand around his dick.

"What did Chuck say?"

"Lots of drunken nonsense," Dean complains. "Like always. He said it's not Dostoevsky enough. What does that even mean?"

"Perhaps you should read Dostoevsky," Castiel suggests, without a hint of irony. "I need your address, Chuck wants to send you something."


The next day Dean opens his front door to find two hard cover copies of Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov> at his feet with a post it note on top of them with his name on it written in clear script.

Well, he thinks, it's not like he has anything better to do. He picks the Brothers at random, throws the other onto his couch, makes sure his keys and phone are in his pocket and sets off for the coffee shop.

Sam isn't working, replaced for the day by Ruby who never gets Dean's Americano right. Every time he complains though, she scowls at him and threatens to spit in it. Dean's sure it's because she's had a crush on Sam since the day he started working there. How Sam having a girlfriend already is Dean's fault, he doesn't know. Women.

He sits in his usual spot, smiles at his silent neighbor and starts to read. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a hint of lip twitch from the other man. Before Dean can say anything though, the man stands and walks towards the restroom, his trench coat billowing out behind him like a cape.

Not for the first time, Dean imagines his quiet friend is a super hero. Quickly, Dean draws a sketch of him as a superhero on a napkin and puts it on the man's table. When the silent man comes back and sees the sketch, Dean's gifted with a small, genuine smile.


Dean ends up in Central Park underneath one of those trees that blooms pink flowers for a week in the beginning of spring before the petals start to fall off. He can see the Dakota across from him, so he takes a quick picture of himself in front of it and sends it to his mom. She's a huge John Lennon fan.

He's coming to the conclusion that he's also allergic to said trees and that they are possibly out to get him. Sam calls once to tell him dinner's cancelled due to Jess getting an A on her Anthropology paper and Sam wanting to take her out to celebrate. He's okay with it though, as it gives him more time to struggle through Karamazov and fantasize about what it might be like to have Castiel's lips on his skin.

Dean takes a picture of himself with his camera phone in front of the Dakota and sends it to Castiel. When his phone rings a minute later and he sees Castiel's name on the caller ID, he answers the phone with both a grin and a sneeze.

"Hello, Dean," apparently it doesn't bother Castiel that Dean just sneezed into the phone. "Did you get those books I left at your door?"

"You came over?" Dean asks, closing his eyes both in irritation and the thought of Castiel being right outside his door while he was asleep. "You should have knocked, we could have uh, done something." Done something?"

"I couldn't stay long," Castiel says, and not wanting any more awkwardness, Dean decides to change the subject.

"Did you know The Brothers Karamazov is 800 pages and I'm on page 4?"

"I rather enjoyed it," Castiel's naturally growly voice replies. He sounds so defensive that Dean can't help but think, not for the first time, this man is adorable.


The next day at the coffee shop Dean when he comes back from the restroom, he finds his perfectly made Americano and a napkin with a small doodle of him. When he looks over to thank his coffee buddy, the man blushes and not for the first time, Dean thinks he's adorable.


"Tell me a secret," Dean requests. He's lying on the floor of his loft with his feet on his couch, cellphone at his ear while his other hand casually grazes his stomach. He and Castiel have been on the phone for five hours now, talking about everything from work to Manchester United, not that Dean knows anything about British football teams, (he's yelled at when he calls it soccer.)

"What kind of secret?" Castiel asks. Dean imagines Castiel's place being spotlessly clean. Castiel seems like a guy who would actually pick up after himself.

"I don't know, just something you've never told anyone before. I'll go first. Every year for my birthday my mom makes me this strawberry pie for my birthday and I always tell her I love it and it's the best pie I've ever had, but uh, I actually hate strawberry pie." I love you "Your turn."

" Project Runway?"

"No!" Dean laughs. "I don't believe it."

"I like the use of creativity," Castiel explains.

"Tell me about it," Dean tells him, just so he can hear Castiel talk. As the other man talks about the show, Dean closes his eyes and concentrates on Castiel's voice. He only half listens to the words that are being said but mostly he just listens to the soft raspy tone. He runs his hand lazily up and down his chest, scraping his fingers across his nipples, trying not to make any noise. It's so dirty, so very wrong what he's doing, but he can't stop, not now. He unzips his jeans, frees his erection and closes his hand tightly around his cock and begins moving his hand, first in long, slow strokes then in short fast ones. He imagines Castiel's eloquent tongue on his salt sweat skin, but the face he sees in his minds eye is the silent guy from the coffee shop. That quick smile, his expressive eyes. He thinks about what it would be like to be pressed against the hallway wall in the coffee shop, kissed with a tongue that doesn't say a word, not that he needs to. When he whispers in Dean's ear, it's Castiel's voice, saying his name again and again like a prayer.

Dean drops the phone on the floor, needing his other hand to cup his balls. He can still hear Castiel, saying something about challenges, his voice even deeper, like he knows exactly what Dean is doing and is getting off on it just as much as he is, and if that isn't the hottest thing ever Dean doesn't know what the fuck is.

"Cas," he groans as he comes.

"Dean?" It's not a sexy "Dean," but rather a confused, genuinely bewildered "Dean," and instantly Dean's embarrassed. His hands fly off his body in lightning speed and he grabs the first shirt he sees to wipe off the mess on his stomach and hands. He grabs the phone, mutters a quick I'm sorry into the receiver and hangs up on Castiel. Then he drops to the floor, spent.


The next day, Dean waits an hour at the coffee shop for silent guy to arrive, but he never shows. Nor does he show the next day or the day after that. Dean doesn't talk to Castiel either, though Castiel does leave a message on Dean's home machine with a message from Chuck. It's quick, completely professional and it makes Dean feel even worse.

"At least I still have you, Sammy," Dean says as the door chimes open at the coffee shop.

"I got into Stanford Law," Sam immediately replies. Dean just stares at him for a moment, this is what Sam has been working for since he was thirteen. Dean blinks, then introduces his head to the table.

"My life is over," Dean whines. Sam pats his back sympathetically and walks off to help the new customer.

On the bright side, he makes it to page 148.


One night, Dean just has enough and calls Castiel. It goes immediately to his voice mail.

"Look, I'm sorry about the other night," he starts. "It was stupid of me I know and fuck I just, I'm sorry." It's the most crap apology ever, but what is he supposed to say? Sorry I jacked off while we were on the phone? It's not like they make cards for this kind of thing.

There aren't, are they?

After he hangs up, he sits in front of one of his keyboards and starts playing the theme to Mission Impossible. Then he calls Sam who apparently feels so sorry for him that he orders Dean to come to his and Jess's apartment for dinner.


Jess is probably the best future sister in law anyone could ever have. When she answers the door later that day, she doesn't look at him with pity or try to hug him and tell him that it's okay, but rather thrusts a beer into his hand and tells him she made him bacon cheeseburgers. As she walks away, Dean grabs Sam's shoulder and hisses in his ear, "Marry her."

Sam laughs, "Okay," like that's exactly what he was planning on doing.


Dean's sinking his teeth into one of those ultra juicy burgers when his cellphone rings. He looks, sees Castiel's name and then begins his silent freak out. Sam gestures with his head to the balcony and Dean nods, answering the phone as he goes outside into the cool night. "Hey," his voice squeaks, could he sound like any more of a girl? The answer to that question, is yes, yes he can.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says and it's like nothing happened for a moment until he goes, "About the other night,"

"Let's not talk about it," Dean interjects.

There's a pause on the other end and then, "Fine," that clearly means it's not fine, but he's going along with it anyway.

"So, what's up?" Dean asks, looking down at the street. A woman stops her lover in front of the street lamp, fixes her scarf and receives a kiss in return.

"Chuck wants to know how you're coming along," and while Dean really has no interest in talking about 'it' it's not like Castiel has to be so god damn impersonal.

"With what part, exactly?" Dean asks. "The part with the music or the part with the two eight hundred page novels? Because the answer to the both-"

"Don't blaspheme," Castiel instantly reprimands. "And Crime and Punishment is only five hundred pages."

That did not make Dean feel any better. "You know what, I don't care. I can't read it, Cas. It's too big. Find someone else because it's not me," then he hangs up, walks back inside Sam and Jess' apartment, sits down in his chair and bites into his now cold burger.


Silent guy isn't at the coffee shop the next day either. Maybe he's out fighting crime, maybe he's decided he doesn't like coffee. Maybe he just doesn't like Dean.

His Americano tastes like shit.


"You're not getting any younger, you know," Dean's dad, John, says over the phone. "Or more to the point, me and your mother aren't getting any younger. Now we're not saying you need to marry some girl and give us grandbabies, we've got your brother and Jessica for that. We just want to see you happy."

Dean sighs. Until a week ago, he was happy. He hears his mom say, "Let me talk to him," wrestling the phone away from his father. "Dean, sweetie?"

"Hey mom," Dean puts on his happy voice. "Did you get that picture I sent you?"

"Yes, I did. I put it on my Facebook. My friend Cheryl says you're very handsome. There have also been several inquirements as to your availability."

"Uh huh, what did you tell them?" his phone beeps, he looks at it and sees Castiel's name. He decides to ignore it. "It wasn't that I'll sleep with anything that moves again, is it? Because I swear the last time you did that these two really weird guys kept calling me. I thought I was going to have to change my number."

"That was your father who did that," Mary reminds Dean. "And to answer your question, I haven't said anything because I know you don't want me to."

"Thanks mom," he hears the beep signaling there's a voicemail. As much as he doesn't want to, his curiosity gets the better of him. "Hey mom, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, you can ask me anything."

"Is it possible to be in love with two people at the same time? Like, really love them?"

"Well," Mary says after a long moment of thought, "I suppose it is. I've only ever been in love with your father, so I'm probably not the best expert."

"Yeah, I think I need to go think about things, tell dad I said good bye."

"Alright, sweetie, love you," Mary says.

"Love you too, Mom," Dean answers, hangs up. He instantly plays the Castiel's voicemail.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says and Dean has to sit down for this. He turns the volume up and sets the phone down on this couch so he can hold his head in his hands and just listen.

"I was thinking about what you said the other night and well, there's something I need to tell you but I don't know how. The thing is, my whole life is a lie. I'm a liar, Dean, and I think it's time you realized that. I was raised to believe my mother left us because the the devil told her to, that God hated our family because I was queer so I repressed, I even got married to a woman but then she left me because I was never able... and I moved to New York where I got this job with Chuck and I started working with you and talking to you was always one of the highlights of my day. I say one because well, this is where the confession part comes in. Every day for the last year I've been going to the same coffee shop and I sit in the same seat and I read while this guy next to me also reads. We've never said a word to each other but it never feels right if he's-"

Dean stares at the phone as it just stops mid sentence. He checks, there's no other messages.

He can't breathe. He calls Sam.


"They're the same."

The cappuccino machine goes off as Sam says, "What?"

"Castiel and silent coffee guy. They're the same guy."

"Oh, OH! Really?" Thank you Sam, for finally getting with the program.

"Is he there?"

"Uh, no. He came in, ordered..." Sam trails off, instantly making Dean suspicious.


"Um, uh, well, he ordered a regular coffee for him and uh, an Americano."

Dean's eyes instantly shoot to the door. "Uh, Sam, I'm gonna call you back," he hangs up before his brother can say another word, walks to the door and throws it open.

He's there, black hair, blue eyes, trench coat and two to go coffee cups in his gloved hands. A part of Dean feels like an idiot, because really, he should have put two and two together sooner, but most of him is just relieved that he doesn't actually have to choose.

"I still quit, you know," Dean blurts out.

"I understand," Castiel replies. "I bought you an Americano."

Dean takes it and smiles. "Thanks, uh, do you want to come in?"

"Not yet," Castiel says, and Dean nods, because he understands. If he were Castiel he'd feel awkward going into some perverts apartment too.

"Okay," he agrees. "So, uh, weird weather we're having, huh?"

Castiel gets a dark look in his eye, shakes his head and says, "Fuck it," and then his lips are on Dean's instantaneously. They kiss as best two men can while they try not to spill coffee, but still, it's amazing because it's Castiel and Dean kind of, really, loves him.

Even if he does like Dostoevsky.

The end.
Tags: dean/castiel, fic, spn, writing gives me fuzzies
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