Removing his headset after Kevin hangs up, Dean tosses it on the desk and stands, stretching. Something in his back pops and he groans—his first genuinely pleasure-filled groan all day. He glances at his watch—4:35—and, deciding he has time for his break, heads out to the lobby. He tosses a wave at Al and hits the down button for the elevator, chewing the edge of his thumb while he waits. Nerves, he realizes. You’re nervous. His chest feels tight and his skin is hot and, oh, he wants Cas to call. He wants the next voice he hears through his earpiece to be filled with gravel and honey and sex.
In the building’s lobby, Dean heads straight for the vending machines. He buys a Coke and a Snickers bar, more from a need to occupy himself than any real hunger.
It’s drizzling outside, the streets darker than even this time of year calls for, and Dean sighs and eats, barely tasting the chocolate or caramel or nuts, the syrupy sweetness of his drink, mind occupied with thoughts of Cas. Is he looking out at the same weather, waiting for the right time to call? Is his heart pounding just as hard? Are his palms as sweaty? He wants to wipe them off on his thighs, but his hands are full. He’s an adult for God’s sake, not an anxious, horny teenager. And this is his job, nothing else. Get it together, Dean.
He downs the rest of his Coke and tosses his garbage. Taking a deep breath, he heads back upstairs and settles in, tucking himself into his desk and replacing his headset. He adjusts it minutely and then waits.
Last time Cas called, Dean had talked about bending him over the back of his couch. He’d described working him open with his fingers, spreading his ass and licking him, fucking him with his tongue. It had been…amazing. And that had only been the sounds. God, the sounds Cas had made. Dean can only imagine what it would be like if—
No, he can’t think like that. He doesn’t even know if Cas is local, let alone interested in anything other than anonymous orgasms.
Dean checks the time and his heart sinks a little. Late. He does his best to tamp down the disappointment. It’s only a few minutes, he tells himself, and it’s not like you had a date. Maybe Cas is done with him. Maybe he’s, God, married and taken and someone else’s who doesn’t appreciate the—
Dean’s call light illuminates, glowing red, and his heart leaps. Fuck.
“Al’s taken care of business,” he says, swallowing hard and hoping his voice doesn’t give anything away; he’s a professional, damn it, “now let me take care of pleasure. What did you have in mind this evening?”
Dean’s heard the same voice this breathless before and he smiles into the headset, a weight suddenly lifted from his chest. “Hi,” he answers. It comes out higher and more eager than he intends and he clears his throat, tries again.