Chapter Text
Dean Winchester’s regular Starbucks is closing for two weeks. Renovations, Tessa says; like they really need a drive thru. She looks sorry to break the news as she hands him his usual venti drip with a pump of vanilla.
He likes this store because it’s on the way to work and the girls know him well enough to have his coffee ready when they see Dean pull up in the Impala. Sometimes Tessa throws in a scone with his coffee, and once she even put her phone number on his cup. Dean let her down gently because she reminds him of his ex, Lisa. Using the excuse he’s still getting settled and not ready to date sounded a lot less crazy.
With Sam at Stanford, moving to San Francisco seemed like the obvious choice, anyway.
Leaving Lawrence was easy after he found Lisa in bed with his former partner and supposed friend Cole. All that was left for him were lies, betrayal, and the fact that everyone in town knew him and every single fucked up thing that happened between him and Lisa. Word got out that Lisa found him boring (he thinks he has Cole to thank for that tidbit of gossip, considering she screamed it at him when she was scrambling to put her clothes on) and he couldn’t stand the pitying looks everyone was giving him around town.
Dean didn't think preferring to stay in and watch Netflix instead of going to some shitty club every night meant he was boring but what the fuck did he know?
Dean needed out and putting eighteen hundred miles between him and his past didn't sound too crazy when he thought about it. The San Francisco PD hired him without hesitation, his four years in the Army and almost as many on the force in Lawrence speaking for themselves. Dean’s proud of his clean service record.
Finding an apartment proved more difficult, and he ended up renting out an Airbnb while he searched. Everyone at work knew he was looking and one of his buddies had an aunt moving to Oregon. As soon as her place became available, Dean paid the first and last month's rent and finally had somewhere to live.
He likes living in The Castro. The neighborhood is small and lively. Pride flags hang outside every business and in the windows and off the balconies of most homes. Being bisexual in Lawrence, Kansas was never kosher but here, Dean can hang his own flag without shame.
Everything Dean needs is within walking distance, another reason he likes living here. He lives above a Walgreens, the closest bodega is on the corner, his gym a few blocks away, there are bars and restaurants everywhere, and a coffee shop on every corner. He figures it can’t hurt to try as many as he can while his Starbucks is closed.
That day’s choice is the coffee shop under his gym, Weaver’s. He likes their logo—an angel holding a coffee cup—and every time they’re roasting their beans, it makes his gym smell heavenly. They’re brewing their Pride blend the first morning he stops in, coming straight down from the gym. Dean takes in the crowd, noticing quite a few people parked with their laptops and mugs of coffee and plates of food. He orders a large coffee and a breakfast sandwich and heads back home to get ready for work.
So far, Weaver’s has the best coffee and their convenient location has them in the running for his new morning stop. Dean goes back the next day, deciding to drive so he can go straight to work. Weaver’s parking lot is big enough to fit the Impala so they earn extra points for that. He works out, showers, and puts on his uniform, throwing his gym bag into the car before he heads back inside for his coffee.
Dean still has an hour before he has to be at work so he grabs an empty barstool while he waits for his bagel, pulling out his battered copy of Slaughterhouse Five. The barista brings over his food, and Dean settles in to enjoy his morning.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” A deep baritone pulls his attention away from his book. Dean glances up, only to be met with the bluest eyes he has ever seen, framed by black square rimmed glasses being worn by one of the most gorgeous men Dean has ever laid eyes on. Dark stubble lines his strong jaw and Dean wants to rub his face on it. Okay, where the fuck did that come from? He blinks, trying to clear his thoughts.
“Uh, sure man. Have a seat.” He gestures at the empty barstool next to him. The beautiful man drops his messenger bag on the countertop with a gruff thanks before he goes to the counter to order.
Dean uses the opportunity to check the guy out.
Hot stranger is wearing tight, black skinny jeans, and he has a great ass. His thighs are so thick, Dean imagines he has trouble getting those pants on. He kinda wants the guy to wrap those thighs around his head.
Jesus, what the fuck is his problem?
He does some quick math and realizes it’s been a few months since he got laid. Huh. That explains that.
The guy is wearing a tight, blue, long sleeve shirt and a light grey beanie, a tuft of dark hair sticking out of the top. Black combat boots and a black scarf finish his look. Dean is still staring when hot stranger turns, one eyebrow raised once he notices Dean’s eyes on him. He grins as he drops into his seat and Dean feels his mouth go dry.
“How’re we doing this morning, Officer—” he glances at Dean’s nameplate, “—Winchester?”
Dean clears his throat, feeling hot under his uniform, knowing his blush is creeping up his neck.
“It's great—I'm fine.” Dean coughs. Fuck, what is his problem ? He shakes his head, trying to clear the unexpected haze brought on by Hot Guy. He’s an officer of the law for fucks sake. Get it together, Winchester.
“Uh, how are you?” He watches as the guy pulls a sketchbook and a pencil out of his bag, flipping to a blank page before glancing back at Dean.
“Better, now.” Dean flushes as the guys eyes roam up and down his body, wanting Dean to know he’s looking. “Never seen you here before, and I’d remember you,” his eyes dance. “Officer.”
Dean can’t remember the last time another person flirted with him, let alone someone so hot. He had moves at some point in his life and he tries to remember them now.
“So, you come here a lot?”
You come here often? That's your line? Idiot.
“I do. I live a block away.” He leans in like he has a secret to tell. “Plus, Weavers is the best in the Castro. Their cold brew is amazing.”
“I'll have to order that next time.” Dean shifts in his seat; the gaze from the man is intense and Dean's mind is in overdrive.
The guy gives him a sly smile. “What brings you here?”
Having him so close makes Dean’s pulse race. He smells good, smokey with a hint of citrus. Dean wants to bury his face in the long curve of his neck and just breathe him in. “Place I’ve been going is closed for renovations.” He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. “I just moved in a few blocks away and my gym is upstairs so, uh, this seemed like a good place to check out.”
The barista chose that moment to drop off the guy’s order and Dean takes a minute to breathe. He doesn’t get long, hot guy turning his attention back on Dean once the barista walked away.
“Where was home, before San Francisco?” He watches as the guys lips wrap around the straw in his iced coffee. Dean licks his own lips and blushes when the guy’s mouth curves up into a smile, straw still between his teeth. He drags his eyes up, guilty that he’s being so obvious.
Dean gets a wink for his trouble.
“Kansas. I just moved here from Kansas.” Dean knows the Midwest has a reputation and people usually aren’t wrong about it which is why he isn’t surprised when the guy chuckles.
“Ah, another transplant. I’m from Illinois myself. I hated it. Moved West the first chance I got.” He’s drawing on his sketch pad and now Dean is distracted by his long fingers moving across the page, the pencil gripped tight between them. He hums and looks down at his book, at the floor, anywhere else.
That earns him another chuckle.
They sit quietly and Dean tries to concentrate on his book. He reads the same paragraph four times before he gives up and checks his watch, only to see he’s gotta go. Dean knows he’ll be kicking himself if he doesn’t at least ask for the guys number but before Dean gets a chance, the guy stands. He looks at his phone and tries to ignore the man while he rips out the page he was drawing on and packs his stuff back into his bag.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see him stretch to sling the bag over his shoulders, his shirt riding up to expose a strip of tan skin that Dean wants nothing more than to get his mouth on.
Fuck it.
Dean takes a deep breath and turns but stops short, unable to speak because gorgeous blue eyes are already on him and the guy is smiling. He pushes the now folded piece of sketch paper towards Dean, winking as he turns to go.
“You stay safe out there, Officer.” The guy looks over his shoulder with a grin. “And welcome to the neighborhood.”
He’s out the door before Dean can even respond. Snatching up the paper, he looks around before he unfolds it, his lips twitching with anticipation.
Drawn inside is a sketched portrait of him, looking down at his book, a small smile playing at his lips. The whole time Dean was staring at his hands and trying not to be obvious, the guy was drawing him and damn, he’s good . Dean’s eyes roam over the drawing and his breath hitches when he reaches the bottom of the page.
Cas - (415) 337-8435