Apologies for strange spacing and loss of italics, but it seems FF is intent on screwing up every aspect of their platform. Based off of this post: post/79034093209/serious-shy-librarian-cas-running-a-tight-ship-by from sweatersammys at tumblr

Libraries aren't really Dean's thing.

Sure, he likes to read as much as the next guy. Pass off Vonnegut or Hitchcock (or even a good Lovecraft) and he'll knock it out in a few hours without breaking. On nights that he can't sleep he often props himself up in bed and unfolds the latest dog-ear he left-page forty-two in 1984 at the moment, purely off of recommendation-until Cas rolls over in bed and mumbles at him to turn the light off and go back to sleep, all while burrowing into Dean's side and tossing a leg over his hips.

Reading isn't the problem. It's the bad florescent lighting in the library, which makes the beige colored walls look all the more sickly. It's the cramped seating area with hard wooden tables and unyielding chairs, which are occupied beyond full capacity no matter the time of day, and where the good window seating is inevitably taken. It's the thermostat that runs too cold in winter and too warm in summer, and the fact that he can't get away with listening to music no matter how low he seems to have the volume. Libraries are cold, impersonal places to check out the books you need and then get, not spots to sit down and settle in for a nice afternoon.

There is no shortage of irony then that he's been dating a librarian for over two solid years, or that Dean has found himself being dragged through the Lawrence Public Library doors well after hours, as soon as Cas finds the right key on his ring.

Their trip was made under the pretense of " I need to grab those forms for the summer reading program and oh, I forgot my coffee mug in the break room, " and Dean had given token protest, " We can run by tomorrow for your mug, Cas, we have like, five-hundred other mugs here ," but Cas hadn't budged on the matter, although he had been about to walk out the door with, " It's alright, I can go by myself, " before Dean had shouted after him.

The last few rays of sun vanished nearly an hour ago and the only light source as they enter comes from the single desk lamp still switched on, casting a small glow around Cas's workplace. Cas doesn't flip on any of the overheads as they enter but Dean doesn't need the light to know the place is meticulous; every book in its proper spot and lined neatly along the shelf, no spare scraps of paper littering the floor, desk chairs pushed in flush along the tables. Dean's bore witness countless times to Castiel's near obsessive tidiness compulsion, and that's during operating hours, whenever he stops by to visit Cas at work (usually with fresh coffee and a danish, even if Cas never asks for it). So after close the place is near museum quality, all preparations in place for open the next day.

"Shit," Dean hisses under his breath, trying to keep quiet even though the library is void of anyone but themselves. Dean's knee throbs in protest where he knocked it against one of the chairs, nudging it out of place. He really needs to speak to Cas about upgrading the furnishings around here.

"Come on," Cas urges, gropes for Dean's hand in the semi-darkness and clasps their fingers together, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose all while not missing a beat as he leads Dean along. They're heading away from the front desk though and that lone orange glow, moving swiftly past what Dean knows by memory to be the historical non-fiction and politics rows. This totally isn't the direction of whatever papers Cas needed to grab or his coffee mug, but Dean doesn't speak up as they turn the corner of the assorted biographies and delve deeper into the rows of books, moving towards the back.

Under the cover of darkness the place actually doesn't look half bad. It's a crying shame that even Cas's penchant for keeping a clean house is offset by the city's poor design choices and lack of funding. Washed with the subtle silver light of the moon seeping in through the back windows, colored in dark blue hues and soft shadows, it's not so glaringly off-putting. Dean's been admiring how wonderfully unapparent the hideous geometric carpet pattern is that he's not sure which aisle Cas steers them down next. Pulling up a mental blueprint Dean decides they must be somewhere near the fiction rows.

"You want to recommend me some more of that crappy classic lirer-ah- mmm..." If there was ever a way to shut him up this was it, the firm line of Cas's mouth against his, quick and messy and with the barest slip of tongue before he pulls away just as fast.

"It's not crap, Dean, it's-"

"Yeah yeah I know, it's the foundation of civilization as we know it."

Cas huffs and Dean can imagine the eye roll. But Cas isn't making to continue down the row, isn't doing anything but staring back at Dean, though it's too dark to get a proper read on his expression.

Dean can feel the edges of the cool metal shelves just behind him, the book spines shaping along his back the further he lets himself lean into it. He crosses his arms over his chest and quirks a brow at Cas, not that the other man can probably see it, and Dean's about to ask if they're going to move this tour along, has his mouth opening, but the words die even before they form and Castiel's lips are back on his. A small noise of surprise gets passed through Dean's mouth to Cas's, tapers off into something more pleased when Cas doesn't pull back.

There are hands bracing against Dean's arms, Cas keeping himself steady, fingertips curling. It has Dean's arms unfolding and falling to his sides immediately, only for hands to find purchase on Castiel's hips instead, fumbling against his shirt, the line of Cas's pants. The second kiss is anything but brief. This pull of lips and swipe of tongue, this drawn out slide of mouths slotting together, this was something that always led to more.

Dean can't help but try and chase after Cas when the other man peels away, already too late as Castiel's mouth moves lower, finds the sweet spot on his neck, sensitive skin right below the cut of his jaw. Cas sucks, Dean moans.

The dull thud of Dean's head connecting with the cool metal shelf behind him cuts his voice off, but Cas doesn't even pause to consider it as he scrapes teeth against Dean's skin. Not of his own volition Dean's hands slide up Cas's sides as Cas begins to sink lower, until Dean's hands are left to grasp at the top of Cas's head.

"Cas." Dean has to look back down, finds Cas staring intently back up. The image has Dean's throat running a bit dry and he licks his lips, blinks until his sight has adjusted to the darkness and he's sure he's registering this correctly. Shapes have become more pronounced, details bleeding out from the dark, and at the center of it all is Cas.

Against the moonlight Dean catches bright eyes behind black frames and fuck, two years ago Dean would have never thought he'd have ended up with a hot, eccentric librarian of all people, and yet here they were, Cas on his knees and gazing up at Dean with hooded blue eyes. It's hard to mistake this as anything but what it is, one of those scenes you see in movies, comedy and drama alike, and Dean's already semi-hard under his jeans, low heat settling in the pit of his stomach. Except they can't be about to do what it looks like they're about to do, Dean's breath catching in his throat as he waits for Cas to move, do something, anything.

But Dean misses Cas moving entirely, is so focused on Cas's face that he doesn't see Cas's hands drawing up, only catches the sound of his own zipper being pulled down. Dean's cock jerks when his button pops open, and yeah, this is so going where he thinks it's going, and this has to be breaking at least half a dozen of those library regulations Cas is so fond of upholding.

Castiel doesn't waste much time in sliding his jeans and boxers down in one go, efficient as ever, and Dean's fingers find their way beneath the lip of a shelf, curling inward as the fabric settles around his feet. Out of impulse Dean's teeth catch his tongue as Cas grips him at the base, gives one long, slow pull that drags Dean's hips forward while his fingers keep him tethered to the bookshelf.

It's a little unbelievable that they're doing this in Cas's workplace, where patrons were strolling by only hours ago, a little surreal with Cas's hand starting a smooth, loose rhythm along his shaft, but it's a hard jolt back to reality as the first swipe of tongue comes, just lapping once over the tip, teasing.

"Shit," Dean mutters, blood rerouted and fully hard in Castiel's hand, a little pulse starting beneath his skin that's growing hotter. He can't be sure but he thinks Cas smirks at that, until his lips are pulled wider and distorted when he takes the head of Dean's cock in his mouth.

Wet heat engulfs him and Dean can feel the thrum of pleasure starting up, shooting down his spine and only amplified as Cas moves in closer, relaxes his jaw and sinks nearly to the base. Dean moans, less concerned now with keeping quiet and more concerned with how Cas's lips drag back up his dick, getting him wet from base to tip.

His hands fumble in their grasp, leaning further in and fingers flexing out as Cas sets a steady rhythm. Dean isn't fully aware of what his hands are doing until he's wedged one of them between two paperbacks and knocks one out of the way to make room.

The book topples from its place, falls easily to the floor and lands with sprawled pages to the side of them. Cas glares up at him without pulling his mouth away, sucking at Dean's cockhead tantalizingly slow while his hand works at pumping along his length. Dean's laugh is a bit breathy when he states, "Hey, be thankful it wasn't a Tolstoy."

In retaliation Cas's tongue sweeps beneath the head of Dean's dick, prodding, flicking, catching against the ridge at the underside and whatever humor Dean had found in Cas's annoyance is lost, hips involuntarily thrusting forward at the sensation- until Cas pulls off entirely with a lewd pop.

"Be careful, I just organized those," he admonishes Dean seriously, shooting him a pointed look before he takes Dean right back in again, far too quickly for Dean to process anything beyond a quick nod of his head.

Cas returns to sucking in earnest, mouth gliding down, back up, tongue tracing along the vein. Dean's own mouth parts, brow creasing and eyes only halfway open as he watches. Cas's mouth moves lower, hand guiding Dean until he's nudging his way down Castiel's throat, can feel Cas's nose settling against his skin. Without much thought Dean's hands are flying away from the shelf and settling at the back of Cas's head, clenching into his hair.

Dean's hips are a twitching mess and he tries to control the urge to just thrust, into the long pulling motion of Cas's lips and the short vibrating hums that have his cock jerking and precome leaking from his slit, pooling in Cas's mouth, but Cas's hands are moving to the backs of his thighs, right above his knees, urging him onward, forward down his throat and encouraging the pace he sets.

Dean doesn't need any more motivation than that, lets his hips snap forward harshly to chase the heat and pressure, every drag coming more rapidly, more perfectly as Cas seals his mouth and hollows his cheeks. The edges of his teeth just graze along his shaft and Dean doesn't care, likes the added burn just as Cas arcs up against the hold he has in his hair, fingers tangling in dark strands and pulling way too roughly but for the fact that Cas is beginning to moan too. The vibrations pulse into his skin, has Dean's balls drawing up and he is definitely not being anything but loud now, stilted moans falling between the obscene sound of him fucking into Cas's mouth, the occasional "uhn," escaping Cas as Dean pumps his hips.

Dean's not sure when his eyes fell all the way shut but he's peeling them back open when Cas yanks back suddenly. Dean falters, chest heaving and heart hammering. He bites off a groan, he was close, so close-

"On my face."

Dean's amazed that Cas can even get the words out, voice wrecked and grating out of his throat and still, somehow, Cas is holding his gaze, all of that composure held within the posture of his back and none of it apparent in how debauched he looks otherwise, lips spit-slick, swollen red and parted so Cas can draw in panting, rasping breaths. Cas's hair is a mess in Dean's hands, tugging it into further disarray while Cas jacks his fist over Dean's cock, sliding messy and slippery.

He's at the edge and Dean's not even registering how loud he's gotten, continuous stream of groans and under his breath curses echoing throughout the silence of the library. Cas tips his head up further, hand tightening and squeezing, drawing Dean's hips into a stutter and bringing his cockhead to bump against Cas's face. It leaves a sticky smear of precome and spit and more than that, bumps Cas's glasses out of alignment, knocks them crooked and skewed and Dean could almost laugh at the fact that that's what does it if he weren't already letting out a sharp cry as he comes.

There's a loud clatter and the flutter of dozens of pages falling through the air as Dean's head tilts back against book spines, shoves them against the opposite side of the shelf and through to the other end. He pays attention to none of it, everything dulled to the background as his eyes squeeze shut and his dick jerks in Cas's hold, strips of white spurting while Cas milks it out of him, until Dean's too sensitive, breath rattling in his chest as he comes down.

He waits until his breathing has evened out to blink his eyes back open, knees a little shaky and damn grateful for the support of the shelf behind him. Looking down to Cas's face Dean huffs a slight laugh, still a touch breathless, but the sight of Cas is too good to resist; hair beyond repair, red flush on his face standing out, glasses turned diagonal and against it all, sticky stripes of come painted on his face, caught on Castiel's cheek and nose, dripping past his mouth and down his chin.

"Fuck."

"Yes." Cas clears his throat before starting again. "I think you knocked down the entire collection of Stephen King." And for someone who has come all over their face Dean's not sure how Cas manages to look this disapproving.

"Good. He blows." It's all Dean can manage by way of literary analysis at the moment.

As soon as Dean releases his grip in Castiel's hair he lends a hand to haul him up, Cas rising slowly and fixing the tilt of his glasses.

"So is this what we came here to do? Christen the fiction section?" He watches Cas swipe a thumb across his cheek, across the streak of white before popping it into his mouth to suck clean. Bastard. Dean pulls his pants back up before his dick can get any ideas of a second round this soon. "Now whenever you come back here to sort the shelves..." Dean trails off and raises his eyes to Cas's.

Cas merely hums in agreement, as if that had been the plan all along- probably had been, because they've been together long enough now that Dean's come to learn there's a whole lot more beneath that tightly laced exterior.

There's still one hell of a wreck on Cas's face as he makes slow work of cleaning off what he can, until Dean catches Castiel's wrist in his hand to still the motion.

"Are there any other sections in need of christening?" Dean moves in closer, bumps against the obvious bulge under Cas's pants.

Cas seems to be honestly weighing their choices, takes a brief moment to think before deciding gravely, "I spend a lot of time sorting out the travel section."

Dean grins, kisses Cas solidly on the mouth before declaring, "I love the library," and then leads him away.

Yeah, libraries are totally Dean's thing.

Thanks for reading :)